a/n: So this didn't go the exact way I planned. The characters sort of pulled me in a different direction. They are both just too stubborn. Hope you like! Oh and thanks for the reviews! I decided to go with both perspectives. Curious, you sort of read my mind lol.
Teeth and tongue clashed as he slammed America into the wall of his hotel room. Ivan could not explain what was taking place. He knew for certain he couldn't explain how they had managed to travel down four floors to his hotel room and unlock the door. America had kissed him, and something had taken over. America had kissed him?
Only twenty hours ago, Ivan had been debating on even coming. He had been standing outside Putin's home nervously. The guards had already informed Putin of his presence so he was forced to wait patiently. Meldvedev told him earlier that Putin had wanted to talk to him. When Ivan had politely inquired why, his boss did not even look at him. He merely stated, 'You're behavior.' Ivan's fingers hidden in his gloves began to fidget. He was quite certain he would not enjoy this conversation. Meldvedev did not seem please with his decision to stay absent from America's birthday. He must have told Putin. Putin lived in an extravagant home compared to his other people. He sat on a few acres of land and had it protectively fenced off. Ivan never took note to the fact of Putin's better situation. After all, the man saved him after the collapse. If Putin had not been there at the end of the USSR, when Ivan lost all his friends and family and was reacquainted to the feeling of loneliness, his little shred of sanity would have torn in half. He owed everything to Putin, and for that he greatly respected the man. His violet eyes feel to the ground. He hoped the former boss would not be angry with him.
The door swung open. "Vanya, as always it's a pleasure," a voice stated and his eyes slowly traveled up. Putin was wiping some type of black substance off his hand with a white cloth. He seemed very casual at the moment wearing only an undershirt, but still having his black slacks and expensive shoes.
He nodded politely, "Yes, it is." He did not want to do anything deemed improper. The man almost seemed saintly. The man wore a smirk as he looked over him.
"When I look at you Vanya I am reminded of my old age," he said causally before opening the door, "Come in, I am in the garage."
Ivan watched as Putin began traveling into his large house. He followed. He kept his head lower, even though part of him enjoyed being in this home. It appeared newer then any other object in Russia. He heard the footsteps and followed in their direction as they traversed across wood floor and down a hallway until the sound of another door opened. He lifted his head as he walked into the white wall garage. There in the center sat a bike looking contraption, a Harley. He had seen the vehicle before, but had never dared to ride one.
"I am going to ride this across the country to campaign. I believe I will handle my mid life crisis and my next election with a simple turn of the key," Putin let out a laugh as he grabbed the tool and then sat on the floor to get closer to the bike's engine.
Ivan found himself blinking with a set of confusion. Putin was very different from most of his people. Most of his people were very…cold. The uncaring winter through the years made them blunt and focus, but Putin was so different. He laughed easily and had a charismatic air to him. He also always wore that calculating smirk when speaking to other countries' bosses. It was hard for his people and himself not to be swept away by the man's charm.
"You plan to ride the American death contraption," Ivan stated from his corner near the door. He never had been one for the mechanics.
The tool Putin had been using was set to the side as the man continued to stare at a place on the bike. Ivan felt tense as he realized, Putin's mood had just shifted dramatically. "Ah that is right? You are here because we must discuss this business over the United States," he spoke calmly, the teasing nature in his voice gone in an instant.
"I was not informed, but I assumed," Ivan responded with a curt nod that was not even seen by the man.
"Ivan, do not misunderstand me in what I say. I have told you since I've first met you that the United States is an over bearing country that abuses their power. They are living beyond their means and are shifting part of the weight of their problems onto the world economy. They are living like parasites off the global economy and off the monopoly of their dollar. With that said you should be attending this party," he said flatly before reaching down and grabbing his tool to fix up the large bike.
Ivan found himself staring at the man in front of the black bike. Putin had just insulted the brat country and he now expected him to go celebrate his birthday? It made no sense. They should not be bending their methods for the country that was slowly destroying the world. "Sir, it appears I have misunderstood."
"Yes, I expected as much," Putin stated towards the bike as he picked up his tool again, "Let me put it in a simpler term. It snows quite often here, yes?"
Ivan found himself becoming even more confused. Putin had lived here. He knew it snowed. Why was he asking such a simple question? "Yes," he agreed from his spot in the corner.
"Though the snow is cold, kills harvest, and sometimes leads our wonderful country into starvation, we have never decided to make it stop snowing," the man said as the sound of his metal tool clacking with something echoed in the room.
