Ivan can't ignore the tightness in his chest, and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't scared as hell right now. His breathing is harsh and shallow, and adrenaline pumps through his veins. It's exhausting. He hasn't even seen Alfred in hours, days, he doesn't know, but he hasn't been right since then.
"Hey, Ivan, you wanna go for a drink?" America stacks papers and shoves them into his case, all sweet smiles and bright eyes, as usual. He looks so happy – it's infectious. Ivan feels a smile spread across his own expression.
Ivan hesitates for a moment, reads Alfred's expression. Finally, "S-sure!" Ivan snaps his own briefcase shut, speaks and smiles rather nervously. His relationship with Alfred is newly healed, and he isn't sure where their boundaries are yet.
"Alright, let's go! You know, it's good to do this again, huh? It's been a while."
"Mmm-hmm." He feels himself redden. Alfred laughs softly, and then links his arm through his partner's elbow. Ivan goes numb.
Paperwork, he's supposed to be doing. He'd actually worked on it for a little while, but now it lies in a pile on the floor around the hotel room desk, replaced by a small army of vodka bottles with varying degrees of emptiness. He rubs his eyes tiredly – it was vodka that got him into this situation, but, since he didn't have anyone with whom to talk about the situation, he supposed it would get him out, too. He takes a long swig. It burns so nicely as it goes down.
The taxi ride to the bar is short enough, though Ivan is completely distracted by Alfred's hand resting on his knee. Before long, Alfred is pulling him through legions of talking people, sitting him down in a barstool next to him. He says something to the bartender, and then turns to Ivan.
"So, I haven't seen you in a long time! How have things been?" Alfred begins. He pauses, glancing away. After a moment, he looks back to Ivan. "Better, I hope?" Although it sounds innocent, Ivan knows it is full of meaning. Both of them remember his … previous bosses. Ivan bites his lip.
"Y-yes, e-everything's fine. Everything's better, now." Ivan glances at him. "I-I'm fine." Ivan looks away. The bartender returns, holding a pair of drinks. Beer for Alfred, vodka from the bottle for Ivan. Ivan smiles – Alfred still remembers. "And you?"
"Eh, a few rough times, but nothing I can't get through." Alfred laughs. "But hey, let's talk about something more fun."
Ivan is starting to feel a bit woozy. He knows he shouldn't drink so much (too well for comfort, given the recent events), but right now, he just wishes that he could melt into a puddle and be drained away. He sighs, fingering his wallet restlessly. He takes another swig, and then flips the wallet open for the umpteenth time; within it is a small picture of … Alfred. (Even the name makes him feel bad.) Ivan flips the wallet shut again. He feels so stupid – sitting here, admiring a secret picture he has of Alfred and feeling awful about it. Ivan doesn't know how long he's loved the other man – it's always seemed like a somewhat constant condition, a nameless something that's just always been there. But he wasn't ready, not to admit it to himself, and least of all admit it to Alfred. And now - now he's ruined everything. He rather slams his head into the desk, and doesn't pull it back up.
Alfred throws back his head and laughs. "Oh, man, you – you are soo drunk!" He laughs. "Dude, I didn't even think t-that you could get drunk!"
"I-I don't. It's you. You – you're the one who makes – who made me be able to get drunk, because – it's because there's something I wanna tell you. … Shit. I – I shouldn't have said it. I said too much already."
"What? Y-you can't leave me hanging, man! You say – you say something like that, and you… uh… you can't … not say it, any more. D-does that make sense? Yeah. You hafta tell me, now."
"N-no. I can't."
"Y-you have to! I-it's important, right? You just – you just said it was important. Didn't you? I think – I think you did. Still, you have to t-tell me."
"No. I don't wanna – I don't wanna ruin… everything."
"Nooo, you aren't – you totally aren't gonna ruin anything!"
"You – you don't know … that."
"Yeah. I totally do. Cuz, like, I-I'm me, and since I'm me… I… like… can tell. Whether or not, um, you're gonna ruin anything. I promise." Alfred gives him a drunken, but very earnest look. They stare at each other for a long minute. Finally, Russia caves.
"O-Ok. This – this is hard to say. To tell you." Alfred doesn't speak. Last doubts race through Ivan's mind. "I – I – uh, I think I l-love you, Alfred." Alfred gapes. Immediately regret claws at Ivan's chest. He feels genuine terror.
