Promised to Me

by Daughter Of The Revolution

For his loyalty General Winter had promised Russia a mate; one who could stand beside him, not lay broken under him. But the old ghost was always so cruel. While keeping his promise he had never promised that said mate wouldn't fight back with a strength equal to Russia's. If it is meant to be then why does the promised one resist? Historical. RusAme. GerMerica.

21. Two Hearts, One Beat

Daughter Of The Revolution: HA! I made it on Valentine's Day! But barely. It's understandable 'cause this chapter is freakin' long _(-_-)_ and probably will be the longest chapter ever of this story. Anyways, enjoy it!

In case anyone is interested, here's the two songs that I listened to the entire time while writing this chapter: My Obsession by Cinema Bizarre, and I Know You by Skylar Grey. Amazing songs.

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Sochi, Russia. February 7th 2014

Most eyes were on America. Whether it was surprise for him showing up at the sporting games or the deadpanned look on his face when the ring representing his hemisphere faltered. He sighed. The others should know by now from experience that the Olympics brought tradition with its appearance, tradition in the sense to stop wars and tension.

So what if he and Russia were having some issues, it was the Olympics and he planned on having fun. Though, while he sat and beheld the opening ceremony he felt slightly isolated—funny, coming from him—but sitting next to Canada, Mexico, Brazil, and the other American nations made him feel out of place and alone. He looked over toward Europe's grouping. There was England, swatting France's hand that not too subtly snuck on his shoulder, the Italy brothers looking ever fascinated by the lighting, Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands and his two siblings, and then there was Germany and Prussia . . . Germany.

America sighed. He'd been looking at him the entire time but the German hadn't so much as glanced over toward him. It was like he didn't know he was there. America's never felt that invisible before and usually wouldn't mind it and blow it off as something like the noise of the ceremony keeping everyone's attention away from him. He could take that, but this was the fact that this was his boyfriend who wasn't paying attention to him.

In fact, it was the first time they've even physically seen each other that year. Ever since the mass surveillance scandal the previous year Germany hadn't talked to America so much. He deserved it. Rightly so.

Part of said reason for no communication was probably because if they spoke then he'd have to offer some sort of apology when America couldn't. He didn't know what to. How could he when it was his fault? When he was still a complete and utter paranoid mess?

He missed Germany. He wanted to see him smile, to have him hold his hands and tell him how attractive he was. No one else would and America was feeling self-conscious because of it. It was almost like his personality was shifting and he hated it.

Issues with Russia; that was simply a smaller matter in America's mind, which is why he had no trouble with putting himself on that plane trip to Russia's home and accompanying his teammates. He hoped sports would help ease his troubled mind and the tournament give him an excuse to get close to Germany again.

America got his first gold medal the next day in snowboarding. He was surprised to see Prussia and Germany approach him and the other medal winners after his national anthem was wrung over the speakers.

"You did good, as always, Alfred," Prussia spoke up, clapping his hands. "Let me see, let me see!" He reached out, curling his fingers. When America hopped off the podium he allowed the older German to close in and take a hold of the medal draped around his neck. "Oh, nice. There will be more to come," Prussia assured with an optimistic wink.

Prussia always made America smile but he could easily tell the albino was trying to make up conversation for both he and Germany who remained at a distance, silent, but observing. Usually America was one to humor this kind of situation but that would involve dancing around the other which he didn't quite prefer right now.

"When is your game, Germany?" Finally, the younger of the Germans looked at him.

Strict as ever; his shoulders squared and he took out his neatly organized schedule book. "Tomorrow I have luge," Germany answered before snapping the little black book shut and sliding it back into his jacket pocket. His eyes beheld the gold on America's breast for a moment. "I had a feeling you would win. You were never one for skiing."

America smiled. Then, Germany smiled. It was a start.

"I'm not horrible at skiing," America said, he then stepped on his board, popping it up, and held it up against his arm. "But I like snowboarding much better. That's why I'm so good at it, right, Mattie?" America turned and looked back at the podium. He could have sworn Canada had been standing right next to him a moment ago.

"You're decent," came Canada's unexpected voice. America startled and turned to his right to see the nation there. Had he been there the entire time? "God, Mattie, scare me half to death. And what do you mean I'm 'decent'? Who's wearing the gold, huh?" He swung the medal around right near Canada's face.

The Canadian frowned and pushed away. "For now," he chided.

America frowned, determined to make his stepbrother eat those words. When they made their way off stage America trotted up next to Germany. He didn't say anything and so America kept quiet as well. He even knew he could go off and ruin moments with his big fat mouth.

He knew Germany was a more private nation compared to America and so America made sure it was subtle, what he did. Prussia, Canada, and Norway were walking a little faster than them. America had slowed his pace down to keep next to Germany's side and wondered if it was him or that Germany felt as if he was slowing down just slightly as well.

Reaching out, America quietly touched Germany's gloved hand with his pinky and ring finger. It was a feather-light touch, almost nonexistent. America caught himself smiling faintly just at sneaking a touch. Well, it wasn't sneaking much if the other knew you were doing it.

Suddenly, Germany stopped. America had been caught off guard and had been continuing on his way when he stopped and turned. Germany was looking at him, still as silent as ever.

"We're going to get left behind," America said, motioning toward Prussia and the others distancing themselves, completely oblivious to the other two who had fallen behind.

Germany let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He then rose his hand and curled his fingers toward himself to motion America to come closer. America did so obediently and followed Germany off to the side of the walkway so not to get in anyone's way as they passed by.

America was quiet standing before Germany, almost like a child in stance before a scolding. When Germany reached out and cupped the heavy medal hanging around America's neck he relaxed a little.

"I am very proud of you for wining your first gold," Germany said, his tone almost that of a mutter. Both nations watched him rub the medal, both contemplating long and deep thoughts. Finally, Germany let go and looked up at America who met his gaze a little while later. "It is good to see you again."

America offered a smile.

"It's tournaments like this that get us away from the politics and worries of the world," Germany continued.

Yeah, no politics, that sounded nice, especially to America.

"It is nice, ja?" When Germany smiled America's heart melted and he quickly nodded his head, reaching out to take Germany's hands in his own, feeling his heart flutter when he felt the older squeeze. Good, they were past dancing around each other.

Now, all America wanted to do was kiss his boyfriend. It took some chilly moments before the heat crept up on Germany's face and bent the gravity around the two. America's eyes lidded and Germany's lips parted ever so slightly. They leaned in and finally America closed his eyes while Germany tilted his head.

"Amerika!"

The younger nation barely had time to gasp as his eyes shot open only to blur at the sight of a bosom. He felt the air in his throat leave him from something constricting around his throat. When he made to feel his way out of the wall he'd suddenly been pushed against his palms pressed against something soft and warm.

Oh, those were breasts.

"I finally caught up to you, yay! I saw you, you did wonderful, Alfred!" That muffled voice booming against the chest America was shoved face-first into definitely sounded like Ukraine. He hasn't seen that woman in a while.

He finally had the chance to take a deep breath in when she pulled him away to take a look at his medal. "Oh, wow! Look at it!" She reached out and skimmed her hand over it before taking in America's appearance. He looked winded and his knees knocked from lack of air. He was about ready to collapse. "Are you feeling well?" the older Kiev sibling reached out and pressed her palm to America's forehead.

"In a minute," America answered, holding up his finger, taking steady breaths of air before straightening his form and offering Ukraine the polite smile he'd been too caught off guard to give. "Hey, didn't expect to see you here, Ukraine."

"Neither did I," she replied. "But I am so happy I took this trip. I have not seen my baby siblings in years. It was good to see them again." She closed her eyes and placed her hands over her heart, a tender feature passed over her facial expression to let America know she was thinking of the memory she finally got to see the two again.

"Yeah, that's what's great about the Olympics. No politics or wars. Brings countries together again." Ukraine opened her eyes and smiled. She watched America turn and offer Germany a wink at which the older country flushed. She had not seen Germany flush since he was a little thing. It was quite cute, but still she could not shake the feeling of her heart dampening at the sight and fighting off that urge to frown at the display.

"Oh, Germany. When will you be entering the games?" It was rude to speak with only one nation despite her approach mainly to see America.

Germany looked toward her and opened his mouth to respond, but America beat him to it. "Tomorrow," he said. Ukraine giggled. She could see Germany groan. In the midst America's eyes sparkled. "I have an idea, how about you come with? We're heading out to celebrate my gold win."

Ukraine smiled. She looked ready to jump into America's arms and ask, "Where to?" but a quick frown erased all excitement and she backed away. "Nyet, I am sorry, but I promised Ivan and Natalia to spend the evening with them."

"Oh, that's cool," America said with a nod, completely understanding. He always was so. "Maybe next time then. Or, how about when you win a gold yourself?"

Ukraine blushed and waved the American off with a little laugh. "You think too highly of me."

"I believe in you," America swore. He grinned. "Seriously, when you win a gold we'll party. How's that sound? Also, I suggested it so that means if Russia and Belarus want to celebrate they're just gonna have to come."

Ukraine giggled again. "Da, very well."

"Sweet." America then made to turn with Germany. He waved farewell. "We'll see you around. I'll be watching."

"Me as well," she called back and watched the two disappear. She smiled at the sight of Germany taking the lead while America focused on waving her goodbye until they were out of the walkway. When he noticed his boyfriend was leaving him behind he turned swiftly and Ukraine caught at the last second before the two turned round the corner America reach out and take Germany's hand in his.

They were a lovely couple. But a couple that didn't make her heart swoon like the other countries. She sighed and turned around, making her way back to her siblings.

"Where have you been, Katyusha?" came Belarus' annoyed voice. She was the baby of the family and felt that the eldest sibling should always be by her side, tending to her, which Ukraine would not mind doing if not for the sake that her people needed her presence a majority of the time.

"I was congratulating Amerika on his win," she explained with a light smile. "He won gold, isn't that exciting?"

Belarus simply scoffed and crossed her arms. Russia, however, said nothing.

"He is going to celebrate with the friends, but, listen to this, he even said he believed I would win a gold. Isn't that nice, da?"

Belarus simply rolled her eyes and then leaned over toward her big brother. "Big brother will win all of the gold, isn't that right?"

Ukraine pouted. Was it so much to have her siblings encourage her? She expected this much from Belarus but when she turned to look for approval from her baby brother she found his mind elsewhere. She frowned in understanding.

It was the winter season. Her brother was always so different during this time of year. Always so reserved. So haunted.

It was best to keep him warm during times like this.

"Let's go inside where there is warm food and drink, da?" Ukraine suggested, coaxing her siblings to listen and follow her.

Belarus immediately agreed and it was her who began pulling Russia along. Despite the season belonging to the General, Ukraine was truly happy that she was once again reunited with her siblings. America was right; the Olympics held off every tension or strain any country had with each other. It was a good feeling that she hoped would play around for the remainder of the games.

The next day, at the luge competition Ukraine stood up and clapped loudly for her brother who had won a silver medal in the men's singles. Belarus wasn't inclined to do so which made Ukraine a little upset. She wondered how the girl would react even if their brother had won a gold.

But her good-feelings hadn't lasted long seeing how it had been Germany to win the gold. Now, she was happy for him, to see the pride in his stance as the German national anthem played across the speakers—she even spied Russia trying to hide his distaste, Ukraine giggled quietly at that—but what made her heart leap was when the anthem was finished and the crowd cheered once more only for America to rush up to the podium and snatch Germany off the top giving him a deep congratulating kiss before the entire crowd, and the other two wining nations which just so happened to be a swooning Italy . . . and her brother.

"No respect," Ukraine heard Belarus mutter next to her. She glanced down at her little sister to see her visible distaste for the couple. Of course Russia hid his displeasure better for the sake of the cameras flashing and gravitating toward the United States and his partner he had wrapped in his arms and almost bent in half.

It didn't take Germany long before he caught himself and surprised America by kissing back, thusly bending him into a dip before pulling away and smiling so big at him. America grinned in approval and the two straightened. America took Germany's hand and held it up in victory while Germany showed off his medal to the photographers.

Big sisters would always be able to tell when their baby sibling was in distress, and Ukraine could see that Russia was. She could feel his unhappiness from there in the stands. It was a shame, a real shame. She remembered one time when Russia expressed how he and America had been so close they could almost feel the other's emotions. Now, looking at America with Germany, she could see he was blinded to the hurt so close to him.

But even so America was happy. She could see it. She understood that he and Germany had a slight issue the previous year but they were close again, shoulder to shoulder, arm wrapped around arm, fingers entwined. She could practically feel their affection for the other emitting off of them. It was no wonder the nations around cooed and swooned at the sight. America was a pleasantry to see so carefree and honest in happiness, while it was something new to see Germany mirror those emotions, of course nothing but shadows compared to America's young and pure affection.

So, Ukraine wondered if this picture set before her was what Russia and America would have looked like had their courtship succeeded and made it out into the public of the world. She wondered if the other nations would have been so inclined to congratulate them, to say they looked happy and whole-heartedly in love together. She wondered if her brother would have smiled just like Germany. He was a lucky nation, very lucky.

Ukraine remained polite and acknowledged the two's relationship like the others. But, in her heart of hearts she could not help but pray that America be chased from Germany's arms, back into her brother's. She knew that their national relation status left much to be desired but here, in Sochi, for sixteen days she hoped—she prayed for a miracle.

Even if that miracle had to rip apart another relationship.

February 14th 2014. Valentine's Day.

It had been freezing when America woke up. It was probably around four in the morning and he figured his a/c busted or something. But, it was too early to do anything and so he cocooned himself in his blankets and managed to snuggle into his own warmth. He almost slept in and missed the competition that day, but he made it in time.

Despite waking up on the wrong side of the bed that morning—literally—he was feeling very optimistic about the day. It was the day of love in his calendar and, in another country or not, he so planned a romantic evening for him and his boyfriend. There was a slight problem though, there had been a decent amount of snowfall the previous night and he could barely even get out of the hotel.

But of course, optimistic America, this would not dampen his plans in the slightest. Mother Nature worked for him, not the other way around.

He was out on the town most of the day, making reservations, picking out some presents; the usual. When he finally got back to the hotel the day had almost set. He raced back to his room, took a shower, changed into something a little more nice—he knew Germany wouldn't mind what he was wearing, but America wanted to look nice for him and to show what a classy boyfriend he was.

Everything was almost in place when he noticed the lay of his room. What a mess. Contrary to popular belief he wasn't as messy as they believed him to be. He figured it was a knack he picked up from his old man, but he'd never admit that out loud. So he cleaned up everything and set it in place, better now than later—there was no telling when he'd get back to his room.

It was still freaking freezing though. He rubbed his hands and blew out some hot air. He could see his breath, that's how cold it was. With a groan he walked up to the thermostat. He glared at it menacingly. It said it was 76 degrees but it certainly did not feel like that. Well, he'd complain to Russia later, as of right then he had better plans for the evening.

America reached for his jacket and slung it on. He about headed out the door when he felt something against his chest. Patting himself he furrowed his brow. When he reached into his pocket he found an envelope full of money.

He was drawing a blank. Wait, now he remembered. He tapped the envelope against his temple and decided to get this task out of the way first. It shouldn't take him long.

He made his way out of his room and toward the other wing of the hotel where the Asian countries were roomed. On his way there he ran into Japan who was proudly sporting a superb gold medal around his neck.

"Kiku, looking badass with that thing!" America praised. Japan had turned to him and smiled. He offered a formal bow in which America politely returned with a chuckle.

"Greetings America-san, you look very nice this evening. Going out on the town?" Kiku asked.

"Yup," America answered with a nod. "Gonna go grab Germany and me and him are gonna hit a nice restaurant I reserved a table at. Gonna be a private evening for the both of us."

"I wish you well then," Japan said before noticing the envelope in America's hand. "What is that for?"

America sighed and waved the envelope around slightly. "Gotta pay China a visit." He caught Japan's frown. He knew Japan and he had been having disagreements and with America practically owing China his home and everything in it, well, Japan was sitting on a rather uncomfortable seat so to say.

Japan kept to himself though. If he had a serious issue then he'd tell him. America knew him that well and Japan was close enough to confide in him.

Slowly, Japan moved out of America's way and offered him a word of warning. America just smiled it away and waved Japan goodbye, telling him to go out with South Korea to celebrate. America wasn't afraid of China like the rest of Asia. He actually didn't know what to think about at the moment and he wouldn't let the reminder of a little debt get him down, not when he was at the 2014 Winter Olympics, and especially not when it was Valentine's Day.

"Come in." That was China's voice America caught after knocking on the designated room. America did so and offered the country his American grin.

"Hey, how's it going China, ma man?" China was currently lounging, looking at his two gold medals previously won. He was caught out of his daze when America's voice rung out across the room.

"Ah, Měiguó, how nice to see you." China leaned up, his two gold medals clinking loudly across the silent room against his breast.

"Came to bring you this," America said. He held up the envelope and then made his way to a nearby chair. He sat down and pulled the money out of the envelope and began counting it in front of China. It was sad to say this has become a routine. After he finished counting he stacked the bills together and handed it to China who chuckled when he took up the green dollars.

"You couldn't have converted this into yuan? Would have been much easier," China explained as he fanned through the money one last time before turning and setting it on the lampstand next to him.

America frowned. "Didn't know you wanted me to. I can if you want."

