"I adore you," America whispered against his ear, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Russia's heart caught in his throat, the power that America was giving him over himself, it was breathtaking. Russia felt a tug of guilt, this, what he and America were sharing, shouldn't be done in deceit. He shouldn't be in this feminine form, the form he was forced into because of England's curse and chose to use to get close to America, to destroy him. It was all wrong, and yet…

America pushed him back against the cushions and Russia let out a laugh, the sound catching in his throat when America lowered his body over his, pressing him firmly into the blankets, grounding and whipping him into a frenzy all at once.

His lips— and thighs— parted on a gasp. He hated how submissive this body was, how all he wanted was for America to dominate him. The last time they'd been together, he'd been the one dominating the American. America kissed his jaw and whispered against his skin, "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Russia breathed, trying to arch up against him. But he couldn't because there was no space between them in the first place, the hard planes of America's body forced intimately against his, Russia's legs wrapping around his waist as if they were puzzle pieces slotted perfectly together.

"Good." America kissed, then licked, then sucked the base of his throat. Russia shivered at the lust it stirred between his thighs, and he vaguely wondered whether America could feel his pulse beating against his lips. He was certain America heard the way his breaths sped up and grew ragged, felt his hips as he rocked them against his.

Russia's clit was already swollen and needy and desperate for more pressure, for sweet friction. America didn't provide it. Instead, both of his hands found both of Russia's and he twined their fingers together. Through their clothes, Russia could feel America's hard cock wedged tight against his cleft—and yet, all the American did was hold his hands.

"Alik," Russia whispered. He kissed his cheek, his temple, his nose.

"Iv— Anya." America breathed against his skin, nuzzling his cheek.

Russia froze. He swore he had heard the beginning of his name on America's lips. Shaking his head, he nuzzled against America's ear. "Not to ruin this very romantic moment, but would you possibly consider fucking me now?"

America's laughter rumbled through his chest. "I've already considered it. Frequently."

Probably not for the last 100 years like I have. Russia thought viciously. "In that case, would you hurry up and do it?"

"Demanding, aren't you?"

But without warning, America thrust his hips. The thick jut of his erection nudged Russia's clit so beautifully that even with all the clothes separating them, pleasure ripped through him. He was gasping, his sight unfocused, his body already reaching a tipping point. That easily? Oh, God. This female body…

"Love," America murmured with a smile in his voice. "You should've told me you were desperate."

He gritted his teeth. "Shut up."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" America's lips brushed his ear, the glide of skin on skin hot and sensual.

"Alfred!"

America rose up on his knees and Russia felt so suddenly cold and alone, he actually whined out loud. But then America pulled him up into a sitting position. Russia's breath caught in his throat when America yanked off his own hoodie and T-shirt, his mind skittering to a stop at the sight of America's bare torso. In the low, warm light, his fair skin was burned pale gold. Shadows played over the lean lines of his body, the ridges of muscle.

How is he even more beautiful than he used to be!? Russia thought outraged. The idiot only eats fast food!

America flashed his confident smile as he removed the rest of his clothes. "Now, Anya. I know you're wearing twenty thousand layers of clothing and I'm pretty eager to get it all off, so if you could—"

"Okay," Russia blurted out, because when America spoke his hands stopped moving, which meant that the fabric covering his body stayed in place, which meant that Russia couldn't see his cock. And he really, really wanted to see his cock, now, immediately, for what he abruptly realized would be the very first time in a very very long time. He started dragging his sweater over his head. Next was his tank top, then the bra—God, that was a nightmare— Oh, America was naked.

Russia had been yanking off his clothes, and then he looked up, and there America was, just fucking naked. And glorious. Russia's mouth practically watered as his gaze dipped lower, taking in all of him. America's thighs were thick and muscular and dusted with fine golden hair except he could barely spare them a glance when America's dick was curving proudly up against his taut stomach. It was rigid, heavy, the swollen head flushed and glistening. Russia reached for it as if hypnotized, but America caught his wrist, holding him off with ease.

By the time Russia came back to his senses, America's labored breaths sounded more like growls and his eyes were glued to his like a tongue to treacle. Russia dragged the last of his clothes off of his ankles and then they were just two people sitting in a large bed staring at each others' naked bodies.

He liked what he saw.

America obviously liked what he saw, too. Which caused a pang of hurt in Russia's chest. This body he was in was not his own. After this, America would never probably want him, in his normal form, ever again. Not that that was likely to happen after America understood how deceitful Russia had been, what Russia had done to try and destroy him. So, the best thing Russia could do was enjoy America now, before he never got the chance again.

