Invasion
By: Verin Mystal
Pairings: Russia/America (main), America/Canada (Plationic/Brotherly), Canada/Ukraine & others
Summary: America struggles to find solace after civilization crumbles in a post-apocalyptic world. My take on the classic "Aliens invade planet earth" set up. Rated M for language, violence & mature themes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the original ideas in this D:
The confiscated console sat in the center of the room, the nation's surrounding it. America fiddled away at the back of it with Tony and Germany, studying the inside of it and how it might possibly work.
"It's the truth." England insisted after relaying what the aliens had planned for Earth. "The invaders want our planet for its resources, and will stop at nothing to have them. We should worry about those nations that have been captured or overrun, as the aliens might have already started collecting our resources."
"What were you saying about our blood? They can…extract information from it?" Denmark asked. "Just what information are you talking about, exactly?"
"Everything…if they have enough of it." England crossed his arms over his chest. "When you were born, major population centers, low and high points in our history… military centers…everything."
Belgium stared at the floor, her face slowly growing pale while touching the crook of her arm.
"And...the tectonic plates…the largest nations…will be turned into a ship?" France questioned. "You mean one of the ships they have…in orbit?"
"Yes." England answered, his tone halting. "They said only the largest of us will…survive the process." England chanced a look to Russia, who was glaring holes into the floor. He quickly turned away and refocused on the other nations. "That…they will be absorbed, their people and culture…into their own."
America tuned out the rest of the discussion. Anger broiled within him, clashing violently with his distraught sadness from the previous incident with his strength. He breathed in deeply and focused on the console before him.
No. I can't think about that. I can't.
"Here." Tony pointed to a black square box welded to the bottom corner of the console. "The power supply. Should still have plenty of power remaining to turn it on."
"Will they be able to trace it to our location?" Germany asked, not wanting to risk their new hiding spot they moved too after the attack.
"The chances of them successfully tracing this is under 40.2%." Tony stated. "The odds of successfully hacking into the network exceed 85%."
"I say turn it on." America turned to Germany. "You?"
Germany stared at the console, frowning in concentration. After a moment, he nodded in agreement, his eyes cautious.
America turned back to the console, reached into the device, reconnected the severed wires to the power supply and jumped back at the flash of sparks before the floating, glassless screen flickered to life above the console.
The discussion quieted at the sight of the screen. Tony jumped up and tapped a finger to the black metal. The keyboard appeared, its flat surface illuminated by neon orange light. Taking a moment to stretch his fingers, Tony set to work on hacking the network. His fingers flew across the keys, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Lines of codes flew by at a rapid pace, all in the strange alien symbols. Minutes passed before he heaved a sigh of irritation.
"They have multiple firewalls up." Tony glared at the screen, taking a moment to relax before getting back to work. "I've broken through 8 of them so far."
"Eight? Eight?" America asked, his voice incredulous. "How many more are there total?"
"Don't know." Tony shrugged, and returned to typing. Minutes passed before he took his fingers from the keyboard once more. "This will take a long time. Letting me work on this alone will produce better results."
England delicately raised one large eyebrow in irritation. "Why don't you just ask us to leave instead of saying it like that?"
Tony slowly turned his head to England, his eyes narrowed. Seconds passed, and he returned to the screen and keyboard, his fingers flying over the keys.
"Fucking limey."
"Ah- Hey!" England growled.
France stood up and pulled England away, unable to help the wry smile that spread across his face as they retreated to their room. The others followed suit, returning to their respective bedrooms for much needed sleep. America remained planted beside Tony, staring at the lines of alien code.
"Al?"
America knew it was his brother without looking. Just by the tone of his voice, he understood Canada's question over sleep, worry over his slight mental breakdown…fingers crushing the skull into the floor, the bone and muscle tissue giving way, brittle as melting ice under his uncontrolled strength-
A hand clenched his shoulder.
"Ak'ei?"
America forced a smile to his face and turned to meet Canada's worried gaze.
"I'm fine." America's voice was unwavering and strong. "Mattie- you're tired. Go get some sleep."
