Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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“I wanted to let you know why I haven’t called you out or...a-and I didn’t want you to find out on your own, when...” the American trailed, not taking his eyes off the center of the table, “almost everyone on my side already does.”
Ivan finally let himself sit, albeit slowly, seemingly broken free from either deep contemplation or nursing his shock, Alfred still could not tell. His eyes lowered, looking to the space between their weapons and his folded up coat, as he spoke softly, sitting on an angle, not bothering to pull his seat all the way in.
“Why didn’t you call?” Each word seemed to cast it’s own shadow.
“You probably wouldn’t have believed me,” America answered immediately and honestly without pause, faintly sighing to cover his barking laugh at the obvious, “and...besides, we both know that either side of that call would definitely have someone ‘listening in’.” he implied, without cynicism or need to mention the CIA or the KGB, knowing Russia could’ve already guessed.
“Anyway, I don’t think I have to tell you that we can’t....we can’t try to kill each other until after it’s born. But...” America placed his hands over his stomach beneath the table, blinking away the humiliation and fear, that was beginning to mist his blurring vision, gathering enough reserve to look up.“I’m willing to compromise for my state’s safety.” he said at last “England and I have been talking and we’d like to suspend atomic weapons testing fo-”
“How long?” the nation seated across from him interrupted. Alfred was only too relieved the other nation was speaking at all, and mentally gathered the agreement he and Arthur had established a few days ago.
“We’re hoping you would consent to a three ye-”
“Nyet.” Russia said shakily, at last meeting America’s gaze with eyes that weren’t lensed by delusions of grandeur, as was usual, but tethered to reality, “How long have you known about th-...your state?”
Alfred licked his still too dry lips, biting a little leaf of skin, becoming nervous from the absence of manic in his rivals eyes, but answered as promptly as he could. “About four to five months.” he said, suddenly feeling a trickle of guilt, seeing Ivan flinch at his answer. To anyone else it was just a shaken blink, however Alfred taught himself to detect the slightest of weakness in his enemy of freedom. He could count on one hand the reasons when Ivan would flinch and why, but he never knew what the Soviet’s varying reaction would be to each little flinch.
Nothing so far.
Feeling the see-sawing options of Fight or Flight bouncing on the horizon, and not wanting put poor little Alaska at risk for any reason, on the off chance the unpredictable man across the table went berserk, America opted to say what he needed to and go.
-Surrender to Russia the room, the weapons, the damn food- Hell, he could have it all and brag to everyone he scared off America, for all he cared. They’d go to their separate corners of the world and by spring, America would have his bouncing baby state and he and Russia would be back at each other’s throats, signed agreement or not.
“Look I...” he breathed. “-Shit, I’m not blackmailing you, or asking for child support ‘r anything like that.” Alfred took in another shaky yet discreet gulp of air through the corner of his parted mouth, feeling as though his own heart were squeezing his throat shut, “I just want your word, that you won’t...that you’re not gonna...”
He flexed and gripped the thin material of his shirt tightly, careful not to pinch his softened flesh.
‘Take one of my babies from me and destroy me in the single most horrible way you could ever hope to.’
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“Stand.”
He was so preoccupied trying to control his quaking and white- knuckled fists, practically woven into his shirt, America failed to notice the red had joined him at his side, with what looked to be cordial-challenge in his face.
Alfred accepted and stood, never removing his eyes from Ivan’s. His heart felt as though it had dropped a warm piece of itself into a pit of his stomach, still pulsing and making quite a racket within him. America edged from his nearby seat, only a foot and a half away from Alaska’s soon to be ‘other’ father.
Without the old opportunist motives dancing in his eyes, Russia slowly lifted his hand, halting at a timid mid- air hesitation; a respective distance. Half-expecting America to jerk away and flee. Please don’t run from me, that large hand seemed to beg, as pitiful as a child trying to make nice with an animal. And as used to the bitter cold it was, his hand shook with a fractional and undetectable quiver. May I...
America made no protest, in fact meet the Russian halfway, taking a brassy step towards the hand. Letting his own fall, he permit the foreign fingers he’d known intimately to slide into its place.
-He knew both he and the baby were in the direct path of a stab, a gunshot or any other potential danger, which would have had the perfect opportunity to find its way into reality. All at Ivan’s whim no less. He’d also seen Ivan kill before. How quick and soothing the nation had made it look. -He knew he was being selfish, putting his pride before his child’s safety. But somehow, those thumps pounding away inside Alfred made him bolder. Both sets of eyes had trailed downward.
Then Russia’s hand moved. Fingers gingerly grazed the line of buttons against the curve of America’s stomach, testing the feel before the entirety of his palm followed.
“...Alyeska...” the Russian whispered, a whimper of a smile hidden below his bowed head. Not as a confirmation, but words to express the comfortable and vernal temperature drawing the two enemies closer together. His remaining hand soon followed, fixed next to it’s brother and filling itself with the growing life. Both plastered against the bump that would be a US state, like fluttering tendrils of climbing ivy from summer.
Just then, Alfred wanted to drop into Ivan like a willow exhausted by the weight of it’s branches, not having been held by anyone, let alone a lover in months.
‘Were they lovers to begin with?’: a question he didn’t care to muse on. In any case America tried to ignored these pesky flickers of emotional nothings, which he swore he’d bury later. Only content to waft as blank, unquestioning and mindless as a warm cloud in this unmentionable but unmistakable glow. Could they...was it so easy to seep between the lines he and Russia had worked to hard to keep them apart? That is, if they really wanted to...
Alfred just decided to smile because of this absurd and sad weakness, feeling completely free of all fears and hates, just for a little while longer...
“You’ll have to eat more dorogoy. Starving an innocent child will not make it’s corpse vanish.”
