Shadow: Yeah, so, no update next week, haven't gotten around to writing anything...but my darling babu is demanding it today... (Not really demanding, more like setting a timeline) but so yeah here you go o3o
WARNING: More Amurrica emoting, drunk sex
"Mattie, I...I can't do this."
"Yes you can, Al."
"I-I can't."
"Yes. You can."
"I can't! I...I can't see him..." America fiddled with his tie, staring at the door of the meeting room. He was arriving late to the meeting, it was still lunch break, just before all the nations gathered back into the meeting room. He had convinced Canada to allow him to come late, so he wouldn't have to confront Russia.
"Yes, Alfred, you can." Canada tired of trying to make his brother see that everything was okay and kicked the door open, shoving him inside.
The crowd in the meeting room was sparse, since most nations went out to eat. The only people in the room were those who had brought their own lunch and had eaten during the meeting or were taking their lunch at the table. To America's terror, Russia was one of them. He tried to turn and run, only for Canada to grab him and shove him back.
"Ve~!" Italy bounced up to the North American brothers, looking excited of their arrival. "America! I'm so glad you're finally here! Here's the key to your room, ve~ You're sharing with someone, I hope you don't mind!" Since the meeting was taking place in Rome naturally Italy got to pick their sleeping arrangements. America only hoped he was rooming with his brother.
"Um, nah, it's cool." America took the keycard and pocketed it, staring at the ground to avoid the pair of violet eyes that had fixed on him from across the room instead of focusing on Lithuania like they should have been. "I-I'm gonna go see if I can grab a snack before we-"
"No." Canada smacked his brother upside the head.
"Oh, Canada, I didn't see you, ve." Italy blinked at the Canadian. He dug into his pocket, taking out another keycard. "I remembered to give you a room though!"
Canada sighed and took the key. Getting a hotel room was honestly all he could really ask. At least they remembered he existed for a little while before forgetting. He checked the room number on the keycard, then tapped America's shoulder. "What room?"
"Ummm, 308. You?"
"214, no good, I'm a floor below you." Canada desperately hoped Italy didn't put America with Russia. As much as he wanted them to get together again, just shoving them in an enclosed space before they were ready would only cause trouble. He knew Italy liked to 'help' but it wasn't helping if it didn't do good. "Look, I'm gonna go see if I can find Cuba, stay here."
America grabbed his brother's arm. "What if he talks to me?" he whispered desperately through gritted teeth.
"Then, like a civilized person, you will talk to him back." And with that, Canada left him without any defense.
"America, if you would please sit down," Germany ordered, looking a little irked that the American has shirked off half the meeting for the day. "Ask someone else for notes on what you've missed." Germany nodded to America and then got a look at what Italy was doing, so went off to keep him from accidentally killing himself and then to scold him afterwards.
America sighed and sat down, at the farthest point away from Russia as he could get. He refused to glance in the Russian's direction and kept his gaze down, trying to focus on his hungry stomach. Why hadn't Canada let him get lunch? He didn't know, but he was grateful for the distraction.
"Ah, Amerika, I am glad to see you have arrived safely!" America flinched at the accented words.
"Y-yeah..." he mumbled, glancing up at Russia, who was smiling innocently and coldly, then looked back down at the table. It hurt when Russia called him by his nation name.
"Well, I photocopied Lithuania's notes, so here," Russia giggled as he set some papers beside the American and turned on his heels. "Do get better with your timing!" And he walked back to Lithuania, leaving America in peace.
The meeting soon started, and America lazily doodled on the notes Russia had given him. He could feel the Russian's gaze on him all through the meeting. It made him sick to his stomach, which was knotting and twisting inside him. When the meeting was over he ran to his room and flopped on the one bed. ...Wait, one?
Alfred cursed his luck and rolled onto his back, hugging a pillow to his chest. There was a knock at the door and when he answered it, Matthew was there waiting for him, with Cuba behind him. "Oh, hey, bro. What's up? Come in. ...You can't come in, commie, stay out there."
"Just head to the room, kay? I might be a bit." Matthew kissed his boyfriend goodbye and joined his brother in the hotel room. "Do you know who you're sharing a room with yet?"
"No. I'm just really hoping it isn't Russia." Alfred shrugged, opening up his suitcase that had been transported before he'd arrived. "I don't want it to be this awkward, Mattie... I wanted to shoot myself when he came up and talked to me after you left."
