Alfred sighed out in relief and flopped onto the bed, ever mindful of the side Ivan had claimed as "his." Damn, it was the left side too. Bummer, but at least Alfred got the bedside table to himself. Snatching his phone from said table, the nation huddled beneath the blankets, relishing the warmth they provided.

As he flicked through the abundance of notifications on the screen, Alfred grimaced when he saw the amount of missed calls, voicemails, and texts England had sent him. The nut was probably being a worry wart again. Seriously, that guy was so unbelievably motherly, it was almost painful to deal with. America swiped the alerts off the screen, making a mental reminder to listen to the voicemails tomorrow morning. He'd probably forget, not that he really cared. If Britain wanted to nag, he could nag in person at the next meeting or something.

Sighing out of his nose, Alfred unlocked his phone and checked his email, pointedly ignoring those made by Britain and other countries he deemed unimportant. He perked up slightly at the messages from Mattie, smiling at the snapchats of his brother at the airport. He wrinkled his nose at the sneaky photo of the other nation's sleeping boyfriend, but shrugged it off. Alfred had already promised to be at least cordial to whomever Matthew got involved with, so there was no point in being upset about it, even if he low-key hated Cuba.

But the moment that li'l commie piece of shit stepped out of line...

So lost Alfred was in his phone, he didn't notice Russia exiting the bathroom, his silvery hair heavy with water. The larger country peered at America curiously as he wandered over, absentmindedly toweling off his hair. He slipped beneath the covers and inched closer, his head hovering over Alfred's shoulder as his eyes skimmed over the luminescent screen. Ivan frowned. Who is "Mattie"?

He wracked his brain for recognition.

Ah! It was Canada!

Russia brightened immediately. He liked little Matvey. He was so much quieter than his southern neighbor. Nicer too. It was unfortunate that the cute little twin did not share his brother's strength and influence, otherwise he was sure his boss would have had them married instead, with the Canadian government's assent of course… Alfred suddenly snorted with laughter, a smile slipping across his face. Intrigued, Ivan reread the conversation, interested.

"What does 'skeet' mean?" America gasped and rose, turning his head at the same time. Their noses brushed and Alfred immediately jerked back with a (totally manly) squeak, falling back onto the pillow with an 'oof'. Startled, Ivan fell forward, quickly catching himself before he could collide with the other country again.

"Dude, what the fuck!?" The golden blond gasped, his hand flat against Russia's rock wall of a chest, "Don't do that!" The Russian had the audacity to look surprised for a moment, before his expression calmed to innocent curiosity. Pale arms stood rigidly on both sides of the American's head, the light above them cast Ivan's face in shadow. To anyone else, the sight and position would have them fainting in fear, but Alfred merely glared at him, too busy being angry to take stock in his surroundings. "Get off."

"What does 'skeet' mean?" Ivan asked again, ignoring the American's request entirely. Alfred scoffed.

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You said such to Canada." The younger nation recoiled, clutching his device closer to him.

"You were reading my texts!?"

"Da."

"Why!?"

"I am curious." Alfred gave him a blank look and continued to stare at him for a long time. Ivan was unperturbed...at first. As the moment wore on, Russia became more and more aware of the position they were in, and how much closer Alfred's addictive warmth was to his body. Did the boy know just how intoxicating he was? Ivan quickly became suspicious. Perhaps he did, and perhaps this silence was a lure. A trap. A bait. Perhap-

"Hey! I'm talking to you, stupid head!" Alfred was poking his cheek. Russia grunted and dodged an oncoming finger. How had he not noticed that? "Great, I got your attention. Now I don't really know what 'skeet' means, but it's like an inside joke 'tween me and my bro." The blond let his hand fall to his chest, his lips settling into a pout as his brows creased his forehead cutely. "There. Ya gotcher answer. Happy?" Ivan thought for a bit.

"Nyet." The wheat-haired youth scoffed and Ivan ignored him. "Why is it joke when you do not know what the word means?" Alfred sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Look, if I look up what the word means and tell you, will you drop the subject and go to sleep?" The nation asked, clearly exasperated. Russia gave another look of deep consideration.

"I will not go immediately to sleep, but da, I will drop the subject."

"Thank you!" Alfred whispered with relief, quickly turning back to his phone. Ivan tilted his head, confused.

"For what?" Alfred didn't answer, too absorbed in his task to hear him. Either that, or the boy was ignoring him. A twinge of anger prodded at him, but Russia was quick to fizzle it from existence. Maybe Little Fredya was merely curious as to the meaning of the word too? The Slav nodded to himself. He hoped so. He hated being ignored.

"Okay, the page is loading. Man, hotel Wifi sucks ass," Alfred announced not a beat later. His azure eyes flicked over the phone to Ivan's expectant gaze. Seconds passed slowly before he said, "Could you, like, y'know...move?" Silence. A sigh. "Please?" The Russian beamed at him.

"Da! Of course, podsolnukh," he said cheerily, lowering himself to Alfred's side, his chest brushing the other country's shoulder. America tried not to shiver as Ivan settled beside him, his barley locks tickling the younger man's ear as the larger nation slid his head closer, peering at the phone screen.

"I swear to God, if you're secretly cussing at me..." Alfred muttered crossly even as a flush settled atop his cheeks, his fingers anxiously drumming the back of his phone as he waited for the screen to finish loading. Ugh! This would be so much faster if he just used his data! Stupid, crappy hotel Wifi. He thought this place was supposed to have five stars! Amethysts shifted up to gaze at his agitated fiancé, the mind behind them wondering faintly how the youth would react to an unexpected kiss to the cheek. Or to the lips. Ivan felt warmth collect in his stomach, a wave of heat passing across his face. "Hah! There we go." The bright voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife to warm butter.

"Hm?" Russia turned his gaze back to the phone, quickly reading the text.

Skeet...meme...meaning...urban dictionary? Huh?

Oh.