Chapter 2 A
The scent of Earl Grey tea permeated the air, covering the close-knit duo like a well-worn blanket. The T.V. blared in front of them, announcing all the worlds' news to an unhearing audience.
"Alfred." An accented voice cut off the newscaster, his figure suddenly blurring, frozen in time. Alfred turned his head, cocking it to the side as he took in the sight of his boyfriend, Arthur Kirkland, currently pressed up against him. His arm, currently draped loosely around the man's shoulders, pulled back a little so that his hand could reach over and give a slight squeeze.
"Yeah, babe?" Alfred's arm was quickly swatted away, a faint blush coloring the Englishman's cheeks.
"You know I hate it when you call me that," Arthur huffed, crossing his arms in front of him. Alfred laughed, pulling his head down to brush his lips against red-stained cheeks, a smile on his face.
"Aw, come on. You know you love me." Uncrossing his arms, Arthur reached over to give his boyfriend a playful push, unable to hide his lips slight upturn. His smile grew as Alfred's arm reached back around, tugging the smaller man against him. The remote, once balanced on Arthur's knee, tumbled down, hitting the floor with an ignored clack.
"Mmmm…is there somethin' you wanted, Artie?"
"Don't call me that, git. I wanted to know if you were hungry, but at this point I'm not sure if you deserve anything." Arthur made a mild attempt at pulling away, Alfred's grip unconsciously strong, before falling back against his boyfriend's side with a huff.
"Aw, man, you know me to well! What're we gettin'?" Alfred's eyes had lit up, sparkling with childish enthusiasm.
"I was going to make something," The older man mumbled. A moment of silence passed, Alfred staring at Arthur obliviously, as if waiting for him to finish his thought. Finally, he realized that Arthur had been serious, and a bubble of laughter slipped between his lips. Before he knew it, that bubble had expanded and popped, causing his body to shake. His arm fell away from Arthur, instead moving to beat against his leg, his other hand reaching up to grip the frame of his glasses, steadying them on his face. Arthur's face grew angry, his good mood quickly fowled.
"And just what are you laughing at, you bloody git?"
"Aha, nothing, Artie. It's just, well; wouldn't we be better off ordering out or something? I mean, really…"
Arthur pushed himself up and off the couch, barely avoiding crushing the remote beneath his foot. His arms wrapped themselves around his chest once more, his eyes forming slits as he glared down at Alfred. Without a word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
"Artie, wait!" Alfred's plea came a moment too late, bouncing off the shut door. The television announcer continued to stare at him, his mouth hung open in eternal laughter.
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Alfred sat on the couch for a while, his hands resting on his lap, his glasses tipping off the bridge of his nose. Every once in a while he would glance up at the bedroom door, hoping that he might see it open. It never did.
A man of action, Alfred had never felt more uncomfortable. Making up his mind, he jerked off the couch. If Arthur was going to be a pissy girl about this, he would just have to be the macho man. The hero. He smiled at the thought, and new found excitement filled him. His excitement was short lived, however, as just as he was rounding the couch the door opened and a rather pissed Arthur stepped out. He all but ignored Alfred, who stood with his mouth agape, veering towards the kitchen.
"Artie!" Head out of the clouds, Alfred reached towards the older man, fingers tracing over his shape. Arthur seemed unphased, continuing towards the open door to the kitchen.
"Arthur, wait!" Now the man stopped, paused for but a moment. His head started to turn towards Alfred, and then as though it realized what it was doing stopped, halting at an odd, unnatural angle.
"I'm sorry," Alfred glanced down, a blush now gracing his cheeks.
"Not now, America." Arthur's head turned away, his feet starting to lift up again.
"Hey, come on, I said I was sorry!" Alfred's voice reached a new pitch, gaining volume.
"You git! You don't even know what you're apologizing for!"
"I'm sorry I called your cooking terrible," The volume that had just presented itself faded out, giving Alfred's words a far more weighted tone. Arthur turned back towards the boy, hand lifting up to rest on the frame of the door. He studied his former charge, eyes tracing over the youthful build.
Alfred's breath caught when suddenly he realized Arthur had left his post, striding towards him with confidence before latching on and capturing his lips. He let out a choke of surprise before relaxing into the kiss, arms wrapping around his boyfriend's waist.
Still, he felt as though this kiss was…different. He relinquished control to Arthur, not bothering to fight like he normally would, and though Arthur's arms were snaked around his neck they felt more like weights then anything. He moved his lips when Arthur started getting impatient, and took in a grateful breath when he found himself free. Arthur's face was flushed, his eyes a fraction hazy.
"Damn, England," he joked, laughing to himself, "If I had known that was waiting for me, I would have apologized a lot sooner!"
"Oh, just shut up, you twat. Now get back here. And so help me, if you call my cooking terrible once more-" Arthur's sentence was cut off by Alfred, who dipped his head down to brush lightly against his boyfriends. It still felt wrong, but Alfred passed it off on the recent fight. By tonight everything would be forgotten and all would be well.
"I'll tell you what," Arthur whispered, pulling Alfred down and resting their foreheads together.
"Yeah?"
"Are you still hungry?" Alfred let out a bark of laughter.
"But of course!"
"Why don't you go get one of your greasy pizzas? My treat?" Alfred's eyes widened, looking down at Arthur as though he had been given the biggest Christmas gift.