"He talked to you after I left?" Matthew asked, seeming much more interested now. "What did he say? Was he mad or anything?"
"No..." Alfred shrugged again. "He just said hey and he gave me the notes I missed because we were late."
"That's...nice of him." Matthew had no idea what he meant by that. Why had Russia done that?
"He was just smiling that stupid fake smile and he called me America." Alfred stomach twisted as the bitter words left him.
"Well, you did break up with him..."
"Yeah, but I figured he would at least still call me by my human name!" Alfred crossed his arms and sat at the edge of the bed, glaring at his knees. "I just... I never told him that I wanted everything to go back to how it was before, I didn't, I just... I don't know what I wanted."
It was then that the door clicked open and Russia stepped through. He looked pleasantly surprised to find the twins in the room. Though, as usual, Canada went by unnoticed. "Oh, good afternoon. I did not know I was sharing a room with you, Amerika. What a pleasant surprise. Is this an inopportune time for you?"
Alfred shook his head numbly and looked to his brother, who only shook his head right back at him. "I, um, have to go. Cuba's waiting for me. Bye, Al, I'll see you in a bit." He almost felt bad for abandoning his brother like that, but how else would he learn? In order for a child to learn to swim, they've gotta kick around and dip below a couple times, right?
When his brother left Russia placed his suitcase on the couch and opened it up, pulling out a book and setting it on the couch cushion before closing his suitcase and putting it on the ground. The silence was stifling and awkward, but the Russian seemed not to notice at all. It was like he thrived on it.
Alfred finally found some sort of way to get out a few strangled words, "Hey, Iv...Russia?"
"Hm?" Russia looked over his shoulder from where he stood, unbuttoning his coat. He didn't look the slightest bit out of place, like it was his right to be standing in that room, making Alfred uncomfortable.
"Are you mad?" Alfred tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat, miserably failing.
"Why would I be mad? Have you done something worthy of my anger?" Russia's fingers slid over each button smoothly, fluidly, and he eventually got to the last one, sliding his coat off his shoulders and onto the couch.
Alfred's blue eyes followed the coat and then the Russian's hands as they pulled the white muscle shirt over his head and tossed it onto the couch on top of his coat. "What are you doing?"
"Changing. It's been quite a long day for some of us." Alfred could have smacked himself. And he was really thinking it was for something else. As he looked up once more he caught the traces of a faint smirk twitching at the corners of Russia's mouth. "Why are you blushing? It isn't like you have never seen me without clothes on before."
Alfred mumbled a 'shut up' and averted his gaze as the Russian slid off his pants and underwear before picking out clean clothes to put on. Alfred didn't see the point, it was only something like three hours before a suitable bedtime.
"I was going to go for a drink, would you care to join?" Russia asked with a polite smile as he buttoned up the slacks he had only recently donned. As he slipped on a shirt Alfred barely caught the last traces of his smooth chest, and quickly looked away to avoid blushing again.
"No." Alfred tried to look at anything but the Russian. He couldn't bring it upon himself to look at him.
"Fine then. I suppose since there is only one bed I should sleep on the couch, da?"
"Whatever, just leave." Alfred didn't think he could bare to be in such close quarters with the Russian for much longer.
Why, Italy?
"Russia?" Said Russian looked over his shoulder to find Canada behind him, looking nervous.
"Who?" Ivan barely even blinked as he took a shot of vodka before calling for another.
"...Goddammit. Canada. Alfred's brother. The guy you beat up because I slept with him."
"Ah, da. Quite an unpleasant memory to bring up. Why are you here?" He down another shot. This had to be at least his twentieth. He wasn't even close to buzzed, either. He'd at least cleaned out one bottle of the bartender's stock.
"I...I wanted to know if...you were mad at Al, since he...since he broke up with you, I mean." Matthew had absolutely no idea how Ivan would react, and that was the only reason he was at all nervous.
"Why would I be mad at him? It isn't as if it were much other than sex. Though I am rather puzzled as to why he did so." Another shot. No closer to being drunk than two seconds before.
Matthew was silent. He knew bravado when he heard it. He could barely hear the quiet crack of Ivan's childish voice and the strain in his smile. He could see that Ivan was just as negatively affected by this as Alfred was, probably more. "He...he really wants you back." He didn't know if it were entirely true, but maybe his brother just needed a little push.
"That's nice."
...
"Do...you want him back too?" Why was this so difficult? Talking to Russia had never been so difficult before! They were at least verging on acquaintances from the work they'd had to do together.
