Here it is after a loooong hiatus. Sorry. Hopefully next chapter will be posted soon and not in two years.
Russia's Version
Gloved hands rolled over the leather arms of the chair as the owner of said hands leaned back, and in one swift motion tucked his boots onto the immaculate desk. Shifting his weight, Ivan thumbed through a stack of documents sent to him by his boss, balancing his ornate wooden pipe in his upturned palm. Sighing he allowed the pristine papers to slip onto the floor in favor of mouthing his pipe in thought.
Things had been...hectic lately to say the least. What with the problems with Ukraine and the others. His pale lips curled around the pipe spitefully, they had no right to interfere with his business. It was strictly a family matter, not a pie that his fellow U.N. members could stick their grubby fingers in. Ivan let out a soft huff, allowing the smoke to caress his pale lips before drifting off to the ceiling. Ivan closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand through his hair until suddenly he jolted upright, sliding his feet firmly on the floor, he loomed over his desk.
Frozen in thought.
For a moment everything seemed to become dull as Ivan stared at the wooden grain of his desk. Thoughtfully chewing on his bottom lip, Ivan's violet orbs rolled to his immediate left to stare at a forlorn file cabinet. His gloved fingers twitched before pushing his form upward. Ivan glared at the middle drawer and cursed himself as he dug through his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Between the folds of leather, Ivan acquired a small silver key which he thrusted into the middle drawers lock. With a flick of his wrist the drawer heaved it's rusty drawer outward, allowing Ivan to stare blankly at the contents.
Ivan let out a dry laugh and pulled out the magazine, brushing the dust of of the seedy cover to expose the breasts of some woman forgotten in time. He shook his head and sunk into his chair, ignoring the soft screech as the chair took on his weight. The Russian lazily flipped through the yellowing pages to the center and could not hold back the rueful grin that stretched over his lips.
There was Alfred.
Arching his back and posed delicately on a once white draped fabric. The, what looked to be, velvet brushed against the American's strong thighs and curled around the man's ample tanned rump as he stretched out a thin sheet of red silk in a poor attempt to cover his erect genitalia. The sad quirk of Ivan's lips disappeared as he now turned to look at Alfred's bashful expression. His tanned cheeks were tinted a overdramaticised pink and his eyes peaked beneath "long" to some would seem innocent and sexy, all Ivan could feel was disgust as he sneered at the idiot.
It had been 1942 when Alfred started to pose for this garbage. Ivan did not believe it at first, in fact he refused to believe that someone so prideful would stoop to that level. Not until his boss threw the magazine in his face did he finally accept the truth. It boggled his mind now just as much as it did then. Dropping the magazine on his desk, Ivan leaned back in is chair and pressed his gloved fingertips into his temples. He had seen through this act before and it sickened him to know that Alfred was still most likely posing for this trash. Ivan had confronted him before, shoving the picture into Alfred's face taunting him that he would send it to every nation. Alfred didn't even blink, in fact he shoved the taller man's arm away and laughed in his face. Ivan was a sucker for that. He couldn't handle being taunting and laughed at and so the magazine was quickly forgotten in favor of punching the other in the gut. What were punches turned to grapples until somehow Alfred's back was pressed into the wall, and they were both staring silently at each other. Ivan's lips quirked up as he remembered how Alfred reacted when he grasped the other's jaw and bite into his soft neck. Alfred had let out a groan and a short bark of laughter "Fucking finally" he had whispered.
The rest of the night had been a blur of Alfred's hands pressed against the ugliest wallpaper Ivan had ever seen, and Ivan's calloused hands grasping the American's waist as the moved in sync to the rough and quick pace they both needed. That was Alfred. Not some cheap whore that filled the American's alleyways. The Russian opened his eyes and stared down at his gloved hand that was covered with his spilled seed. Grumbling he tucked himself into his pants and moved to find his tissue box when his gaze lingered over his desk and he let a chuckle of laughter bubble out between his lips. Alfred's provocatively posed body had been on the receiving end of the Russian's aim, as the picture was now covered with thick streams of cum. Gazing at the picture as he ripped off his gloves, Ivan burst into haughty laughter.
He knew how to keep them out of his business.
Give them a scandal and they would forget all about him and his family.
Crouching down he pulled out an unmarked envelope and scrawled the address of the front. Ivan grinned down at Alfred's stained face one last time before ripping out the centerfold and stuffing it neatly into the envelope. Alfred wouldn't know what hit him. Ivan pressed the call button on his phone and a young man answered. "Y-yes Sir?" The person on the end stuttered which caused Ivan to click his tongue and shake his head at the sound of the mousey kid running the mail room. "I need a letter sent immediately. Use all precautions and be discreet." "
Of course! May I know where it needs to be sent?"
"England."