"Oh – oh god, oh shit, I shouldn't – I shouldn't have said that. Oh, oh, shit." Ivan stands up, swaying, off balance, groping at the table for support. He knocks the bottle off the bar, and starts at the shattering glass. "I hafta go. I'm sorry – I – I can't stay – I need to go." He backs away, almost hitting a few patrons. Alfred gapes for another few minutes, and then the situation hits him in full. Ivan!
"I-Ivan! Ivan, wait! Wait!" Alfred jerks out of his seat, but by that time, Ivan had disappeared.
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. Ivan nearly jumps out of his seat, but drops the vodka. It starts to spill over him, but he rights it quickly.
"Wh-Who is there?"
"Ivan? Is that you? It's Alfred. Can I come in?
"Huh? Alfred? I – I'm not feeling well. P-please leave."
"Ivan, please, we need to talk."
"I – I really don't feel well. Please."
"C'mon, just a minute." Ivan reluctantly stands. He supposes it's better to just deal with this now. He walks to the door, opens it just enough for the bolt to remain sealed. Alfred smiles at him, but it fades quickly, replaced with a concerned expression and a furrowed brow.
"Ivan, are you ok? You really don't look well. Oh, Ivan… look, please let me in, alright?" Ivan blinks. He isn't sure what to do. Alfred's hand in the doorway answers for him. He hesitantly opens the door and lets Alfred in. What to do, what to do? He could play it off. Yeah. He could fake it.
"I told you I felt sick." Alfred "hmm"s, then reaches up to feel Ivan's forehead.
"You are a little warm…" Ivan feels himself blush hard. Alfred's vicinity is doing nothing to alleviate the "fever". "You smell like vodka." A glance at the table, and Alfred's frowning. "You shouldn't drink so much, it's not good for you." No kidding. "Here, sit down and rest alright? I'm going to get a washcloth." Ivan haltingly sits and then slowly reclines across the couch. Alfred returns, placing the cold washcloth across his companion's forehead. Alfred's expression becomes serious.
"Look, Ivan… I wanted to talk to you about last night." Ivan sits up abruptly, panicked and fearful. His heart has practically stopped. All plans to play it off as nothing disappear abruptly. "No no no, sweetie, here, lay back down, it's alright." Ivan obeys Alfred's gentle but firmly guiding hands.
"I-I was drunk, what I said wasn't – I didn't mean it. I-I-I'm sorry if I o-offended you." Ivan tries to sit up again, but Alfred holds him down. Alfred watches him sharply, but not unkindly.
"You do remember."
"No, no… please, I – I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ivan, what you said… that you love me – "
"N-no! I never said – "
"Ivan, please! I just wanted to tell you – I love you too." Ivan's eyes widen.
"Wh-what?"
"I love you, too."
"Are – are you joking?"
"No! What? Of course not!" Alfred says indignantly. Ivan sits up unsurely, looking uncomfortable.
"A-Alfred…" Alfred looks at him with soft, kind eyes. He smiles gently, then leans in, closing the distance between them, closer and closer, and suddenly warm, soft lips are on his own, a smile pressed into his lips. Alfred presses him harder and harder into the couch.
"Mmm…" Ivan starts responding in kind, pushing back. He feels a warm tongue work its way into his mouth, against the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth. He falls back, lets Alfred work at him. After a while, Alfred pulls away, leaving Ivan breathless below him. He smiles.
"How's that for proof?" He sits up completely now, then – was he reaching for the TV remote? – and suddenly the TV is blaring far too loudly, and the room is far too bright. Ivan resists the urge to whimper with desire. He lays there for another minute, finally sitting up. "Whoa, there." Alfred presses him back into the couch.
"H-huh?"
"You look sick. You shouldn't stress yourself out." Alfred gives him a frank, honest smile. Either he really thinks that Ivan is ill, or Ivan looks worse than he thinks he does. Alfred smiles more deviously, now. "Don't worry, though. I'll take very good care of you." Ivan finally grins, places his head in Alfred's lap, let's Alfred cover them in a blanket while they watch a movie.
"I can't wait."
(A/N: Another chapter (a.k.a. pointless oneshot XD) I kept stored in my computer for a dry spell like this. Hope you like it! Again, requesters, I'm still working, don't worry!)