"I suppose." Ivan was being entirely no help at all. Though Matthew wasn't all that surprised at the Russian's unwillingness to talk.
Matthew thought. Just just thought. He stood there as Ivan pounded shot after shot of vodka. He finally found something worth saying, "I think a dedicated couple should never go to bed angry." With that said, he walked away, hoping he had done some good for his brother.
Ivan stared down at the shot of vodka he had yet to drink. He looked over his shoulder, but Matthew had seemingly vanished. Typical of him. He sighed and tilted his head back, letting the vodka slide down his throat easily. He slammed the shot glass back down on the counter and called for another shot, telling the bartender to just leave the bottle.
It was nearing midnight and Alfred was nursing a bottle of whiskey from the minibar he had raided. He wasn't even bothering to pour it in a glass anymore, drinking it straight from the bottle was a lot easier and it got the job done quicker. It wasn't like he was waiting for Ivan to come back or anything. Not at all. That was just ridiculous.
Frowning, Alfred stared into the dark bottle, finding it mostly empty except for the last inch at the bottom. He sighed and set the bottle aside, collapsing properly to stare up at the ceiling. What was he thinking? The answer to his problems wasn't at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Though it didn't hurt to look, he knew he shouldn't try and get too drunk because he made such stupid decisions while drunk.
'You weren't drunk when you told Ivan you wanted to break up.'
"Shut up," he murmured to the voice in his head that represented his inner maturity. That one part of him that always tried to fix his problems and take responsibility. How he hated that voice.
'I'm trying to help.'
"No you're not." Alfred covered his face with his hands and desperately rubbed at his eyes to make it seem like he wasn't crying, even if it was only to himself. "You're just gonna make me feel terrible about what I've done, and I already feel terrible enough." He knew he was just acting crazy, talking to himself, but he really didn't care at that point. So what if he talked to the imaginary voice in his head when he was drunk. He was drunk.
Before the imaginary voice could torment him further, the doorknob rattled a little, and the door opened after much quiet cursing was heard outside and the keycard was swiped once more. Ivan came in, on slightly unstable feet. He kicked the door shut behind him and leaned against the wall, eyes fixing on Alfred. "You are still awake?"
"Kinda," Alfred slurred, picking himself up on his elbows to properly look at the Russian. It was probably the whiskey, but Ivan was looking incredibly sexy right then.
"Are you drunk?"
"A little. You?"
"I am...ah, how do you say...buzzed?" Ivan figured it was probably the alcohol acting as a social lubricant to make it not quite so awkward between them. He silently thanked whatever it was Alfred had been drinking. "Why didn't you accept my offer?"
"Wanted to drink alone." Alfred shrugged and sat up properly, crossing his legs and putting his hands in his lap. A sharp twinge in his stomach made him take notice that the Russian had taken a step towards him.
"Lithuania tells me that is one of the steps towards alcoholism."
"Hunh. Didn't know that." He probably did, he was just a little too tipsy to really care about health aspects right then. His stomach lurched a bit as he noticed Ivan take another step towards him. "Are you really gonna sleep on the couch?"
"Do you not want me to?" As he spoke, deft fingers worked over the buttons of his coat, letting it drop to the floor ominously before kicking off his boots. Alfred felt his insides twitch as he looked up, meeting Ivan's hazy stare. There was a strange look in his eyes. Russian words echoed in Alfred's head. 'Положите его обратно вместе для меня.' The thought made Alfred's gut twist.
As they met each other's gazes they both had the same drunken thought simultaneously, and were soon rolling on the bed in a kissing, groping mess to try and get on top. There was no talking. There wasn't any need for it. Their minds were clear enough to know they both wanted it badly, but far too fuzzy to really care about anything that might have been holding them back.
Alfred whined quietly when Ivan bit his bottom lip, drawing blood and lapping it up like a bloodsucking kitten. The American pulled him into another desperate kiss, threading his fingers through ashen blonde hair in some halfassed attempt to make the kiss slightly passionate instead of a messy, lust fueled clash of teeth where they were unable to be able to tell whose saliva was whose. He rolled them over so he was on top without breaking the kiss, reaching down to unbutton his pants hastily.
