Last chapter was really long. There was a lot of history stuffs…not much fluff, so here's this Had to change the rating for implied sexual situation. It's really not that raunchy.

Kyo- you commented annomously, so I couldn't respond privately. Ruski just means Russian in…the Russian language. It's kinda derogatory I guess, not really though. It's just a mispronounced version of the word Russian. It must make Americans sound pretty stupid to them when we use it though…

Songs-

'I'm a Pilot' by Fanfarlo

'Once was Love' by Ingrid Michaelson

'Fighting for Nothing' by Meg and Dia

Alfred had been called in to watch it. Wilbur had called in news reporters, so Alfred had been there when it happened; he'd seen the entire thing. And…he was in shock; the happy kind of shock. They'd broken the chains that hold us to the ground. They'd…flown.

He ran up to Matthew's house to tell his brother. Matthew brought out some wine to celebrate, but Alfred turned it down. He wanted to tell Ivan. "No thanks, Mattie. But, will you go rub this in Francis' face for me? I've got to go right now actually… I'll be back and we can celebrate later!"

The younger twin smiled. It wasn't often that Alfred acknowledged him without Matthew having to burn down D.C. "Sure thing, Al! I was planning on visiting anyway…"

"I love you, Mattie!" Al cried, rushing for the door.

Matthew just shook his head, smiling. He didn't really care where the hell Alfred was hurrying off to; it was just good to see him so happy. And, he knew how much this meant to him…to the world.

Alfred banged on the Russian door. "Ivan! I know you're in there! Open up, I've got to tell you something!"

Inside, Ivan was sitting in his comfortable worn armchair. A large fire was going under the mantel. Dostoyevsky was open in his lap and a pair of reading glasses were over his eyes.

He blinked sleepily, forcing back a yawn. It had been another long day in Russia. The Kishinev Program was hanging over his head, pitting his own people against him. He hardly heard Alfred banging at the door.

"I'm breakin it down then!"

There was a loud splintering and the sound of heavy boots on his wood floor. Ivan looked up, surprised to see America running into his living room. He didn't even have time to register that he should flinch before Alfred had jumped into his lap and smooshed their faces together.

"Mmmpph?" Ivan wondered, voice blocked by the American's lips.

Alfred had nestled himself into the taller man's lap, a leg bent over on either side so he was straddling him. He held Ivan's face still between both hands until he was satisfied with the point he had made.

He pulled away, grinning. "I did it!" he said brightly.

"Are you drunk, Alfred?" Ivan wondered. If Alfred was over, it would be very hard to get any sleep tonight. And considering the fact that Alfred had just kissed him, maybe they were going to be experimental…see how far they could push their relationship until things felt uncomfortable. "You 'ave never been dis vay, even drunk…"

"No I ain't drunk!" Alfred snapped. He leaned forward, planting a kiss behind Ivan's left ear. "But, I did it…" he whispered, tickling Ivan's neck with his breath. "We flew…"

Ivan's eyes grew wide. He was suddenly very awake, all fatigue from the day forgotten. "Vhat?"

Alfred nodded enthusiastically, lacing his fingers behind Ivan's neck and leaning back in his lap. "They did it! It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"

"Vhere? How?" Ivan asked keenly

"In North Carolina! Never thought that state would do much, but it was…it was… God, it was like…I knew this was big, like bigger than I could imagine, but it just felt…like fun…like I was enjoying myself just watching it. We chased them down the hill as they flew. They stayed in the air for like…a full minute. Can you believe that? Fifty-seven-full-seconds!"

Ivan smiled warmly; a smile that held more warmth than he'd ever actually felt. It was nice to see something as bright and happy as Alfred after such a long day trying to ward off the spreading prejudice in his country. "I am happy for you…" he said honestly.

Alfred grinned brighter. "Really?"

Ivan nodded and grabbed the back of Alfred's head, leading him back forward to kiss again. It had been good the first time; Ivan didn't want to think tonight.

