Rhen's A/N: We bring you this chapter insanely earlier than normal!~ Why do we do this?... *hangs head* Because we took so fucking long last time, this is our apology.
I have to be honest. We really haven't been doing this often... Too busy being insane and obsessing over Kuro. Grell-soul seems to be overriding my America-soul, though I may still be able to tap into him a little. But I digress. This is a warning, don't expect frequent updates- We are morons who can't focus on two things at once (This does not include school hours, when I write my fanfiction).
On the subject of that: School for us starts soon, and for me, that means I write more of my oneshot lemons. I'm uncertain what that means for elepaio... But I'm 75% certain that this roleplay will turn into non-priority, with our advanced classes (yay, we is smart~) and my dedication to follow Bocchan everywhere.
elepaio's A/N: Wow. We have an actual plot. Who knew. ^^
We deviate from the pattern of humor/ scathing insults/ silliness in this chapter in favor of angst, sweetness, and a little dash of sappy, and then back to normal midway through. All my fault… XD (Rhen likes humor/ silliness /sex in fanfiction, while I prefer angst/ sweet stuff/ sex.) Hahaha~ I have had my way with this roleplay at last…
Random Help Wanted Advertisement: Is there anyone reading this who can understand Japanese well enough to translate, and would be willing to translate a yaoi doujin for me? It's called Love Hunter, is from the anime/manga Kuroshitsuji, the pairing is SebastianxGrell, and it's about 50 pages long. If you have any clue what I'm talking about, or even if you don't have any clue and just like yaoi, please let me know in a review/PM if you would be willing to do this. I'd take a prompt and write you a oneshot in return. Or maybe even pay you… depending on how desperate I am by that point.
Disclaimer: If we owned Hetalia, it would be R-18. *¬*
Russia: What...! That's... not fair, Америка. *runs his fingers along the miniscule grooves between the keys, dislodging miniscule fragments of dust so as to prolong answering America*
Russia: Fine. I... I miss the sex. That's it. *casts a deflated, forlorn glare at the tray table on the seat-back in front of him*
America: *scoffs again, recognizing that Russia is being difficult* Yeah, right. Like you'd lose sleep over no sex?
America: I don't believe that.
America: So tell me more.
Russia: I... *clenches his hands into loose fists, staring remotely at the screen, unnerved by how easily America has derrailed him* I've answered the question as dictated by the rules of the game. I believe this is more than adequate.
America: I don't. That's... barely anything! Come on!
America: Besides, it's impossible for you to be telling the truth.
America: You're the one that's had a relationship with everyone in Europe. *Forces away the jealousy* I bet if you tried, you could again. Which means that your hunger for sex isn't that bad. Which means that you have to be lying.
America: ... *blinks, finding implications within what he just wrote* But you're not allowed to have a relationship with any other nation. Just letting you know.
Russia: Stop it.
Russia: The question is answered.
Russia: It is enough.
Russia: ...Leave me alone.
Russia: *his hands begin twisting into his scarf, seeking refuge and reassurance*
America: Give me a better answer. *He knows that he's going to be in trouble from what he has already done, so decides to push his boundaries*
America: *He feels sore inside, as if he's overstepped something, but refuses to back down*
Russia: *he minimizes the messenger window, effectively ignoring America, and sits, gazing blankly into ripples and ridges of clouds visible through the passenger windows*
America: Hey.
America: Hey!
America: It's been ten minutes.
America: You're too quiet.
America: Are you ignoring me?
America: Stop ignoring me.
Russia: Америка... *if he had been speaking, the words would have been filtered through gritted teeth* I thought I had requested that you leave me alone. Is it not polite to respect your significant other's wishes? *cruel, twisted smirk with a trace of sadness*
America: Hey, you're the one always going on about how I'm not polite. I'm just living up to your standards.
America: And, because I'm not polite, I can say this:
America: That picture I have?
America: The one with you all blushing, wearing garters, and begging for more?
America: Ever heard of Facebook and Myspace?
Russia: ...I would prefer if you left that out of this. *blinks cooly, giving the semblance of being unperturbed* I am not really... in the mood... for such trivial matters... 'Please. Stop pushing me.'
