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I.
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Today is the beginning of the end.
Although the backdrop of the setting for such a momentous occasion is nothing particularly special. The screen's painted to look just like the image of an empty field on a cloudless day and the stage is covered in sod and plush waist high grass that's blown back and forth ever so slightly by the low setting of the wind. Yet it's with this scenery that blue eyes lock with blue and a white colored violin is brought up, placed in it's standard playing position, the bow against the strings.
The first note is drawn out.
"This is insane."
"What is?" The Violinist asks.
"You know what I'm talking about. You can't possibly want to go through with this."
The music progresses.
"Stop it."
"There's no stopping a performance once it begins."
Blonde hair follows the movements of a head shaking back and forth, denying the truth.
"I just don't really know why…"
"It's for your own good."
"You don't know what's good for me."
"I don't?"
The Violinist is so certain, so undeniably convinced that he is the better, that he is in control and it is his solemn duty to act in the manner most suiting for their preservation. He is not held back by the many faults that lay within his counterpart. He is able to think logically, rationally. Yes, he knows what is best.
"Please?" the other begs. "Do you even-? Can you do this to your own home?"
The music continues. It never falters.
"Home?"
-.-.-
Synthetic Animals Like Me Never Have a Home
-.-.-
It's the first morning of their conferences and America finds himself in the company of Alfred's boss as they first arrive at the designated meeting place for their talks.
While they walk through the halls and corridors, America feels the quick glances thrown in his direction by the other man. Just for laughs, he catches the other in mid-glance and tilts his head in what seems to be confusion before giving him a toothy grin.
"What the matter, boss-man?" he asks. "Do I got something on my face?"
The other clears his throat, a way to conceal the flustered feeling of being caught in the act, and replies, "No, nothing at all."
America allows a small relieved chuckle to emit from the back of his throat. "That's a relief. Wouldn't want to look stupid in front of the others, huh?"
He gives no reply. For the first time in the duration of his presidency, the other male feels the need to tread carefully around his nation. An instinct brought out by the blonde's normally humor filled eyes being slightly narrowed in his direction as though accusing the other of something unspoken and the faintly hardened tone that had been displayed at the end of the second half of his response.
The two continue on their way, although now it's the other man feeling America's eyes on him constantly. He tries to pay no mind to the scrutiny in which he's being stared at and the growing tension between them as America comes to the realization of knowing that he knows and plasters his casual smile in accordance of feigning normalcy.
It's a godsend when they come across another pair, Alfred's boss immediately identifies the Russian nation with his own leader and hurries his pace much to the blonde's amusement. America follows behind at a slightly slower step, wanting to watch the pleasantries between Ivan, his boss, and the one who so desperately wishes to escape his company before having to go through the same treatment though perhaps on a bit more of an intimate level with the Russian nation.
His suspicions are correct as Ivan is the first to greet America when he does catch up, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to his lips. He plants a small kiss on the backside of his palm to which America slightly chuckles at before saying, "Fedya, it has been much too long since we last met in person."
America cocks him a wink and a smile and squeezes his hand in the other's just a little tighter to keep up appearances. "Same to you, big guy."
"Amerika," Ivan's boss greets. "A pleasure to be seeing you."
America returns the sentiment, sounding very sincere at that, and a brief discussion of which wing the nations themselves would be congregating in while the leaders spoke to one another takes place after.
"Shall we?" Ivan addresses to America as the bosses pick up their own conversation.
"Might as well get this over with," America replies with a small smile and tired nod. He gives his attention back to the bosses with the purpose of saying a small farewell. "Later then, boss, see ya in a few."
Ivan bids his farewell also and as the two walk away, America chatting up a storm between them, Ivan feels the prickle of eyes watching and looks back quickly to sight of Alfred's superior watching them leave. No, watching America leave. Very intently it seems, given the fact that he has not yet recognized Ivan's eyes on him.
He's puzzled over the fact, naturally, but faces forward once more and slips easily into America's one-sided conversation. He doesn't bring the subject to light until they find themselves situated in some restaurant, just the two of them, for lunch.
"Is there something the matter at your home?" he asks.
