Chapter 10: War and Peace

A little warning: there is some sexual content in this chapter, but I've made it less explicit in the rewrite. If you want to read the uncensored scene, go to the version at Archive of Our Own.

xoxox

America was lying in his bed. He couldn't sleep, for several reasons.

He had held Russia's heart in his hands.

He had seen Russia's naked torso.

He could still freshly remember that morning.

He had stared at Russia's toned body.

He had seen Japan and Greece kissing, which meant his friend had lied to him.

But all of that didn't matter, because for a moment he had thought RUSSIA WAS HOT.

America had every right to be confused. Stupid sexy Russian… NO, he wasn't going to think about Russia, dammit!

His roommate wasn't sleeping either, but he had other thoughts to keep him busy. He was still embarrassed about his heart popping out. And happy America didn't seem all that weirded-out about it. But mostly embarrassed.

America decided right then and there he needed a distraction. He opened his eyes and they fell upon the window, which gave him an idea.

"…Hey, Ivan, you awake?" Russia answered with a soft "da."

America sat up in his bed and faced the ashen blond.

"Feel like going outside for a while?"

Russia rolled over to look at the younger nation. "Where to?" he asked.

America slipped out of his bed and walked over to the other.

"Just get up, I'll show you."

As Russia threw back the covers, curious to the other's intentions, America pulled on a coat. After dressing up, Russia found himself being pulled along by an eager young American. He really reminded Russia of a kid sometimes.

America brought him to the roof and walked over to the middle part of it, where he promptly sat down. He waved at the Russian, beckoning for him to come closer and sit down as well. Once he did just that, America pointed up at the sky.

"Enjoy the view buddy. I know there are a lot less stars because we're in the middle of the city, but it's still nice, ain't it?"

Russia quietly observed one of Mother Nature's biggest artworks. America had once again succeeded in calming him down, making him forget about the emotions he was most uncomfortable with. Russia smiled.

"It's kinda like television, you know?" America said in a hushed voice. "Only difference is there's no channels. But it does make you feel… I dunno. Small, I guess?"

Russia nodded. He understood the feeling. Even though both him and America were two of the biggest nations on earth, they would never be as big as the sky surrounding them. They were just tiny spots in the entirety of the universe. It could make you feel anxious, but it could also fill you with wonder and a sense of peacefulness.

"Tell me something about yourself." America's voice was but a mere whisper, not wanting to disturb the mood.

"What do you want to know?" Russia whispered back.

"Dunno, something like, a secret maybe? Here, I'll tell you one of myself."

Russia waited patiently as America searched through his memories, trying to find a secret that he could tell the Russian.

"Ah! I know." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "…I am afraid of weighing scales."

Russia's interest was piqued. "Afraid of weighing scales?" he asked.

"Well, you know, not exactly weighing scales…"

Russia gasped when he understood the hidden meaning of those words. He turned towards the American. "Amerika. You must know that you are not fat, da? The others just like to tease."

America slowly turned around. The starlight was reflected in the taller nation's eyes. "You promise?" he asked, voice pleading. For a superpower he had really bad self-esteem regarding his weight.

"Da, I promise."

America smiled, and looked back up. "Now tell me one of your secrets."

Russia thought for a moment, and then began to blush. He hid his face in his scarf.

'Cute,' America absentmindedly thought once again.

"My dream… It is to live in a warm place with a lot of sunflowers…" He had only told this to Lithuania. That dream was one of his biggest treasures.

"That's a nice dream." America's voice sounded warm and at ease.

Russia looked at him shyly. "You think so?"

"Yeah, definitely! Hey, there is a greenhouse with flowers over at my place in California, maybe you could come check it out some time?" he blurted out.

"Is that a real offer?" Russia asked, not wanting to excite himself over false statements.

"Yeah, big guy. I promise I'll take you to a place with lots of sunflowers."

Russia grinned enthusiastically. "Spasiba, Fedya. I would like that very much."

They went silent for a while after this. Russia felt warm and happy, and America only regretted the impulsive offer the tiniest of bits. He wouldn't mind Russia coming to visit him at all. In fact, he was rather looking forward to it.

He perked up when he saw something shooting across the night sky.

"Hey, did you see that? A shooting star! Come on, Ivan, we gotta make a wish!"

America immediately shut his eyes, folded his hands and started wishing, focussing his entire being on the star. Russia stared at him sceptically, but then decided to give it a try. He closed his eyes and started wishing as well.

'I wish… I wish to be happy. Truly happy.' He blushed a little at the childish request, glad America couldn't read his thoughts.

"All right, wish is done!" America laughed excitedly.

"What did you wish for?" Russia asked, curious.

"Nuh uh! I'm not gonna tell you, that'll break the magic of the star!"

The Russian slightly tilted his head and tried to copy America's famous puppy eyes. It seemed to work, because the American began blushing and stammered out his wish. "I was just wishing for a happy ending!"

Russia thought it over a bit before carefully wording his response. "…Why wish for a happy ending? Would you not rather have a happy life instead?"

The younger nation paused. Huh. That was some serious thought for the brain.

But the other was right. Who would want an ending, if you could just keep on living forever? They were nations after all; they didn't die as easily as human beings. If America would have to wait with finding happiness until his ending, he might have to wait a looooooooooong time.

America smirked. "I guess you're right, big guy. A happy life then. Now tell me what you wished for!"