America: Fine. *raises hands in mock-surrender* Trivial won't do me much good, anyway.
America: But I'm curious now.
America: Which means that I'm probably going to sit here and spam you and never answer the question myself.
America: So we'll get nowhere.
Russia: ...That is currently of no concern to me. *the phrase is so cold it is as if it causes the surrounding air to condense into ice crystals*
America: What's the problem with telling me anyway? *He feels almost hurt, actual hesitation creeping into his body* It's not like I'm going to run off and tell... um... That guy to the north of me... Or England, or China, or Prussia or Ukraine, definitely not Belarus. I'm the only one that'll know. *He presses on, determined to find out*
Russia: I... *trails off into stagnance, unwilling to express the thought which is so laughably lucid at the forefront of his mind*
Russia: I do not wish to tell you. Why must you pry?
America: Because it's something new, it's something interesting, and it's something about you that I don't know. I want to know. *The mockery has long ago fallen from his face, leaving him entirely focused on getting his answer*
Russia: Америка. I do not wish to tell you.
America: You're not telling me what it is. You're also not telling me why you're not telling me. *His head hits the back of his chair as he thinks over what it could be* What do I have to do, Russia? To get you to trust me enough for this? *He can't think of anything, either ways to coax out the information or what the information might be*
America: You don't want to tell me after I said that I won't tell anyone else... Which means that you're just being mean or that you're... afraid? Of something that only I could do after obtaining the information...
America: What if I promise not to do it, whatever it is?
Russia: ...Because you would be incapable of keeping that promise.
America: How can you know that? You can't. Not unless you try, Russia. I'm America. I can do anything as long as I put my mind to it. But I can't if I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing.
Russia: ...That isn't true. You are...
Russia: Incapable of taking anything seriously. *forces a rushed, shaky breath out through his nose, desperately aware of how pathetically vulnerable he sounds*
America: I was serious during the Cold War, wasn't I? For the most part. *He pulls his lips back slightly, unhappy with his own mention of the tense years* When it involved you.
Russia: I disagree, you were far from serious. Calculated and cunning, perhaps, but bitter and mocking to the end... You always have been, when it...
Russia: Regards me... *sits stiffly, every muscle tensed, fearful, nervous, and above all afraid of America lashing back at him, yearning more than anything to sign out and close the laptop for the remainder of the flight*
America: Bitter and... mocking... *He lapses into a momentary silence, unsure where to go* Then I just won't be. If push comes to shove, I'll... shut up and change the subject. I'll... Maybe I'll take it like the Revolutionary War, quiet and thoughtful. Like when I saw Iggy... crying... *He looks, quietly downcast, at the keyboard, lacking the ability to conjure... something...*
Russia: ...Do I... have your word...? *drifts off, dizzied, reluctant, anticipating yet terrified of America's answer, clinging to the question like a lifeline*
Russia: You won't... laugh at me...?
America: *blinks, surprised, only half-anticipating anything along those lines, more expectant of a wish to shut up and take the information silently* *His fingers twitch, catching themselves on a question that he quickly deletes* Cross my heart. *He does so, placing one hand over the invisible mark* I swear. 'I would have sworn to it - Whatever it was.'
Russia: W-well then, Америка... the... things I miss about you... *He falters, mortified and ashamed, still entirely unconvinced that he should be sharing this with America*
Russia: *takes a shaky, shuddering inhale, and begins to type as swiftly as the thoughts come to mind so that he will not give himself time to think and reconsider his decision to speak*
Russia: I miss... seeing your eyes, without the glasses on... they are such a raw, unadulterated shade of blue... it seems fitting to call the color liberty. I cannot understand why you choose to stifle them behind false lenses... I miss showering with you - yes, I'm aware that it's only happened once or twice, because we're usually more concerned with... other activities, and we often depart too soon afterwards to even consider showering... on that note, I miss... the smell of your skin, when I lean in close and breathe you, but you wouldn't know because I'm careful to make sure that you're asleep... the softness of your hair, the way your eyelids fall half-shut and you bite your lip or pant my name or usually, just curse at me when I drowsily press lovebites to your collarbone after we've finished, don't reply, Америка, I'm not done speaking….
