WARNING: Ummm... for all those getting tired of the unresolved sexual tension, I dedicate this chapter to you.

*YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED*

Alfred took another swig of his Coke and belched. After a week, America's half of the trailer was beginning to look more like his house, or at least the rooms that he lived in. His clothes were scattered all over the floor, mixed with old soda cans and other questionable items. Russia, meanwhile, had managed to keep his section neat and clean, complete with Soviet propaganda posters hung on the walls and a world map with what looked like campaign plans scrawled all over it in Russian. Alfred should've worried, but Ivan had told him it was well out of date—he'd kept it for "comfort purposes".

Alfred had spent his extra space on a TV, though. And he was watching it at the moment, in his underwear and an old t-shirt. It was sort of late, and he doubted any other nations wandering in. He liked being alone, not having to worry about Ivan or England or anyone else. It was nice.

As his show cut to a commercial, he realized he really had to piss. He put down his Coke and stood, kicking aside another can on the floor. The TV blocked out all noise, and there was a pleasant caffeine buzz in his brain as he staggered to the bathroom. When he got there, he paused. The light was on. Alfred listened for a moment, but couldn't hear anything except a catchy ad jingle from the television. He tried the door—unlocked.

After a moment of consideration, he shoved the door open and realized what a mistake he'd made. The shower was running, and Russia was in it.

He had his back turned to Alfred, and he was running his hands through his wet hair repeatedly. There were a few soap bubbles running down his arms, but they were being washed away quickly. Alfred had always wondered if what was beneath his clothes was muscle or just fat, and now he could see that it was muscle. The pale skin on his back was etched with faded scars from countless battles. Alfred could see a few fresh ones from WWII. The scrawlings of damaged tissue over his skin did not detract from his attractiveness; they definitely added to it. Alfred's eyes traveled downwards, to his ass—it looked great, he couldn't help thinking—and his legs. His legs were powerful, but shapely, with nice curves and cute, but huge, feet. Alfred glanced back up to his ass. He would've loved to get his hands on it, at the moment, with its smooth skin and well-defined muscles—

Then Ivan turned around.

At the sight of his front, Alfred almost melted. There were scars on the front of his body, too, even more, but his skin was still smooth and pale. His muscles seemed to blend together, almost hidden by a thin layer of fat, but they were visible and obviously powerful. His nipples were only a few shades darker than the rest of his skin, and between them hung an odd-looking cross with two crosspieces. Alfred had never seen his neck, but was not surprised to see it be dead white in color. Ivan was staring at him, purple eyes wide and startled. Alfred's gaze moved south and noticed that England's map had been correct—he was huge.

Ivan must've noticed the direction of his look and stepped to the transparent shower curtain, pushing it open to look at America sternly. Alfred tried to say something—"I'm sorry, dude—didn't mean to"—but his tongue was tangled in his mouth, he couldn't speak. Ivan stepped out, reaching up briefly to turn off the water, and began walking towards Alfred calmly. Alfred didn't move.

Ivan reached out and put his hands on Alfred's shoulders, applying slight pressure. Alfred stared up at him, not a shred of fear in his eyes. Ivan wondered about that—maybe the American was drunk, maybe he just didn't care that Ivan could, and probably would, hurt him. He was so innocent… and helpless… and adorable. Ivan decided he would hurt him, but in a different way that he would imagine…

The hands on Alfred's shoulders suddenly squeezed, and he was swung around to sit up on the counter. His shoulders were pushed back up into the mirror, and then Ivan's fingers traveled to his underwear and pulled them off, tossing them away. He gave a little yelp as the cool fingers touched him, but otherwise didn't fight—he wanted this now, and didn't care that he'd thought differently for years. Alfred began struggling with his shirt, wanting to take everything off, to become fully one with him. Ivan stopped him before he could take his glasses off with a sudden kiss. Alfred moaned as their mouths pushed together, tongues entangling. Ivan's hands squeezed his wrists, pushing his body back into the mirror even further. Alfred felt their lower bodies beginning to touch and gave a hiss of pleasure, attacking Ivan even more. Then suddenly Ivan withdrew, and Alfred couldn't find it in him to protest, because now the Russian's hands were on Florida, rubbing and pressing him in ways that filled his body with arousal. Alfred leaned forward to kiss Ivan's chest, licking the smooth skin and nipping at the scars, sucking gently at his nipples. Ivan seemed to enjoy this too, growling softly like a bear being patted. Alfred found with his lips the weird cross around Ivan's neck and pulled at it, feeling the cool metal soothing his warming lips.

