Marry Me

"Marry me."

America stopped his screaming and jumping up and down to see Russia in the doorway. It looked like he had just arrived from his house, his accent – sexy as hell although America wouldn't admit it – thicker than normal. His normal smiling face was solemn. America gaped, slightly burrowing himself into the couch.

'W-what?"

"Marry me." Russia's voice was unrelenting. Suddenly he crouched down beside the American nation and stared into his eyes. His childlike expression was gone. Replaced by one of seriousness and contemplation. Never had America seen him like this. Even during the war, during their war, a smile had always appeared on his face. It was then that America realized he was serious. They had been secreting dating for decades, knowing full well of how their people felt about each other's people, and more recently, their bosses hated each other's guts. But when America, the self-proclaimed hero, started to balk, Russia held firm.

"I will not let two humans decide on what I feel." His beautiful violet eyes bored into America's own, reaching down for a tender kiss.

Then came the greatest fuck America had in centuries. He still remembered Russia – Ivan – combing his hair, their limbs entwined, speaking soothing nothingness in his native Russian. He had fallen asleep happy. Now as America thought about it, the light brown-haired American thought of how hilarious it would be if they did get married on the day it passed. He started thinking about the history, meeting people like him hidden from view, talking in hushed whispers and broken voices. Stonewall. The marches. The gay rights movement. The brave Harvey Milk. The repeal of that horrible law. And now…

It was only now that America realized what had happened.

"That's not how it's supposed to happen!" He screeched. "You're supposed to…I don't know, crawl onto one knee and ask for my hand – preferably in Russian, mind you – or bring lots of your sunflowers that we have too many of, or something dramatic! Not – "

Suddenly America felt his face against Russia's hard chest. His hair was being stroked again, softly. "You idiot American," Russia said with fondness and tenderness, "what does it matter? All that matters is that I love you, da?" He pulled his fingers away and stared at the bespectacled nation. He pulled out a ring. It was simple. Silver without any decoration. Then, as America looked closer, he saw his name transcribed in Russian. Fredka. One of the many nicknames the largest nation in the world had for him.

"Accept this."

America scowled. He buried his head in Russia's shoulder, the blush faintly on his face obscured.

"Fine. But this is only because England and France got married two years before when their law passed. Even though the damn pirate got the better end of the deal," America muttered to himself. "I mean, France did everything. And don't get me started in Germany. I heard that he fainted when Italy told him –"

"Isn't it good that people are starting to accept that our love exists, America?" Russia's voice stilled the complaints America had in his brain. A soft, gentle smile – a smile that was truly his – echoed across his face. America paused, simply staring at the beautiful creature before him. "Alfred?"

"Yes." America smiled too, seeing the tears leaking from his fellow nation's face. Then, slowly, he reached down and gave his Ivan the most tender kiss. Then he laughed. "Our bosses will be pissed, but who the hell cares?"

Shortly after the boring ceremony, both Alfred and Ivan listened to the messages on their phones as they rang. One was from an angry Englishman, demanding why he wasn't aware of the situation that they had been dating for twenty-four bloody years and was not aware of their brief ceremony. A Frenchman attempted to calm his husband down, and congratulated the pair on spreading l'amour and laughing. There was an awkward phone call from a German attempting to tell them congratulations before interrupted by Italy speaking feverishly in Italian and wishing them happiness and pasta. Then there were two very brief phone calls, calling their nations to come to their respective capitals and tell them what had just occurred on the screen.

CNN was currently reporting the marriage of Alfred F. Jones and Ivan Brangiski, both holding hands and kissing as flowers, falling from the sky from a helicopter ordered from an unknown source, paved the walkway in front of the Orthodox Church.

The two currently laughed and stared into each other's eyes as the calls came and went. No words were needed to be spoken. They spoke the words that inside both of them knew was right all along before this happy and glorious day had come.

They kissed.