Russia: I miss how you try to stop yourself from screaming, how you make it a point to bite until we taste blood when we kiss, how you pick up all the wrong clothes and wear them home... (I still adamantly believe you took my scarf back to Nevada that time on purpose. That experience was thoroughly irritating.) I miss the rare times when we stay together for the duration of the night, and then when I wake in the morning you nuzzle close and won't permit me to leave... I miss how you insist that we eat at McDonalds every time I come to your place, much to my displeasure, and how you use my toothbrush and raid my refrigerator as if you own them when you're at my house. I miss the smell of your sweat, the sensation of your hands fisting in my hair... how you nuzzle up and hold me, when we share a bed, even though I feign disgust and command you not to… I miss the sex, yes, mostly, but it is overabundant when compared to the gentleness…
Russia: Honestly, when I am losing sleep over you, it is these little things that I remember. I miss being near you, I miss being warm… I… I miss how you're not repulsed or reluctant to touch me because my body does not exude heat…
Russia: Because… they've… always been scared. If not revolted by the cold, at least hesitant. You don't seem to care. And… sometimes… I…
Russia: It gets so cold, I forget what being warm feels like… it's just hollow, and empty… *is abjectly humiliated by all that he has just admitted, sinks into the seat, slumped, defeated, is almost on the brink of signing out and cutting you off rather than facing America's reply*
America: *He bites the knuckle of one finger, lost in the words*
America: Russia... How could...
America: How could you think that I would laugh at you?
America: Not for this. Never for this. I wouldn't...
America: *He touches the glasses on his face, a gentle movement before pulling them off, setting them beside the computer screen* 'Just for now...'
America: I... couldn't... mock you for this. Not ever.
America: It's... so much... like... mys- I have to answer the question too, right?
America: *He's hesitant, mouth half-open as he thinks, carding one hand through his hair*
Russia: *his fingers curl in and twist the fringes of his scarf, shellshocked, words eluding him* Америка... любовь, I... *the final traces of a smile disintegrate into sincerity, and his eyes soften perceptibly as he types the words which, if spoken, would be mouthed in the most fragile and earnest of whispers:* Thank you.
Russia: *the corners of his lips glide upwards ever-so slightly, and he murmurs the phrase aloud* I want to... kiss you...
Russia: *...the person seated next to him mistakenly assumes that the words are intended for him, and seizes up in dismay, disgust, and abject horror, nearly going into hysterics*
America: *he sighs, the slightest hint of a sweet, caring smile pulling at the corners of his lips* Yeah. *he looks down, chewing the inside of his cheek and searching for appropriate words* ... Me too.
America: *He whispers the words, no one to hear him*
America: *he looks up again, an unconcealed light smile on his lips now* It's my turn to answer now, I guess.
America: I... miss... *he chews the inside of his mouth again, hesitant, recalling what he had sworn to himself earlier* 'I thought you would never know... I thought I wouldn't even try to tell you, but now...'
America: I miss your smile. Sure, everyone else thinks it's creepy, but it's refreshing at the same time. I miss the way you touch me, the way you hold me, the way you sometimes obsessively search for heat (that does get annoying when I'm actually trying to do something, yes I'm sure you're going to say that's rare but whatever). I miss the times when you submit to me, the times you don't, I miss our arguments (they just don't have the same color when typed out) and our making-up. I miss the heavy sarcasm in your voice when I do something and then the fight we almost always get into after that. I miss the sex, the raw power of it... I miss your cold, even though I hate winter I love your feel. I miss holding you - So original, I know, but the truth.
America: *he licks his lips, staring at the keyboard, having more to say but unable to do so, not yet*
America: I... miss you.
Russia: *his eyelids glide shut and he gives a long, gentle sigh which melts into a purr, subconsciously running the thumb of one hand across the tips of his fingers as he pictures cupping America's cheeks, touch whisper-light, guiding his face upwards as he brushes back America's bangs, pausing momentarily to pluck off those insufferable glasses, and then tilting their lips together, sweet and soft and slow, breath mingling, so unlike the contemporary fierce, destructive, purely carnal kisses*
Russia: *his eyes flutter open and he clenches one hand into a loose fist, sharply jerking his eyes to the illuminated placards above his head as he contemplates how to best reply* I... that is...