It was more of a demand than a request.
Canada sighed, seeing through America's act. He kept silent, as he did during the hundreds of times in their long history together, and turned away.
"Good night, Ak'ei."
One Day Later
America stared holes into the brick wall. The bubbly bathwater he'd spend three hours heating up in pots and dumping into the porcelain tub had long grown cold, but he remained submerged in the chilled water. His hands floated before him, palms facing upward, fingers spread. His insides felt twisted and torn, shredded and bruised. Pain throbbed in his chest, growing stronger every day. His legs ached, the muscles cramping and hurting.
Something's happening back home. My southern states…. America let his head fall back onto the lip of the porcelain tub. Their fighting against the aliens…conditions must be worsening…if I'm feeling like this.
An exhausted sigh escaped, and he stared at the cracked ceiling. The door handle jiggled suddenly, and America sunk deeper into the water, only his head remaining above the surface.
"It's taken! How many times do I have to tell you guys, seriously?" America huffed, and curled his knees to his chest. "I'll stay in here as long as I want….considering I haven't had a bath like this in…." He paused a moment, counting up the months. "Six years? Yeah….something like that."
The door handle jiggled again, only this time the lock clicked open.
"Hey!" America shrunk into the other side of the tub, wishing to hide his scarred, bruised body.
Russia walked in, and shut the door behind him, locking it. Folding away a lock-picking set, he stuffed it into right pocket of his jacket and stepped into the room, crossing the distance between the door and the tub.
"I told you I want to be left alone." America frowned and wrapped his arms around his knees, pressing them into his chest. "Can't I at least have that?"
"You have been left alone for three and a half hours." Russia gripped the chair and drug it across the tile floor to the side of the tub before sitting down. Russia stared at him a long moment, and extracted himself from his old military coat, draping it over the back of the chair. "I decided you needed company."
"You decided?" Acid dripped from America's voice. "Well isn't it nice that you decided for me."
I could go for a Jack Daniels right about now…
Tugging his gloves off, Russia stuffed them into the coat's pockets and dipped a finger into the water.
"The water is cold." Russia stated plainly, his violet eyes focused on America.
"Yeah. Thanks for telling me." America shifted under Russia's scrutinizing gaze. "Anything else I need to be reminded of?"
"You did the right thing."
America swallowed and turned away, unable to hold the intense violet stare any longer.
"If you did not do what you did…England would be dead."
"I know." America let his head fall to his knees. "I just…"
"Why are you so afraid of it?" Russia leaned closer, trying to catch America's sky-blue eyes. "Your talent… there are many who would give anything to have that strength."
"You don't understand." America clenched his fingers into fists and finally returned his eyes to Russia's face.
Russia pressed his forearms to the lip of the porcelain tub. A palpable silence stretched between them.
"It happened when I was young… I was playing with Arthur in the woods outside our home. I grew…excited at the playing and let my emotions take control and… I hurt him. Badly." America released a quivering sigh. "He was bedridden for weeks with broken ribs and bruised organs and… it was bad."
Russia stared at him, and America pressed his palms to his face. "It's only gotten worse as I've grown."
"Worse?" Russia parroted. "You mean your strength has grown?"
America turned away.
"Then…all of those times we argued and fought… our fist fights… you held back?" Russia stared at him, amazement filtering into his voice. "We were so angry at each other… and yet…you still…"
His chest tightened at Russia's words and he felt himself caught in a lie.
"I…It wouldn't have been good for…diplomacy. Our bosses-"
"Ahh. Diplomacy."
America couldn't help but detect the hint of disappointment in Russia's voice.
"That's right. I couldn't hurt you because of diplomacy…" …Because even then…I still loved you.
Russia leaned away, the curiosity falling away from his violet gaze. America started, turning towards him for the first time since Russia entered the room.
"Ivan-…about the aliens and their plans-"
"It won't happen."
America stared at him. Russia's face grew hard, his eyes turning cold as steel.
"It won't." Russia stated plainly. "I won't let it happen."