Suddenly, Ivan's hands were traveling even farther downwards, grasping at California. Alfred gave another little cry, and Ivan paused. "Have you done this before, my dear?" he murmured. Alfred shook his head.

"N-no…"

"This will be a learning experience then." Ivan shoved his fingers up inside Alfred, tracing little throbbing paths with his cold fingertips. Alfred cried out, jerking—having something inside him like this felt horribly unnatural, even though he enjoyed the arousing sensations. And it was very arousing. Ivan's fingers moved around inside him a bit more, exploring the American geography in preparation for invasion. Then they withdrew, and Alfred tensed, knowing what was coming. "Relax, my dear," Ivan instructed. "It'll be better if you're more confident."

"I'm not… Never done this before…"

"It won't hurt," Ivan lied.

Alfred believed him, and leaned back, closing his eyes. Ivan smiled, happy. The American's kisses on his chest had made him very ready for this. But he was always prepared to fuck someone up, especially Amerika… His hands tightened, pushing open California. Alfred's vital regions were about to be occupied by force. The thought made him so happy. Since his childhood, Russia had always found joy in inflicting pain upon others—perhaps because of the Mongol occupation, when he had been abused past the scope of other nations' understanding, perhaps because of the way he had to live with General Winter for half the year, perhaps because of the uninhibited cruelty he could commit now as Soviet Russia, perhaps a combination of all these.

He didn't care.

With a quick motion of his hips, he pushed Kamchatka far up into America's body. Alfred shrieked, the sudden sensation of Ivan being there too much for him. Alfred couldn't explain why the knowledge and feeling was overwhelming; yes, it felt amazing, and yes, it was satisfying to be finally making love to Ivan, but other than that, he couldn't explain it. He felt tears coming to his eyes, and he held Ivan closely inside him, wanting him to stay forever, to keep this pure, virgin feeling there…

Then there was a shock of pain as Ivan moved, breaking free of his grip. Alfred cried out again, feeling the throbbing length penetrating deeper, deeper than he ever imagined was possible. And it hurt. It was in a good way, though, because Alfred knew that it would hurt him even more if Ivan stopped. Ivan withdrew partially, to the cries of his lover, but then thrust in again and again, biting deeper every time. Alfred shrieked as the speed increased, feeling wetness spreading all over their vital regions. The pain and pleasure made him feel as though there was gunpowder being set off inside his body, and he felt a burning beneath his skin as his nuclear power begged to be released. But that would hurt Ivan, and he couldn't do that…

Ivan had no such qualms in regard to America, and found a sadistic enjoyment in making sure Alfred was being hurt by this love. He bent down, lifting America's torso, and started to sink his teeth repeatedly into Alfred's collarbone. Alfred screamed at the bites, feeling the blood beginning to drip down his chest. Ivan tasted the blood, and felt himself losing every scrap of control he might have had. Growling with desire, he kept biting open Alfred's neck, clawing at his back, fucking him harder and harder. The younger nation shrieked, weakly scraping at Ivan's shoulders. They were going at it like animals, making such noises that the other countries could probably hear. They didn't care.

Alfred realized he couldn't hold himself any longer, with Ivan biting him and entering him over and over again, and came, shuddering and splashing liquid all over their joined vital regions. Ivan ignored it and continued to penetrate America, hitting a spot deep inside him that kept the pleasure racing through his nerves, even when his entire front felt like it had been chewed open and Ivan's size was pushing his body to the breaking point…

Ivan noticed when Alfred lost consciousness. He stopped biting, held the comatose nation down to come inside him, then withdrew, grunting. He felt better than he had in years—the Baltics had long ago stopped resisting, and there was nothing like a strong young nation to take virginity from. He smiled, remembering all those he'd invaded joyfully—Germany, France, Prussia—but this was different. Joyfully different—for the moment, America was the best of all his lovers. He paused to lick away the blood running over the torso, admiring again the sweet taste of Alfred's blood. It was mixed with some other substance, too, and Ivan glanced down. It seemed he'd missed when the other nation came.