Russia: *the thought trails off as he recognizes that he is not capable of properly expressing how greatly America touched him, perhaps managing to stretch past the shallow snowfall, reaching and beginning to thaw that first layer of inveterate Siberian permafrost... yet the phrase I love you remains unutterable, too unwieldy... impossible to snatch back once articulated* I don't know... what else I can possibly say. I… 'love you' need to kiss you...
Russia: *he shakes his head self-contemptuously, inhales, and allows his fingers to skim and strike the Enter key before he can think sensibly enough to refrain*
Russia: I love you.
America: *he blinks, surprised by what Russia has said, stunned that he said it* Russia... *he feels warm inside, privately holding the confession where Russia would never see it, deep within him in a place he envisions Russia would deem as "weak"* Yeah. *he looks down again, staring at his glasses, eyes unfocused as he plays the words time and time again in his mind* Yeah...
America: *he looks up again, almost grinning, entirely glad that Russia can't see him, thinking that he must like an idiot as his fingers type out the only response he can deem as worthy at this moment*
America: I love you too.
America: *he stares at the screen for a moment longer, waiting for you to say something, anything, but his patience runs dry*
America: Hey, Russia... Are we still playing?
America: If so, it's your turn.
America: It's okay if you don't want to, though, I'm afraid your mind may have died after hearing that, *he flips one hand to the side, as if warding off some invisible presence, a devious smirk crawling onto his face* it might have been too much to take in. But I have no doubts that you'll recover and say something soon in revenge for what I'm about to call you... My little pony.
America: *he is still coated in the warmth from the confession, but hungers somewhat for the normal arguments to return, looking for the danger in this conversation as it brings promise of what Russia says he is going to do; and he cannot deny he is excited*
America: So hurry up~
Russia: *blinks rapidly in a motion which nearly qualifies as a wince, drawing himself away from the stunned silence as America's tone becomes humorous again and then he makes... that comment...*
Russia: *draws himself up, affronted, ice slipping back into his eyes and smile as seamlessly as if it had never briefly retreated* Ahhhh... you.
Russia: Fuck you.
America: *he grins, the normality of the situation settling well with him*
Russia: I believe I commanded you not to refer to me by that... hideous... endearment again. If your severely impaired brain was incapable of retaining that information, I would suggest firmly imprinting it in your memory now~ *his eyes gleam, barest hint of a purr*
America: I think that's impossible, little pony. *he nods, the grin still present on his face*
Russia: In that case I believe I will present you with double the surprise when I arrive~ *he laces the words with sugary innocence*
America: *he ignores the threat* Your turn~
Russia: Your question... *he contemplates the most efficient and amusing way of getting back at America for that irksome aforementioned comment*
Russia: The song that reminds you the most of me, or of us. Our relationship in general... *deviously smirks, having already made his selection for when the time comes to answer his own question* And send it to me, dear.
America: *he frowns, mind drifting over the thousands of songs that he has listened to, somehow settling on more modern music filled with lyrics and beats that are unorthodoxly orthodox* Erm... the first things that show up in my head are Sex and Violence and Gorgeous... The latter by someone flamboyantly gay.
America: For some reason, I think they fit.
- You have sent 2 file(s) to Russia : Sex_And_3 / 3 –
(Readers: You must listen to these songs to understand Russia's response. Our apologies if you have a strong aversion to sex music… but, then, if you had a strong aversion to sex music, why would you be reading this perverted chat? *grin* Gorgeous: http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=6XnRiaSK7vE Sex and Violence: http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=HSLZXAXanrE [take out spaces on both links])
*listens to Gorgeous, then Sex and Violence, smirk intensifying exponentially as he realizes just how hilarious America's selections happen to be* Ahhh, darling. *grins ferally, showing a glimpse of teeth, eyes narrowed to near-slits* I was never aware that you consider yourself so submissive...
Russia: Enjoy being invaded...
Russia: That you do not mind when I attempt to smash your heart to pieces...