"We cannot stop the snow. Weather is not in our control. It would be very unwise to assume it was," Ivan commented as he remembered all the many times he wished he could chase away the coldness.
"Exactly. The climate is not in a realm of power. We can only learn from our environment and adapt. As you know, we as Russians are quite ambitious in coming out on the top. Therefore, we do not let the weather halt our growth," Putin said dropping the tool on the ground. He then gripped onto the bike and pulled himself up.
"I do not understand what the snow has in common with Amerika," Russia stated with a trace of annoyance.
"Simple Vanya," Putin turned around to face him with a calculating smirk, "We unfortunately live in an environment where Amerika's actions influence the world. I am certain you understand that we currently cannot change that environment. We can however adapt to it."
Ivan eyebrow rose with understanding before he nuzzled his chin deeper into his scarf to hide his mouth as he thought over the words. He understood. He didn't like what understood, but he did. "The rules are set we must then win based on the rules," he said through his scarf.
"Yes," Putin stated as he wiped his hands that were slick with oil on his white undershirt. "We play by the rules until we eventually have the power to change them."
Ivan nodded into his scarf. He probably appeared very childish at the moment. He knew what his boss…no former boss…was saying. He greatly wanted to argue against the facts. He never wished to see Amerika again, but Putin was right. Putin was always right.
"If the only rule is that America influences the world, what is the best way for Russia to win?" Putin asked him. Ivan glanced up and watched the tall man walking towards him. Strange that Ivan had met the man when he was far shorter then him. Humans' lives were so short, but even though the man had lived far less years then him, Ivan felt undying respect. "Russia must influence America," Putin stated that answer as his hand went to ruffle Ivan's silver locks. "If Russia has influence in America, we influence the world."
Hands attacked his suit jacket as a warm tongue slipped into his mouth. Was this what Putin meant by influence? His mind worked through his sluggish thoughts. No. Putin probably did not mean this. Putin would probably be very disappointed in how far he had fallen. He wanted manipulation not pathetic lust. But the idiot had kissed him, how was he supposed to respond to such an action? The image of America lying on the ground, his hipbone exposed as he appeared so vulnerable, popped to the front of his mind. America appeared completely vulnerable. He wished he had caused such an appearance, but he hadn't. England…England held such a high power over the boy. He gripped his fingers into America's forearms and pressed himself harder against the other's chest. His tongue then pushed against the young man's in a fight for dominance. America would not use him. The man was not manipulating him. Ivan was using America. He was doing just as his former boss had asked. He was gaining influence over him. He would get the power that England had. He would make America beg for him. He would make America want to please him, and once he had control over America he would have control over the world. Yes, the world. The world would love him again. His friends would come back home. He just had to play by the rules.
His lips left the boys mouth and moved to his jaw. He could not quite understand how every time his lips parted from the skin they felt like they were burning. It caused a tingling sensation that seemed to spread through his body. America was so hot. It was like touching the sun. His lips moved down to his neck where he felt his pulse against his tongue. He swirled his tongue around the rhythmic pounding that seemed to speed up at each moment. He heard a grunt escape the man and a smirk played on his face at the sound. Yes, this was the type of control he deserved. He wanted to bite down on this man's heart and hold his life in his hand. He didn't. Part of him wanted to hit the man until he went unconsousious, another wanted to hear the man screaming in pleasure. It felt as if both ideas fought with one another.
He bit down on his neck, hearing a sharp hiss as his hands moved down the American's waist. The taste of iron evaded his tongue. He let the blood linger in his mouth. He always knew America's blood would taste sweet to him. His lips left the spot and moved underneath the blonde's earlobe. "You taste like sweets, Amerika. You eat too much ice cream. It is not surprising you are getting fat," he said, before forcefully shoving his leg in between his legs. America was his toy now. He would taunt him as he pleased because Ivan was now in control. He smirked when he felt America's length pressed hard against his thigh through his pants. Ah yes, that control…this influence. This must have been what Putin was talking about. The American was a capitalistic pig that was disgusting to sleep with, but he had to play by the rules.
Friction. There was so much friction. Chest against chest. Hands on skin. Leg on…oh god it all felt good, even the bite mark that Alfred knew would be on his neck. The deep voice caused a shiver to travel down his skin, but the words hit him out of his drunken lust. He finally realized what Russia was doing. He was trying to dominate this. Nah uh. Like hell that was going to happen. America had only been on bottom once in his entire life, and he had no care to remember it. He was the hero. He didn't go on bottom. "Well what's your excuse?" he remarked to the comment, "But maybe having something sweet would actually grow you a heart." He then roughly pushed Russia's shoulder's to slam him into the wall across from them.