Big Russian hands aided the escape of his pants and Ivan himself soon found his bottom half completely bare- though he wasn't exactly clear on how. As Alfred pulled away he chased his lips, pulling him back down desperately as he bucked up against him, making the American moan and whimper. The Russian's hands slid down, groping Alfred's ass and probing that delicious hole he had been deprived of for three weeks. "Lube?" he managed to whisper out feverishly between desperate kisses and hurried gropes.
"No time," Alfred replied hurriedly as he unbuttoned his shirt hastily and tossed it aside, wanting to be completely naked for the Russian. He reached behind him, grasping Ivan's engorged member and rubbed against it, purring with delight as he did so. Oh how he had missed the Russian's big cock. At least when he was drunk he could be honest with himself. And now he could finally have what he so desperately wanted.
Ivan watched with hazed wonder as Alfred lowered himself on his cock, foggy violet eyes scanning every twitch of his muscle as he grimaced and took him all in slowly. Sensing his discomfort, the Russian reached up and brushed a hand through the American's hair, feeling about blindly before locking onto Nantucket and curling a finger around it.
Mewling pitifully as his erogenous zone made him spasm a bit, tears pricked at Alfred's eyes. "Fff...hurts," he whispered through chattering teeth as he shook from the pain, chomping on his bottom lip to keep from crying out too loud.
Ivan took the American's hands, pulling them to his chest to feel the place where his heart would have been beating were it inside him. "Я тебя люблю, подсолнечника. Можете ли вы поместить мое разбитое сердце снова вместе?"
Alfred pulled one hand away to wipe away the tears of his pain and frustration as he shook with pent up sexual energy. "I d-don't...can't..." He couldn't get his mouth to form the words he wanted them to through the haze of pain pulsing through his lower body. Why had he rushed into this? He really did make such stupid decisions while drunk...
"You don't have to." As he was pulled down for another kiss, this one slower than before, Alfred tasted the vodka and smoke on Ivan's tongue. Puzzled, but too preoccupied to ask, he kissed back hastily and whimpered as Ivan began massaging his scalp, searching out for his cowlick so that he might end his lover's pain.
In a blur of movement Alfred found himself on his back with legs spread out as far as they could go, one hand petting his hair to keep his mind of the pain as another gripped his hip. He whimpered, leaning into the touch to his ahoge and looking down at the same time. He could see Ivan moving in and out of him fluidly, gliding slowly in a pattern Alfred didn't even know existed during a drunk fuck.
"S-slow," he managed to slur, tears of pure frustration now sliding down his red cheeks. "Too slow!" He hated it, he could feel everything. Every twitch of the organ inside him, every throbbing vein rubbing up against his inner walls, every brush against his most sensitive parts. He could feel everything and it was agonizing in the bittersweet pleasure it gave him. "Please," he begged fervently, "please, d-don't be nice...please, Ivan..." His tear stained cheeks were burning red as he looked up at the Russian with watery blue eyes, kiss swollen lips quivering and parted in his quiet begging. "Please, not like this...I don't want this...I want you to fuck me up...please...not like this..."
A moan of approval was heard from the American as he was flipped onto his stomach and his ass pulled into the air before he cried out as he was filled roughly. A stream of cries and weak mewls left him as his lover began thoroughly fucking him, no longer caring if the American was in pain or not. He certainly didn't sound like he was, so he left it alone. He didn't even bother to aim for his sweet spot, though his wild thrusts did occasionally brush against it to send Alfred into fits of pleasure even more violent than he was already going through.
Rough hands searched Alfred's body, examining him, brushing over marks and scars he himself had made, searching for any sign that he had been touched by another. Ivan felt quite smug to find that Alfred remained his and his alone. Though he could never be entirely sure with just examination, he needed more. "No one has touched you, da?" he murmured, grasping a handful of the American's hair and pulling his head back to place a kiss on his swollen lips.
A shake of the blonde's head paired with a sharp cry as the grip in his hair tightened aroused Ivan's darker side further, spurring him on with his interrogation. "Don't lie to me. I know when you are lying, подсолнечник."
"'M not," Alfred mumbled as tears of pain trickled down his cheeks. He arched his back as Ivan struck his sweet spot, holding the position and grinding into him with force meant to hurt and bruise. "Fuck!" he cried, spasming in violent pleasure before going still as the Russian pulled out, only to repeat the process, sending him into a state of perpetual ecstasy and desperation. He sobbed out a few pleas for more, rocking back on Ivan's cock to get more than the meager, shallow fucking his was offered.
"Are you sure?" the Russian growled, pulling out slowly and snapping his hips forward forcefully.