Russia: And this is your version of living the American Dream...? *short, rough purr, causing the person beside him to again question his sanity*
America: What-fucking-ever.
America: *he scoffs, turning away from the computer screen for a moment, neither denying or affirming anything*
Russia: "...with a bad attitude and a gun under my dress." ...I have one concern, about this particular line, however...
Russia: Do you consider this coat a dress?
Russia: Because if that is the case, you are quite gravely mistaken.
America: *he cannot help but snicker at the line, having entirely forgotten its existence*
Russia: ...America. Answer me.
America: *he breaks out in little snickers every so often, unable to refrain from making the comment* Well, it's got the shape of one, the length of one, and it holds the best submissive one inside it at all times so...
America: At this moment, sure.
Russia: *tilts head ever so slightly* And what is that supposed to mean! Holds the "best submissive one inside it at all times?" I'm afraid your brain has become even more addled since the previous reply. I wear the coat, not you, and I believe those songs have most certainly confirmed that you are indeed the best submissive one.
Russia: ...I wonder how you managed to lower your mental capacity this time? Was it too many burgers?
America: I'm the usual submissive one. *he glares at the words, although it is he himself admitting it* But you are the best.
Russia: ...Unfortunately, my dear, I believe you have fallen ill with... ah, what was it called...? Mad Cow Disease. You're acting delirious - I'm becoming quite concerned for your health. Tell me, darling, do you have a perpetual fever? Because I do recall you being quite warm when I came in contact with you last...
America: I'm a nation, I don't get Mad Cow Disease. *he scowls, irritated with Russia's attack on his second-favorite food*
America: ...And you know that the heat last time was entirely your fault.
Russia: .. How can you expect me to resist sneaking - ah, no, that is a bit of a strong term, seeing how you indisputably wanted me to do it – approaching you from behind when we were leaving that burger joint with our bosses? *mock injured expression*
America: *he bites his tongue, glaring daggers at the glasses on the tabletop and with a quick movement, he jams them back on his face, cursing quietly all the while*
America: Entirely.
America: Your.
America: Fault.
Russia: *hums lightly, casting a roaming gaze about the plane* It was not entirely my fault, you were rather, ah, shall we say, quick in giving your consent. You're so submissive~ *short cackle which strengthens the resolve of the person next to him to summon the flight attendant and request another seat... if only he wasn't so intimidating...* I was quite surprised that we made it back into the White House without our bosses noticing our absence...
America: *he proceeds to attempt to ignore Russia, intent on not remembering the situation, as is the same with so many things you have brought up already*
America: *He thinks, slowly mulling over the situation, before a sudden, slightly evil-looking grin spreads over his face* *Entirely glad you cannot see him, he turns back to the screen, hoping Russia will play along*
America: Hey, Russia.
America: I thought of another song.
America: One moment, let me get it... It fits perfectly. *The evil grin refuses to leave, and quite frankly, he doesn't care at this moment*
Russia: Why do I have a feeling that this... *he sighs softly, shaking his head and pressing his face into the heel of one palm* 'Has something to do with "my little pony?"'
- You have sent Russia 1 file(s): EPIC_PONY_THEME_3
Russia: *deflates, steeling himself as soon as he reads the title of the song, then listens stoically for its entirety although the false, cheery, commodified, happy lyrics scald his ears* AMERICA. You are infuriating. *scowls fiercely, fuming* This is absolutely ridiculous. I believe you are drawing out this joke for far too long, da! *again, the affirmative is used as an insult*
Russia: Unless it is merely the fact that your limited mental capacities remain unable to conceive of a more imaginative way of mocking me!
Russia: I cannot believe the standards you let yourself stoop to, selling this absolute shit to your youth.
Russia: Capitalist pig.
Russia: You disgust me.
- Russia has signed out -
America: And you're the one flying to Washington.
elepaio adds: That My Little Pony theme song is scarring. Seriously.
Rhen: Like OMG, my inner Poland went INSANE HAPPY HYPER PINK OMGOMGOMGOMG when I started playing the epic Pony theme song. *nod*
(Rhen cackles maniacally. elepaio recoils in abject horror… http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch?v=ST2N-9ATKCc )