"Bié, bié." China waved America off. There was no need anymore. "Are you not going to compete in the remaining games today?"

"Nah, got something planned for me and Germany," America said with a smile, jabbing his thumb behind him to signal he needed to go.

"Ah, that is right, it is your romance day," China noted with a nod.

"Yeah, doing something special. To make up for me being a shitty partner," America muttered with a sad sigh. "You got some games you're participating in tomorrow?"

"I do," China nodded. "How about yourself? I should hope you are feeling up to it." China seemed more observing as of late. His ancient eyes trying to peer right through America's guise.

"I believe I will," America said with a shrug. "Worst case is I'll be dead on my feet, ya know. Hopefully we'll get back to the hotel at a decent hour."

China nodded. He glanced down, his eyes seemed fixated on the shiny medals. "How many do you have, Měiguó?"

"Hm?" America noticed he was talking about the medals. "Oh, I think I'm on twenty-seven now."

"I mean gold." China grinned at his medals. Winning them, and beating the others was the best. He'd never felt such pride, especially with the Winter Olympics where he had a huge disadvantage compared to the Summer Olympics where he usually won the most.

"Oh, um, about nine," America replied.

China let out a small frown. He only had two gold. Gold was all that mattered. The other two were a waste, and it was countries like America that opted to count them together as a whole. Must be a Western thing.

"Do you think you will win more?" China was looking at America now. The nation seemed anxious to leave. It wasn't out of nervousness, no, China can hardly think of anyone who made America nervous save for one country, but that was decades ago. No, America was wanting to leave but he knew him, he was polite enough to stay until China so dismissed him in a manner.

America shrugged. "Possibly. That's up to my team." America smiled, proud of every single one of them. So many were first-timers. Seven of the gold medals won were by such athletes and America couldn't be more proud of them.

"I know I will," China assured and stood up. He maneuvered around his room and made himself some tea. "Would you like some?" He motioned the pot to America. He caught that almost silent sigh. America wanted to leave.

"Sure," America replied.

China ignored the rude gesture and prepared him some tea. When he handed it to him he noted the coldness of the younger's hands. Usually America was a warm country, warmer than most.

"Why so cold, Měiguó?" China questioned.

"Ah, a/c broke," America mentioned with a distained frown. "Gonna talk to the staff about it tomorrow."

China nodded and turned around to peer out his balcony window at the wintery wonderland. It had started to snow again. China clicked his tongue. "Painting white again. When one thinks about Russia that's all that's imagined: snow."

America frowned under his teacup. That wasn't so true for himself.

"Have you spoken with him much?" China inquired.

"No, I haven't," America answered honestly, setting his cup down. He didn't understand why China was prolonging his visit. He had his money. All America wanted to do now was leave and retrieve his date. "He's been kept to himself most of the time. Heh, even when he wins gold he's get off the podium immediately after his national anthem's played and disappears. Weird for a host country."

"I heard he is spending most of his time with his sisters," China said. "He has nine too."

America honestly couldn't care about Russia's medal count, much less his gold. "Yeah, well they haven't seen each other in a while. Not all three of them that is. So it's expected."

"Still, he's quite a rude host country, wouldn't you say?" China turned to America who sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"He's just not the type to go all out for his guests," America excused. "Every country's different."

China frowned. He still disliked Russia. The country always thought himself better than him even though China was a superpower himself. Russia was waning and he didn't want to admit it. Lately he knew Russia was trying to strengthen up again and China disliked it greatly.

Russia had his chance at world power and failed. China, however, would not. He would win just as he said he would and Russia . . . that conceded nation would be bowing to him. Learning his language, using his money, and seeing his lovers underneath him . . . China turned. He looked toward America. He grinned and took a heavy gulp of tea, finishing his drink.

Setting the cup down on the counter China took up the money America had given him. He fanned it before rolling the bills against his palm. "You know . . ." he sat himself down on the armrest of the couch near America. His amber eyes gazed at the blond country who looked up at him with curious sky blue irises. "You do not have to spend the next hundred years repaying me if you would . . ." China set the bundle on money on his thigh and leaned ever so slightly closer to the American nation. "Sleep with me."

America's eyes fluttered before they widened. He stiffened, his posture straightening at China's suggestion.

"I . . . uh . . . China, I have a boyfriend," America slowly got out; just to make sure China understood him.

China's confidence did not waver. He rolled his shoulders indifferently. "I am certain he would support your decision in accepting my offer," China reasoned. "He does not want to see you in debt any longer than your people."

America gawked. His mouth parted, jaw bobbing to form a word and China couldn't help but think that mouth could be put to better use than trying to spit out silly American words. He could see America contemplating his offer, placing Germany in the equation. While China wasn't too keen on keeping track of their relationship he knew Germany cared for the boy, knew that he wanted him out of debt as quickly as his boss.

China was offering an easy way out, a faster way too. He was good on his word. He would relinquish all debt if America did this one thing.

Again, China leaned forward. He was standing. His hand reached out and touched America's cheek. Piercing blue eyes darted up to him and China's never beheld such uncertainty before in his life.

China had money. Anyone would throw themself in his bed for him. Why was America so unsure and . . . frightened?

"You are beautiful, Měiguó," China serenaded. He could feel the slight trembles under his palm. The high levels of uncertainty was frightening America and China mentally smirked: He was a virgin. Germany had yet to touch him. Oh, Russia, what you have missed, old friend. "The most beautiful of any Western nation," China admitted. It was true. Perhaps it was America's purity that stood him apart from the others.

Then, America stood up. China had expected him to sit gaping at him like a fish. Now he was standing up, making China look up at him.

China inwardly chuckled. America had grasped the hand caressing his cheek and held it still, just a touch away from the skin. China could feel the pressure, but he was not afraid. No, he could tell it was America who was afraid of the very thought of intercourse.

What a pretty little virgin.

China pulled his hand from America's grip and then cupped his face. Such a hard face to read at times. "You don't have to be afraid, měilì, I will take care." China let his fingers slowly dance under America's strong jawline and then close to his ears. One even glided down his neck, rubbing the backs of his knuckles against the tan skin there—funny, China hated tan skin, found it utterly unattractive, but he could not deny America was beautiful in it. "I will be gentle."

China could see him contemplating. He could see it by the way he bit his bottom lip and took one quick glance toward the money left on the armrest. America always liked taking the easy way out anyways so this was ideal for him was it not?

Still, China wanted to take him. Right there and then, in that very place. He had to. Then he would tell Russia. To have America underneath him, to be inside him, to place his scent all over him . . . oh, what would Russia think?

China mentally smirked. He knew what that old fool would think and he wanted to see his face when his foretold domination of America came to pass. He honestly didn't understand why no one's touched the boy until now. He was an ideal bedmate.

When America looked away China grabbed his face again. He needed to him to keep his eyes on him. More uncertainty would come if he looked away.

"Just once," China continued to goad. "Just once. That's all I ask." China was leaning closer. Pulling America's neck down. Their foreheads were close to touching. "Just one night. Leave all pride behind just tonight. Lay underneath me. Spread your legs for me. Just this one night."

America's brows were knit. The conflict was building inside him. All China needed to do was press it closer to him.

"Do it for your people," China whispered. His hand had snaked around America's neck, rubbing the nape and the smaller golden hairs poking out. Slowly, subtly, he was pressing down, pushing America's face ever closer toward his. "Do it for Germany."

China could feel America's warm breath on his lips. He inhaled the moisture and it left him intoxicated. Had he only promised one night with him? Gods above if he tasted better than when inhaled he should have him every night.

Finally China's lips rubbed against America's. Just light touches, swaying back and forth before he applied a little pressure. Slowly, carefully, he pressed harder until the touch could be deemed as a kiss.

China would have America. He would have him that very night in Russia's home, moaning for him, begging for only him. China would be his first. China would have beat them all to those tight walls.

All too quickly his hopes for a passionate night faded when America pulled back. The younger nation turned his head and pressed his hand against his mouth.

"No," he said quickly, shaking himself out of China's hold. China could have fought to hold him, but he let him go albeit reluctantly. "No, I—I can't." Then, America took a quick glance at China and then toward the stack of money again. "I will just pay you."

China sighed. America had to grow rebellious right then. Stepping back China leaned against the armrest and took up the money. "I am offering you an easier way." America wouldn't look at him now. "You are stubborn."

"I don't care how long it takes," America said. "I will pay my debt off to you."

China frowned and crossed his arms. "The offer still stands." America turned from him. "I will leave my door unlocked. I'll wait for you."

America said nothing as he left. He left the wing in a hurry, even passing by a concerned Japan whose eyes then narrowed back toward China's room. If the Asian country wanted to confront America's debt collector then he could, America felt sick to his stomach and had to leave. He came to the lobby and remained there for a while, trying to clear his head. But there was still a problem; too many nations buzzing around and he being the United States of America ensured that someone would approach him.

He needed to clear his head and so he slunk out of the hotel and moved to the snow-laden spacious patio in the back. The sun was setting. He stood there in the snowfall watching it set.

The darker the day got the thicker the snowfall and now the city lights dimmed in the dreary weather. America wondered if he'd even be able to get to the restaurant he paid good money to reserve a table for. Hm, probably not. But that was fine; traveling right now in this kind of weather seemed daunting.

He was usually the one to freeze his balls off but right then America hadn't felt the slightest bit of chill. He hadn't even zipped up his jacket properly and the snow continued to blanket everywhere—except him. Just as the light of the sun faded America glanced down at his hands. They'd been red holding onto the railing but now as the larger snowflakes fell they just seemed to melt against his skin.

The patio lights flickered on but it offered little visibility. He really should head back inside but his head still wasn't clear. He had plans that evening and now all he wanted to do was isolate himself for the rest of the night—outside if that is what it took to get away from the other nations.

It was still strange, how he didn't feel cold at all.

America really couldn't see a thing out there. The lights from the city even blurred no matter how close they were. He could, however, see something else.

At first he thought that it was just the way the snow gusted around him, but the sharp bite from the chilling wind felt almost like a . . . touch. America was not cold, but he felt it. It was strange, very strange.

It circled round him. Then up it went, around the dim lamps and up into the sky. America felt that he had gone insane and couldn't do anything but accept what he had already suspected.

Neck arched back it rose and its form enlarged. America was not afraid. Perhaps he'd have been awestruck if he wasn't so inwardly tormented with the daily reminder of his debt and growth of his enemies, but now . . . now he just felt numb and . . . he wasn't cold at all. The snow melted the moment it touched his skin, he hadn't felt a thing. But this shadow before him, it cowered not but looked at him—was probably the only one who knew where America was.

America chuckled. He remembered '72, he remembered Russia talking about this man. "The General," is what Russia had called him if America remembered correctly. Looks like he's stayed too long and gone just as insane as Russia.

America was not afraid of him. He had been before, when he first saw him outside his window all those decades ago. He thought he was a ghost, America was unsettled by ghosts, but the way Russia described him was something else entirely. Nothing but a tyrant and America hated tyrants so he silently dared him—silently asked him to try to destroy him, just like all his enemies had tried and failed to do. Maybe this deity would have some luck.

America could hear his voice in the howling whistling wind. Or maybe he felt it, he didn't know. He was urging him to lay down, to let the cold and ice cover him. For him to close his eyes and succumb to the numbing darkness. That sounded nice; to just surrender it all.

After all, he was just a nation. From his amount of enemies; no one would miss him.

"Go away. Go away, you bitter spirit. Go away from him."

America felt sick. He couldn't think straight, he couldn't hear properly, he was hallucinating and he was freezing to death unawares. He swore he could hear someone saying something and he wondered if it was directed toward him. Must be, he was the only one out on the patio, or so he thought.

"Away! Away!"

America felt so tired. The cold was suddenly creeping in. He could feel his warmth slip from him as if someone was stealing it, taking everything he had, everything he was made of.

"Alfred, take my hand. Do not listen to him. Do not fall asleep."

But he wanted to. What was the harm in it?

"Come, let us leave."

America nodded. Whoever took his hand had a strong grip. There was a gentleness in it as well and once inside the strange trance-like state he had been in began to fade the more the heat generated from the hotel's conditioning began to rejuvenate him.

"You're so wet." The voice was clearing. A towel wrapped over his head and rubbed his hair. "You should not be out at this hour and in such a storm." America felt himself chuckle at their concern. How nice of them, whoever they were. "That's what he wants. He wants you to fall asleep so he can wake up. Don't you let that happen."

Now America felt them pull his jacket off. They sat him down and now he was looking at them. She looked so worried.

"Ukraine?"

She smiled. "You are awake now, good." She sighed in relief and rubbed the rest of his wet face. "The snow didn't stick, da?" She let out a chuckle to lighten the mood but the more America's mind cleared the more he could see how uneasy she was as she tended to him.

"Why are you here?" America had thought she'd be with her sister and brother.

"I am roomed here too," she replied. "Natalia insisted on rooming with Ivan at his home not too far from here, but I wanted to stay with everyone. I like it here. Is good, that way I can keep an eye on you so you don't wander off into the cold, da?"

America felt disturbed by her words and wondered how she grew. He wondered if every nation born like this spoke about icy deathly grip so grimly casually.

Ukraine sighed. The towels helped soak up the wet settled into America's hair and on his skin, but his clothing really was soaked. She noted that America soon took notice of the uncomfortable feel.

"I am sorry," she apologized. "But it looks like your nice clothing is too wet."

America sighed. His dress shirt had been sticking to his chest in a line where it had been uncovered from the unzipped jacket. The thighs on his pant legs were wet as well as his dress shoes and socks on up to his calves. It was almost like the snow he had dredged in melted all around him the moment he came into contact with it. It was strange to say the least but the sudden shiver running through his body unsettled him.

"I know, you go and take a shower and I will get you new clothes, da?" America questioned the suggestion but after some time he took in where he was. He was in a room, no doubt Ukraine's.

He really should just head back to his room and get the task over with himself but that was down another wing, one full of flights of stairs and elevator stops. He would never be able to get back to his room without running into another nation and he did not want a confrontation in the slightest. Plus, his room was cold and being wet as is he didn't feel like catching a cold.

Slowly, his senses still coming out of the buzzing numbness from the unexpected trance he had been placed in, America nodded his head and reached into his pant pocket, pulling out his card key.

"Here." Even America's voice sounded groggy, like he had just woken up from an hours-long nap.

"I will go and get you nice clothing. I will not touch anything else," Ukraine assured. America nodded again. He still looked dazed and she wondered if it was from that frightful encounter or something previous. He looked troubled. She didn't like seeing him like this.

She reached out and touched his arm. "Go ahead. Take a nice long hot shower," she goaded. America met her gaze. In a minute he nodded and slowly stood up from the chair she had plopped him in after bringing him to her room.

Ukraine gently pushed him toward the bathroom and once the door was shut she turned and made her way to the American section of the hotel. Entering into America's room she noted how cold it was. She frowned seeing General Winter peeking through the window. She averted her gaze, setting herself solely on the task at hand which was to go through America's clothing to find a change for him to wear.

She ignored the old ghost and his scheming ways. She was upset with him trying to attack America like that. Always such a violent spirit. Ukraine hated him, more so she hated her brother's worship of him.

She understood why her little brother clung to him. He was his only defender from those she could not fend against. Had been for a long time, so Russia felt he owed him his life as well as his loyalty.

He had told her that the spirit had created him a mate, that mate supposedly being America. If so then why does the General seem to hate that golden ball of sunshine so much? She didn't understand. But she would not have him harm him in any way, no matter if he wasn't as close to her or her siblings as of late.

In silence she gathered up new clothing and other hygienic items before making her way back to her room. Upon entering her room she found America had yet to come out of the shower. She waited. He remained in the bathing room for two more hours.

She frowned, wondering if she should go in and check on him. Surely the water had gone cold. She didn't want him ill.

Before she made to do just that she heard the water silence. Later, America opened the door looking for her. She stood immediately and handed him his clothing.

"Thanks," he offered to her after dressing and coming out of the bathroom.

"I can help finish your grooming, da," Ukraine said, coming close with a comb and cologne. America's mind still seemed elsewhere but he sat on the edge of the bed and allowed her to groom him like the big sister he never had.

"There, you look spiffy," she informed with a smile. She turned to the tall mirror on the side of the hall and encouraged him to stand to inspect himself. He offered a quick smile. But she saw his upset in simply looking at himself, as if he couldn't stand the sight of his own image. What a shame. He was such a beautiful thing.

A knock rapped against Ukraine's room door.

"Excuse me." Ukraine pulled herself away from America's side and answered the call. She smiled at seeing her little sister but she did not offer any sweet expression in return. One problem was that Ukraine had the door cracked a little too far apart, enough for the younger nation to see the other occupant inside her room.

"Why is he in your room, sister?" Belarus hissed at America, narrowing her eyes to glare at him. The superpower caught sound of her voice and turned.

"Oh, I—" Ukraine turned to make up an excuse and possibly tell the truth, after all, her siblings would understand the issues with the General and his constant threat on other nations.

"She was just helping me out," came America's annoyed reply. He sat himself down, putting on dry new socks and slipping on his medium dried dress shoes. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."

Belarus pushed past her sister and entered her room, frowning at the American she hadn't been too fond of lately. She made to stand before her sister as if she were some sentinel set to guard her from the big bad USA. America rolled his eyes at the idea.