"Yeah!" Quickly pulling away, Alfred fist pumped and darted out the door, ignoring his boyfriend's light chuckled of laughter.
Once outside, Alfred became all-too-aware of the rough pellets of water cascading from the sky. He quickly tucked his head in, pressing it as close to his chest as possible, in a vain effort to prevent the small deformed daggers from piercing his eye.
It was then he noticed the patch of smashed yellow on his doorstep. Flowers? He bent down, his finger grazing the water-logged petals. Sunflowers. His fingers traced the silky petals absentmindly, ignoring the water currently pouring down his back and through his jacket. There was only one person he knew liked sunflowers. Well, two actually. But Ukraine was too busy with her own country to have time to come visit him. That left one. Russia. But…why would Russia come to his house and leave a bouquet of sunflowers at his doorstep? It seemed an odd thing to do, even for someone as crazy as the Russian in question.
His fingers traced down the stems, wrapping around the clear plastic holding the flowers together. At least he didn't have to worry about watering them.
Standing up, Alfred dusted himself off, pulling the flowers closer to his chest as he made his way towards his car. Maybe it was a joke. Did Russia do jokes? He didn't remember any, but that didn't mean anything. He hadn't been around for particularly long, anyway. Still…if it was some sort of joke, wouldn't the man have stuck around?
Forehead creasing as he drew his eyes together, Alfred immediately became wary. He hadn't paid much mind to the violet-eyed nation last meeting. Well, he had, but not in his normal way. Alfred couldn't remember the last time a World Meeting had come to pass when he hadn't stopped to talk to Russia for some reason or another. Normally to thank him for something he'd deny doing. Then, there was that one time he had tried…asking him out. That had failed. Horribly. Alfred squirmed uncomfortable as he recalled. As a powerful nation, it was becoming increasingly difficult to find friends in his fellow nations. They all wanted something; whether that be money, power, or his fall. None of them were interested in getting to know Alfred; they all just wanted America to pay attention to them. He thought he had found a common thread with Russia, whose power was also a cause for concern. Then that big idiot just had to go and ruin in, taking far too much pride in his fucking communism.
The last time Alfred had seen him, he had all but yelled at the older man. Had told him off, finally. After all these years. He met up with England later that night, and the rest was…well, history.
Perhaps he had managed to piss Russia off, being so blunt? His mind crossed the option out. If he were mad at someone, the last thing he'd do would be leave his favorite type of flowers at their doorstep. What kind of warning was that?
His hand reached forward, pulling open the car door. Throwing the flowers onto the passage seat, he settled in. Maybe Russia was still around. If he could find him, he could settle this debate once and for all. Nodding to himself, Alfred drove off, mind focused on where Russia would have gone.
As it turned out, he didn't have to look very far. Not five minutes after Alfred pulled out of his driveway the large Russian came into view, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Alfred slowed the car down, cruising alongside the downtrodden man.
Rolling the passage window down, Alfred turned his head towards the man oblivious man.
"Yo, Ivan!" He called out, one hand lifting off the wheel to cup against his mouth. Ivan's head jerked up, and he took in Alfred with a startled gaze. Pace quickening, the nation quickly made his way down the street. Alfred tsked, speeding up for a moment before reasoning better and pulling the car over. Ignoring the beep the car gave as he removed his seatbelt; Alfred reached over for the sunflowers and pulled himself out of the car.
"Yo, Ivan, slow down!" Stepping away from the car, Alfred quickly saw that Ivan was not, in fact, stopping, but rather quickening his pace. Following suit, Alfred began to jog after the man, stopping when he got close enough to reach out and grab his shoulder.
"Dude, man, slow down already. You dropped these by my place. You could have knocked, you know? Whadya need?"
If Alfred noticed the harsh way Ivan suddenly tensed, he didn't show it. Ivan hastily attempted to shove the boy's hand off of his arm, only to be once more reminded of the immense strength the young nation acquired. Alfred's forehead scrunched, lines of confusion marring his tan skin, his grip tightening.
"Dude, are you really in that much of a hurry? I mean, if you are, that's cool. I can give you a ride, you know? It'll be much faster than walking. Not to mention its raining and-"
"Alfred." Ivan cut off. Now, Alfred looked surprised. The two hadn't been on first-name basis since the start of the cold war; and even prior to, he could count on one hand the number of times Ivan had freely called him by his human name. "What is it you needed? I image you have much better things to be doing, da?"
Alfred released his grip; his hand reaching back to comb threw his hair, nimbly avoiding Nantucket.
"Ah, well, I mean…I was just on my way out. Arthur wanted me to pick up some pizza." The violet-eyed man remained stoic, about to turn away, when he caught the barest of whispers.
"Did you…Did you wanna come, Ivan? I mean you don't have to, but if you wanted to get out of the rain and stuff…" Bright red stained the American's cheeks; his head darted down in a vain attempt to hide said fact from the taller nation. Giving a slight nod, Ivan turned towards the still-running vehicle, his hand reaching out to intertwine with Alfred's.
"Yes, I suppose it would be nice to get out of the rain for a while."
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AN:
Um..so yeah. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I really wanted to leave it as a RusAme story. There should be one more chapter after this, just to conclude everything.