He the frantic rise and fall of America's chest, eyes enjoying how his high cheekbones were stained scarlet. America's eyebrows were drawn in a fierce expression that sent a spiral of jittery desire through Russia's nerve endings. America wrapped one big hand around the base of his dick and squeezed.

Then, just to see what would happen, Russia ran his fingers over his own chest, circling his nipples.

When he touched himself it was as if something in America snapped. He lunged for Russia, but when he pushed his back onto the cushions it was gentle despite the wound-up tension he could feel vibrating through America's body. And then America's mouth was all over his, suckling at his breasts, licking at his throat, while his fingers went straight to his wet, aching pussy. America moaned when he felt how slick he was, the sound muffled against his breast. Then America shoved those wonderfully thick fingers inside his and he let out a moan of his own, a sharp, broken thing that was closer to a scream.

"Oh my God, Anya." He said it again and again, rasping out his name as he rubbed Russia's swollen, sensitive depths. "Oh my fucking God, you feel so good. Fuck, I can't wait to be inside you."

"Hurry up then," Russia gasped, his hips jerking as America stroked that secret spot in his, the one that scattered stars across his vision and made him feel more limp and languorous with pleasure than any vodka he'd ever drunk. "Just hurry up."

"I want you to come first."

"Oh, for—"

America kissed him again, softly, until he released his lower lip from the cage of his teeth. And then he kissed him harder, hotter, wetter, his tongue thrusting in a bold, steady way that made Russia breathless. When America's fingers started moving inside him again, they matched the rhythm of his tongue, fucking him in that deep, consuming, almost obscene way that drove him so damn wild.

America broke the kiss even as his thumb nudged Russia's clit. When he moaned and arched into him, his body demanding more, America smiled. "Relax. We have all night."

"O-okay," Russia gasped out, his voice shaking. His whole body was shaking, in fact, vibrating as coils of energy launched around him, holding him hostage, driving him toward what felt like an explosion. "Sounds good."

America laughed darkly. "Yeah, baby. Sounds good. Good like these little moans you're giving me." He kissed him again, quick and hard and so hot Russia felt seared down to his soul. The thumb that had brushed his clit so delicately touched him again, firmer now, deliciously so. America circled the swollen bud and Russia's whole body jerked as if electrocuted. So America did it again. And again.

Even when Russia dug his nails into the curve of America's ass. Even when his breathy sighs turned into something like sobs. Even when Russia sank his teeth into his shoulder because he was just so fucking beside himself, didn't know what to do with all this swirling, swelling, pent-up sensation. America didn't stop. He didn't even falter. Instead he told him he was so gorgeous falling apart for him, and that his pussy was going to kill him, and that he was so wet he could feel it dripping into his palm, and that he could do this forever just to feel Russia shaking under him—

And then Russia came so hard he couldn't hear America anymore, couldn't see him anymore, for a moment couldn't even feel him anymore. But, he knew he was there.

o0o

By the time Russia's eyes opened and refocused on him, America was about ten seconds and one touch away from coming. How could he not be? Jesus, just the sounds he made were enough to push him over the edge. Seeing him laid out naked in front of him was doing absolutely zero for his stamina. He was gorgeous in this form. And that is saying something, because he was absolutely fucking unforgettable in his male form.

Russia's long ash blonde hair framed his feminine face like a halo. His naked skin looked so vulnerable in the low light, completely bare to him for the first time in forever, and so delicate. he was soft, soft all over, from the gentle weight of his full breasts to the soft roundness of his belly to the sheer decadence of his hips, his thighs, his—fuck. America dug his short nails into the palms of his hand and dragged his gaze away from the plump, pouting lips of Russia's cunt, but it didn't help. Without permission, his fingers rose to his lips and he sucked off the honey coating them, groaning at the taste. So fucking good. Just like when Russia had cum, and America had licked him clean all those years ago. He might have been in a different body, but that was still his taste.

"Alik," Russia said suddenly. He sounded worried. Why the fuck did he sound worried? "I bit you."

Ah, right. America smiled and bent to kiss his little frown, his shoulder still stinging from where Russia had sunk his teeth. "I liked it."

"Really? I still should've asked."

"You were busy." He kissed him again. Busy coming on my fingers. "But now you know. I like it."

He gave him an impish smile. "Hmm. Well, America, you made me come…"

"Ah," America sat up, turning away as a sharp blush crossed his cheeks. "Y-you don't have to."

Russia looked up at him, confusion crossing his face, "But I want to."

America mumbled something, but he couldn't quite hear him. "What was that?"