"Where is brother?" Ukraine asked. Though she was glad he hadn't accompanied Belarus to retrieve her for their evening, she, in a way, wished he would have come if only to see America. The two hadn't so much as made eye contact since the Olympics began.

"He went out for a little while. He said he would return soon," Belarus stated.

"Does that mean we can get into the city?" America asked. He hadn't checked yet to see if he could hail a taxi to get out. He had all of his presents ready, yes, well, save for one. After that he could proceed with his scheduled evening.

"Da," Belarus muttered, almost completely ignoring America. "You should leave."

"Natalia, please, don't be like that," Ukraine complained. He was a guest in her room as of right then. She could hardly imagine what her little sister would have been like had he and their brother began courting. Goodness, maybe this route in destiny was for the best.

"It's cool, I'm going. I know when I've overstayed my welcome," America admitted, gathering up his wet clothing and making to head out.

"Oh, I can get those cleaned for you," Ukraine said as she reached out and took up the dirty clothes from America's grasp. She enjoyed being of service. "But in no way do I wish to see you leave so soon. You are well, da?"

"I'm warm," America offered. He leaned forward and offered the older nation a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for knocking some sense into me, Katyusha."

Ukraine's cheeks tinted a faint pink. Her fingertips touching where America had kissed her. He was warm indeed, even with the feel of his lips gone from her skin the heat lingered. It was a pleasant and calm feeling. One Ukraine was familiar with. What a pleasant youth.

"Don't touch my sister," Belarus spoke up. She was grinding her teeth and glaring daggers at America as he maneuvered around the ladies to get to the door.

America turned to look at her. He surprised the both of them with a sudden playfulness that came out of nowhere. He grinned mischievously. "Oh, I didn't mean to make you jealous, Belarus." America then leaned forward and kissed the younger of the women on the cheek as well. "There, now you got one too."

Belarus' face heat beet red. America darted out of the room before he could discover if it was embarrassment or anger. He felt it was the latter and swore he felt and heard the swish of a dagger fly past him. Wouldn't surprise him.

Those girls were sweet—Belarus in her own way—and Ukraine all around. He was grateful for her having found him out there. He made sure to zip up when he headed outside and called a taxi to him. The snow hadn't lightened up, but at least the roads were being worked on.

He really didn't know what had gotten into him. Why he had felt like that when the snow began to fall. He guessed he was just troubled by China's offer and had too much to think of.

He hadn't even remembered Ukraine bringing him to her room and drying him off. The long hot shower gave him some time to think without the fear of freezing to death and seeing imaginary beings floating in the sky. He'd have to remind himself to give her a gift for her generosity.

Now, after his mind finally cleared to a certain extent, he decided to try his hardest and use what was left of the evening to carry out his plans. Looking at his watch he noted he had a short amount of time to pick up what he needed, head back to the hotel, pick up Germany, and head over to the restaurant. He hoped Germany was ready, well, he hadn't told him he was doing anything because America wanted it to be a surprise so he hoped the German was presentable—wait, it was Germany; of course that nation always looked his best.

America caught a chuckle rise in his throat at the thought of that. Yep, that was his man alright, always prepared.

"Mr. Boyscout," America chuckled to himself after looking at a particularly enticing bouquet of cornflowers. Usually, especially for St. V's day, one would grab a dozen or two of red, red roses, but he knew Germany pretty well. Roses were loved by every nation, but Germany's absolute favorite flower was cornflowers and so America picked up the bouquet and made to make it his to give.

They even smelled great. But the there was a stronger scent overriding them and America turned. He smiled. There were vases full of sunflowers. He'd never seen some so good-looking this time of year and smelt so ripe and strong.

America adored roses, of course, but sunflowers; they held a special place in his heart, reminded him of his childhood, of a time so innocent and full of dreams. America leaned down to smell some stronger scented ones but backed away when it moved, the cluster being pulled along with the vase into the arms of another.

"I didn't think I'd see you here, Amerika." America turned, looking at Russia who was examining the price tag of the vase of sunflowers he had just picked up. He caught Russia take one glance at him, a majority of the sweep looming over the bouquet of flowers already in hand. "Are those for your lover?"

"Oh, yeah," America nodded.

"Not roses?" Russia would not meet gazes. In fact, he seemed pure business while he moved to look over at another bouquet, this one carrying many flax flowers. He picked up the best looking one.

"Oh, no," America replied. "He likes these the most, so I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Russia said nothing. Instead he just turned, walked away to the florist. "Can you combine these two?" The female nodded and took both from Russia's hands. "I'll pay for them now."

"Those for your sisters?" America questioned, standing behind the larger nation, waiting his turn to pay.

"Da," Russia nodded. "Is Valentine's Day. I am taking them out and giving them gifts."

"What a nice brother you are," America teased. He even let his elbow jut out and poke Russia's arm. Just slightly of course, didn't want to cause a war or anything. "Where are you taking them?"

"Out," Russia simply replied. America puffed his cheeks in a pout.

"Sheesh, don't have to be all sour, Mr. Grumpypants," America muttered. "Just askin'. I'm taking Germany out to a nice restaurant. I've already reserved seats. I think he'll like it."

"I never asked, therefore I do not care," Russia replied when the florist returned and handed him the vase full of sunflowers and flax. He paid and simply made to leave.

"H-Hey, wait!" America quickly slapped down a bill and just told the cashier to keep the change. He darted back outside to catch the nation. He was making large strides to the curb, probably going to hail a taxi himself.

The snow was steadying out, but of course the moment he stepped outside a large gust of wind nearly knocked America back into the store. He quickly shielded the delicate flowers from the harsh element and continued his way. Finally, he caught up to Russia.

"Never got the chance to talk to you since the opening ceremony," he spoke out, his eyes fluttering from the heavy snowflakes falling on his face. "How have you been holding up?"

"I am wining," Russia stated. "That is all."

"Not talkative much, huh?" America chuckled. "This how you and your sisters talk?"

"Nyet, just you and I," Russia replied.

America frowned. "You saying I make for lousy conversations?"

Russia sighed, his breath coming out in a cloud. "Just useless chatter."

"Useless?" America's frown deepened. "Look, I'm trying to be friendly. It's the Olympics. We don't have to bite each other's heads off here. We already do on a daily basis."

"We have nothing in common," Russia stated. America didn't know why but he felt hurt when the older nation said that. The taxi came and America stood frozen giving Russia the chance to leave him there in the snow. "It is pointless talking even if we are not fighting at the moment."

Just like that, he left. America didn't know how long he stood there but luckily the flowers didn't wear too much. He sighed. Perhaps he should stop trying.

After all, this evening wasn't about Russia. It was about Germany.

Later that Valentine's Day evening.

"America . . . are you well?"

America jolted out of his thoughts and turned to his date. Germany had already finished half his meal while America—looking down he had yet to touch it. The food was getting cold by now and there was nothing more that American hated than a cold slab of steak.

"You seem distracted," Germany added a moment later after wiping his mouth and setting the cloth napkin down. "Is there something that's upsetting you today?"

America sighed after a little while. His eyes darted toward Germany and the older nation took note in the weariness in them.

"I came here to get away from it all," America spoke. "We all did. So why do some countries have to bring up our strained daily lives?"

Germany nodded in understanding. So that was what was eating the boy. America . . . likes to play the big boy but still has the sensitivity of a child. Germany smiled. He hadn't changed. It just meant he had a tender heart.

"Just ignore those countries," Germany gave thought. He mentally wondered if it was Russia.

Just recently he and America had been straining themselves from the other. America used to not concern himself with the old nation—not since Germany and he began dating—but lately, America's been upset around him. It could be because Germany hadn't been close to America as of late and without a partner to hold onto America tends to lash out violently, of course that meant he'd poke the biggest, strongest country besides himself. Unfortunately that happened to be Russia.

"They are just pining for attention," Germany replied. "And if being a nuisance to you will gain them such then they'll do it."

America sighed. "Yeah, you're right." Then he smiled. It was small, but at least a smile. "Like usual."

Germany offered a smile in return. More so when he watched America dig into his meal. In mid bite America smacked his lips and sat back.

"Oh, that's right!" He turned to the bag sitting next to his chair and pulled something out.

Germany certainly hoped America had wiped his fingers before touching what he was grabbing—the younger had the habit of leaving messy food fingerprints everywhere that was instantly becoming a pet peeve of Germany's.

America held the box against his chest for a teasing moment before his eyes flickered a playful glint. Finally he handed it over to his boyfriend. "Here ya go, big guy."

Germany took the present and opened it. Inside the rectangular white box was a pair of very nice formal shoes. The whiff of brand new leather nearly overwhelmed Germany.

"Was hard to find your size for some odd reason," America said with a shrug. He took another bite of his steak, and, of course, with no reason for table manners spoke with his mouth full. "And I want to see you wearing those at the next world meetings." He smiled at Germany, pieces of food falling past his lips and onto his plate which he later snatched up with his fingers and shoved back into his mouth.

Germany sighed but smiled anyways. "Ja, I will do that." He set the box down next to his chair. "I thank you for all of these gifts, America."

"Alfred, it's Alfred," America pressed. Germany had been doing good calling him by his human name in the beginning but after their little issue last year why he went right back to calling him by his formal national name.

Germany chuckled. "Ja, Alfred." Now Germany glanced down at his half eaten meal. He wasn't feeling hungry anymore for certain reasons. Setting his silverware down politely he looked at his boyfriend. A frown on his face. "I must admit that I was focused on tomorrow's games and did not think to get you anything for tonight."

"That's fine," America waved off after wiping his face clean of food. "Kinda figured. Plus, I wanted to catch you off-guard, all the more fun to present you with gifts." America smiled at the memory of Germany's face after he had given him the bouquet of cornflowers when he came to his room.

Germany flushed slightly at that. He sighed and folded his hands. "I don't like it to be one-sided," he said.

America understood him and smiled knowingly at him. His eyes softening. "It's not. Don't worry."

There hadn't been much to do in the city save dine out, and with the snow continuing to fall why it was a surprise the couple managed to make it out and back to the hotel safely. The night was late but America had brought a movie with him and insisted they watch it.

"Transformers?" Germany questioned. "Hardly a romantic movie."

"Aww, come on, they blow stuff up, we gotta watch it together," America begged.

Germany could not say no to America of course and the two sat on the couch in his room and watched the entire movie. After it was over Germany looked at the clock. Already 12:00 A.M. they really should be getting to bed. But, of course . . .

"I have another movie!" America cheered, holding up yet another action movie.

Germany sighed. He could not say no to him.

"We should really be getting to bed," Germany suggested after the end credits of the second watched movie rolled. He was surprised America hadn't fallen asleep, he looked so weary earlier, but now he was wide awake.

"Wait, wait, there's something at the end," America said, patting Germany's shoulder he was leaning against.

Germany sighed. "Nein, I mean for the games."

"Sure, sure, just wait." That nation's eyes were glued to the screen and when the surprise ending ended he clapped his hands together. "Up for another one?"

"Another?" Germany looked at the new movie the American was holding up. Where had he hid them all? "Just how many did you bring?!"

"Figured I'd get bored sometime while here so I came prepared. We don't have to watch it if you don't want to." America frowned. Germany worried; had he upset him again? All thoughts of that went straight through the ceiling when he caught that mischievous sparkle in America's eyes as they glanced over toward him out of the corners. "Or, maybe you want to do something else?"

The suggestion rolled over in Germany's mind. Sleep was definitely on the top of his list, but as he ran down the mental outline America had surprised him by maneuvering swiftly and twisting to where he was sitting on his lap. Germany was surprised by the action but did not protest, especially when the nation leaned down and pressed his lips to his.

America opened his mouth first, his fingers stretching out to trace along Germany's strong jaw and up his high cheekbones. Germany followed America's lead, opening his mouth as well, but took the first initiative to press his tongue inside the younger's eager and awaiting mouth. When America's eyes fluttered shut and he let out a rumbling moan Germany lost it.

His arm wrapped around his waist and twisted the both of them, now firmly pressing the superpower into the cushions of the couch. Their kiss broke and America opened his eyes, looking up at Germany with a dark playful gaze. He bit his lip and smiled before leaning back up and, pressing his hand against the back of Germany's neck to pull him down into another kiss.

Tongues and teeth with America even pulling Germany's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking. Germany moaned. On instinct his pelvis groung into America's. Now both moaned in unison, America letting go of the lip he teased to swell.

Germany had missed this; being so close to America, getting to hold him, to touch him, to kiss him. Since the surveillance scandal of last year Germany and America had parted for a little while. He knew America just wanted him next to him, but Germany's boss insisted he stand his ground and show his upset through separation. How he had ached to do this with America again.

It was true, the Olympics held all tension and wars off for games. And Germany wanted to play with America all night long, the early games in the morning be damned.

Bending his neck, Germany pressed a kiss to America's jaw. The nation turned his head and pressed into that mouth which Germany took advantage of. Downward he pressed his lips against America's pulse. His hands even had a mind of their own, rubbing America's arms before slipping inward to tease his chest, one hand, the right, reached down, rubbing just underneath his bellybutton.

That got a pleasant reaction out of the younger. America's knees jerked upward, colliding with Germany's before they struggled out from underneath his body and poked against his hips.

"Ah, Germany, slow-slow down there, bud," America muttered out. Germany could feel one of America's hands reaching in between them to push his rubbing right hand away from his lower regions.

"Relax," Germany simply said. He opened his eyes and could see the uneasiness in America. So, he cupped his face and brought him close, kissing him deeply again.

There, his troubled blue eyes closed again. Good. Germany's hands didn't travel down further this time, instead he rubbed up and down America's sides, coaxing him to calm himself.

When he felt America sigh into his mouth Germany pressed on. He pulled his lips away from that addicting mouth and peppered down America's face and then began sucking on his neck. He left two marks on him and observed his work for a moment. One was coloring red while the other dipped closer to purple.

He could feel America's legs moving against his hips. Germany thought that they were caressing him but came to understand that they were just moving out of nervousness. America was still tense.

Well, he started this, and Germany certainly wanted to finish. He was getting gold tonight.

Germany leaned in for another kiss which America opened his mouth and submitted to his tongue. Pressing closer Germany slunk one hand up America's shirt, feeling his bare side.

"Mm, mm, Ludwig." America was trying to pull his mouth away but Germany made sure that every time he tried to pull away he distracted the younger with fiery kisses and pressuring touches.

Germany rolled his hips into America's again. He moaned but America still tried to pull his mouth away.

"Ludwig, I—" America had opened his eyes again, but Germany wanted them closed in ecstasy.

"Shhh." Germany patted America's lips with his finger. Pulling the digit away he kissed those plump lips. "Everything is alright. I will take care of you."

Germany's wanted this for a long time. Now that America was officially his to call his own he ached for the day they would become of one flesh. And by God he wanted that day to be today.

"No, you don't understand, I—" Germany silenced America again with another kiss. More and more he could feel the younger closing his mouth, their kisses shallowing to mere lips against lips. So, Germany tried to get him to open his mouth again with gasps and moans.

The hand underneath his shirt traced up and up until the padding of his thumb felt the softer patch of skin that signified a nipple. He swiped across it and waited for America's reaction. It was a negative one however. The blonde's arm clamped down against his side and locked against Germany's hand.

Germany frowned. He opened his eyes and pulled his head away from America. The younger underneath him was gritting his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut and nervous flush reddening his face. How many times would Germany have to assure America he would not harm him?

"Relax," Germany whispered out and leaned down. He retreated his hand and let his fingers play with the buttons on America's dress shirt before slowly slipping them out of their loops. Subtly, one by one he popped them out giving Germany access to the developed chest underneath. His kisses meeting bare skin. "Relax," he continued to urge.

He finally parted the shirt and rubbed his palms down America's ribs before cupping the curve of his back and pulling him flush against him. "Look at me." America's eyes were still closed tightly. "Alfred, look at me." Finally, those blue eyes opened. Germany hated to see the fright in them. He didn't understand why. He was not going to hurt him.

Then, Germany suddenly remembered the winter of '44. His heart sunk at the memory and then at the current sight of America. He had done this to him. He'd traumatized him to the point he was afraid of any intimacy. No, he'd make up for that, that would all change. He would show America that he's changed.

"I will never harm you, Alfred. Please, trust me." Germany leaned in again for another kiss. One was offered be it small, but the feel of America's heated body pressed so close to his, the way it felt just to hold him in his arms, it was intoxicating.

Germany's free hand came up to caress America's face before traveling down his cheek to his jaw, down his neck to his collarbone. Light touches down his bared chest then down to rub against his belt buckle.

"Mm, no, Ludwig, please," America once again persisted, but still, Germany silenced him with a breathtaking kiss while his fingers bent and unhooked the buckle, pulling it apart. Before he touched the zipper of the pants he reached down further and rubbed America's crotch, urging him to harden.

America gasped, pulling away. His eyes opened again, the fright clear. "No, Ludwig—" When Germany tried to silence him with another kiss America turned his head. "Stop, right now." His tone was growing louder, more demanding.

"I won't harm you," Germany assured, he pressed his palm harder against America's crotch wanting to arouse him.

"But I will! Stop!" America nearly shouted. His hand quickly reached between the two of them and gripped Germany's wrist, squeezing so tightly that the older nation had no choice but to let go and back off. All thoughts of a pleasant night vanished when America scrambled out from under him, continuing to hold his wrist in a vice-like grip, twisting, nearly breaking. "Why do you guys only care about sex? I'm sick of it!"

