Just... buying time at this point, really.

Warning: Angst, tension, innuendo, RusAme (somewhat).

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Almost

Deciding who would stay in each of the two rooms they were offered was, thankfully, one of the easiest tasks they had been confronted with thus far. None of them possessed the strength or patience to debate, and so they simply walked into a room, dropped their belongings, and went about settling in. The last couple of months had taught them how to cooperate more so than any other time in their histories. Yao, Kiku, Feliciano, and Ludwig took one room, while Arthur, Francis, Alfred, Matthew, and Ivan took the other—a setup they had become used to after their journey in the vans.

Alfred had already dropped his stuff in a far corner of the room when he heard the sound of a bag dropping behind him, and he glanced over to see Ivan busying himself with his sleeping bag. Although displeased at his presence (and at that so close to his space in general), Ivan's eyes dared Alfred to challenge his position, just like he had done so many times in the past in similar and contrasting situations. Alfred met his gaze levelly and promptly went back to his own arrangements… also as he would have done in any other experience.

Mentally, he scoffed. Yeah, go right ahead, asshole. I know your game. I won't be chased away. You can't intimidate me, not after I've seen—Alfred stopped himself right there, refusing to acknowledge that his mind kept going back to that night when Ivan had seemed most vulnerable, how he had been courteous enough not to address the fact that the Russian had been—

Acting like a child, Alfred concluded as he pulled his sleeping bag down with a crisp snap (technically not his but Lovino's, which he had to admit was kind of creepy but necessary). Crying like a child. He's always been a child, stuck in that time before everything in his life went wrong… Alfred smoothed out the ruffles and shook his head. He refused to let himself feel sorry for Ivan. Why should he when the man had made him feel like shit? Why should he…

It wasn't until he felt Ivan's eyes on him that he realized his own fingers had gone to his lips, recalling that moment of almost that took place between them not but a night ago. Alfred saw Ivan looking and quickly took his fingers away from his lips, clearing his throat to hide his embarrassment as Ivan pretended not to notice. Almost. But not enough.

Alfred gathered some spare clothing he'd managed to stuff in his pack before the Uprising began (wow, he had been so naïve then… a wife-beater, jeans, and shin socks, really?) and asked aloud if anyone would be taking the shower. Everyone said they would go after him, some claiming they were a bit too tired to commit to the effort of bathing, but he did catch the concerned look in their eyes. He was no fool, contrary to popular opinion. At least it was obvious when mostly everyone was giving him the same look. He knew what it was about, and, as much as he was embarrassed to think back to when he had to be cared for by Ivan because of his injuries caused by the crash, he refused to let it worry him or present itself as obvious on his face. He'd gotten a black eye (which he could see out of now, but the skin around it was still a dark red and purple) and hit his head, sure, but if anything said about his hardheadedness proved true he would be perfectly fine in a week or so. Now if they even had a week, well… that was another thing to worry about.

He wasted no time heading off to the shower, which was, fortunately, just across the hall. He gave a short wave to Shawn and Bernard on his way, who were playing at a game of Spades at the small table down the hall.

A fresh stack of towels obviously filched from surrounding homes and businesses filled a small shelf in the room that was little bigger than the average walk-in closet, which wasn't a problem for him. Really, the only thing that mattered was the shower working and the water temperature (hot, preferably).

The shower stood alone at the back; a stained head jutting out over the same cold concrete that made up the entire bathroom floor, with a no-slip mat beneath sporting a hole cut out (none too precisely) to expose the drain. The 'tub' was no more than an old-fashioned aluminum one pushed up against a side wall with a hose from the shower leading to it. The toilet and sink must have been in another room.

Alfred wasted no time stripping down and turning the knobs. The water came out scalding at first, but Alfred adjusted it (just barely) and stepped in, sighing and feeling his skin (which was much too used to the cold) tingle as it was lashed with hot water for the first time in two months.