His hands traveled to his button down shirt. He was so thankful that Russia wasn't actually wearing a coat today. It made everything easier then trying to lug that heavy thing off. He wanted so much to touch the man's skin. It felt like ice and he wanted to feel it everywhere. He got the first buttons undone then decided screw it. This process was taking to long, and America was never a very patient man. He gripped both sides of the shirt and ripped open. The sounds of buttons on the floor echoed, but his mind didn't even notice them. His hands dipped into the shirt. A sensation settling in his lower region flooded him as he dragged his fingers along the definite muscles. God he was going to fuck Russia so hard tonight. You are really going to sleep with your nemesis. You know first hand that there is something mentally unstable with him. He will probably use this against you in the future. The smirk that had been playing on Alfred's face faltered at that thought of logic. It was that very logic that had kept him from doing this a long time ago. Russia was intelligent and cunning. There seemed to be no limits to how far the man would go. He would never forget that moment in the Atlantic Ocean miles off from Cuba. The conversation they had as he searched their boat. The man never stopped smiling. They were about to blow up the world and the man kept smiling on him like they were close schoolgirls. His hands went to Russia black belt as he began to undo it. Screw it. Russia was insane, but America was awesome. Yep, I'm totally awesome.
"Impatient, da?" he heard and looked up to the Russian who still wore his scarf. He had a smirk on his face that Alfred had seen a feel times. He felt Russia's hand gripping tightly into his waist. He would probably have marks there to.
He grinned, "It would be rude for me to keep a lady waiting." His blue eyes locked on Russia's lips waiting for…yep there it is, the falter of the smile. He then leaned in and kissed the man hard on those lips. He enjoyed the fact that he was the only one to ever get that response to him. Every one else only received the childish smile from Russia, but he saw the anger. He bit on the man's lip, pulling it into his mouth as he continued to unbutton Russia's slacks. The Russian then roughly pulled his hips against his. It caused America to bite a bit a harder as he felt a moan escape his lips. Oh god, the friction. He loved it. His hands had managed to undo the pants, but were forced out of the way as his hips grinded with the Russian's.
He felt Russia's hands travel around his waist and dip into his own loose slacks as they continued to kiss and rub. The hand felt cold as it touched his skin as it traveled into his boxer and Alfred found himself pressing hard against the man on the wall as the man cupped his butt check. The finger then dipped…
"Woah woah woah," America shouted and pulled away from him forcing Ivan's hands out of the younger nation's pants. "What are you doing?" the boy asked him with a slight glare. His glasses were falling down his nose and his hair was a mess. He so wanted to just bury that face into a pillow as America begged for him.
He was slightly confused by the outburst. "Preparation or would you rather me put it in dry?" he stated nonchalantly.
"No way!" America shouted and pushed even further away, but Russia kept his grip onto America's waste. He still did not quite understand why America was being so immature about this. Was he a virgin? He was the former colony to the biggest prude in the world.
"Are you a virgin, Amerika?" he asked innocently, but he couldn't help the expanding smile. Oh how truly naïve America was, and if Russia had the honor of taking the country's virginity he would do it gladly.
"What?" America asked confused, "No dude, I'm 235 years old in the body of a nineteen year old. Teenage hormones for that long doesn't get you that far, but that's not what I'm talking about!" America then pushed on Ivan's chest to get away. Ivan would admit that the strength behind the push was going to cause bruises, but he kept his hold in the boy's waist.
Ivan lifted an eyebrow at the comment. He would admit that a small part of him was disappointed in that knowledge. "Then I don't quite understand the problem," he stated, almost getting tired of the boy's immature show. He should just tie the boy to the bed.
"Bro, I'm the hero. Heroes don't do the bottom. It's totally not cool," America responded.
Ivan blinked a moment in confusion. His hands letting go of his waist and America finally escaped his grip. It took a moment for his mind to process that information. When it finally did, he started giggling. America actually thought he was going to be on bottom? The boy truly lived in a delusional world. Once Ivan had control of his laughter he pushed himself off the wall. His chest was exposed and his pants were riding very low on his waist revealing the tight black boxers he currently was wearing. America of course was wearing red white and blue boxer that matched with his red white and blue tie that was loosened around his throat. He needed to take off more of the boy's clothing, but first he had this current dilemma. "So let me see if I understand you correctly. You believed that you would have me on my knees as you thrusted into me?" he asked causally. Even stating it aloud made Ivan want to laugh again.