Germany was surprised by the outburst. He stilled himself so not to agitate the American anymore but that didn't stop the younger from continuing to squeeze, to bend, and . . .

Before a snap resounded across the room, Germany made to voice his pain. "Alfred, you're hurting me."

America blinked and in an instant let go. He backed away. He looked horrified.

Germany now nursed his sprained wrist, holding it against his chest, himself subconsciously scooting away from his boyfriend. Just in case.

"Oh . . . God, I'm so sorry, Ludwig, I . . ." America reached out as if to help but his hands curled back. He looked uncertain. Glancing over to the refrigerator he hopped off the couch and dug into the freezer, taking out the icebox and finding a bag to place the cubes in. When he returned to Germany both had calmed considerably and America slowly approached the older in an attempt to reconcile. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," he said as he placed the icepack on the swollen wrist. "It's not broken is it?"

Germany frowned. "Nein."

America sighed. There was a silence after that. Eventually Germany took the icepack from America and pressed it against his injury himself.

"I am sorry for trying to go too far," Germany eventually muttered. America looked at him, neither met gazes, and soon America was glancing down at his hands, ones that hurt his partner—such monstrous hands. "I didn't know that it would make you that uncomfortable."

"No, don't be sorry, I should have warned you," America offered.

Germany inwardly winced at America's tone. He had tried to warn him, multiple times, but Germany had grown too bold and stupid.

"You spoke in plural when you referred to intimacy," Germany brought up. He would have left the subject alone hadn't something America said in an outburst internally upset him. "Have the others harassed you?"

"No," America lied. "It's nothing to be concerned over."

"As your partner we need to share things, America," Germany insisted. He'd been over this before. Last year, amid the scandal, but even then his words seemed to have not gotten through to the boy. When would he learn he was there for him and would always listen and help ease his troubles? "Who was it? Was it Russia?" Germany frowned. If he found out that nation was still harassing his boyfriend even though they had declared courtship . . .

"No," America said, shaking his head. He then offered that god-awful fake smile of his. "Like I said before, don't worry about it."

"It's this, America," Germany insisted. "This attitude is why we cannot grow close. You need to let me know what is wrong, why you are upset, and who has done it do you."

"I can take care of myself," America answered, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch.

"I know you can," Germany assured. "But is it so wrong I know more about your troubles so this," he held up his iced wrist, "doesn't happen again?"

America's eyes caught sight of the injury. He was mentally scolding himself, Germany could see it in his eyes, see the way he bit his lip and cast his gaze down in shame over what he had done in his fright. At least his jaw was still intact. It hadn't been as bad as '44.

America sighed again. His hand running through his hair. "Earlier, before I picked you up, I went to pay China some of the money I managed to scrape up."

Germany silenced himself. He hated America's debt, especially when it was owed to that country. China was becoming strong through this and no one seemed to care or give a concern in the slightest. But Germany was wary, had warned America countless times before, but that stupid boy still found himself owing the Asian country nearly everything he had.

"It wasn't much," America replied. That frown on his lips let Germany know even he hated owing the other country. "But . . . he suggested an easier way to pay off the debt . . ."

Germany's heart sunk. He had a feeling he knew what America was about to say and even so he could not help his fist from clenching at the atrocity of the thought if what he assumed were so true.

"He said one night," America admitted, bowing his head shamefully. "He said he'd forget the rest of my debt I owe to him if I spent one night with him."

"Dass hurensohn!" Germany spit out. He was on his feet in less than a second leaving his boyfriend seated still, looking up at him with wide blinking eyes. Germany paced, his nostrils flaring at the audacity of that country for even suggesting such a thing of his boyfriend. HIS boyfriend. "He asked you this? What did you say?"

"What do you think I said?" America looked slightly offended by the almost accusing question. "I would never do something like that, Ludwig. I have some dignity, you know."

Germany really wanted to leave and confront China about this issue. The nerve of that nation.

"Don't confront him about this. I don't want this issue getting out. It's private, okay. Was supposed to remain between me and him because nothing came of it, but since you insisted, I so shared it with my significant other," America reasoned. He sighed and looked at the time. He really should be going. "Look, I'm sorry for what I did, really. But I don't want this issue further explored, not right now."

America got up, gathered his belongings and left. Germany sighed. He had tried and failed; failed to listen to the voice of his partner. How stupid could he be?

America really had come close to breaking his wrist. Come morning he could barely hold a pole and Prussia took note of this.

"What's wrong, West?" Prussia glanced down toward the wrist his little brother was nursing.

Unlike America, Germany felt it easier to share his problems with a friend, or, in his case, a sibling.

"America," Germany replied. Prussia nodded in understanding.

"Get into a wrestling match with him or something?" Prussia chuckled as he reached out and took hold of his brother's arm carefully, examining the sprain in the quiet of the locker room. "You know that's stupid to do, right?"

"Nein, I . . ." Germany felt almost ashamed of himself. "I believe I tried going too far with him. I tried to get him to relax, but he wouldn't. He grabbed my wrist and nearly broke it before I even understood what was happening. He wouldn't let me go far."

Instead of Prussia teasing and poking like he would usually do he remained solemn and quiet. His grip on his injury was even careful. His fingers traced over the bruised skin lightly.

"Ah, I see," he spoke up. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. "Looks like you're in no shape to preform today. That's fine, the awesome me will win the gold for you." Prussia stood up and took up Germany's poles. The Prussian gave his little brother an encouraging smile. "Hey, don't look at me like that, have some faith in your dear old bruder."

Germany was going to protest but Prussia was already making his exit of the locker room. Before his full departure he stopped. He turned his head slightly, his scarlet eyes glancing back toward his handicapped brother.

"I'll talk to you later about this, Ludwig." Prussia's tone was even and serious. "It's about time you know so that," his eyes scanned over Germany's hurt wrist, "doesn't happen again."

With that Prussia was off, filling in for his brother the entire day and as long as it took for the swelling in his wrist to go down.

February 21st 2014

Ukraine's smile had been so big and her face completely red with adorable embarrassment. America had insisted she wear her gold medal all day. Wining a biathlon was challenging, but awesome if one did.

Nearly everyone was there per America's request and the entire bar overflowed with nations. Ukraine wasn't used to so much attention but she was grateful for America's dotting, was quite adorable and he looked happy gloating over her and celebrating her accomplishment.

Belarus and Russia had insisted they celebrate among family members, but she had promised herself to attend America's celebration beforehand, and he had said that if siblings wanted to celebrate along with her then they would just have to accompany the group. They did come if only for their sister, but as usual remained quiet and to themselves, only talking to her when needed to.

"Don't you two have more to say? Your sister just won her first gold. Get up and party," America said as he scooted into the booth next to the three siblings. Ukraine smiled at his attempt to get the two to participate in the karaoke and pool, but did take note of her siblings distaste for the nation's presence.

"They have had a long day, Alfred. It is fine for them to rest," she excused.

"Long day?" America rolled his eyes. "No one worked as hard as you to win that gold, they're fine."

"Get him out of my presence," Belarus muttered. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't be like that," Ukraine frowned. "Come, let's go dance." She reached out and pulled her sister. She went to touch her brother's hand but he moved away out of her reach. She frowned but understood. She could pull her little sister but she could not push her brother. Well, if that was how he wanted then he could just remain behind with America.

"Go join them, man," America urged.

"Why don't you since you're so insistent?" Russia offered, taking the shot of vodka next to him.

"Parties are meant to bring families together, that's why," America said through his teeth. He was getting tired of trying and Russia seemed to catch this.

With a sigh, Russia said, "Why do you continue, Amerika?"

America blinked, straightening in his seat. "What?"

Russia wasn't looking at him. No, his eyes were glued upon his sisters. He would have smiled at the sight of Ukraine getting Belarus to dance, even a little, if only he'd been by himself with no one to see him.

"You've got better things to do than spend your time trying to coax me out into the crowd," Russia stated. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Just leave me alone."

"That's why I stay," America pointed out with a chuckle. He grinned at confusing the Russian nation. "Because you don't like it. Gotta push your buttons, man."

Russia sneered and America laughed, slapping his knee. "Just kidding." The blond then settled down a little, leaning his elbows on the table. "Nah, just don't want you to feel left out."

"Some people are better off alone," Russia stated.

"I don't believe that one bit," America said with conviction. They met gazes before Russia broke the contact and looked off to find America's lover.

"Your lover I am certain would rather have your presence. Why don't you pester him," Russia suggested. He didn't need the American to get into his head. He's let himself fall too many times from that.

America turned and took in Germany. He was sitting with Prussia and Austria, the older two having more of a conversation while he kept to himself.

"I doubt he wants me anywhere near him for a while," America admitted with a hard sigh.

Russia rose a brow. He heard about the scandal but he heard about other things that actually took place here in Sochi between the two. Glancing down Russia caught sight of the fading sign of a hickey on the uncovered part of America's neck. It didn't matter if he disapproved of someone touching America like that because America wasn't his and America was taken.

"Why, I didn't know Germany was that dissatisfying in bed," Russia chuckled at his own downgrade. "Though, I suspected as much."

"It's not that, Russia," America groaned, narrowing his eyes at the older nation.

Russia didn't care for America's excuses. "Being the United States of Amerika, many rumors fly around the city. Many nations hear many things. I doubt some are far from the truth," Russia said.

"Oh, so then you heard about China," America muttered. It was really a mumble. Probably not meant to be heard by anyone but his own consciousness, but Russia had good hearing.

He frowned. America hadn't been looking and therefore hadn't caught the strange look Russia was giving him. He hadn't even seen the older nation turn his gaze to look for the Asian country. He thought about removing himself from the booth seat to talk to his old "friend" if that were the case.

What America muttered suggested so many things, and as annoyingly usual, Russia had the habit to grow upset over the thought of something like that. Really, he shouldn't concern himself with America anymore. They weren't getting along as of late any longer and Russia would not crawl back to him. He was not a kiss-ass.

If America got upset then it was Russia's fault. If America said to bow then Russia was expected to bow. Like hell. So, if China was harassing the younger nation then it served him right. The idiot got himself into debt with that nation and Russia, above all countries, understood how bad it was to be in debt to China.

China had a superiority complex. He wanted to be the top. It was best just to ignore him, but Russia knew America couldn't and therefore had no choice but to take the harassment.

Russia inwardly scoffed. A frown setting in as he watched China brag about his gold medals. What of it? He only had three. He couldn't compare to him, or Norway, or Canada, or even America. He had no reason to be here, that old fool.

Then he turned back toward where Germany sat, speaking with his German relatives. The nerve of him. Even if America didn't tell him about his issues—which America tended to be like that so not to worry other countries—he should at least know on his own and try to protect him from such abuse.

Why, if America had been Russia's lover he'd . . .

Russia stopped that train of thought. He groaned out a sigh. Why did he even bother? His eyes turned back to America, for once he noticed his silence. The younger looked to be in thought, his own blue eyes staring off into the conversing and dancing nations around.

Nothing would become of the two of them. So Russia had to stop himself; stop himself from wanting to think about him, from wanting to take on all his burdens so he didn't have to worry, from wanting to see him smile—at him, from wanting to hold him, from wanting to caress him, to kiss him, to . . .

Russia reached out and took hold of the bottle of vodka and poured himself a shot. He reached over and did so in a small glass America had been holding. The clink of glass and the slush of liquid perked America's attention back toward him. He glanced down at the refilling shot glass and then up at Russia quizzically.

After setting the bottle back down Russia took up his glass and tipped it toward America in a small sort of inclined toast. To his surprise, and America's, he even offered a small tilt at the corner of his mouth that could be registered as a tiny smile.

"Drink up then, it's all one can do to forget the worries," Russia said and followed his own advice. America wasn't too far behind him.

"Taking advantage of the neutrality of the Olympics I see." Russia's frown deepened after observing Germany approach them. The nation offered a polite smile before his gaze turned to America. No doubt he's come to take him away from him—like usual.

"Ameri—Alfred, may I speak with you?" Germany requested.

"Sure," America said with a roll of his shoulders, waiting.

Germany sighed, glancing toward Russia once more who had snatched up the entire bottle of alcohol and drowned himself in it. Doing his best to ignore the German nation.

"In private," Germany insisted.

America nodded. He turned to Russia and pat the table. "Sorry, boyfriend calls. I'll be back in a bit."

"Don't bother," Russia spoke. He didn't even look at America as he left—didn't care if he wasn't smiling anymore at all because of what he said. "Your presence is not needed here."

Russia heard America sigh. The screech of his chair resounded against his eardrums and then his presence vanished. Russia opened his eyes, looked at the empty chair. He then looked back to see Germany leading America outside, both placing their jackets on and Germany—he had his hand on the small of America's back, pressing him to follow him. Hm, they looked like lovers. Russia wished them the world, especially when it felt apart around them.

. . .

"Okay, okay, let's make this quick, it's chilly out here," America beckoned, rubbing his hands together and blowing warm breath into his palms. He looked at Germany. When he noticed him still rubbing his wrist he frowned.

There wasn't a minute gone by that America regretted hurting Germany. He had played in later games, while some Prussia had to step in for. Why couldn't America control himself by now, why?

"I wanted to say I was sorry about what happened the 14th," Germany stated. He finally looked at America and when their gazes met both saw each other's regret.

"Oh, don't be," America said, casting his gaze down. "I've forgiven you."

"That's not enough," Germany insisted. "I pushed you too far, I didn't mean to."

"It's cool, I understand that you just want to be close," America said. He pulled out a smile but it wavered as the snow fell down around them. "It's frustrating, I know, I've courted before. Just . . . just give me time."

"We don't have to," Germany suddenly said. America blinked in confusion. "If you don't want to then I am content with just being by your side. As long as you'll have me. I was selfish in my want that I assumed you would enjoy it as well. I was wrong, I'm not afraid to say it. I won't push you again."

America smiled at Germany's apology. He blushed lightly, enjoying the soft feel of the beat of his heart. Reaching out he took Germany's hands in his and squeezed. "Thanks, Ludwig. That's all I need."

How easily they were forgiven and their past offensives forgotten. It was probably because nationally they were on good standings. But even so, both of them would come to realize that because they were personifications of powerful nations they would never be able to bear an ordinary relationship.

Berlin, Germany. July of 2014

America had been so upset that the very door to the embassy was knocked off. Luckily no one was hurt in its hurl across the driveway and Germany would have scolded America for acting so foolishly had be not been in pursuit of his perturbed boyfriend.

"I'm sick of this!" America said, throwing his hands in the air. "I don't care what you think of me anymore!" Right before America had come to his car and touched the handle to the door Germany had caught him. He had grabbed a hold of his elbow and yanked him around.

"You don't care?" Germany looked just as upset, if not more so. Why wouldn't he be after what happened? "Why won't you defend yourself? Is it because this is all true?"

After the arrests Germany's boss was furious, and so was he. It just so happened that America had paid a surprise visit to Germany's home after his birthday and when the arrests came to the public, why, it looked as if he was about to be strangled but Germany's upset boss. So, while cornered and asked if America personally set up the spies he sealed his lips. He didn't defend himself. Didn't say a damn word to every accusation Germany's boss accused him of, of everything Germany suspected to be true.

Instead, America just threw up his hands and stormed out of the building. But Germany wouldn't let him get away, not when it was supposed to be he who was offended, not America.

"Think what you will," America said, pulling his arm out of Germany's hold. "I can do whatever the hell I want."

Germany's fists clenched. Not to strike America—perhaps in another time, long ago, when they were enemies—but America was not his enemy. No, he was far from it. He wasn't even his friend. He was his lover—his lover.

"This is my home," Germany insisted. "Have you any respect anymore? What do you take me for?"

"There was no harm done," America insisted.

"So then you're encouraging this?" Germany questioned, his eyes narrowing. "Alfred, I am your boyfriend. Why do you feel the need to do this? Can you not trust me? I would never—"

"I know," America said, turning his face away. "But the boss—"

"No, it is you," Germany accused, poking America in the chest which the younger retaliated by smacking Germany's hand away from him—away from his personal space. "Don't act like you decide nothing. We have the near same amount of power as our leaders. Do you want to look this bad? What if my boss decides to declare us enemies? I don't want that, Alfred, I don't."

"You have the power, right? Then make sure it doesn't happen." America stood there, his arms crossed, a frown across his lips. Not making any sort of eye contact. Rude and disrespectful.

Germany grit his teeth. Oh, his blood pressure. "It doesn't work that way, Alfred. I am certain this will calm down eventually."

"Good," America cut in. He looked at Germany now. His gaze near uncaring. "Then stop making such a big deal out of this."

"Your people were spying on me like I was your goddamn enemy!" Germany hadn't raised his tone in decades, much less to America. He just wanted him to see how upset he was, how afraid he was for their relationship. But America . . . either he was wearing a perfect façade or he just didn't care. "Am I your enemy? Am I?" Germany just wanted a straight answer from America, but he wouldn't give it. Germany sighed in defeat. "I want to be close to you, Alfred, but I can't and it frustrates me."

America did not move. He stood still, listening to everything Germany had to say.

"I am beginning to feel that you want to pull away from me," Germany said. He felt sad. Depressed even at the very thought of America deciding to break their courtship. Their relationship had barely begun and already they were on their second major fight within a year. Germany didn't understand just what he was doing wrong; why he was so displeasing to America that he felt he had the need to . . .