Alfred grinned and pressed himself against the taller man, hugging his arms around the large frame and squeezing a little. He had never kissed like this. Mattie would give him little cheek kisses when they'd been children, Arthur would have kissed his forehead as a child, and Francis had pecked him a few times during the revolutionary, but they'd been nothing; just family affections.

This was much more familiar. It was much more...real.

He laced his fingers through Ivan's hair and took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling his scent. Ivan gasped for breath and Alfred invaded his mouth vehemently.

Ivan was taken aback. He was pretty new to this stuff too, but he wasn't at all nervous about it. Granted, Prussia had sized his vital regions more than one time, France had tried to take his capital, and Ivan had taken a lot of Polish land by force, but…none of that was out of affections and none of it had called for gentle things like kissing…

He wasn't used to real emotions behind these things. Katyusha had kissed his forehead when he was younger and Natalia had tried several times to kiss him across the mouth, but other than that, this was completely different.

He'd silently relished Alfred's taste as the American's tongue smoothly massaged the inside of his mouth. Ivan kissed back, following Alfred's motions and mirroring them perfectly.

Alfred gripped tighter into Ivan's hair, moaning deeply in the back of his throat. He inched forward, rubbing against the Russian in a manner that his former caretaker would deem 'inappropriate'.

Ivan put his hands on the American's thighs, wondering just how far he wanted to take this… Judging from his excitement, he wanted to go all the way…

Alfred had begun writhing uncomfortably in his lap while he contemplated this. He broke their lips apart. "Bedroom?"

"D-da…" Ivan panted. He gently pushed the American up and led him to master bedroom. They collapsed into the soft crinkling sheets, arms and legs entwined as they went down on each other.

The rolled over and over, hands roaming freely, searching out sensitive points on each others' bodies. Alfred giggled once or twice at a ticklish place. Ivan had sensitive spots behind his knees and ears and around his neck.

They nipped, bit, sucked, licked, kicked, scratched, moaned, pressed, arched, dipped, growled, writhed, thrust, gripped, even humped once or twice.

Neither one would call it love, but it was the closest they could get at the time. In the morning, something would happen to fuck it all up…it was inevitable. But, for the night, they could just celebrate and forget.

They woke up, stark naked, limbs entwined. Ivan gained consciousness first, but he laid still, letting the smaller nation sleep in for as long as he could. He watched the American sleeping serenely. He'd never seen a country so peaceful…

When Alfred finally woke, he sat up and rubbed his eyes open. Ivan sat up as well, disentangling their legs. He took one look at Alfred and giggled into the back of his hand.

"What?" the American demanded.

"Your…hair," Ivan giggled childishly. It was sticking up at weird angles and flipping out and in and left and right.

Alfred laughed, "Yours is no better, buddy!" he said, ruffling Ivan's light blonde hair.

Ivan rolled his eyes, smiling. "Last night…did ve really…?" he said, smile fading slowly. He hoped Alfred would make nothing of it, try not to put too much meaning into it…

Alfred went silent. He looked back at the Russian. What were they supposed to call themselves now…? Allies? It didn't seem to fit. Sure they'd helped each other out in a war or two, but it wasn't like either of them would ever go out of their way just to be there for the other...

Nevertheless, they did sleep together last night. Alfred sighed, falling over and laying his head in Ivan's lap, cocking a knee up and staring up into calming lavender eyes. "We did…and it was amazing."

…

Alfred groaned and bashed head forehead into the side of the coffee table. He was on his hands and knees, back on his jet back to the airport in Wyoming. He hadn't even made it to his chair.

The shuttle launch was over. There was a strange emptiness that followed it.

England had come to watch it with him, so had Francis and Matthew. It was comforting to have family there, especially since they were all on such good terms now. After all those wars, switching alliances, dividing properties, bickering, clawing, scratching, and punches thrown, it seemed pointless to argue over old grievances.

It had taken two-hundred years, but Arthur and Alfred's relationship had completely resolved itself sometime in the sixties. There was still only a little tension from England leaving America alone in Vietnam and not sending enough troops to aid him, but Alfred could forgive it.

