America rubbed his shoulder, irritated. It had fully healed over the course of the week, or at least that's what Sweden had told him. It still hurt like hell, though. And that was all he needed, he mused, a slowly recovering wound to deal with on top of living with another country for a few weeks. At the sound of Canada's voice softly calling for attention, he looked up at his brother.

"Excuse me? Yes? Everybody? Excuse me…" After a minute or so of this, the nations stopped their quiet chatting and looked up. Canada smiled. He wore a plain tan suit and his hair was brushed. "Thank you." His voice became a bit louder and he announced, "Welcome, Nations of the World, to the Canadian Annual Road Trip!" Scattered applause, growing louder as they remembered what it was. "Now, as you remember, there are two nations per trailer this year, and you will be getting your trailer assignments in a moment." Right on cue, Kumajirou trotted out of Canada's trailer, a sheet of paper in his mouth. Canada took it up, still smiling brightly. "In Trailer 2, there are Italy and Germany…" He gestured to a van. The two nations walked to it with their bags, Germany appearing exasperated, Italy crying out Germany's name in joy. "Trailer 3 is China and Japan…" This pair walked coolly up to theirs, not looking each other in the eye. America raised an eyebrow. "Trailer 4; France and England…" America frowned, not looking at France and England as they went to their trailer, still fighting. Neither he nor Russia had been called yet… unless the commie was getting his own trailer… Yeah, that would be the most logical… He looked up at his brother, satisfied with his conclusion. But when he looked into his brother's quiet violet eyes, that conclusion was negated. Canada's smile widened, almost innocently. It brought a swirl of—not quite irrational—fear into America's heart. "Trailer 5…" His heart beat fast, his breath came short. Oh God, please don't let me faint here! He thought desperately, his mouth dry.

"America and Russia." Three nations spoke it at the same time. Two of them smiled, their hearts cheered at the dark thoughts. To the third, it was a death knell. Alfred all but ran into the trailer, dropping his bags on the floor before collapsing on his bunk. Shit… oh shit… I am so screwed… In more ways than one, he realized with a jolt. "Fuck…" he gasped, springing up and dashing to the bathroom. "Fuck! …Fuck me!" He giggled, a half-insane burble of laughter that escaped his mouth. "Shit, don't say that around Russia!"

Alfred slammed the bathroom door behind him, fighting down the mad giggles as he fumbled with the lock. The bolt clicked across just as heavy footsteps sounded on the steps up to the trailer. His hand clamped over his mouth, he listened in terror as the door opened. Russia spoke. "Dear America…" Alfred trembled. Russia's voice sounded innocent, yes, but what innocence? What innocence was left after centuries of bloody history? "Dear America… Where are you hiding? Where are you, dear America? Hmm?" Another damn giggle slipped through his fingers. He bit his lips. Shit…

The footsteps paused, then began clicking closer. "Dear America… come out, come out…" Russia sang. Alfred fancied he could hear the faint whistling of an object swinging through the air. "Come out, come out, wherever you are…" Russia giggled at his mocking joke. Shit… shit… shit… shit, shit, shit… Alfred looked frantically about for a weapon, any weapon. There! The towel bar! Pulling aside the cloths draped over it, he called on his superhuman strength and began jerking it off the wall. It made noise.

Russia's soft laughter reached Alfred's ears. "So, that is where you are hiding, dear America?" With a final effort, Alfred pulled the towel bar out of the wall and brandished it like a baseball bat, prepared for the worst. To his surprise, rather than just smashing his way through the door, the powerful nation first tried the handle. Anger rose within Alfred. So, he thinks I'm stupid enough to hide in a room without locking the door first? An idea sparked—he could catch his enemy by surprise. With shaking hands, he reached out and unlatched the door, then jerked it back, raising the bar. He caught a single glimpse of Russia's surprised face and glowing purple eyes before he smashed his weapon right at the other superpower.

Russia was faster than he'd thought. Alfred could feel the bar strike something—but Russia had sprang back so quickly, he couldn't tell what he'd hit. The faucet pipe his opponent wielded came up quickly, swinging down at Alfred's head. He brought his bar up swiftly, hearing the ringing noise of iron on steel. They exchanged what seemed like too many and too little blows before Russia finally stepped back, his expression dark. A single trail of blood ran down from his nose.

"…Commie bastard…" panted America, his fist so tight on the bar he imagined there was blood flowing down his palm. Russia smiled.

"Dear America," he asked softly. "Why do you fight so? You know you, and everyone, will become one with Russia someday." As he said this, some of his blood trickled into his mouth. He paused to lick it away, still smiling kindly.

"…You're a fuckin' monster…"

Russia's smile widened. "Am I that much of a monster for wanting friends? Am I a monster for wishing for an end to my loneliness? Trust me, dear America, you cannot imagine… how empty my home becomes…" As he spoke, he lowered his pipe and stepped forward, holding up a hand. Alfred cowered, not looking into his rival's eyes. He raised his bar. It was a warning, "Don't come any closer."

Russia disregarded the unspoken warning. "…dear America…" he murmured, reaching to stroke the little tuft of blond hair his enemy called "Nantucket". Alfred flinched back.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped. "And don't call me that!" He was trembling. Russia smiled. He was so cute, especially filled with fear and uncertainty… Да, this would be fun. Very much fun.

"Very well, Alfred. But I must confess," he added, grinning. "I wonder; how will you prevent yourself from boredom? I know I brought books, some of which are in English, unless you wish to try your hand at reading Russian… Or we could pl—," He was interrupted by a steel bar hitting him over the head. Snarling in anger, he lifted his pipe and struck in front of him. He was rewarded by the loud thwacking of iron striking flesh. Alfred cried out. Brushing his now bloodstained bangs out of his eyes, Ivan looked down at his downed enemy. At the sight, he sucked in a gulp of air. Oh no… I've killed him! Diving to the ground, he turned Alfred's body over, ripping his shirt open. Tearing his glove off with his teeth, Ivan placed his hand against Alfred's bare chest. He breathed a sigh of relief as he detected the beating heart and the breathing. Sitting back on his haunches, Ivan thought.

He hadn't quite realized how hard this was going to be. Especially now, he mused, glancing down at Alfred. He was unconscious. It would be easy to take him… too easy… Ivan grinned and licked his lips at the thought. He bent down and stroked his fingers against Alfred's skin. The American gave a little shudder, but otherwise showed no response. That was the catch… he wanted to hear Alfred crying out beneath him… calling his name… He sighed and shook his head. After a moment of contemplation, the northern superpower bent down and lifted his rival up. Alfred's head lolled in his arms. Smiling, Ivan brushed away a strand of blond hair falling in his face. Dear America, he thought as he laid him down in his bunk. You may think you can keep yourself away from me, but I will eventually have you…

Alfred seemed to sense this, even in his unconscious state. He moaned and cried out slightly. Maybe it was a dream, maybe he objected to Ivan leaving him. Ivan didn't know, and, frankly, he didn't care.

Soon enough, it wouldn't matter.

Yay! Some sexual tension and fighting! Enjoy!