"I want to be close to you, Ludwig, I do." Germany looked back at America. He was looking at him again. "But you're rolling over so much that I have to . . . I need to protect you."

"Protect me?" Germany asked. Just what delusions was America assuming? "In my own home? I am strong too, Alfred. Do not look down on me." Then, Germany saw it. He understood completely. "You haven't gotten over your paranoia since the attack." Yes, Germany caught America stiffen. "Alfred, I would never—" He reached out to offer a comforting touch but America shifted and twisted away from him, now standing with his back to him.

"I know, but that doesn't mean your people can't hurt me," America said.

"I would never allow it," Germany swore. "Please, what can I do for you to trust me?"

He watched America shake his head. Soon enough he turned, head bowed, pushing past him to open his car door. He was just going to leave.

"Alfred," Germany called, he caught the door as it shut. When America looked up at him he noticed the glisten in his eyes and the reddening of his face. "Alfred?"

"This is me, Ludwig, I can't change, I—if you can't handle it then just leave me. Just leave like everyone else!" Germany just wanted to hold America. He wanted to wrap him in his arms and hold him for years until he calmed down. He could see the paranoia shaking his limbs, bringing him to near tears.

"I'm sorry," Germany was caught off guard by those two words. America's rarely used such a phrase. "I can't get as close as you want to. It's not you, it's me. I told you it was a stupid idea to date me." Just then America offered one of his notorious fake smiles—he was getting almost as good as Russia—and then pulled on the car door, slamming it shut. The tinted windows blocked Germany's view and off America was ushered, back to his hotel room, back to the airport, back to the States.

The shock of America's sudden retreat was finally over after a minute. Now, the anger of him being so disrespectful came in and Germany turned and just demolished a patio statue. The white marbled grumbled to dust and coated his entire sleeve in powder.

"Hey, hey, no destroying the lawn ornaments." Germany huffed and turned to his brother who came jogging out with a few security guards. It wasn't long before Prussia noticed the empty driveway. "Did he leave?"

"Ja," Germany said with a sigh.

A worry bubbled up in Prussia and he came close to Germany. "You two didn't call it quits, did you?"

"Nein—at least, I don't think so," Germany said. He hoped not. Yes, he was upset, and America seemed upset too, but he felt they could get over this. They got over the last problem. If they worked together to figure out this issue then everything could be resolved . . . but America was just so thickheaded sometimes!

"The boss sounds mad, but she's taking it better than before," Prussia informed. "I didn't expect Alfred to leave like that. That kid," Prussia sighed, shaking his head, "Always makes it look like he's the one offended and we're all to blame."

"Ja, he is good at that," Germany agreed.

"Maybe you should go after him, catch him before he gets on a plane back to his home," Prussia suggested.

"Merkel would be furious," Germany reminded. Prussia nodded in agreement. "I just don't understand him sometimes."

"How so?" Prussia questioned.

"Sometimes . . . I think he doesn't want to be with me," Germany admitted.

"You seen him looking at someone else?" Prussia questioned. He hadn't suspected America to be the cheater kind.

"Nein," Germany said, shaking his head. "He would never do that to me. But . . . whenever something like this happens he shuts himself away. He blames himself. I want to be close to him. I am fine if I can just stand beside him if that's all he'll let me do, but . . . I want to be so much more closer."

"Ja," Prussia nodded. He understood the frustration of relationships. He's seen plenty to understand the dynamics of it all. "Tensions and strains would ease if you two would . . ." Prussia stopped himself. He looked at his brother who took to kicking up loose stones in the driveway. The poor nation didn't understand at all. "Ludwig, I need to tell you something."

Germany looked at him, wondering what it was.

"It's about America," Prussia informed. "I was going to tell you sooner, back in Sochi, but since you and Alfred reconciled I held off, but now I understand your problem. You say you are happy just being beside him, but I know that's not true. You're young, ripe, and so is America. But . . . the truth is . . . I do not think he will let you that close to him any time soon."

Germany could understand, but for what reason. If he knew then he could relate to America, right? And he did. He didn't want their relationship to go down like this.

"Do you remember what he did to your jaw in '44?" Prussia asked, tapping his jaw to signify the bone. He watched Germany raise his hand and rub the healed bone. He could still feel the kink in it, but it didn't hurt that much anymore. Germany nodded and so Prussia continued, "He once did the same thing to England back during his fight for independence." Of course Prussia would know this, he had been there helping train the boy to become a warrior and so Germany listened intently. "He retaliated violently. But there is a reason, always so."

Prussia sighed. He turned back to the security guards and wished them away. They did and now the two German brothers stood outside alone. At least their own people trusted them not to spy on them.

"You know what many nations resort to when an unruly underling will not stop resisting, right?" Prussia was ashamed Germany nodded his head, that he knew, but most nations would know of this method sooner or later—whether they were the enforcer or the recipient. "You were young when it happened and didn't see much of him, but England was beyond his last attempt to contain his child. He would not let him grow too rowdy to challenge him. What do you think the British Empire would do when he's run out of options?"

Germany's eyes widened and jaw loosened. No. What Prussia was saying . . . no, it couldn't be. Germany's seen England and America—they loved each other. What Prussia was saying was absurd.

"Ja, it is true," Prussia admitted. He smiled sadly. "America didn't want me to tell anyone. He was so ashamed. So broken from it. But . . . there are certain nations that can piece themselves back together. It is rare, very rare, but America was one of them. With him lashing back like that, it was revealed what kind of a spirit he was. You cannot contain him. He will fight until his last breath. Now, I'm afraid, he's still afraid to let anyone get that close to him. I would suggest the two of you do, you'd create a bond that way and probably fight less, but with the way he is . . . your jaw . . . then your wrist, I don't know when he'll be ready for that kind of intimacy. He needs it. God, that boy needs to get laid, but I'm afraid his body simply won't allow it."

Germany had sworn that if all America wanted him to do was to stand by his side then he would. He would keep that promise. But he wanted America. He wanted him so much because he loved him and wanted to show him how much he loved him. To make love to him; Germany's wanted to for so long, but after discovering America's insecurities about it, why, most of his hope was distinguished.

"Is there anything I can do?" Germany asked his brother.

Prussia rolled his shoulders. "Give him time. One day he'll be ready." He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "It's been, what, over two centuries now. Not sure when he'll be ready."

Well, Germany has waited this long. He had always been praised as a patient country. If that was how America felt then he would respect that. He would wait.

Ottawa, Canada. August of 2014

"Hey, Mattie, can I talk to you?"

Canada was surprised America would ask something like that, like Canada would reject him or something. He smiled at his stepbrother and said, "Yeah, of course."

America and he had sat down on a bench near Canada's home. It was a nice summer's day. Perfect weather. "You're part French, right?"

Canada frowned. He turned to America and narrowed his eyes. "What's this about, Al? Does this have something to do with Germany?" Usually when America brought up the "French" in the Canadian he was wanting some romance advice. Like Canada's ever courted before.

America only shrugged. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I screwed up."

Canada blinked. What was this? The great United States of America was admitting he was in the wrong? Oh, the revelations!

"You mean about the incident in July?" Canada watched America nod quietly. "Are you two alright?"

"I'm not sure," America said with another sigh. "I had warned Germany, I said I was no good with relationships. Said it was always me." America bowed his head in defeat and Canada felt for him.

"Don't be like that, Al, I'm certain there's something you can do to make it up to him," Canada insisted. "Was he upset?"

America shook his head and chuckled lightly. "No, that's why I'm so upset. He's too good to me, Mattie."

Canada smiled. He understood. He figured Germany probably tried to talk it out while America blew up—like usual—at the accusations and just left.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" Canada asked, making himself comfortable, prepared to hear every obnoxious idea America had to offer.

America sighed. "I really don't know," he admitted.

Canada frowned. That wasn't like America to be out of ideas. No wonder he came to him.

"No parties, feasts, or theme parks?"

America shook his head. "I don't want to seem like such a child to him. I'm getting older, Mattie, and he shows me more respect than anyone else. I want to show my appreciation but I'm . . . afraid."

"Afraid?" Canada questioned. "Of what?"

"Of hurting him—again," America admitted.

"Al, you just said he's very understanding, and—"

"I mean physically," America said. He clasp his hands together, tightening the grasp more and more as the subject poked its ugly and shameful head out. He was finally getting this out with Canada. Why not? He was his neighbor after all, and his best friend. "Do you remember the Malmedy Massacre?"

Canada nodded.

"Germany was there . . . he . . . he tried to . . . to rape me," America said slowly. He didn't need to look at his brother to know Canada was gapping in surprise. "Before he could I struck him. Broke his jaw."

"God, I didn't know," Canada whispered.

"Then, back in Sochi," America continued. "Valentine's Day. We got hot and heavy. Germany wanted to go all the way. I didn't know what I wanted. I think I wanted it, but my body . . . I was still frightened from what happened to me and I almost broke his wrist."

"Oh, Al." What could Canada say to that? He completely understood the trauma America's been put through. It made sense if he was still insecure about being intimate.

"I don't know how to get around it," America informed. "I thought I would be fine after decades, but I'm not. I can't shake it and I want to. I want to make this up to Germany." America was going to do it. He was going to attempt to make love to his boyfriend, but he didn't know how to get around his instincts. America looked at his brother. "I'm not saying you're the expert or anything, but any word of advice would be appreciative."

Canada then told America to wait for his answer. When America left Canada had invited his father over and asked him about this. After all, who knew better about the art of lovemaking than France? But, what surprised Canada the most was how unsettled his papa was about this subject and its concern on America.

"Non, Mattieu, I am afraid not even I have the words to fix this," France stated with a sad sigh.

"Why?" Canada asked. "It was attempted. Nothing came of it."

France's frown didn't leave and it unnerved Canada to see his father so unenthusiastic about issues like this when usually he always had some form of romantic advice.

"Non," France spoke up. "Amérique cannot be helped. I do not know how long it will take him to calm down. I had not known he was still traumatized by that day but it makes sense. Their relationship will strain, and I'm afraid it will be because of Amérique's lack of intimacy."

"Germany would not leave him from that," Canada assured.

"I agree," France nodded. "But Amérique will see the underlying strains as his fault and so pull himself from the relationship. That poor boy."

"I don't understand," Canada spoke up in confusion.

"Mon cher," France looked his son in the eyes, Canada had never seen such a sadness in them. "Amérique is no virgin."

Canada blinked. Well, he understood that the others called him the "Whore of the World" but he knew better as did America. He knew he had been with North Korea and Vietnam, but he knew what his father meant by saying this. But that also meant . . .

"Rape?" Canada questioned. He inwardly prayed it wasn't though he already knew by the signs.

"Oui," France nodded.

"Germany?" Canada wouldn't understand why America was dating the nation who raped him if that was the issue.

"Non." France sighed. "He had been so little, so innocent, so pure. But Angleterre had been so frustrated, he'd run out of resorts."

"Papa?" Canada was paling. He was even shaking. Dear God, had his adopted father really . . . ?

"Amérique never told me when I agreed to help him win his freedom," France said solemnly. "But I suspected. Angleterre was a fool of a parent. He had wronged little Alfred and so lost him forever." France then offered his son a gentle smile. "Do not think anything less of that old tea-smelling midget, he's regretted it for centuries. He's repented."

Canada didn't know what to say to that. It was horrible, what had happened. He hadn't thought England would do such a thing, not to his only child at the time. He had always thought he loved him so much that he would never . . .

"That's what he meant then," Canada said. "Al said he is afraid of hurting Germany."

France nodded. "He had even hurt North Korea and Vietnam once."

"He had?" Why didn't America feel the need to confide in Canada until decades later? Just wasn't fair.

France nodded. "I heard about it through others. One incident was a broken arm from North Korea. It was said she rolled over on top of Amérique while they slept, wanting to rouse him. When he awoke by her ministrations he lashed out at her. Then, Vietnam. She had tried to service Amérique, tried to get him to lay still while she took the lead, but he lashed out when she went too far and caused a nasty concussion. If he is not in the lead in bed then he will attack. I'm afraid it is a result of his rape. It cannot be undone."

"Then why not do that with Germany?" Canada asked. Since America was more comfortable topping then just top the German. "Wouldn't that be the easy way out?" That would definitely solve their problems.

"Oui, it would," France agreed. He then smiled. "But don't you see, Mattieu? Amérique is wanting to relinquish control, to give himself completely to his lover. It's a very serious decision and sentiment one. I am proud of him for wanting such, but if he cannot control his harmful strength of his then he will not be able to lay under anyone."

Canada mulled over his father's advice for a long time. Soon enough he made up his mind and so persisted America go through with this.

"You need to make love to Germany," Canada insisted.

"I know," America said. "But how? I can't bottom to save my life." Canada understood perfectly now even though America wouldn't tell him the entire story.

"Do you want to top then?" Canada questioned.

"I could," America admitted. "But I don't want to."

Canada smiled at him. He was proud of his brother for finally deciding to let go of control—now, to actually do it.

"Well then," Canada tapped his chin before snapping his fingers. "Get yourself used to it all."

America rose a brow and cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Down here," Canada patted his crotch. "You're not used to someone touching you, right?" America nodded. "Okay, then take time to get it familiar with touch. I'm not saying have someone else touch you, but you, touch yourself so you're used to strokes and rubs down there."

America contemplated it. "But, it's different when Germany tries to touch me," he added.

"I understand that, but how often do you touch yourself?" Canada asked. He saw that flush spreading across the superpower's cheeks.

"Not . . . often," America admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat next to his brother.

"You see, if you get used to yourself then it's not too hard to get used to another," Canada replied. "Also, I don't know how you feel about this, but, try it at least; prep yourself."

"As in—?"

"Oui," Canada felt it appropriate to let his French slip out.

America sighed, rubbing his face. Canada was right and he knew it. He just needed to push past his discomfort and do this.

But, still, no matter how hard he tried—he even bought lubricant, and tons of toys—it was so hard to force himself to intrude any private place. He's wasted so much money after breaking so many items bought. Because of this he felt like a failure and he never had the guts to tell Canada even when the northern country would constantly ask for an update in progress.

America wanted to do this, he really did, but the world caught up with him and soon he hardly had any time to concern himself with preparation. His boss constantly demanded him by his side and with sanctions against Russia, why, he was thrust into another Cold War to his and his people's horror.

Sitka, Alaska, USA. February 13th 2015

God, it's been, what, a hundred and fifty—no, a hundred and forty-eight years since he's walked these roads, or even stepped foot in his old territory. The nostalgia washing over Russia that night in the chilling state of Alaska certainly was warming.

He smiled to himself. That was when he was Imperial Russia, when he had colonies of his own. Good times. Very enjoyable memories.

The hour was late, but he didn't care. He took his time walking down old forgotten trails that even some of the townsfolk hadn't noticed. Russia grinned when he touched a tree with a carved marker. He remembered marking that himself and the one next to it so the trail would be pointed out to any lost traveler who found themselves on that path.

Well, it was covered in snow now. Alaska had a good snowfall the past couple of days, but finally—Russia looked up into the deep blue above. He could name every constellation visible.

He had loved stargazing back then even. Some things he guessed would never change.

What would a Russian be doing in the middle of a U.S. state, noted the personification of said nation, especially in times like this when strains between their countries hadn't been this high since the Cold War? Well, that was simple, America invited him over.

Russia thought about not coming, to show the American that he couldn't be bossed around like he bossed the other nations around. But Russia had been bored and so humored himself. He probably leaned more to go when America's secret message had asked him to meet him in Alaska, in Russia's old territory. America stated that it was because the state was closest and would be the last place their bosses would think to search for them being that it is so out of the way.

Russia had not announced his coming. He left the invitation open and wouldn't care if America wasn't even present in the state. He was enjoying his self-tour. More so than he thought he would.

The people, they were all American. It was a shame. He had hoped that the left-over Russian colonists would remain and intermingle with the U.S.'s people—they'd make such beautiful children if they did. But, sadly, there was hardly a Russian descent seen. Russia doubted they even knew how to speak his native language. A shame.

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day and Russia knew that America, no doubt, had something planned with Germany—though, from their frosty relations, Russia wondered if that were the case at all. Even so, if it was, Russia didn't care, which was why he arrived in Alaska so late.

If America was still there he would not be by tomorrow. Valentine's Day was special to the younger nation and made to be spent with ones he loved. Russia had contemplated on arriving on said Valentine's Day just to annoy America and ruin the day, but he decided against it. Whatever America wanted could be settled tonight and he could have the rest of the day to himself.

Russia took a back way to the home he suspected America to reside in, one he had taken so many times. He could see that no one thought about heading this way by the untouched snow before him. Russia was so very glad the night was clear. Because that meant the General was quiet. He knew for certain he would have lost himself with him howling in his ears.

There it was. Russia smiled shortly. Why had he given this place up? Russia would take it back in a heartbeat if so asked—his old home, the lodge he built himself. There were lights on, on the first floor. That must be America.

With a sigh, Russia brought his mind away from the memories of pleasurably building the home and marched through the snow. He came from the back, where the woods overshadowed the home, cutting up into the mountains where that lookout resided, the one where he had taken America on his birthday so long ago—where he gave him this state as a present.