Alfred hadn't slept in three days and coffee just wasn't cutting it anymore. He needed to get some rest on the ride home before he got back to the house in Wyoming. Like hell Ivan would let him sleep in his own bed…

He was way too on-edge to sleep though. Especially after that memory that had just come back. Why did he have to remember everything they had said…? God, it was the best sex he'd ever had.

Sure, Arthur had been gentler later in 64, but it had somehow felt wrong. There were way too many memories that conflicted with England…it felt like doing your own mom…

He rubbed his forehead after beating it into the table, and pushed himself up on trembling arms to sit himself in his recliner.

He couldn't let this get to him. He had spent the last seventy years hating the Commie. He couldn't just let all those wars go. All the bloodshed for democracy…

Why had he let his enemy into his house- then left him there? This was fucking with his brain. He couldn't think straight. What if Ivan had begun spreading communism and propaganda in America again?

He buzzed in the flight attendant. She took her time before entering. He was staring silently at the wall, an immediate sign for concern. Alfred was silent. "Sir?"

"Will you bring in the Melatonin?" he said stiffly. He had deep, black bags under his eyes and his hands were trembling with fatigue.

She nodded and rushed off.

…

It was past dinnertime already by the time Alfred pulled in the gravel driveway. He drove down the long strip up to the actual concrete driveway and opened his garage door. He rubbed his head as he unlocked the basement door and let himself inside. He yawned and climbed the stairs.

He'd spent the last two nights in his house in Florida, and while it was comfortable in his own house, he still hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, worrying about what Ivan might be doing to his Midwest…

The first thing Alfred realized was just how cold it had gotten in this house. The air conditioner must have kicked on and broken again…

"…paroyou strosal datve~" he heard as he stepped into the mudroom and kicked off his shoes. "…scravavou nepre shatshe ye polie~…" it continued. Someone was singing in the kitchen…it was really dark…kinda creepy actually. Alfred stopped and listened, pressing his ear against the door. "nevzenmunlashul polegre cagdata…aprevrete les belejulavli~"

The American feared the worst as the Russian began humming. What if Ivan was performing some sort of dark ritual in there, and if he stepped through into the kitchen, he would see dead bodies hanging from the ceiling by their bloody ankles? What if their arms were cut off and Ivan was cooking them into a stew? Oh God! What if Ivan tried to make him eat it?

Alfred was having a small panic attack on the back side of the door.

The Russian coughed briefly on the other end, then continued his singing…rather chanting… "Anidase parisve muon syadali…lesati padayutnam galasa…" he sang, the tempo swaying pleasantly yet darkly. "Nyepata moi nackchas epichana…mue zamaka yu glatsa nebesa…mmmm…mmmmmm…"

He started humming again and Alfred lost it. He plowed through the door, curiosity getting the best of him. He stopped in his tracks and screamed shrilly as he took in the scene.

Ivan was stirring a large pot over his stove. His hands were dark red and his face was smeared with the same color. He stopped humming darkly and turned around. A red knife was held calmly in the other hand. "Ah…Amerika…" he said, smiling.

Alfred put his arms up in front of him, lifting a leg to help protect his torso.

"Vhat is it?" the Russian said curiously. "Are you hungry?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Alfred cried. Ivan turned to his pot again and looked back at Alfred, confused. "Oh my God you fucking monster!" the American said, balancing on his one leg. He was shivering from both fear and cold.

Ivan looked at him confused. "Vhat are you talking about, Amerika? You are always hungry?"

"Not for flesh! My God!" Alfred screamed. Ivan quirked an eyebrow. He glanced down at his red-stained hands and the knife. He laughed. The fucker laughed! "What?" America demanded defensively.

Ivan caught his breath. "It vas cold in here, so I vas making borsch…" he said, grinning.

"So the…red is just…"

"Beets," Ivan confirmed.

Alfred dropped his hands hesitantly. He wasn't sure if he could believe Ivan yet, but now that he looked closer, the red was more…purplish really. The American relaxed and let his leg drop back down. "Oh…" he sighed. "You could'a just turned off the air conditioner…" he muttered.