Ivan had not been on bottom since the Mongolian Empire. He certainly would not be starting tonight, and he certainly would never allow the American in a power position over him. On his knees for America? It was a pathetic.
"I mean dude, I hadn't figured out the position yet, but yeah pretty much," America said with a shrug as he scratched the back of his blond hair.
"Nyet," Ivan stated. He almost just wanted to punch the blond in hopes that his brain might start working. "I apologize but that fictional allusion will not become a reality."
They both stood there in his hotel room, partially clothed. Ivan stared at the America waiting for some loud response, but didn't get any. Was the boy actually thinking? His eyes dipped down as he took in the man's form. A more sinister part of him really just wanted to force it.
"Well this is awkward," the boy voiced, "So what do we do now?"
Ivan eyes locked with the blue ones. This man was such an idiot. Ivan had already resolved to himself what was going to happen tonight. He hadn't put himself through the party for nothing. He hadn't sat back and watched as nations causally had fun together while everyone ignored him either out of fear or indifference. It hurt that even his own sisters avoided him at the party. It hurt that the only person who would give him the time of day was China and Turkey. He was trying so hard to strengthen alliances with outside countries. He was trying so hard to make friends, but when he stepped into America's country, most nations seemed to forget about him. They all became transfixed by the 'super power'. Ivan hated it. He hated how the boy could have so many more friends then him when he trampled over everyone. He did not come to this party to watch. He came to better his relations with the brat. If the boy thought he could tease him and walk away, he would be proven wrong.
He walked over to America and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck before yanking the man's lips against his own. His other hand went to the small of America's back as he forcefully pulled the man towards his body. America body was at first stiff, but responded appropriately. Good. As always the boy was a challenge, even in the simplest of actions. Ivan didn't know if he liked that factor or not. He pulled away with a small smile. "If you do not wish to continue then it is your choice," he said, as he made sure to rub his thigh against the American's groin.
He watched as America swallowed back a moan as his eye became half lidded. "You damn communist bastard," America remarked as his fingers dug into the man's shoulders. "You always liked to play dirty."
Ivan smirked as he brought his lips just underneath the boy's earlobe. He knew that the boy could feel each breath, because he noticed the shivering reaction to it. This was control. Ivan had to hold back his own pleasure as he soaked it in. His hands moved to the edge of America's pants. "If I remember correctly, you kissed me," he said in a hush whisper.
"You kissed me first," Alfred protested half-heartedly. It was the first time he had voiced that statement since it happened, and he felt part of his heart jump as he waited for a response. He had been wondering about the action for so long.
Ivan paused in his movement when he heard the statement, so America had been thinking about him. "And what is the point you are attempting to make?" Russia stated as his hand dipped into the front of America's pants. His fingers touched his hard length gently before gripping around it. He heard a moan escape the boy's throat and felt his own length twitching.
He began to slowly stroke him from within his boxers. He heard America gasp as the boy molded into puddy into his hand. The boy's fingers dug into his shoulders trying to hold himself up. "Do not lie and say you do not enjoy this, but if you wish for me to leave, I can," he stated waiting for a response.
"Damn it," Alfred mumbled as he felt the hand continue along him. This was exactly what happened in 1812. Damn his body for being so responsive. Oh god, it just felt too good. His mind attempted to find reasons not to do this. He ran through his sluggish thoughts about this being Russia. He was reminded of all the problems…but his mind kept returning to the fact that it felt so good. He shouldn't do this, but if he stops…then…ah. The Russian began to stroke him harder.
He was either way to drunk or flooded with too many endorphins to think logically right now. His head fell into Russia's shoulder as he continued to moans continued to escape his mouth. He was so close. Oh wow, the fingers began to massage as the pace became quicker. He felt the Russian rub his thumb on the tip. "Your body appears to want me here, but since I have heard no response…" Russia remarked just as Alfred was about to reach his climax. Alfred nails dug into the man's shoulder as he felt so close to falling off the edge only to have the feeling disappear. Russia had let go of him, and Alfred's only response was eye widened shock. Wait..what?