Russia decided not to knock on the door. America was a big boy, he should feel him at his doorstep if he indeed was inside instead of some caretaker. What if it was the caretaker? Well, Russia wasn't too low from knocking them out so he could have a vacation at his old home. Would be very fun.

He could hear the sound of a movie. It was loud. It sounded like something America would listen to, but then again, America was his people and his people were him.

Then, suddenly, the noise was silenced. He could hear someone coming toward the door. Russia smiled. So, America had stayed.

The door opened and there was America. He was dressed casually, long-sleeved shirt, and sweatpants. He was frowning at him too.

"You're late," America muttered, moving out of the way to allow Russia inside.

Russia simply chuckled and entered the home. "You never specified the day," Russia informed. "All you said was this month, that is all. Plus, you know very well that I can get into a lot of trouble if my boss were to find out I left the security of Moscow to come here, to an American State."

"Yeah?" America jutted his chin outward. "Well I can get into some serious shit too if my boss found out I invited you over."

They were both taking a fragile step. Just like old times. This definitely was the Cold War II.

Russia might have said something more hadn't his eyes took in the home around him. He was in utter shock. Nothing was changed.

Yes, there was air conditioning and heaters, as well as electronics, but other than that it was untouched.

"You remember this place?" America nudged him with his elbow, a smile on his face.

"Of course, I built this home myself," Russia informed.

"No way, you serious?" America looked taken aback. "Dude, why didn't you tell me that when I bought it?"

"Didn't matter," Russia said.

"Damn, didn't know you were an architect," America muttered.

Russia smirked. "You seem to like my craftsmanship."

America crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "It's my national home in this state now, of course I like it. Plus, brings back some good memories."

Yes, very good memories. Russia mentally agreed. He just couldn't understand why America hadn't taken any of the portraits or emblems down. God, there was his old two-headed eagled crest over in the dining room and then by the fireplace. Why hadn't America taken them down?

"Well, since you took your sweet ass time getting here let's just get down to business," America said as he hopped over his couch and pulled out a box. "I would like to be back in the mainland by tomorrow, thank-you, don't give a damn how you're getting back."

"Such hospitality, I'm flattered," Russia remarked with that fake smile of his.

Of course America would give him the casual bird. It was no surprise to Russia. What did surprise him was America's casualness in this all. They had been at each other's throats for a year now, probably more if you look at the root cause. One meeting ended badly, America lashed out at him and had to be held back by four nations while Russia nearly connected his fist with that pretty face of his.

They barely dodged World War Three there.

Since then they were always at their bosses sides. The men refused to let them go amongst the other nations alone. So, yes, it was very strange that America ask him to Alaska for a secret meeting on the eve of Valentine's Day.

"Here we go," America chirped and plopped the box on the head of the couch.

Russia rose his brow and leaned over slightly to see what was inside. His eyes widened at the objects inside and when he looked at America with a hard questioning glare the younger didn't look the least bit fazed—where was his dignity?

"Why are you showing me these?" Russia asked. He could feel his jaw tightening and his teeth subtly grinding in disgust.

There was a light flush across America's cheeks as he dug his hands into the box full of brand new sex toys that he prayed he wouldn't break. They all added up to a pretty penny. "I know we haven't been on the best terms as of late, and I don't want to get into politics right now, that's not why I called you here." He picked up a dildo and handled it with a familiarity that made Russia's stomach churn. "This is just a national thing. No threats of war or nuclear outbreak. I . . ." America's eyes darted away bashfully. "I want to have sex with Germany."

Russia's teeth were grinding a little harder and he wondered if America could hear it. Why. Was. He. Telling. Him. This?

"It'll actually be my first time with a man," America informed. Second, Russia mentally added. "And, well, back in the second world war he did something, traumatized me, I guess, and I find it hard to do anything intimate with him so, if it's not so much trouble . . ." He looked at Russia, their eyes met. "I'd like for you to help prepare me."

Russia was insulted. Flat. Out. Insulted.

"What?"

America dropped the toy back into the box and sheepishly scratched his cheek. "I sorta hurt him last attempt, and, well, Canada said it was best to prepare myself and get used to being touched and all, but, I kinda keep breaking the toys, the hand just crunches them all to dust before I can do anything."

Russia felt hot. It wasn't uncommon. The last time he felt this boiled was when Germany went against their pact and tried to conquer his land back in WWII.

He balled his fists, but kept them at his side to hide. He could not, however, hide the way his lips puckered tightly together nor the rising malice in his gaze.

"What do ya say, big guy? Care to help a friend out?" God, Russia almost puked when America patted the box.

When he went to speak his lips curled into a snarl, he couldn't help himself at this point.

"You and your lover should figure out your sexual problems yourselves. This is an utter insult to me," Russia growled out before turning swiftly on his heel and ripping the door open. The cold night had never felt so welcoming in his existence!

"W-Wait!" Russia was stopped, America caught hold of his elbow and held him from leaving. "It's not an insult, it's a compliment," America swore. Russia turned his head and eyed him warily. When he looked down in warning at America touching him the other nation understood and quickly let go. "You're getting stronger again, I know it," America explained. "You . . . you've always been the only other country as strong as me." So, America felt it made sense to ask this of Russia for this dubious task just because he could hold him back in case he instinctly lashed out. Yes, that cleared everything!

Russia turned to America, straightening his form. He looked menacing. He looked utterly disgusted and he knew America could read every expression of his this time. Good, he wanted him to know how he felt about this bullshit.

Raising his hand Russia let his anger and upset get the best of him as he spat out, "Vy ne chto inoye kak grebanyy shlyukha. Otoydite ot menya!"

America flinched back, his eyes blinking at the sudden shout. If Russia had been so angry he would have taken note of America's recognition of the words, as if he understood them perfectly. But, then again, Russia was certain America's been called a "fucking whore" in multiple languages that he's memorized each phrase.

"What did you call me?" America should have looked confused by the words, instead he was showing signs of looking offended.

Russia dismisses it all though. He threw up his hands and sneered. "I will not be used by you anymore, especially not to help you and that bastard German. Do not look at me as the fault of you not being able to properly fuck your boyfriend." Each word was laced with venom and Russia hoped it coursed up into America's veins and suffocated his heart with the poison.

Russia made to leave, but instead he paced. Back and forth he paced in the doorway with the cold to his back. He wondered if General Winter was watching this. He was probably having a fucking laugh at him now, wasn't he?

"You," Russia was pointing to America again, his eyes narrowed while the younger gapped like a frozen statue. "Are a selfish brat. You think the entire world should cater to you like you're its king. You think that whatever you want must be whatever everyone else wants. If it's good for you then it's good for us. You are WRONG and need to shut your damn mouth!" Russia's aura arose and it was intimating. "You do NOT ask another nation to do this—you do not ask ME to do this. Because it is a private matter. I do not care what you do with him. Leave me ALONE. Solve your pathetic problems yourself."

Russia should have just left, but he wanted to verbally hurt America. He wanted him to choke on every disrespectful thing he said to him.

"You are an immature child if you cannot consummate your relationship with your lover because of what your idiot father did to you centuries ago."

Russia watched it. He watched America's eyes widen, his lips part. And his skin paled. "H-How do you know about that?"

Russia felt no regret revealing that secret he knew. He felt nothing at all for America's inner demons. In fact, he wanted to feed them more.

"I tortured Prussia for information on you back in the good days," Russia lied. But, America didn't need to know. "It was funny when I found out, he begged me not to use it against you. I have waited the day. Now, look at you, you look like a little girl about to cry."

America did. His eyes were watering and his bottom lip quivering. More so it put color back into his face. It was getting redder by the second.

"How dare you." It was low at first, but soon America had raised his tone to match Russia's. "How dare you snoop into my personal life!"

Russia scoffed and sneered at the boy. "You obviously have no respect for it. Who is the one asking to help him prepare for another man's penetration?" Russia's frown and stance did not waver.

"Get out. Get out of here!" America was grinding his teeth, his arms stiff, straight, and shaking. He looked ready to strike at Russia. Good, let him, Russia was ready for him.

"Sending me away so soon?" Russia asked. "How immature. If you cannot let go of your past then there is no place for you in this world."

"You don't know anything!" America bit out.

"Do I?" Russia should have just left by now. "I am assuming this information isn't important enough to tell your lover—or is he not important enough? Apparently I wasn't when we courted."

America's eyes widened. Russia watched a lone tear roll down America's cheek, unnoticed by the boy. Russia felt nothing for it.

"It . . . It is unimportant," America said, insisting it more so to himself. Russia could see it by the way he glanced down, searching his mental bearings, trying to decide if they were strong enough—apparently they weren't.

"Really? Then how come you can't lay under another?" Russia questioned. He was pushing his luck as he leaned in, but he was enjoying his taunts. He wanted America to strike at him because when he did Russia would strike back. "Did you hurt Germany? Da, you did, I can see it on your face. Heh, how pathetic. You should not court if you cannot let your lover fuck you."

America closed his eyes tightly and bore his teeth. He backed away, shaking his head.

"You don't know me," America bit out. He opened his eyes. He looked unintimidating with those unshed tears. "You never have! You call me self-centered? Well, you are! You never cared about me once! Just like the others all you wanted was sex. You don't care!"

"I never cared?" Russia hated others accusing him of being a liar almost more than anything else. "I gave you Alaska, I was among the first to open trade, I supported you through your civil war, I held you—don't you dare accuse me of never caring for you!"

America was blinking rapidly again, this time from the intense sting in his eyes. More tears slipped down. Did Russia understand what he had just said, what he had just remembered so easily when before he had once claimed to have forgotten?

"You never once told me what England did to you," Russia continued, he stepped forward and watched America step back. Instead of relishing in the feel of having the U.S. in retreat something else washed over him. He wanted America to stay in place, to confront his demons—their demons. So he continued closer to him until America had backed himself against the back of the couch, his hands up, over his ears, trying to block Russia out.

"Get out!" America ordered.

"Why didn't you tell me back then?" Russia pressed. "Did you think I would not cope with you? Did you think I would not understand?"

"I said get out!" America shook his head. He really did look sad. The one thing in his past that nearly broke him still breaks him to this day. Truly sad.

"How can you expect to be close to anyone holding that inside you?"

Finally, America snapped. He flicked his head up, looking at Russia with watering bright eyes, eyes that looked haunted. "My own father raped me! What else do you think I'd do? I wanted to forget it, make it like it never happened! I was scared to death, scarred! Your only security just suddenly does that to you so to keep you as their slave. How do you think I fucking felt about it?! No one knows what I went through, what I'm still going through!" America coughed out a sob but caught himself, trying to look strong before Russia whose mood was shifting as America revealed to him his insecurities and dark past. "It's been over two centuries and I'm still haunted by it," another sob ripped itself out of America's throat, "We even reconciled. I love him again, but I . . . what he did to me . . . what he took from me . . . I wanted to give it to the one I loved. How could he have done that to me?"

America coughed and inhaled a shaking breath. His outburst calming to an extent of just flowing tears that dripped down his cheeks and off his chin. He took Texas off and rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.

"I want to get over this so bad," America admitted, his arm fell limply to his side, his gaze off into the distance, staring into nothing. "But I can find no help." Then he looked at Russia with such sad eyes. Shaking his head he motioned toward the door. "I understand . . . I'm sorry for asking what I did. I overstepped my boundaries. Just go."

But Russia didn't. He stood there. He stood there as America pitifully cried to himself.

Russia should have left. He should have been on a plane or ship back to his home, but he was standing there in front of America, too many thoughts running through his mind. He wasn't angry anymore. The shouting had spat it all of the rage out. What was he then?

Confused? Sad? Apologetic?

America really did look pathetic with the tears falling down his cheeks and snot running out of his nose. The younger nation inhaled a cough and opened his eyes, looking to see Russia still standing there, unmoving.

"Leave," America demanded once again. He felt weak from the emotional drain. Much too weak to fight if that's what Russia wanted. "Leave me alone, goddammit!"

Russia should have but the cold winds outside pressed against his back and chilled him, pushing him forward. He took one step closer and then another, by the third he was standing right before America, hardly a foot in between the two.

"Get the hell out of my face." America turned his face, trying to hide his weakened state but was startled when Russia raised his hands and slowly pressed the tips of his gloved fingers against the side of his face. He flinched away, but was only met by the other hand's touch. "Stop it!" America was now glaring up at Russia who looked unreadable. "You've had your fun. Liked seeing me like this? Fine, get out. I don't need you here!"

Russia didn't move save for his right thumb that rubbed against America's red tear-stained cheek. He never liked the sight of America's tears, it hurt his wounded heart.

The bite in America had vanished all together again. Now Russia watched his face contort into sadness, a new wave of tears dispersed out from underneath his closed eyelids, his brows crashed together in angst and his teeth took hold of his bottom lip.

Again, America inhaled a snotty sounding cough. "The Russia I knew would have never done this." Russia felt his heart beat. It's been a while since he felt anything akin to a beat from the useless organ. It sent a cold shiver throughout his body and it did not stop there. America inhaled another sob. "He would have left me alone when I asked."

That simply wasn't true and Russia knew this. Did he when America had been harmed by England's fire? Did he when civil war caked over America? Did he when America was mourning the loss of his greatest leader?

America let out another cough. He simply wouldn't look at Russia, his eyes burned too much with painful tears. America really did look pitiful.

"What I would have done?" Russia questioned. The old Russia, Imperial Russia. He remembered it all. It was always so much easier to remember when he was away from his bosses, away from the General, with America. "I know what I would have done all those years ago."

Imperial Russia would have leaned down and kissed all the troubles America had away, and so Russia did so. America's lips were wet and salty, but so plump and warm, they always had been since he first pressed his mouth to his.

A passion Russia had almost forgotten surfaced and he held America still while he poured it all into him. He kissed him until he could hear no more sobs, until the wet tears slipping down did not moisten Russia's face. When he pulled back he sucked America's lips into his mouth one last time and then let go.

Their breaths mingled calmly, quietly, and Russia remained leant down for a little while simply gazing at those lips now swollen red. Yes, that is what his past self would have done for certain.

As if like a machine Russia moved his hands away from America's face, out first and then slowly retreated them back down to his sides. America was not crying anymore. No, he was staring wide-eyed up at Russia, that mouth of his still parted and making no more sob. Good.

Russia offered a sad smile before it faded back into his set frown. What he would have done. There was so many things left undone between the two and if America fought to let go of his dark past with England then so would Russia. It would cause the two less heartache and finally set their demons free.

Russia opened his mouth, his hand even rose. He wanted to caress America's cheek but he curled his fingers and clenched his fist to stop himself. Russia smiled again. Such force to do these things nowadays.

He had nothing more to say and so just smiled his goodbye to America. It was time to go.

Russia should have been back in Moscow by now, lying to his boss that he had been out visiting his sisters so he didn't suspect anything. If he left right then then he could get there soon. He could remember an excuse.

If he had turned and left right then then America wouldn't have had the chance to clasp his hand on the back of Russia's neck and press him down onto his eager lips. America had not kissed him in over a century. He moved against Russia slowly at first but the more he pressed the stronger he revived.

Now both of America's arms were locked around Russia's neck, pulling him close and kissing him for all he was worth. Russia found himself too easily falling into him. His hands immediately found places on his hips and his body took one more step closer, pressing their chests together, their abdomens together and their pelvises . . .

America sighed into Russia's mouth, his eyes having fluttered closed. He tilted his head to the right and then to the left, his kiss growing hotter, faster, deeper. Russia inhaled him. He felt alive again.

His hands came up, wrapping around his back, rubbing, pressing him closer. Russia needed him so much closer. He nipped at America's lips and too quickly the smaller nation opened his mouth, allowing Russia entrance. Their tongues met and danced once more. How long has it been since he's tasted him like this?

Too long.

Russia inhaled every breath the American exhaled. The heat from the younger seeping into his very being. The faint clunk sound of Texas slipping from America's fingers to the floor was heard but there had been no concern for the frames from either party. With both hands free America's palms pressed against Russia's cheeks, pulling him closer but they were already close enough, sucking, biting, tasting.

Then, America moaned. Russia shuddered out a sigh that was inhaled by the younger nation and he leaned forward. He leaned forward, pressing America's back against the back of the couch, the box of adult toys slipping off and cluttering to the floor.

Thighs pressed against his hips, the legs wrapped around squeezed Russia and ensured him that the Western nation would hang on for his plight.

He wasted not another moment. He was very glad and thankful that America had kept his old home mostly the same. There had been no remodeling, no additions to the home and so Russia easily found the master bedroom from memory.

The wooden door slammed open and hit the wall to the side. Russia left it at that and continued. Nothing had changed. The fireplace, the four poster canopy bed, America hardly touched his room and when Russia laid him down on the bed sheets the rest of the detail of his old room was forgotten.

America was looking at him, and Russia was looking back. Their eyes met, sapphires and amethysts. A force brought Russia down, pressing him close to the younger body underneath him. And he kissed America again, all too pleased to find the younger kissing him in return with equal passion.

They remained lip-locked for what felt like an eternity, an eternity neither minded getting lost in. Russia hadn't known when he lost his gloves in this madness but when he felt his palms press against America's face, skin-to-skin, he moaned. The warmth that was underneath him was everything to him, and it was a cold night.

Russia could feel America's own hands, fingers carded through his hair, pulling on tangles, grabbing handfuls of locks and holding him there as if he wanted him. As if America wanted Russia as much as Russia wanted America.