Ivan chuckled to himself. "I never ate human flesh, Amerika. That was the Mongols…" his smile faded for a second, but returned quickly. "You should give me some credit."

"Yeah, well you used to be a crazy psycho…didn't you?" Alfred said hotly. Coming home to Russian chanting had freaked him out and injured his pride. He walked into the living room and turned up the thermostat.

Ivan didn't respond. He just turned around and grated some cabbage. Alfred hung his coat on the back of a kitchen chair and walked up behind the taller nation. Ivan had already dirtied up four pans and two plates. Alfred sighed and leaned against the counter.

"What was that you were just singing?" he questioned curiously.

"Zhuravli."

"English please?" Alfred scoffed.

"It is about the Soviet soldiers I lost during the war with Germany…" Ivan replied calmly.

Alfred sighed. "Why're you singing that?"

"I sang in Russian many times while you were gone. It felt better on my throat."

"Well, thanks for waiting till I left," Alfred laughed. Ivan didn't see the need to retort to that, so he just dumped the shredded lettuce into the brew. "Where did you get all these supplies anyway?" the American asked. "I took the only car…"

"I followed the road," Ivan said simply. "There vas an outdoor market vhere farmers were selling their crops. I borrowed your money."

"What!" Alfred said, turning around. He kept three hundred dollars in a safe in each house, but they were hidden behind paintings or photographs. "How'd you get-?"

"Making your combination the same digits as the year you gained independence is very obvious, Amerika," Ivan said simply, smiling to himself. He stirred the lettuce into the soup and put the lid on it to let it simmer for five minutes.

Alfred sighed. He didn't even ask what the damage was. It didn't matter right now. "You were supposed to be resting. Why did you walk ten miles to the farmer's market?"

"I vas feeling better," the Russian said calmly, ruffling Alfred's hair as he walked through the kitchen to the sitting room.

"Well, I guess that's a good thing," Alfred said, following the taller nation. He plopped down on his couch, propping his feet up on the arm rests. Ivan sat in the armchair and folded his hands in his lap. Alfred was surprised at how calm he was being. Maybe spending three days alone in his house had been very…therapeutic for the Russian.

At least he wasn't fussing to go home. In fact, he was being good company…

"I guess that means Kiku can still come over on Wednesday…" Alfred thought to himself happily.

Alfred was dozing off on the couch when the timer beeped and Ivan stood. The chair creaked loudly and Alfred woke up. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Ruski?"

Dishes were clanking in the kitchen. Alfred threw his feet over the side of the couch and stood up. He walked into the kitchen and sat in his favorite chair. Ivan put a bowl of the hearty soup on the table in front of him. "Eat as much as you like," he said, smiling. "There is plenty."

Alfred looked up at him, "Who are you and what did you do that Commie bastard?" he said in awe. When had this guy gotten so nice?

Ivan frowned. "I am not communist anymore, Amerika. In fact, ve are making large steps to becoming an electoral democracy in 2012…"

Alfred popped his spoon into his mouth, wincing when his tongue got burnt.

"Da…it is hot…"

"Thank you for telling me!" Alfred snapped sarcastically.

Ivan just shrugged. He blew on his spoonful and ate in silence. Alfred followed his example and ate slower. When he'd finished his first bowl, he got up and poured himself another. Ivan grinned, "You like it," he observed.

"I do not."

"Then vhy are you eating more?" Ivan demanded skeptically.

"Because it's good. Don't mean I like it," Alfred snapped. Ivan laughed through his nose and ate another spoonful. Alfred frowned, exasperated. "Like…seriously. You take all the food I hate, put it together, and somehow it tastes delicious…" he said, adding some salt.

"Da. It is good for you as well."

"I hate you so much," Alfred said, letting a smile spread over his face.

The song Ivan was singing was Журавли by Марк Бернес . You can watch it on Youtube. The lyrics in there are just my rough translation into english syllables...just from how it sounds, so it's not perfectly accurate. It's just how Alfred would hear it, walking in on it.

Sorry bout the minor USUK in there. It was cannon for that time period. So, it had to be mentioned.

Review please?