The soap bottles were label-less and filled with stuff that didn't have a particularly pleasant smell (kind of hard to find good soap at the end of the world, after all), but Alfred was just glad he could finally rid himself of the all the grease that had been gradually building up on his body. The more he washed himself, the more he was amazed at how startlingly white his skin was. Had it always been that light? The filth swirling down the drain could attest for that.

Ivan, meanwhile, had finished his unpacking and slipped out of the room to explore the bunker. It certainly wasn't spacious, but then again the lodgings were meant to be temporary. The walls were cold and felt thick and sturdy, but it was old. Judging by the copious water stains, grime, and cobwebs, Ivan guessed its origins dated back to… well, when people thought they needed them most, really. Ivan scoffed as he saw a crack winding its way up from a corner. Yeah, as if this thing could even come close to withstanding the might of Tsar Bomba or the like.

All the rooms appeared the same: a few cots, a bare bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling, and evidence of human habitation. Quite boring, but it was only expected. He was on his way back to his room when he passed by the shower room. He backed up and listened to the water running for a minute. He was sure Alfred would be finished by now (but, honestly, what had he been expecting?) and had been buying time until he was out, clothes at the ready, to have his turn. But all of a sudden he didn't want Alfred to hurry.

He bit his lip to hide a leer as he pushed the door open. Oh. He clicked his tongue. Alfred hadn't locked the door—how negligent.

Ivan had no trouble slipping in without a sound, and he was pleased to find that Alfred (a very naked and wet Alfred) had his eyes closed under the spray. Ivan observed him for a moment, just standing there with his back to the door, and concluded that Alfred appeared good enough to eat.

Too bad it couldn't last. Alfred opened his eyes soon enough, possibly to determine the source of the sudden gust of cold air (since the shower had no curtain whatsoever, which Ivan found extremely convenient on his part), and he jumped at the sight of Ivan standing there watching him.

"Holy shit!" he shouted before propelling himself back against the far concrete wall and immediately yelping and jumping back from it for its chill. As it figured, his foot slipped on the no-slip mat (which now that he noticed seemed to be rather worn) and he glided across the floor a couple of inches before he threw out his hands and was able to stop himself. At that point, he realized that he was kind of spread out for Ivan's view, and he quickly covered himself. "What the hell, man? Couldn't you hear, like, the water running or something?"

Ivan lowered his quirked eyebrow, which had been raised for the entirety of Alfred's ridiculous display, and shrugged. "You have been in for long enough, da? I figured you would be finished by now."

Not knowing quite how to answer that, Alfred's hand shot out for the knobs (while his other hid his own knob, so to speak). But Ivan quickly interjected, "There is no need. I will be getting in, so keep it running."

Alfred snatched his hand back, scolding himself for acting like a kid who'd been caught trying to touch something valuable in a china shop. Why the hell was he listening to Ivan anyway? Although it did make perfect sense to leave the water on, he brooded nonetheless. Ivan turned away for a moment to examine the tub, and meanwhile Alfred made haste to snag a towel from the tall stack on the shelf beside him and wrap it around his torso. But as it was, his hands were shaky (why, dammit?) and by the time Ivan turned back he was forced to clutch the towel to his crotch rather stupidly.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "I do not understand why you feel the need to hide yourself when I have seen plenty of your body unclothed over the years to profile you exactly upon request."

Alfred cleared his throat and took the time to properly tie the towel around his waist. It worked, thank God. "Request?"

Ivan gave a hopeless sigh. "Da, I made money selling ideas based on your sex organs to erotic toy manufacturers."

"W-w-what?"

Alfred received a withering expression that clearly told him of the sarcastic nature of Ivan's comment, and he blushed a little from not picking it up earlier. "Oh, um… you were joking. Can't see why I might have been initially confused. You've always been a pretty funny guy. Don't know why we never got along," Alfred added dryly as he stepped out of the running shower to shuffle through his clothes.