Pulling his mouth away from those addicting lips Russia kissed the corner of America's mouth and then his cheek twice before falling further. He kissed his jaw three times and leant down to his neck, pulling on the American's sweater to expose more skin on that warm curved neck of his.

The way it arched into him, meeting his mouth before Russia even pressed closer, had Russia falling ever so fast. He bit, sucked, and licked. God, America still tasted the same as he remembered. Not a thing changed.

With one hand pulling the collar of the dark blue sweater down his other grabbed a hold of the hem and pulled up. The taut skin of America's abdomen rippled under Russia's touch and the older nation shivered in knowing the body was submitting to him, to his kisses, to his touches.

His sweater was gone from him so fast, tossed to the side of the room uncaring where it landed. Russia pressed close to America again, kissing him for all he was worth—for all America was worth, and to Russia, America was worth the entirety of the world. He loved him that much. So much.

Russia hadn't even known America's hands had already worked on the buttons of his coat, the article of clothing sliding down his shoulders. It would not slide any further because Russia refused to straighten his arms. He refused to let go of America's face.

They met gazes. Their irises glowing in the dark. Words were silently passed, feelings of electricity and longing shivering the both of them in this quiet agreement.

Russia finally let go of America, straightening his arms and shrugging off his coat. They left the beige covering on the side of the bed, quickly returning to the other for fear that one might disappear and this all be nothing but a dream.

Their lips had not parted since. Russia's buckle was loosened blindly by both sets of hands, the remainder of Russia's own long-sleeved shirt had likely been ripped to shreds from his refusal to back away and pull it over his head. Now Russia was pulled flush against America, the younger so strong, his grip so tight.

One tanned hand cupped the back of his head, pressing him close. The other rubbed his ribs and Russia leaned into the touch.

His eyes opened and lips parted to let out a shuddering gasp. America had pulled down his scarf, it hung loosely on his shoulders now, and then America began kissing his neck, planting warm and loving kisses to those horrendous scars. No one was allowed to see them—to see the evidence of how many had tried to end Russia's national existence.

Now America's other hand caressing his ribs rose and both warm palms cupped Russia's jaw, tilting his head and allowing the younger nation more access to that delicate and private part of his body. Russia never showed these to anyone—not even to his sisters. They didn't know. They knew he had a hard childhood without them, but they did not know of how many countless times his life had been on the cusp of slipping from him.

Russia groaned and instead of pulling away, found himself pressing into that mouth. The teeth gliding along the marred skin were perfect and straight. He felt no threat to them as they nipped then parted to blow warm breath. The tingling traveled throughout Russia's body and he felt his bones shake with renewed energy.

The two nations pulled apart to look at each other again. Slowly, Russia watched America unwind the rest of his rolled scarf. He took care of the knit item, a care Russia hadn't expected to see. They never broke eye contact but Russia could still see the way America handled his beloved scarf.

He held it in his hands, bringing it up to his lips and holding Russia's gaze. Finally, Russia moved, he reached down and moved it away from the boy's mouth. If Russia would bear no covering then neither would America. The scarf was scooted away, near other pillows.

When America's arms wrapped around Russia's neck he felt the security in their hold. It was much more comforting than his sister's scarf and he never wanted them to let go.

They kissed again, long and deep. Their chests pressed close and Russia could feel the beat of America's heart through his ribcage. It thumped against Russia's own chest, encouraging his own heart to pick up its pace and match its rhythm.

America's eyes fluttered shut when he pulled away and a sigh escaped his lips. His face turned, neck and chest ready for Russia. He laid still, waiting.

Russia took the offering. He leaned down and kissed the other side of America's neck. In the wake of his kisses he ran his fingers across the sucked skin, the pads of his fingers gentle before his hand twisted and the backs of his knuckles rubbed. America arched into his touch almost as much as his kisses.

His hands traveled down further, rubbing against America's biceps, taking a hold of his sides when he leaned down and kissed that ugly scar lain right above his heart. America arched. He choked and took to biting his knuckles as Russia lapped at the light patch of skin. America was still ashamed of the scar, Russia could tell, but if he caressed Russia's horrifying scars then Russia would do the same to him.

Russia's arms slunk further, wrapping around America's back before one hand cupped the back of his head and pushed him a little higher. America opened his eyes, looking up at Russia with such vulnerability. Russia pressed their foreheads together while his other hand slipped back to America's chest and gently traced the scar given to America just fourteen years ago. Good and bad, Russia wanted America to know that he would love all of him.

This kiss was tender and chaste. A mere meeting of the lips and caress of his jaw. Their pace slowed for this. Until Russia's caressing hand traced down, his thumb rubbing over one of America's pert nipples.

America gasped into the kiss. His mouth opening was too much of a temptation. Russia's tongue joined America's once more, both too familiar with the other.

They moved like one being. They were unofficial—possibly soon official—enemies. Their peoples did not so much understand the other and so resorted to paranoid hate and fear. But there the two countries were, embracing each other, caressing, kissing; they both wanted this.

Eventually, Russia had to pull away. Once again he traced his lips down America's chin, down his neck, kissed his collarbone three times before skipping back to the scar. He hated the look of it, but it was a part of America now and so he loved it at the same time. A tender kiss was given to it. His kisses increased in pressure around America's pectoral muscles and then Russia opened his mouth and suckled one of his awaiting nipples.

America arched so beautifully into Russia, pressing his body closer than thought possible and the way those fingers snaked through Russia's hair, fingernails scraping against his scalp, he couldn't help but groan out a moan.

Russia popped his mouth off of the bud and grabbed a hold of one of America's wrists. He brought the hand to his mouth. He kissed the calloused knuckles first, pressing them against his lips and feeling the tough skin. Russia remembered a time when the younger once had the softest hands he's ever touched. These hands now were worn from years of fighting, of defense and aggression, but for now, Russia just wanted them to open, to caress and to hold.

Closing his eyes Russia pressed the hand against his cheek, holding it there for a moment. It was because they were nations, because so many sought their destruction and enslavement. They could not remain young and pure forever. If there was ever such a world to find where the eternity of youth was cherished then Russia would gladly take America and whisk him away to that world.

Opening his eyes Russia looked down at America. He was watching him. He looked beautiful laid out on the bed underneath him. Like how it was always meant to be.

Russia leaned down and pressed his forehead against America's again, the younger nation's eyes closed and took in his presence, took in the feel of him above him, pressing against him, touching him. When Russia's hand slid down and touched America for the first time he was not surprised to find the younger's hand gripping his wrist, stopping his decent into the pants. Russia tried to continue but America was strong and would not let him go on further.

Russia opened his eyes, looked at America. America was looking at him again. He looked unsure, even frightened. Russia understood.

With more force Russia pressed and this time cupped America's cock. No doubt he was the first to touch the organ in centuries. America's mouth opened in a gasp and he retaliated.

Russia was growing stronger again, yes, but America was still stronger. America pulled Russia's arm away just as violently as if they were in a brawl. Russia kept America's gaze this entire time. He could see it was indeed the country's own body reacting like this, his instinct. He was the alpha and his body fought to remain so—to keep control.

America needed release. He needed to release it all and Russia would help him.

Russia jerked his wrist out of America's hold and instead of trying again he grabbed a hold of both of the other's wrists and slammed them down into the sheets bunched around his head. America's breath began to labor. His eyes widening and pupils shaking. He was afraid.

But Russia understood. He understood everything about him in that moment, and he would not harm him. Not the one promised to him.

Russia leaned down, he kissed America again, keeping him still and taking in every paranoid breath escaping those trembling lips. Russia had no choice but to pull America's wrists up above his head, holding them securing with his strongest hand while his other returned to America's pants. He did not touch him again. Instead he simply slipped the trousers down, taking careful consideration of America's facial features.

Throughout the entire process they held eye contact. Russia was near unreadable for the most part but if he wanted to relay any silent message to America it was that he was taking care of him, that he would not harm him, and that the younger had nothing to fear. He could see America struggling with himself, no doubt fighting back that demon that turned him into a paranoid mess that pushed everyone away.

Bare. America was finally bare underneath him. No, this time America was not sick and Russia just trying to warm him from General Winter's chilling threats. No, America was rubbing Russia's hips with caressing knees and arching thighs, spread willingly.

Russia did not touch him with his hand. Instead he held America's gaze, watching, waiting for any reaction while his free hand returned to him, taking hold of his pants zipper and pulling it down. The sound echoed across the large room but America didn't move. Not even when Russia reached inside and grabbed himself, bringing himself out to rub against America for the first time.

The way America's eyes fluttered but didn't shut, the way his neck arched and his head fell back into the pillows, it was beautiful and enticingly arousing. Russia was so hard when he touched America. He wrapped his hand around both cocks and held them together to feel, to take in. Russia closed his eyes and sighed out a moan.

Suddenly, Russia felt it. America bucked against him. He opened his eyes and looked down at the nation. His eyes were half-lidded, his mouth parted, warm winds of pants escaping past pearly white teeth.

Russia could feel those tanned thighs trembling as well and his hand wrapped around their cocks left to rub the right thigh, caressing it to calm, pressing it closer to his hip. The skin felt so soft, so warm. Russia wanted it pressed against him, a part of him, forever.

He needed to feel him more. So, Russia slowly took his hand away from America's clasped wrists and drew those powerful hands to his mouth, kissing each and letting go to show his trust. He then leaned away from America. He was in the process of pulling the remaining article of clothing—his pants—off of himself when he stopped.

His eyes took in America. He had not moved much when Russia pulled himself away to sit back on his knees. His knees still bent out where Russia's pelvis had been cradled, his arms were now by his sides, hands running up and down slowly, almost teasingly, and playing with the small blond hairs trailing from his bellybutton on down.

God, did America know what he was doing to Russia? The way the younger was looking at him with such dark blue eyes—did he even know the affect he had on the Russian nation? Want was evident in everything about the American; the look in his eyes, the way his hands played with himself, the way his legs spread ever so slightly more in invite.

Russia nearly forgot to discard his pants for want to lay back over America, but he wanted to touch him skin-to-skin and so did away with the last of his clothing. Finally, he laid back over him and pressed his cock to America's. The other hadn't retaliated yet and he was glad.

They kissed more while their hands explored. When fingers traced over scars they lingered, caressing gently, and if their mouth was close they would plant a tender kiss over the silvery patch of skin as if their kisses could heal any wound once given. Russia could feel the scar on America's back, the one Japan had given him in 1941. The American's shoulders twitched when Russia ran his fingers over it and in so America leaned forward kissing Russia's neck.

The United States was so very sensitive of his scars, each one feeling as if it were a newly healed wound one shouldn't mess with. Russia's scars were old, many he had received from Mongolia and his bloody childhood. The reminder of how he received them hurt more so than someone touching them, but as America kissed the patches, he even turned to the one on his shoulder—a larger one—and began sucking it, scraping his teeth against it and lapping at it, Russia felt this was the best way to deal with them. He did not mind America touching them.

Slowly, Russia moved his pelvis against America, rocking. America pulled himself away from his neck and clung close, wrapping his arms around Russia and pulling him flush, crushing. Russia knew America's virtue had been stripped from him violently, without his consent, but that didn't mean he wasn't any less of a virgin.

He had not been with a man since England had taken him all those centuries ago. In fact, this was his first time actually giving himself to another. This was America's first. Russia would be America's first.

The Russian smiled gently at the thought and cupped the back of America's head, comforting him. All would be well, for the both of them.

With his other hand Russia grasped America's hip and guided him in the movement. Small thrusts against each other before he pressed a little harder and had both of their hips rolling in a long intimate dance. When he let go of America's hip he no longer needed to encourage the younger nation to move, America was rolling himself into Russia, small moans escaping his lips that tickled the base of Russia's neck.

He could feel America curl his neck against his own, rubbing his cheek against his ear and resting his chin near the back of his shoulder. Russia rubbed against him in return and then tried something more. He moved his hips downward, his cock rubbing against the younger nation's testicles before rubbing down further until . . .

America inhaled a sharp breath and pushed himself away from Russia. His frame slammed into the mattress, his eyes closed tightly and lip bit into his mouth while his hands pushed against Russia's shoulders, squeezing and pushing. He would break Russia's bones shortly.

Instead of Russia forcing the hands off of him he pressed his own against America's neck, his thumb rubbing up against the younger's jaw, caressing him, getting him to open his eyes. America did. He was trembling, afraid once more.

"Ya ne prichinyu tebe vreda . Dover'tes' mne. Dover'tes' mne," Russia managed to lean close to whisper this. Clarity of thought that he should have said it in English would come later, but in the moment Russia could not speak anything but his own native tongue and somewhere in the back of his mind beholding through his eyes it looked as if America understood what he was saying the more Russia whispered it. "I will not harm you. Trust me. Trust me." The English could not word it properly and so Russia spoke what was natural to him.

Both hands were caressing America's jaw now. The pain on his arms almost unbearable but Russia only pressed more. "Dover'tes' mne." Russia should have remained still, America was too tense, too close to breaking him, but he pressed his forehead against America, his own lips rubbing against America's who was letting out pant after hyperventilating pant. "Dover'tes' mne, Alfredka."

Then Russia felt it. He felt those crushing hands slowly release pressure. Then they were shaking. They slid up Russia's shoulders and cupped his jaw, trembling. Russia reached out and grabbed a hold of them to stop their shaking, he hated feeling them so afraid and so he kissed them until the calmed.

There, America was smiling at him. Tears in his eyes that have yet to fall glistened against his glowing irises. When he inhaled a sloppy gasp one tear slipped down his face.

"Ya lyublyu tebya." Russia could not help his being from saying it when he pulled America's face close and pressed it against his neck, cradling him in his arms. He felt as if his heart would burst. He loved America so much. "Ya tak tebya lyublyu."

America was fighting. He was struggling against himself for this and Russia was so proud of him.

Soon enough, America's breathing settled and his body relaxed. Russia rubbed against the back of his neck only feeling America let his head fall back into that touch. He was smiling at Russia with those dark eyes and asking to be kissed. Russia leaned down and did so. America's hand cupped his cheek in return and then Russia felt his legs spread further apart.

So, he rubbed himself against America's entrance, getting him used to the feel. America moaned into his mouth and it wasn't long before his rolled his hips down onto him. America pulled his lips away from Russia's in a gasp. Every little sound aroused Russia and he was losing himself too quickly.

While Russia did not wish to move his hands away from America's body he knew he had to. In their plight into room Russia had caught sight of a carton of lotion for dry skin on the lampstand next to the bed. It would do. He needed something because America was a male personification and did not lubricate naturally.

Russia reached over and took it into his grasp. He opened the carton and took a handful of the white crème, rubbing it against his hand and then he pressed his hand down against America's cock, lathering it and stroking it. The skin moved along with him and so did America's hips.

He was moaning, America had closed his eyes and laid his head back against the pillows underneath and moaned. His head sloshing back and forth perfectly. Russia leaned down and raked his teeth against that exposed neck while he built up pleasure in the younger.

His hand did retreat and lather itself again before traveling down further. The moment he touched that puckered ring of muscle America's legs clamped against his hips painfully tight. It knocked the wind out of Russia and he groaned.

He kept his eyes on America. The nation had went rigid, kept his eyes closed, and breathing as even as possible. He was struggling, forcing his body to calm itself.

Russia moved his other hand to one of the knees and pulled it apart, slamming the thigh against the bed sheets and holding it there. Russia pressed his weight against the other thigh and now America was spread perfectly before him.

Russia rubbed the ring of muscle again just to get that part of America's body used to his touch. He could see America's abdominal muscles tense and knew America was struggling to control himself. When Russia pressed a finger inside he half expected America to lurch forward, grab a hold of him, and toss him across the room. To his surprise America arched. He arched so perfectly that the finger slipped in easier and quicker.

Russia was amazed, but then again this reaction only made his heart race. The combining of nations was similar to humans but also different. If they so accepted a bond from another nation then they would accept their girth and all things given to them. There would be no tension, no pain. It was a beautiful thing—or so Russia has heard. He's never bonded with another nation before and he wondered if that is what he and America were about to do.

Yes, they were. They were about to bond.

America was sucking him deeper into him. Already three fingers and Russia felt as if the nation under him wanted more. He did. He wanted him in his fullest.

A nation didn't need much preparation, more so the males did for lack of lubrication. This was in the result of acceptance and submission. America has chosen to submit, to lay under another, to spread his legs thus so made his body ready. But Russia needed lubrication inside him because no matter the acceptance America would still hurt from dry penetration.

Rape was different. No matter if the other partner tried to arouse their victim through whatever means there would be no acceptance and so the penetration hurt and would scar. America had been through this. It was hard to get over. He was a wonder within himself.

When Russia began to stroke himself, lathering himself in slick lotion he wondered how different it would have been had he been able to return to America right away back in the late Nineteenth Century and fulfill their promise early on. Or, if it would have been the same.

Russia believed he would not have treated America any differently. He would have found out about his rape and he would have comforted him. He would have showed him how to properly make love, just like what he was doing now.

This was about to happen. Russia was going to make love to America. He'd waited his entire known existence for this; to have his mate. It wasn't fair that the two were at disagreements in the world right now because this was all Russia had ever wanted. He just wanted to hold America, to hold him, to kiss him, to caress him, and to make love to him.