Russia looked back up at the stars, his violet eyes mellow. "I wished for another bottle of vodka. Mine is almost empty."

America could tell the Slavic nation was lying, but he decided not to keep pushing. The night was too beautiful to nag and be an annoying want-to-know-it-all. He'd ask him later.

America let himself slump against Russia's shoulder, closing his eyes in contentment. The older nation put an arm around his companion. The strange feeling had filled his body and soul once again. He had no idea what it was, but it was a rather pleasant feeling. It made Russia feel jolly and gay (using the old-fashioned meaning of the word).

He kept sitting there and staring at the stars, feeling the younger nation fall asleep at his side.

If this was happiness, he definitely did not want for it to end.

xoxox

In another room, the mood was quite different. The Frenchman was working out his plans of "taking advantage of the nearly comatose Englishman with whom he was in love."

France caressed England's hair as he positioned himself. He only felt a sliver of guilt at taking advantage of a more or less unconscious man, but it was largely outnumbered by the pure desire that filled his entire being.

France had undone the buttons on England's shirt and left a trail of kisses down his chest. His left hand was used as support while he used the other to caress his beloved. He felt England stir beneath him, and sped up his movements. Touching him, teasing him, all logic having left his mind.

England woke up as pleasure set his body on fire. His eyes instantly fluttered back close, a loud groan leaving his mouth. Was he in heaven, or was this another one of his erotic dreams? He decided upon the latter as he felt a rather delightful feeling in his lower regions, a heavenly and hot wetness. This was too good to be real.

His eyes shot open when he heard a moan that wasn't his. This wasn't a dream. This was actually happening.

England looked down and froze.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you bl-" England gasped as France teased him just right, licking up and down. He shuddered when he felt a familiar warmth pooling in his abdomen.

The urge to push the Frenchman away and the want for release were fighting for the upper hand. When France picked up the speed, the decision was quickly made. He was just too tantalizingly close.

"A-ah…" England gripped France's hair tight with one hand and buried the nails of the other in the mattress. France began moving even faster when he felt the encouragement, wanting for the other to feel good.

After one final lick, England reached his limit. He arched his back and squeezed his eyes shut. He could see stars on the inside of his eyelids as his mind went blank.

France was happy to see his partner satisfied. But his own hunger wasn't stilled. While England lay there being a panting mess, France began making preparations to take things to the next level. Taking out a bottle of lube, he began slicking up his fingers.

England did not approve of that in the slightest.

"Francis. Stop." He said this in a matter-of-fact voice. France ignored him and continued with what he was doing. England tried to move his legs back, but they were being squished under the Frenchman's body.

"I mean it. We are NOT doing this tonight."

England tried to push the Frenchman away, but the normally weak nation now had an unexpected amount of strength to help him keep his prey at bay. England began to curse.

"Goddammit, you bloody bastard! I fucking told you to stop! Sod off!"

France didn't respond. He just kept doing as he pleased, pinning England to the bed with his unoccupied arm. England balled his hands to fists and tried to free himself again, but to no avail. Finally, when the French nation tried spreading his legs apart to invade him, the Englishman exploded.

"Stop it, you asshole! I hate you! If you don't get that fucking finger out of me I'll break your bones!" He screamed as loud as he could muster, tensing every muscle in his body and successfully throwing off his attacker.

That was it. France had run out of patience. And now he snapped.

"Merde! What makes Alfred so much better than me?!"

England was astonished at the sudden outburst. He was supposed to be angry here, not his assaulter. France had extracted his fingers and was sitting at the foot of the bed, now looking straight at him. His eyes were filled with tears, real tears, not the kind used for dramatic effect.

"…Francis?" England asked in a hoarse voice. He had known the man for the longest of times, but this was the first time he had seen him like that. Yes, he had often gone too far and then England would shout at him, but he'd never started crying afterwards.

"Tu es un imbécile!" France hiccupped.

England was still dumbfounded.

"W-what do you mean? What does America have to do with this?" England cautiously asked. He was really at a loss here, anger and confusion making a distorted mess in his head.

"You love him you fool!"

France had had enough of it all. He didn't care anymore if this would ruin all of his chances. The fool had to realize how he felt. France was dead-tired of pretending.

"Angleterre, je t'aime," he whispered. If things were ruined either way, he might as well spill his biggest secret to the Brit.

England didn't say a word. His mind displayed nothing but a white screen, filled with question marks. If this were to continue any longer, he was going to have a complete system failure.

He abruptly stood up and went to the bathroom. France watched him leave, never cutting through the silence himself. All he could do now was wait for the Englishman's reaction.

After about half an hour, England walked back into the room.

"I am going to bed," he merely stated, before doing just that.

France wondered what was going through his mind, but kept quiet.

He didn't want to go to sleep that night, fearing what the morning would bring.

xoxox

France was startled by the stirring of his roommate. England slowly stretched his arms as he began sitting up, leisurely like a cat. France held his breath, desperately wanting to be Canada at that moment so he could just vanish into thin air.

But he had to face England. If he didn't do it now, he never would.

The moment the Brit laid eyes on him, his frown increased. But he didn't utter a single word. Neither did he get angry. England didn't speak a word to him all morning. He just skipped breakfast and finished packing up. Only when he was about to leave, did France call for him.

England turned to look at him, expression unreadable.

"I need time to think."

xoxox

Words:

Tu es un imbécile : You are an idiot