Alfred was dirty; very dirty. Ivan debated rinsing him off in the shower, but he decided there was a better, more profitable way to do so. The Russian bent over, laying Alfred out so he was lying on the floor. The American seemed to half-wake up as his mouth began touching him, and gave little moans and jerks as Ivan cleaned him off. After he was finished, he wiped his tongue a bit more around Florida, and leaned up to kiss the healing bite marks. Alfred twitched once, and stared sleepily at Ivan through his glasses. Ivan smiled lovingly down at him, picking him up.

Russia carried America into his bed, noting that he fell asleep again when he was tucked under the covers. Ivan kissed him lightly on the lips, and Alfred didn't react. Ivan smiled.

Tonight had been good.

America, when he first awoke, had no clue what he'd done or when it was. All he knew was that the sun was bright and pounding on his temples, his upper chest hurt like hell, and his lower body was really achy. There were a lot of explanations for that, and none of them he cared to consider at the moment. He lifted up the covers and saw he was completely unclothed. For some reason, it didn't shock him. What did surprise him was the scars all over his chest. They were scabbed over and small, but there were what looked like hundreds of them. And they looked like bite marks.

"Good morning, my dear," said Ivan. Ah, so it's morning. Alfred rubbed a finger curiously along one of the marks. Yup, definitely a bite. Who the hell would be biting him? He frowned and poked around under the sheets for some clothes, or at least a pair of pants he could wear for the moment. Not that Alfred was concerned with modesty, but showing too much of himself in the presence of Russia could…

Holy shit. He remembered.

Alfred collapsed back in his bed, staring at the far wall. Well, that explains a lot. The TV was still on, but all that was on the screen was flickering snow. I wonder if I can walk. Ivan was staring at him, calm phosphorescence in his purple eyes.

"Huh… Wow." That was all Alfred could think to say. "I… can't believe we actually did it."

"Enjoyable, да?"

Alfred nodded. "…A learning experience."

Ivan looked at him, then suddenly began to chuckle. Alfred turned to look back at him, then started laughing too. The hilarity increased until both were unable to breathe, and Ivan eventually sat up, wiping a tear from his eyes. The Russian had a nice laugh, deep, but somehow still childish and innocent. He managed to stop and looked, grinning, at Alfred.

"Heh… I don't actually know what to say about it, except it was hot and I think I liked it. And… why did you bite me?"

Ivan's face suddenly became serious. He looked down, as if unwilling to meet Alfred's eyes. He absently fondled the end of his scarf in his hands. "I… ah… I lost control." He didn't apologize.

Alfred felt sorry for him. He obviously feels bad about hurting me. He hadn't picked up on the lack of apology. He stood, flinging the covers aside casually, and walked over to Ivan's bunk—no trouble with that, he thought. He bent over and kissed him gently on the head, teasing slightly the little tuft of hair Ivan called Novaya Zemlya. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I'm fine—they're healing. And I really don't care—it was totally worth it." Ivan looked up at him, hope shining in his eyes.

"Really?" he said sheepishly.

Alfred grinned. "'Course. Now, uh, do you remember where my clothes went?"

Okay! Russia and America are FINALLY having sex!

To all those reading this on the day it's uploaded, happy Soviet Wednesday! It's the second Wednesday of every month. If you want to celebrate it later, it involves (a) wishing everyone a happy Soviet Wednesday and (b) being happy and, most importantly, spreading that happiness. Everyone needs to be happy, especially on Soviet Wednesday- you can't not be happy on Soviet Wednesday.

Anyways, enough of my babbling, and I hope you liked it! Please review and don't forget to be awesome!