Russia leaned over America. One hand holding the base of the younger's skull steady, the other cupping his own arousal, so thick and throbbing, and guiding it toward America's entrance. America had accepted him, had chosen to lay under him, he had picked Russia to give himself to.

The head of the phallus pressed against the entrance and America's hands shot up, clasped against Russia's jaw, holding the older's head still as the American nation looked up into his eyes, seeking comfort and acceptance of Russia's own. Russia did not take his eyes off of him and smiled.

He pressed inside. Russia watched America's eyes glow, they were so wide right then. They fluttered but would not close. Nostrils flared and jaw closed tight, America forced himself to remain calm as Russia slid the rest of himself inside.

There had been no resistance. America had accepted his entirety and now Russia was embedded within him. Russia could not contain the moan that he had been holding in his descent. His eyes fluttered closed, his head tilting back and his jaw loosening to part his lips.

Perfect. America felt perfect around him. Better than any livid dream he's dreamt.

From the moment Russia had seen his destined mate he had imagined this night; the time when they finally became one. At first it was at Empress Catherine's palace when America was so little—the small colony writhing underneath the larger mass of a nation—then it was in Paris, when America had finally become his own country, then it was at St. Petersburg palace when Russia had accepted him as a mature country in the world—he had imagined America in that Apollo outfit and how lovely the gems sounded as they cluttered to the floor in Russia's haste to strip the nation bare and merge with him—then, it was at Sitka when Russia had given America his American territory, he had been so ready for him then, so . . . just like now . . . in Sitka.

Russia felt tears well in his eyes and he blinked to relieve the sting only for them to fall out, bursting form on America's face below. The younger nation looked up at him, and then his right hand trailed up, the tips of his fingers touching the tears falling from Russia's violet eyes. Russia was crying.

Trembling, Russia reached forward and took America's wandering hand in his grasp, bring those fingers to his mouth and kissing each one and then the palm and then the wrist. Afterward he pressed the hand against his wet cheek and smiled sadly down at America.

They did it. Alaska. They became one in Alaska like they had so promised long ago. What once was thought a broken promise returned in fulfillment and Russia couldn't take it. His heart burst with emotions.

America pulled his hand free from the trembling Russian's grasp and then wrapped his arms around his back. He pressed his hands against Russia's shoulders and pulled him down, pressing their chests against the other so that Russia was closer to him again. Their eyes met and when America leaned up to kiss Russia the older nation shed the last of his tears.

With renewed vigor Russia reached down and grasped America's hips. He'd waited too long and his body was eager to share everything with America. He pulled out a little and then thrust back inside. America's insides were tight, just like a virgin's, and as an accepting country he could feel the way those walls clenched around him, sucking him deeper.

America took him whole. Russia's laid with others. None had been able to take him in his entirety, China had been the bitchiest bedmate that often left Russia quite unsatisfied. But America? Oh, America . . .

America sucked in sharp breaths when Russia pressed inside and exhaled when he pulled away. His breathing was controlled this way and the moans coming out along with those exhales hardened Russia to pain. The way America stretched around him was perfect. His warmth, his tightness, everything Russia wanted as his forever.

Russia rubbed his lips against America's in those breaths. Their breathing mingled and grew hotter the deeper Russia sunk. The practice from before came into play when America began rolling his hips in even flow with Russia's making the experience all the more pleasurable and America let Russia know just how much pleasure he was feeling.

"Oh, oooh!" America's head fell back onto the pillows underneath, his hair fanning out around him like a golden halo. Russia reached down and ran his fingers through that silky rich colored hair and when he leaned down America turned his head for Russia to kiss his temple.

Pressing his lips to America's ear Russia let him listen to him as he thrust into him. Every groan, every moan was for America and he wanted him to hear it all. America moaned in return, a full flush spreading across his face and down his neck just by hearing every lewd sound Russia gasped out.

The way Russia felt inside America was unlike anything he's ever felt before. England, America's father, had ripped into him violently and left him a bloody mess on the green among his dead men. It had hurt so bad that America never believed any pleasure could be given to a man from another man. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

Russia was big, probably the biggest out of any nation in the world, but he fit and filled America perfectly. America's eyes fluttered closed at the hot throbbing feel. It was almost like he was made for Russia because he doubted any other nation could take him fully inside like he had then.

America moaned, louder this time. His back arched. He wanted more.

Russia was keeping his thrusts even and deep, but feeling America arch under him tightened the muscles around his cock and he felt the shaft twitched. So, he shifted himself. He bent his knees and then took America by the hips, holding him close to his pelvis as he pistoned himself downward. America arched again, it was a little difficult since he was nearly bent in half with his hips angled upward against Russia's but he did so, his chest rising.

Russia could feel the younger's muscles clamping around him, sucking him. Being inside America was far better than any experienced mouth or one-night whore could ever be. Russia was smiling in relieved satisfaction, his head tilting up and eyes closing shut just to feel him.

They'd become one. Russia was now a part of America and America was now a part of Russia.

This was something more than just sex, much more than a fuck, and deftly more than making love. There was no arousal of lust or pleasurable touch. No need to penetrate deep to feel tight warmth. It was not about the ecstasy of the body but the longing of a shattered heart.

The gentle ache to become one in spirit and body, in breath and mind, whereas lust and want held such high passion to dominate other emotions, this ache was deeper and its pull longer lasting. Unaware of its presence until the moment proves to bring the large canyon of nothingness in a heart nearly broken to undoing.

The ache went unnoticeable during its hiding and appearing that where Russia believed his longing to be a physical need of relief then turned into something both he and America never imagined would show. The humanistic need to please oneself in every sense of physical capability became the longing to connect in the most intimate way any creature on earth could.

When Russia entered America he not only felt their earthly forms connecting and joining together, but their spirits as well. It was something neither had experienced nor did they assume would ever. But the closeness, the entwined feel of physical, emotional, and spiritual; it was all too much for the two nations.

Russia felt every part of him heightened. His touch, his sight, his hearing, his feel, his taste. What was more was that he could feel America, actually feel him. His stomach rolled the same way America's did when he thrust back inside him and pressed at just the right angle, his breath left his lips just like America's, both inhaling the same hot atmosphere around the two of them. Their hearts, oh, their hearts.

Russia leaned down, took hold of America's wrists and pressed them next to his head. He could see the way his fists clenched, balled. Every press inside and America arched, his eyes rolling back and head tossing to and fro. He looked so beautiful in the throes of passion.

Russia kissed him and immediately felt him still his head and return the kiss with a skill that left both of them breathless. Russia's breath was America's and America's breath was Russia's. Both moaned in unison and when their eyes opened both saw the desire in the other's glowing gazes.

America wiggled his wrists free and reached out, cupping Russia's face and rolling his hips over and over until he felt like an experienced lover. The way he moved against Russia made the older feel as if he knew his entire body, knew how to move to make him react. Russia bucked a little harder into America and the younger mewled, his eyes closed and his lips hung in the perfect "O" before he evened his breathing and looked up at Russia again, silently begging him to do that again.

Russia did and their pace quickened. Closer, he wanted to be so much closer. Russia leaned down and when their chests pressed against the other he could feel it. His heart, it was beating, beating and beating—in the same as America's own heartbeat. The connection was made and until death would their hearts cease their synced dance.

"Ivan . . ." Russia nearly froze his entire being at the sound of his name. He had not heard his name pass those lips in over a century. He opened his eyes and beheld America. He was crying. He was moving his hands already placed on his face, fingers tracing the Russian's jaw and cheeks.

Russia rubbed his face against the touching hands and gave America a chaste kiss. They could not hold each other any closer than that. Their bodies connected, pressed so close that no air separate them, lips locked and arms wrapped around the other. They'd never been so familiar with the other than right then.

Russia had thought America looked his most beautiful underneath him, with the bed sheets ruffled under his naked form, but he was wrong. Now America was above him, squeezing his hips tightly with his thighs and rolling his own against him. Russia's breath was lost from him when America took his hands in his own and placed them on his sides, letting him hold him as America pressed down onto the large cock inside him.

The window, the one just to the left was illuminated by the light of the twinkling stars and bright moon. The light poured into the room and cast onto America's body, the sweat coating it made it sheen and shine and Russia saw everything, every muscle move perfectly in motion with his own. That tanned skin was the right shade with the moon's rays and Russia was falling in love all over again.

America would roll his entire body, first his hips and then his spine would arch and then the neck and in the end he'd lean his head back and moan in pleasure. Russia was mesmerized by the sight of it all that he forgot to breathe. His body even moving on its own to lean up and sit, looking America level in his glowing gaze.

They paused, both staring at the other, taking in the way the moon's rays shadowed their bodies and illuminated their skin. Russia's hair seemed to glow a silvery hue while America's hair paled. Both took in the beauty of the night.

It was America who leaned in to kiss Russia. Slowly at first until both decided on which way they would tilt their head and at which angle they'd lean in. Every kiss sent shivers throughout their bodies and both eyes fluttered closed.

Russia's hands on America's sides moved and explored. He grew upset in discovering every part of America he touched was rippling with fit muscle. It was expected after all America had to keep his figure from being the world power, but Russia's own physic was no doubt lacking. Since the fall of his union he wasn't inclined to remain in top shape. Lately, his boss had been drilling him, but it would take years before he was back in his prime like he had been as the USSR.

But America seemed just as enthusiastic about his body as he was about his. Russia could feel those warm strong hands running down his frame, rubbing, tracing. Then their journey ended in cupping the back of his neck where America leaned back and rolled his hips, continuing where Russia had stopped to feel.

Russia shivered when America moved over him again. He could feel him pulling away only to suck him back inside, into the heat and tightness. Russia could feel sweat seep out of him by America's movements. He was too good, knew exactly how to move to make Russia fall to pieces.

"Ivan," America sighed out. There it was again, his name. America's head was leaning back, his collarbone protruding and his back arching, his lean weighed him down and if Russia leaned forward then they'd both be tumbling back onto the mattress underneath them. Russia did so and America's back met the disheveled bed sheets.

He opened his blue eyes and waited patiently for Russia to cover him again, both of his hands on America's hips and rocking faster into him. America shook with each powerful deep thrust and if Russia hadn't kept a hold of his hips then he'd no doubt topple off the side of the bed.

America's head turned to the side, his eyes squeezing shut and he let out a loud gasp, sighing in pleasure afterwards. Russia struck him there again, the same reaction. So, he continued, angling his manhood to press and stretch just that way.

One harder thrust just right and America lurched forward, clinging to Russia and hooking his leg around his waist. They twisted, Russia's breath leaving him when his back hit the mattress again. America was leaning against him, rubbing himself onto him. His neck pressed against Russia's mouth enticed the older nation to wrap his hands around it and pull it into a bite. He felt America's moans vibrating through the throat and so twisted their bodies, slamming America down into the mattress again, holding his leg around his waist a little higher and Russia managed to slip more of himself than previous thought into his lover beneath him.

They both gasped in unison but Russia's cock demanded friction and so he moved a little faster, nearly pounding himself into the body connected to his. America was rutting against him, enthusiastically panting and silently encouraging Russia to go harder and faster. Russia did so.

Russia swallowed hard at the feel of those muscles squeezing around him, both of America's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling, pushing him deeper, and his anal muscles continued to constrict, to stroke his manhood inside America, gulping it deeper with the contractions. He could feel his testicles tighten, hardening. Oh, what America did to him.

So, he reached down and began to stroke America. Those blue eyes popped open when Russia finally touched him. His tanned lips parted and those pearly whites glew in the moon's light.

Russia pressed his thumb against the slit and rubbed America's cockhead. Circumcised, he should have suspected. He could feel the organ twitch in his grasp and the strange thing was that he nearly felt it himself; when he touched America's arousal, rubbing it, teasing it, it almost felt as if his own cock could feel the same ministrations on it.

"Ooh," Russia groaned, leaning down and biting into America's shoulder. The younger choked out a moan, rolling his hips to meet Russia's thrusts.

They were harsher this time; the thrusts into America. Russia believed to seriously harm any lover with these hard and needy and quick rams, but America wasn't just any lover, he was his mate, made specifically for him. Formed to stand beside him, to match strength, to lay under him, to fit him inside, and to take any strength he'd give him.

Russia did not let go of America's shoulder until his urge to penetrate deep and fast faded so slightly and was replaced by gentler movement. There was red on his lips from America's bite wound but he didn't care, it did not stop him from kissing the younger nation and smearing the liquid all over his kiss-swollen lips. America was undamaged by Russia's brutal pace, just as he suspected. Those moans of his egged the Slavic country on.

America's kisses did the same. He kissed Russia like he was the only one he loved and would ever. He kissed him like Russia was his shelter, his defender, his hero. He kissed him in surrender because his heart beat for him, because Russia's heart beat as America's.

When Russia pulled his lips away he hovered over that warm mouth. They exhaled and inhaled the other. Each touch was what Russia wanted. Each kiss mentally asked for. The connection was deeper than expected.

Time? Both had lost in the other's embrace. Neither knew that it was indeed the 14th already and that the day was even coming to a close. Nations lasted longer than mere humans in bed, even if this was America's first time in such an intimate act the bond formed from this union drew the both out longer. In ancient times it was once said Rome could bed a nation—or multiple countries, according to the teller—for many weeks. This of course would come from multiple completions and then rises to claim again and again, but the nations nowadays were less inclined to have such resilience for so long.

Russia didn't know any nation who could last as long as that old and dead empire. But as far as first orgasm, Russia never expected to last this long. Over and over he would thrust into America feeling so close and yet he would not ejaculate. He sensed America felt the same, from the way his cock colored hot red to the look in his eyes begging him for release.

Their legs entwined, their arms clung, their hips rolled, and their hearts beat rapidly. They were lost in time and the space around them. The connection formed strengthened the longer they held onto the other, the more they kissed, the more they pressed against each other.

They didn't care about release any longer. They wanted each other. Forever they wanted this moment to last. Just to hold and look into the other's eyes so intimately delved into their hearts in cherishment.

But like every good thing brought there is an end to it. Their spirits soared in the deepening connection until the string of it pulled taught and bit by bit it snapped. Russia and America came together. They arched into the other, pelvis pressing against pelvis. Russia had burst deep inside America, pressing in so deep so that America would feel him within him and keep him there for a long time afterwards.

America came over both their chests. It coated a hot white and his orgasm continued ejaculating even after the first initial shockwave rocked through the both of them. Russia's breath left him and he collapsed. He fell on top of America who was still experiencing his long drawn out release.

America did not push Russia off. He said nothing about the larger laying above him. Instead, he wrapped his arms around him and clung close to him. His knees rubbing against Russia's hips and sides lovingly.

When America began kissing Russia's neck the white in Russia's vision faded and his senses returned. He rose his head and looked at America. The younger let him see him close his eyes and lean his head back, pursing his lips. Russia took the invitation and leaned down to kiss America.

They kissed until Russia turned to his side. He made to pull out of America but the nation simply followed his hips with his own, keeping his leg wrapped around Russia's hip to keep him close, to keep him inside. Russia understood everything in America's bright blue eyes that looked into his own telling him things in secret, things both couldn't possibly comprehend if said in voice.

A sigh left America's lips and he closed his eyes, laying his head against Russia's chest and listening to the slow beat of his heart. Russia wrapped his arms around the smaller and drew him as close as he could. His mind was clouded with nothing but America and the feelings of him therein.

When Russia reached out in want to caress America's jaw the younger nation would jut his chin in preparation for the touch. When Russia wanted to lift America's hand and entwine their fingers he found America raising his arm himself and holding his hand out for him, waiting for his own to clasp. When Russia wanted to give one last kiss to those swollen and abused lips America would lean his head back and pucker his lips in wait for Russia's descending ones.

It was as if America knew what Russia wanted in the subconscious of his being. It was so strange but understandable all at once. The bond they had created would have to be torn violently if ever wanted to get rid of and in that violence Russia was certain they'd both perish. He'd never be able to stop loving America, never, especially not after this.

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Daughter Of The Revolution: History Time!

The Winter Olympics of 2014 was held in Sochi, Russia with Russia taking 33 medals in total, America coming in second taking 28 medals, Norway coming in third taking 26 medals in total, and Canada coming in fourth taking 25 medals in total.

So, Germany and America's relationship comes under strains from the 2013 mass survailiance disclosures where the world finds out America's tapping the phones. How rude D: And then AGAIN in July of 2014 when two Bundesnachrichtendienst officials were arrested by federal prosecutors for allegedly spying on the German government for the C.I.A.. Chancellor Angela Merkel asked the coordinator of CIA activity at Berlin's U.S. Embassy to leave his diplomatic post. In response to the arrests, Merkel said, "Viewed with good common sense, spying on friends and allies is a waste of energy. In the cold war it may have been the case that there was mutual mistrust. Today we live in the 21st century." German attempts to be included in the non-spying pact the US has with the UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada were fruitless. Why can't Germany be included, huh? Poor country is trying. But, in light of that all Merkel reiterated the U.S. was Germany's most important ally, and nothing about their relationship would change. Awww, how nice :) At which it has been stated that Germany is a close ally of the United States with the United Kingdom being its closest, Canada next, then Japan, and then Germany. Circle of friends, peoples.

And, finally, the rest is history that I'm certain many of you are caught up with today. :D

Until the next chapter, love you all! Mmmwah!