"Fuck! Yes!" Alfred barely knew what he was saying yes to at this point, he just knew he needed Ivan to fuck him as hard as was physically possible.
Deeming Alfred's brain incapable of holding up any sort of conversation, Ivan pursued with no more words, choosing instead to fuck the shit out of the American. There was no rhythm, it was rough, raucous fucking, the sounds of flesh slapping against more flesh permeating the air.
Alfred keened out the Russian's name desperately as he came, going completely limp as Ivan continued to fuck him relentlessly, forcing quiet groans from his chest every time he shoved in, abusing his sweet spot to the point where his eyes were rolling in the back of his head from the overload of intensity.
Grunting quietly, Ivan shuddered as he came, riding out the high of his orgasm before slowing and coming back down to earth. He pulled out and smirked, giving the American a nice smack on the ass. "You know~" he giggled, purring out his approval of his fluids leaking from Alfred's abused ass in a predatory manner. "You just look so nice after I've fucked you up."
Alfred groaned in response, brain no longer functioning properly enough to process words.
They were lying on the bed side by side, staring at the ceiling silently, basking in the last traces of the post-coital afterglow. Alfred was snuggling up close to the Russian, halfway asleep, when Ivan began petting him, faintly brushing over Nantucket.
Alfred frowned, now more awake, and squirmed under his the stimulation to his erogenous zone. "Mmnn...stoppit," he grumbled, recoiling from the touch. "It's not...ahn!" He shoved the Russian away forcefully, blocking any path to his ahoge. "This...this doesn't mean anything...so just stop it."
Looking rather dejected, Ivan sighed and got up, going to his suitcase and rummaging around in it for a moment. When he seemed to have found what he was searching for he went over to the window, opened it up, seated himself on the windowsill and, surprisingly, lit up a cigarette.
Alfred watched with an almost fascinated disgust. "You still smoke?"
"I never quit."
"Those are bad for you," he reminded, tone slightly mocking as he propped himself up on his elbows.
"You were smoking the last time," Ivan replied easily, huffing smoke through his nose. The smoke went up in wisps, lazily drifting out the window. "I average less than two whole cigarettes a month, Alfred. I have a guilty pleasure, everyone does."
Alfred didn't reply. He pulled himself up to lean against the headboard, pulling his knees to his chest. He felt like an idiot. He had sobered up a bit, so he was ready to suffer through the phase where he blamed himself for acting like such an idiot.
"Are you just going to sit there?" Ivan asked, blowing a steady stream of smoke from his lips out the window. "You look miserable."
"Shut up." Alfred buried his face in his knees, not daring to look up at the Russian. Why had he slept with Ivan if he thought he was over him? ...He had never thought he was over him in the first place. He was such an idiot.
"Do you regret it?" Alfred looked up, puzzled. Ivan went on, "that we had sex. I would understand if you do."
"It's... Just shut up, we were drunk and shit, alright? It doesn't mean anything." Alfred grit his teeth together, stomach twisting up inside him painfully.
"Actually, I wasn't all that drunk."
Alfred's head shot up to look at the Russian who was now looking away awkwardly. "What?"
"To be completely honest, I was entirely in my right mind. I knew what I was doing the entire time, and I meant to do what I did. I may have been a tad tipsy, but I was in no way drunk to the point where I didn't know what I was doing." Ivan was looking at him now, look neutral, waiting for a reaction.
"You...you..." This...this bastard! "You took advantage of me!"
"Th-there is no reason to yell, подсолнечник-"
"No! I will yell all I want you goddamn commie!" Alfred shouted as he flipped the covers off and stood. "I was drunk and helpless and troubled and you took advantage of me!"
Ivan let out an aggravated sigh and flicked the butt of his cigarette out of the window. He moved away and yanked his pants on before kicking on his boots and donning his coat.
"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Alfred demanded, not at all done yelling at the Russian.
"Out for a walk," Ivan grumbled, zipping up his pants as he opened up the door. "I won't be back. Sleep well."
Alfred was about to tell him to wait when the door slammed shut. He stood there for a moment, then sat on the bed and curled up pathetically. Sure he was mad, but it didn't mean he wanted Ivan to just leave. Pulling the covers up, Alfred cried quietly to himself, hoping Ivan would return despite saying he wouldn't. As time passed and he remained alone he realized he not only screwed up, but he did so royally.
Shadow's Final Thoughts/Rants: So yeah
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