"You should leave then," the man stated and pulled away from Alfred's grip. Alfred's breathing was heavy and he had to support himself on the wall so he wouldn't tip over. He watched as the half naked Russian walked over to his bed with his scarf still wrapped around his neck.
Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but it was too degrading. His length stood full height in the exposed air, and he greatly wanted to satisfy himself, but he stayed firmly in his place. His eyes narrowed as he glared at Russia. He was being a totally manipulative bastard.
Ivan waited patiently for the begging. America would beg for him after all. It was only expected. When he didn't hear movement, he turned and sat on his bed causally. "I thought you were leaving?" he asked with a small smile.
He noticed America's glare, and watched as his frown turned into a smirk. It was America's look from the Cold War. A calculating smirk with a fierce blue glare. He remembered all too well. It almost caused Ivan's smile to falter as he remembered all the actions that usually took place after that look.
"You think I am that easy?" America asked with that glint his eyes.
There was a phrase he had learned long ago: actions speak louder then words. While America's statement seemed harsh, his longing body proved his true desire. "Da, I do," he answered simply.
America scoffed as he walked over to him. Ivan couldn't help the grin from appearing on his face. Oh silly America, you really can be puddy in my hands. "You know, I'm not sure if I like any of your smiles," the boy commented as he walked closer and closer. Ivan eyes locked with the blue ones as his head began to tilt up to the now taller American.
"It is because you are too paranoid and believe I cannot be friendly," Ivan answered still smiling at how wonderful this was going. Control. Pure control.
He felt America's hand slide into his hair, which seemed almost to gentle. Had he broken the American's will? Oh this couldn't go better! To think he wasn't going to come to this ridiculous party. The grip tightened in his hair and he felt his head yanked upwards. He frowned immediately, but before he could voice anything, America's lips had attacked his. This wasn't exactly what Ivan had imagined. He had expected more begging, not aggression. The American's lips left his and moved to his chest. It caused his heart to jump with how close the boy had gotten to his neck. He did not want to remove his scarf, especially not for America. He felt biting, sucking, nipping, all along his chest cause an unsettling feeling to emerge. He forced himself to make a sound. America would not get a sound out of him. "Ha-have you become impatient, Amerika?" he asked, and cursed himself for the stutter. He felt the lips smirk as they moved down his stomach.
"I think since I've waited over a century I'm pretty damn patient," America said as Ivan felt himself freed from his boxer.
Before his mind could even comprehend that statement, he felt himself engulfed by America. He felt America's lips press tight against his length as his tongue began to run along this side. Ivan's hands flexed into the sheets on the bed as he bit his bottom lip almost innocently. Was America? He was? His mind was warped in confusion and pleasure as the boy continued to suck. He felt a hand grasp around the base and begin a slow rhythmic stroking as well. Oh..this was very unexpected…but…very good. He tried to hold it back as long as he could, but a moan eventually did escape his mouth. America was on his knees in front of him. This was almost a fantasy. How much vodka did he drink on the flight over? Quite a bit, but Ivan still felt pretty sober. How much did America drink? He felt most of his length disappear into the heat. He was very close. America would swallow it like good boy. Yes, he definitely would.
Oh…huh?
Cold air hit his exposed hard length as America stood from the ground, a taunting smirk playing across his face. Ivan felt so confused as his climax was just painfully pulled away from him.
"Well I'll see ya later, brah. I'm outta here," America winked at him as he buttoned his pants and pulled his flag tie back down into place.
Ivan frowned immediately when he realized what he was doing. He was flipping the table on him. His hand tightened into his sheets. That stupid American! Did he really believe that he could be driven into action by the simple card of lust? Ivan's length twitched in expectation, and he had swallow back his nerve to call the American back. No, he would not lose.
"Goodbye America," he said with a force childish smile. No, I will not beg. You will beg.
Alfred took a quick glance back to see the mostly naked Russian on the bed. He wanted to just feel the friction. He wanted the strange heat and cold confliction the man created on his skin. He grabbed his suit jacket on the ground near the door. "Thanks again for space," he said as he opened the door slowly, hoping the man would call out to him. He would not allow Russia to have power over him. No, never.
"Of course," came out a response and then silence.
Alfred knew if he stayed any longer, Russia would call him out on it. Alfred mentally focused then hoofed himself through the door. "Peace," he said before slamming it shut. As soon as the door was closed the grin fell off his face. He rubbed his hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. Florida was pressing tightly in his pants. He would need to take a very cold shower once he got home…very cold.