America bit his lip. "And…what if…they're able to capture you?' His chest tightened at the thought. "What if they turn you…into…one of them?"
"Do you know what I did…when France tried to take Moscow from me?" Russia asked suddenly, his eyes growing distant.
America fell silent as he wracked his brain for the answer. "Ah…1812 right?"
Not one of the best periods of my lifetime…
"Yes. 1812." Russia shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "Francis tried taking it from me… so I abandoned it…and burned it to the ground."*
America stared at him, unable to say anything.
"If the aliens try to take me…and general winter cannot defeat them…then I will do the same." Russia's face turned hard and determined. "I'll burn everything away…with a click of a button."
"You'll kill yourself?" America gasped, choking on the words. "You'd just…end it all?"
"And if I am unable to do it…if it is too late…then I want you to do it for me."
"Me?" America sat up and gripped Russia's hands into his own. "Ivan-…you can't ask me to do that."
"I would do it for you…if you asked."
"Don't say shit like that!" America shoved away and pressed himself into the opposite side of the tub. "We spent half a century threatening to do that to each other already-"
"This is different."
"No, no. I won't do it. I can't." America crossed his arms over his chest, the cold, bubbly water splashing and frothing. "There's always hope of a rescue."
"Rescue?" Russia questioned, the hardness falling away, leaving behind a soft, inquiring gaze. "Even if they take me into orbit…on their ships?"
"Even if you were in orbit." America swallowed and damned the beginnings of a blush spreading across his cheeks. "I'd find a way to get to you…and save you."
"But…with our technology…"
"It would be hard, it'd be difficult, but… god damnit I would find a way up there and get you out." America's voice shook with conviction. "I don't know how you can just say you'll press the button so easily… there's always hope. Always."
Russia gazed at him, his eyes slowly narrowing in confusion.
"…Why?"
America let his eyes fall to the bathwater.
"Why would you…go through so much?" Russia questioned. "When it would be so easy to pull the trigger?"
"I…" America felt his throat run dry. "Because…"
…Because I've loved you since the 1880s and I'd do anything to keep those fucking shit-heads from capturing you and turning you into one of them.
"Ayor anosh'ni." America forced the words from his mouth, but instead of English they tumbled out in Navajo. "Ayor…anosh'ni."
Russia frowned at the unfamiliar words. "What language is that?"
"It's…it's Navajo." America dug his fingernails into his palms and felt his cheeks heating up. "It was…one of the dozens of languages I spoke before England taught me his…"
"And…those words…you've said them before." Russia leaned forward, his lips curling upward, curiosity filtering back into his brilliant violet stare. "What do they mean…horoshij moj?"*
America leaned away and tried preventing any more of his blood from flooding cheeks. "I…It means that…that…"
His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, and America couldn't help but feel his youth in comparison to the maturity Russia was showing. Seeming unable to use his vocal chords any longer, America leaned forward and pressed his right palm to Russia's chest.
"Ayor…anosh'ni." America repeated, and spread his fingers.
Russia followed the length of America's arm and stared at the hand pressing against his chest.
"I love you." America finally whispered, forcing the words past his lips. "That's why I could never hurt you…never..pull the trigger." Now that the barrier between them was broken, words tumbled from his lips. "Never. I'd never do it…because…"
Heaving a gasp at the sudden weight lifted off his shoulders, he dug his fingers into Russia's chest.
"Ayor anosh'ni."
Russia stared at America's arm that stretched between them, his fingers pressing into his chest. The muscles of his throat worked, his eyes narrowed in bewildered confusion.
"Say something?" America blurted, the embarrassed heat of his cheeks giving way to fear.
Russia breathed, and raised his head to meet America's questioning gaze.
"…When?"
"When?" America pulled away, put off by the sudden question. "I…well…a long time."
Russia's eyebrows rose. "…A long time?"
"A long time." America repeated, feeling almost silly at the back and forth exchange. "Since…" A new wave of heat washed over him. "…the 1880s."