Ivan snorted. "You may be able to attribute that to your endless case of obliviousness."

Ouch. Well, two could play at that game. "Yeah, who wouldn't wanna hang out with a guy that keeps a steel pipe in their—um, I-Ivan, what are you doing?"

The man in question had discarded his heavy coat and was in the middle of pulling off the shirt beneath it. "Что? Traditionally, showers are taken without clothes on, Alfred."

Alfred would be lying if he said hearing Ivan say his name again wasn't a little bit of a turn-on—which was kind of a problem, seeing as Alfred was free-balling it in the most extreme sense of the term. "But… I haven't exactly left yet."

"Alfred," Ivan said again (Fuck, stop saying that!), as if he were speaking to a child. "I have seen you naked, you have seen me naked, besides we are both men. What I have is also what you have."

Oh, I definitely don't have what you have, Alfred would have said if the situation was different between them and less… tense. Ivan stared at him for a few moments, eyebrows raised, before Alfred realized he'd said the words aloud.

It was a good thing Ivan was busy laughing or else he would have witnessed Alfred turning twenty different shades of red. "Hahaha, well, I'm Russia. It kind of came with the title. Not to say I don't like it but… it is a pain whenever I have to go through airport security."

And that just made Alfred double over laughing. Because imagining Ivan strolling through an airport with a gigantic tent in his pants was something he had never considered before. "O-oh my God, their faces!"

Ivan found himself laughing along as well, despite the fact that it wasn't just a joke. "S-sometimes they told me to take whatever it was out and put it in a tray to run through a scanner. Then I would ask, 'W-which, the equipment or the ammo?' and they would just stare!"

Alfred calmed down and wiped the tears from his eyes, catching his breath. His chest hurt, and he supposed it was because it'd been a while since he'd last laughed. "Fuck, I love messing with those guys…" It was then that Alfred realized that his hand was on Ivan's shoulder, that he had long dropped his towel, and that Ivan had abruptly stopped laughing.

And, for the first time in the past few hours, their eyes met. Alfred's lips tingled in remembrance, and they were standing so close. It had been so long since Alfred had truly examined Ivan's eyes. He always thought of them as just a weird, inhuman sort of violet. But now that he looked closer he could see specks of blue and silver. He also wasn't oblivious (ironically) to the fact that he was slowly being drawn in by them…

Alfred tore his eyes away and gave Ivan a few pats to the shoulder. "Um, well, the shower's still running, and I'm sure Artie would be pissed if we didn't save him any hot water, so I'll just leave you to it."

It barely took Alfred half a minute to get dressed, avoiding looking at Ivan directly for fear he might just give in, because he couldn't. Not now. He couldn't stand to be like Matthew or Lovino.

Ivan watched but did not make a sound. Playing, he thought sadly. Everything's just a game to you, isn't it? He watched Alfred dress, watched him walk across the room, towel balanced on his shoulder and damp hair sending beads of water streaming down the back of his neck, saw him walk away. And, like all those other times Alfred had done the same thing, Ivan had a wry smile on his face upon his departure.

I hate you more than anything, you ignorant pig.

But I know I'll keep chasing you anyway, the masochistic idiot that I am.

Translations:

Что?-What?

A Word From the Writer: Wow, this is really short, haha. But no joke, the next couple of chapters that will be posted next week are all that's left in my stock of "I've got time to write this thing, yeah" so I'm slowing it down. To deflect from the fact that I'm a lazy fuck, I'll just say that shorter chapters=more suspense.

Anyway, yes, RusAme is still just barely alive... and awkward. Russia is back to creeping and America is back to being his usual, stubborn self, albeit they're both in a bit of denial, one more so than the other (it's America). Thought you were going to be witness to some hot, apocalyptic RusAme shower sex? Well, it's a good thing I hide behind my computer. XD

More suspense next time and maybe a little surprise!