"Hm? Oh, well, just the usual," America answers back. "But that'll be fixed up soon enough. Why?"
"I only ask because as we were leaving this morning for our own meeting, your boss was watching us. Or rather, he was watching you with a curious expression."
"Oh that," America laughs. "Yeah, he's been worried about me and stuff since I told him that I didn't think it'd be a good idea to spend any more time in other people's business before fixing up the home front first."
The conversation is interrupted by their waiter bringing their plates. A small number of 'thank you's' are to be had as porcelain is set upon wood before she leaves their side.
"I am able to understand his concern after being told such a thing," Ivan says once they are able to speak in private once more. "What happened to your liking of being a hero?"
America shrugs the question off with a light laugh. "I guess I'm just growing up."
Growing up and growing old. Growing tired and growing bored. Therein lies one of the problems. Boredom breeds perversion and he has no interest in that.
"Now there is a prospect I am sure many others will appreciate," Ivan teases before tucking into his meal.
America uses this distraction to smile wryly to himself.
When night falls, America finds himself alone with Ivan in his hotel room. He knows it is only natural for them to be so, what with the well-known status of their relationship, and yet seeing as to what he must do by the end of their congregation, he can't help but feel as though he should put a stop to Ivan's caresses that move up and down the sides of his torso while their mouths work over one another in a fury of roaming tongues and muffled groans.
However, those thoughts begin to flitter away with every kiss Ivan plants on his neck after wrenching away from America's mouth and completely dissipate with a harsh bite to the sensitive spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
He loses himself in a lust driven haze filled with clothes stripped, hair pulled, legs spread, and toes curled. He finds himself in the crossfire of pain and pleasure, of being filled repeatedly again and again with each of Ivan's thrusts and the instinctual habit of plunging into them while begging for more until the tight coil of heat in each of their bodies to snap and leave them ragged.
They lay tangled together in a panting mess before Ivan finally pulls himself out and away, plopping next to America with heavy eyes. He reaches out and places one palm flat against America's cheek, moving the blonde's face in his direction before pulling themselves close together and kisses his lips once more.
"I love you," he mutters in his mother tongue and America is able to understand the words perfectly well.
He's thankful that Ivan falls asleep almost immediately after declaring such. He's thankful that he didn't register him not saying it back.
..
..
..
..
..
Some time in the early hours of the morning, on the last evening of their conference, Ivan rolls over onto his other side and instinctively reaches out for a warmth that should be residing by him. What he feels, however, is nothing more than cooled bedding and cotton touch, causing his mind to fog into something more alert and his eyes to crack open.
It takes him a moment to come to terms of being alone in bed, and when it finally dawns upon him, he sits up and searches the room for his missing lover. He finds America through the opened sliding door, leaning over the railing of the balcony with a cigarette hanging from between his lips. For some reason this disturbs Ivan, as he hasn't seen Alfred smoke since some time after then end of the second World War and fondly remembers the young nation swearing off of cigarettes for some inane reason or other.
"Fedya?" he calls out softly. "Is there something the matter?"
America turns at the name, but doesn't reply. His eyes slowly fall to the floor below before turning away completely, giving his attention back to the night air and the acrid scent of tobacco and toxins.
All the more concerned, Ivan lifts the bed linen away from him and gets up from bed. He pads to the open door and straight for America. He wraps his arms around the blonde's waist when he's close enough and presses a small kiss against the side of his head.
"Is there something the matter?" he repeats softly against his temple. "Tell me."
America remains still in his embrace, allowing the small token of affection to be showered on him before effectively ruining the atmosphere between them with one uttered sentence.
"I wanna break up."
Ivan unwraps his arms from America's waist and pulls away instantly. A frown tugs at his mouth as he sees the blonde visibly relax from the lack of contact and watches the cigarette fall from his lips down to the floor below.
Today is the beginning of something new.
xxx
Disclaimer: Touched by angels though I fall out of grace.
-I read too many comic books. That's all I have to say. 8D
-A'ight then, let's blast this shizz to the back row. -puts on sunglasses- B)
xxx
Hey, you! Yeah, you!
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