"The 1880s?" Russia asked, breathless.
America sat shivering in the tub, and suddenly realized just how naked he was. Gooseflesh covered his arms and chest, and he shrank away from Russia.
"So long…" Russia gazed at him. "You never told me?"
America nearly laughed. "What? You expect me just to run up to you and tell you how much I love you? Especially during your revolution and the wars and-… I couldn't. I…"
Russia hummed, the corners of his mouth quirking upward into a shy smile. "I understand."
"You…understand?" America couldn't help but grow nervous. "I…this is-"
"No one has ever said those words to me…well… my sisters have but…" Russia faltered, his gaze falling to the floor. "I am… unfamiliar with such things- ah, feelings…but..."
Disappointment flooded America.
He doesn't feel the same way. He…this was just a fling. Just something... to pass the time. I knew it…I shouldn't have-
"I love you too." Russia exclaimed with a gasp, and looked surprised at his own words. "I don't know when it happened…but…" He gazed at America, noticing his shrinking form for the first time. Russia leaned against the lip of the tub and reached forward, curling his calloused fingers around the back of America's neck and pulling him close. "Успокойся…"*
A nervous breath of relief rushed past America's lips and he gripped the side of the tub to steady himself, to ground himself. His head swam with Russia's sudden declaration; his skin tingled hot, contrasting against the cold, bubbly bath water.
Ivan loves me. Loves me.
"I…really?" America asked suddenly, his cheeks turning scarlet.
"…да." Russia rubbed his thumb across America's flushed cheek. "But…I am unfamiliar… Покажи мне, что это за чувство."
Show me how it feels.
America reached up to touch Russia's arm that stretched between them. His skin was icy-hot, a barely there flush appearing on his cheeks. He slid his fingers up his arm, his shoulder, delicately skipping his neck and cupping his face with his hands.
He tugged Russia's face to his own, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. Russia gripped the side of the tub for balance, sighing into the kiss. The two parted momentarily, their breaths mingling together before they met again, lips pressing together. America curled his arms around his shoulders and yanked him into the tub with him. Grunting in surprise, Russia fell into the water, his clothes turning dark and soaking wet, clinging to his body like a second skin. Parting with a gasp, Russia blinked owlishly at America.
America tightened his hold on him. "Don't go," America whispered, his voice on the verge of begging. "Stay here."
"In the water?" Russia gripped the lip of the tub behind America, his arms on either side of him to prop himself upward. "But-"
America kissed him again and again, peppering kisses down his jaw to his ear, darting his tongue along the shell of his ear and flicking the lobe, sucking the flesh past his teeth and rolling it over his tongue. Russia shuddered at the contact, sighing softly before tearing himself away and mashing their lips together in an open mouthed kiss. Ignoring the pain as his back was slammed into the porcelain wall of the tub, America only felt Russia's tongue trying to taste every crevice of his mouth as it rolled and tangled with his own. His hands fell from Russia's neck and grazed down his back only to slither under his shirt. Gradually the kisses grew slower, longer, the almost violent desire leaving them.
They remained like this for a while, kissing wetly and softly, unable to stop tasting each other until America curled his fingers into the waistband of Russia's now soaking pants.
He pulled away suddenly. "Wait-"
"Take off your pants." America requested breathlessly, and immediately tugged the button free. "Come on~"
Russia grabbed America's hands despite the obvious bulge at his crotch. "I don't want to hurt-"
"Take them off."
"But-"
America jerked his hands free and yanked the zipper down.
"Don't make me beg."
And his hands slid past Russia's boxers, sliding over his engorged length.
Russia gasped at the sudden contact. "Alfred-…"
America tugged his pants and underwear down to his knees, pausing momentarily before Russia helped slide his legs free. Tossing the soaking wet clothes to the tiled floor, America opened his legs and pulled Russia to him, darting his hand down to pet and squeeze at his arousal once more. A breathless sigh escaped Russia's lips, and he reached down to grip Alfred's hips and without warning, lifted him up and out of the water. America wrapped his legs around his waist and arms around his neck, startled by the sudden movement. Russia stepped out of the tub, crossing the slippery tiled floor to set America on the edge of the counter, inches away from the sink.