"I said, I don't want you to think I disrespect you." America cursed his stupidity. He knew well that it was Russia in that body, but he couldn't bring himself to feel like he was forcing him into anything. He didn't know how the form affected Russia, and hated to think he was forcing him into an unequal power play.

"Would you say the same thing if that Russian man was giving you a blow job?" That Russian man is you! America said moodily in his mind. However, his mind suddenly went to that night, over a century ago, when Russia had laid him in front of the fire and had made him cum, with just his tongue and fingers.

America's eyes went hazy, and he shivered violently at the memory. The Russian was very talented with his mouth.

Russia threw a pillow at him. "You're imagining it right now!"

"You put it in my mind!" America said defensively, causing the both of them to burst into giggles.

Russia cupped America's face and kissed him deeply. "Let's get on with it then, shall we?"

America reached down, found the strip of condoms he'd put in his jeans, ripped one open, and managed to roll it on with gritted teeth. Maybe Russia would've done it for him, and maybe that would've been hot as hell, but since he wanted to actually get inside him before he went off like a gunshot, he needed to keep touching to a minimum. Could Russia even get pregnant like this? America wondered vaguely.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, Russia had grabbed his hair and dragged him down, pressing all his soft, lush curves against America's body. His skin was hot and damp from the exertion of his orgasm. His pussy was wet and open, ready for him, begging for him as he spread his legs and reached down to grasp his erection. In his ear, Russia whispered, "Hard, please."

Oh, holy fucking fuck. "Iv— Anya." He was going to slip. Russia was going to find out that he knew, and all hell would break loose. But…

"I mean it." America squeezed him, then positioned his shaft at his entrance. His eyes rolled back into his head. He felt as if he'd been burned in the best way, branded. Jesus. He grunted something that barely sounded human and thrust, the need uncontrollable, his body reduced to its most basic instincts. Russia was so slick, he took him all at once, releasing a low moan that sent shivers through his body.

When he was buried inside him, he held still for a moment, sucking down air because he felt almost dizzy with pleasure, running his hands over Russia's thighs because he couldn't quite believe that he had him. He had Russia… Ivan Braginski. And he was fucking glorious, no matter the form he took.

Russia rolled his hips beneath him, and he gasped out his name. Russia bit him again, at the base of his throat this time, and he almost came on the spot. Then Russia slid his fingers into his hair and dragged him down for a kiss that stripped him to the bone, that destroyed him from the inside out, his sweet little tongue tasting him with shameless greed, his lush mouth frantic.

"Please turn around, I want to feel you arch against me," America begged, pulling back to allow her to move before placing a hand on Russia's stomach and his face in his neck. He slipped his free hand between his legs, moaning at the wetness that met his fingers. He slipped them over Russia's clit, rubbing circles as he fucked him from behind.

Each thrust was slow, hard, deliberate, wringing gasps and then whimpers and then long, rolling moans from Russia. He gritted his teeth as his orgasm came barreling at him like a freight train. It would be so fucking good, but he didn't want this to end. It couldn't end.

Being inside him was undoing him, taking him apart and putting him back together differently, better, more himself than he'd ever been before. So he forced himself to hold off and gave him what he wanted, what he begged for: more of his dick, more of him.

But when Russia came again, shuddering beneath him, his hot pussy fluttering around him, he couldn't stop his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice—and then everything around him shattered until it was all just colors and light, colors and light.

"Russia… Ivan, yes," American cried into Russia's shoulder, shivering as his orgasm flooded through him.

"A-Alfred?," Russia asked, freezing whenAmerica's hold on him tightened. "It's okay, Ivan. I know." America kissed the side of the Russian's neck before letting the body slip from his hold. America shakily shifted on the bed to pull the sheet over his lap.

Ivan didn't move to do the same, whether it was shock at the new revelation or not caring because it wasn't really his body, America wasn't sure.

"Как ... как давно вы знаете?"

"Pretty much since the beginning," America admitted with a shrug. "England told me that he accidentally turned you when he was supposed to turn Spain- my fault apparently because I 'barged in on him'" America scoffed.

"Of course you were somehow involved."

America rolled his eyes, "yeah, yeah. It was always my fault."

"You… aren't mad?"

"No, I'm furious."

"Right," Russia moved to stand up from the bed. Dread surrounding his chest and suffocating him. Why did he ever think doing this was a good idea? How he thought he wouldn't rekindle intense old feelings and could just use it as an opportunity to one up America…

America reached over and wrapped his hand around Russia's wrist. "Would you do something for me?" he asked.

He said, his voice sleepy, "I would do anything for you."

"Stay until the morning. We'll work everything out then. I promise."

"...да."