Hey. :) How are you guys?

I know I know, I usually write only beautiful, sweet RusAme, but my cousin was all, "Their relationship is so mysterious and dark! Why do you go ahead and make them all fluffy?"

So...here, this is for you guys who think they are all dark and angsty. :) More might be too come, just tell me what you guys think!

BTW For RusAme MPREG, look at my other story "We where there once."

America POV

Sometimes, I just wanted to tear him apart, ravish his soul, and take what was rightfully mine. Ya, I knew there was a heart somewhere deep down inside, blocked by years of oppression, and thick emotions like pure glass and metal melted together.

Sometimes, he'd take himself too seriously, and he would utterly destroy himself with his own past, tearing down curtains, ripping down walls, sending reality crashing down as he did so. Like myself at times, he thought the entire world was in his palms, all eyes only on him as he set the earth in motion, and that sometimes scarred him. Terrified him, maybe even devoured him alive.

'Good, a little dose of reality was good for him. Take it in one gulp Big Boy, just like your vodka.'

Ha. Sometimes I look back on what we might be, and what we might become, and think, 'Is it twisted? Is this wrong?' In my deepest fears, I kept wondering, 'What if a day comes when heroes just simply don't win?'

I'm getting goose bumps, don't make me think about it.

With a smile, I catch his eyes, so easy in our world, to do something that gains attention. I could have just breathed in and his eyes would have been on me. He liked my chest, my lungs, my shoulders and collar bone. I could see it in his eyes, the way he licked his lips and tenderly closed those thick lashes, averting his gaze back to England who was yet again going at another speech.

Going back to my other thoughts, I found myself daydreaming, about reaching across the table right now and giving Russia a piece of my mind, that things didn't revolve around him, no one really cared, and that in the end, I was the only one who was concerned. I was the only one who ever would worry. All the others were just liars, dirty, thievin', sons of bitches, none of them looked at Russia, looked at IVAN as if he was a person, with a beautifully soft heart that melted with chocolates and beat fast with tiny kisses on those pale cheeks.

Only I could help him, could save him. The thing always standing between a bullet and that man's temple was me and only me!

He knew it too. With every hot, lusty finger tip pressed into my skin, every nail biting at me to keep going, keep pushing my limits, opening me, breath breaking me, lungs tiring from all our love as he crushed me, he'd feel somewhere deep in my nervous system the strength, the power, the reason I was ever born was to keep him in balance.

And like some sick pendulum, we swing back and forth toward each other, one chime of a clock away from a climax, any second threatening to sever whatever we were apart.

My hands are shaking, my chest is trembling s I try to take calming breaths, but all I can think of are those hands of him taking my in his grasp like a golden mace and using me to ebb back the pain of existence.

It's as simple as that.

-VV-

Russia POV

Sometimes I think he knows me too well, and I'll have to put him back in place. I follow his hand as it runs a path down his shirt collar, opening it up from the first few buttons, his leaning posture lazy and giving a delicious peek of the skin beneath the fabric. Mmm, he does it on purpose, he wants me to do something, to make the first move and give in.

No. I have self control. Breath in. Deep, once, twice, look away.

He loses interest for a little, I can feel relief in my veins, like water settling in after a long monsoon, after the disaster has already calmed, the chaos sinking to the soggy river bottom.

Sometimes, he thinks he is the only one, stitching everything together like a beautifully universal thread, the only thing keeping everything hanging in wonderful balance. I want to know how that feels, to be so in control, to blissfully assume I am the only thing which matters of all the things in the world.

Ignorance, he drowns in it, don't you, you lovable little brat? Ha, If only he knew that I keep him because it suits me, like how a gambler might hold the Ace of hearts just cause he likes the card, not because it will help him win the pot. He can't help, none of them can.

There he goes again, that cocky tender smile tugging on the end of his lips, that flash of white drawing me to look at him, stumbling right into that trap, you sweet, deceitful fox, you plague me and you tease me.

How can I not lick my lips and pretend not to care, I look back at England, and try to hold back every heat beat to take him right then in there, in front of all the eyes, over the desk, to shame him for making me feel like this, to weaken me if front of all these people.

'He deserves that, you know...' my thoughts are all alight in my mind as another night rolls closer to us, thoughts of blood and heat, his clothes strew all over the house in shreds as he tries to run from his demise, though I always win in the end. I could feel it too, the exact moment when he'd give completely in, and America wasn't America any more, but sweet, lovely Alfred, breakable Alfred, fragile, breathing Alfred.

I'd relish the moment, of human skin aroused and stoked with a heart beating fervently behind his rising and falling breast, swallowing and tensing for he knew what would come next.

That Ace, ya, I keep him in the deck because he looks good in my hands, no other reason.

Simple as that.

Please comment and critique! And give any ideas you guys have for me! Im open to anything!