America uncrossed his legs and spread them, gasping as Russia brushed his arousal against America's. They met in a breathless kiss before Russia pulled away and raised three fingers to America's mouth. Darting his tongue out, America flicked it across them teasingly before sucking the three digits past his lips and into his mouth. A hand fisted America's length suddenly, and he moaned into the fingers, rolling his tongue between them and over the nails, sucking them into his mouth, playfully grazing his teeth across the calloused pads of his fingers. Gently pulling his fingers away, Russia pumped America's arousal once more, drawing out another breathless moan from the younger nation.
America met Russia in a chaste, albeit wet kiss. "It's okay," he panted, seeing the nervous glance Russia gave him. "I want this."
Their eyes locked, and Russia slid the first digit inside him. America breathed and grew still, gripping the edge of the counter with one hand and clutching Russia's broad right shoulder with the other. The elder nation carefully worked his finger inside him, pumping slowly and carefully. He squeezed America's length again and fisting his hand up the shaft only to draw it back down once more.
America moaned breathlessly and clenched Russia's shoulder. "Ahh~… keep going…"
They continued the slow pace, with Russia fisting America's arousal and pumping his fingers inside him. At the third finger, America felt a tendril of stinging pain, but ignored it.
I want this. I've been wanting it for so long… I can handle a little pain. I'm not some porcelain doll or something.
After several minutes of stretching and preparing, Russia's fingers finally struck that spot that left America breathless.
"Ahh!" America gasped, but quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, forgetting the several other nations residing in the same house.
Russia's hand left America's length only to grasp his wrist, tugging his hand away from his mouth.
"Let them hear." Russia smoldered, brushing their lips together.
America shuddered, and gasped again as his fingers pressed against that spot again. "I need you inside…" America rolled his hips, desperately wishing to get closer. "Please…"
Russia smirked and withdrew his fingers, drawing a gasp from America as the sudden emptiness. "Since lyubimy asked so nicely…" He fisted his length, stepping closer and pressed the tip to America's entrance, pausing a moment before America pressed forward, forcing it inside him.
America made a breathy noise at the back of his throat and bit his lower lip. The pain was less than the first time they did this, but it was still there. Russia waited patiently for him to adjust before moving forward, inching himself in and waiting until he was seated inside him. Clenching his teeth together to help keep himself in control, Russia pressed both hands to America's hips, and started moving.
"Ahh.." Russia gasped at the tight heat encasing him, and forced himself to go slowly, despite the desire to pound America into the counter.
"Ivan… I'm not made of glass." America growled. "Just-"
Russia snapped his hips forward suddenly, causing America to cry out breathlessly. He wrapped his arms around Russia's neck and rolled his hips forward, causing him to strike that bundle of nerves for a third time.
"Ahh- fuck right there please-"
America gasped, and clung to him as Russia twisted his hips in just the right way to leave him gasping for air. Always striking that one spot time and time again, meeting his thrusts, his vision blurring, his senses falling away to touch and sounds, hearing Russia panting breathlessly into his ear, feeling his fingers digging into his hips, sure to leave a mark, but America didn't care. Let the him bruise his body, let him leave his mark, for it would only be a reminder of when Russia and him parted. Not knowing of when they'd see each other again. A stabbing pang of longing struck his chest, and America pressed his gasping, panting mouth to Russia's scarred neck. He pressed kisses to the abused, puckered skin, drawing his tongue across each bump and line.
Russia's breath caught, a low moan escaped him. Panting, he jerked his hips forward, slamming America into the countertop and reached for his straining arousal. Once squeeze was all it took to break him and America gasped, a strangled moan escaping his lips, spilling his essence across his abdomen.
Russia continued moving inside him, snapping his hips forward, driving himself in him until he broke down, growing tense and quiet, holding his breath before gasping seconds later. He leaned against the counter, letting America hold him in his arms.