--But of course, like any particularly pleasant moment, they were never meant to last forever.-
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“I...huu~whhAT!? How dare y-you-YOU WEIRD FUCK!! -THAT’S DISGUSTING!” he shouted, now red faced and mad, trying to break from Ivan’s now increasingly annoying clinging and his smug simpering grin. The other country himself just beamed with all the blissful happiness he could expose, wrapping his constrictor’s hug around Alfred’s waist.
Russia only responded with another laugh, again running his fingers over the bulge with an amazed hand he’d unraveled from around America’s hips. “Is mama feeding you rubbish little one?” he hushed, so unusually soft that an intemperate and thrilled little thud rapt in Alfred’s chest. Despite ignoring his ticking heart, the chain reaction was set and something inside responded for him, fluttering against Ivan’s palm.
“I -gitoff asshole- I eat better than MOST nations I know!” America impassionedly declared, jutting a thumb into his chest, not caring who knew it. The other hand was busy trying to shove Russia off, mashed up against his enemy’s nose and still smiling mouth. “Do NOT get me started on who’s starving where on YOUR si-gah! LEMMI GO BASTARD! I eat awesomely, in fact!” He continued tyrading, but also refrained from adding ‘whenever I’ve got a kid on the way’, not wanting to give his enemy any more ammo to gun down his last remaining shreds of manliness.
“Hell! I wouldn’t be surprised if the kid is gonna be as ‘big- boned’ as YOU are one day!”
America would have to remember to kick himself for that gem later. His last comment was not only in vain, but Russia took it as a praising compliment, looking all too starry-eyed at the vision of a child that he’d not only helped create, but resembled him. He quickly dropped to his knees, capturing Alfred’s legs and tummy in another tight, teasing hug, nuzzling his nose into his side, as if to console the ‘suffering and trapped’ child.
“Ah, so it must be the food it’s disgusted with then...the poor tormented thing.” he said lifting up the hem of America’s shirt, quickly planting a tickling kiss on the bare flesh of his stomach.
The young nation taken by complete surprise, wasn’t fast enough to deflect this sneak attack, but moved in a flurry, knocked away Russia’s hands and roughly smoothed the shirt back down.
“Gnngghh! What the hell r’you- Grow some damned restraint whydoncha?!” the young democracy shouted, coming to his senses. “Crazy commie...” He’d just have to pretend that the feel of a scratchy rough cheek against his skin wasn’t making him feel weak in the knees.
‘Dammit! Doesn’t he know what that’s doing to me?!’ the American seethed inwardly, beneath his reddening face. Russia’s caressing sent a nice warm reminder to his loins that he wouldn’t be able to see them for a little while...and of course his mutinous libido responded with enough shuddering currents to make his toes curl encouragingly. ‘Stupid hormones...’
Alfred, his will power apparently gone out for a stroll, found he couldn’t fend off Ivan’s disturbingly tender petting and could do nothing but cross his arms and try to look annoyed as possible. Ohoho--did he ever want to punch the other man in the face...-But, once again, America had to remind himself that losing his temper might send off the wrong message and he’d be thrown back ten minutes ago, fearing for his next child’s life. Frankly, he didn’t care if this was the happiest he’d ever seen Ivan since the Allied victory of WWII. Alfred still didn’t trust him, even though from what he could tell, Alaska was safe.
Gritting his teeth did little to help him from this awkward position, but it sure made him feel better. Glaring at the pile of guns and weapons, he wondered which would put him out of his misery more speedily, “Well, y’know, it isn’t my fault HE or SHE didn’t inherit my heroic appetite.” he grunted, hoping the man practically wrapped around his waist was too preoccupied to notice the aura of warmth, radiating with a suggestive intensity from his center.
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~*~
Both countries stiffened as one great kick from the little state woke the two from their game. Reminding them who they were and what was happening.
-Perhaps what could have been, had it not been for who they were.
America wanted so badly to cry then and there, but only allowed his vision to jelly with a tiny amount of moisture before blinking it away. Smiling and sighing shakily through his nose, that particular glow warmed him without resistance. Pressing his hand dangerously near to Ivan’s, he expertly caught more echoing movements with a soothing rub. Three times did his index finger nudged the other man’s pinkie.
-Without needed explanation, Alfred found he suddenly didn’t care if this slight fetal shift meant that all of Western capitalism had fallen and he’d been renamed “Pinko, Card-Carrying Commie and Slutty Baby Machine Extraordinaire”.
Russia, meanwhile, was all too ready to joyously insist that this was a sign that the child agreed with him on issues of malnutrition, but before even opening his mouth, he was overwhelmed by an emotion he was not used to and a confused stranger of. One caught on a snag between happiness and terror, so starved in itself, that it made his chest ache and his breath stumble.
Looking upward, --needing warmth, needing something-- he was unable to stop himself from standing and gently gathered the American’s face in his palm. The expecting nation didn’t stop Russia nor did he want him to stop. Eyes glazed and darkened like a cat’s, he searched the other man’s with blue shaken metronomes. They were silent, scalding and uncertain, but no doubt mirrored Ivan’s with an imploring wanton.
The two countries then meet at the center of the bridge between them.
. . .
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and these are sweeter than honey, i a satisfied for life now
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As you can see I used this paragraph twice by accident:
Does not belong up there!
Russia only responded with another laugh, again running his fingers over the bulge with an amazed hand he’d unraveled from around America’s hips. “Is mama feeding you rubbish little one?” he hushed, so unusually soft that an intemperate and thrilled little thud rapt in Alfred’s chest. Despite ignoring his ticking heart, the chain reaction was set and something inside responded for him, fluttering against Ivan’s palm.
Just letting anyone reading know it doesn't belong where it is until the next page.
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