America kept himself wrapped around him, panting into his neck, letting the warm afterglow take hold. Russia's hands finally pulled away from his hips, and went to America's back, caressing the sweat slicked skin for a moment before drawing away. America winced at the emptiness, but remained planted on the counter, not trusting his legs to work just yet. Russia nearly stumbled to the tub, picking up a soaking wet wash cloth and returned to him.
They met in a wet, open kiss and parted shortly as Russia cleaned him gently. After a moment, he threw the ruined cloth into the empty tub and turned back to America, their lips meeting again, their arms wrapping around each other. They kissed in the post-coital bliss, relishing the warm, pleasured feeling of release fill them as they kissed warmly, slowly, their tongues lazily moving against each other until they parted.
"Bed." Russia stated simply, pulling away to drain the tub and pick up his now cold, wet clothes.
America swallowed and slid off the counter, clutching the edge of it as his legs nearly gave way, a sharp pain emanating from his lower back. Drawing in a breath, he ignored the pain and stepped across the room, keeping the wince off his face as he slowly bent to pick up his dry clothes. The thought of dressing, walking twenty feet to his room, and then peeling his clothes off once more caused dread to fill him.
Frowning, he walked to the door, stark naked, and cracked it, peeking his head out to check if anyone was in the hall. Being late, the hallway was utterly empty. America turned to Russia, clothes in hand.
"I ain't getting dressed when we're only walking down the hall."
He turned around and left the bathroom, walking across the carpet and stepping into their room. Russia followed after him, bringing the single candle that lit up the bathroom and bringing it into the bedroom they shared. He shut the door, locking it, and set the candle on the dresser. America was already sprawled on the bed, his clothes flung across the floor, his glasses set delicately on the nightstand beside the bed. Russia draped his wet clothes over a chair and quickly joined him, wrapping his arms around him.
The moment he pressed a kiss to his temple, a sudden snore erupted from America's parted lips. Broken of the desire to lavish warm affection on him, Russia pulled away and found America already asleep. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the sight.
"Sleep well, малыш."
Next Chapter: Tony finally breaks into the alien network; America and Canada get ready to leave with England for their journey back home.
A/n: Haha god I hope this wasn't cheesy as hell –crawls into hole– I wanted to show how "young" America is with how "old" Russia is.
Extra Notes
"Yes. 1812." Russia shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "Francis tried taking it from me… so I abandoned it…and burned it to the ground." - [From Wiki] – "On September 14, 1812, Napoleon moved into the empty city that was stripped of all supplies by its governor, Feodor Rostopchin. Relying on classical rules of warfare aiming at capturing the enemy's capital (even though Saint Petersburg was the political capital at that time, Moscow was the spiritual capital of Russia), Napoleon had expected Tsar Alexander I to offer his capitulation at the Poklonnaya Hill, but the Russian command did not think of surrendering. As Napoleon prepared to enter Moscow he was surprised to have received no delegation from the city. At the approach of a victorious general, the civil authorities customarily presented themselves at the gates of the city with the keys to the city in an attempt to safeguard the population and their property. As nobody received Napoleon he sent his aides into the city, seeking out officials with whom the arrangements for the occupation could be made. When none could be found, it became clear that the Russians had left the city unconditionally. (…) After entering Moscow, the Grande Armée, unhappy with military conditions and no sign of victory, began looting what little remained within Moscow. Already the same evening, the first fires began to break out in the city, spreading and reemerging over the next few days. Moscow, comprised two thirds of wooden buildings at the time, burnt down almost completely (it was estimated that four-fifths of the city was destroyed), effectively depriving the French of shelter in the city. French historians assume that the fires were due to Russian sabotage."
(Russian Translations by silvensorrow LiveJournal)
horoshij moj - literally means "my good one", but used more to show warm feelings than to praise a person.
Успокойся – literally "calm down"
Покажи мне, что это за чувство - Show me how it feels.
lyubimy - (my) beloved (one) (the female form is "lyubimaja")
малыш - Little one