Wet Nights [1/?]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 05:28:42 UTC
Russia's eyes flew open as he awoke with a sharp jerk. He lay perfectly still for a moment, trying to understand what had woke him up. It hit him suddenly: the bed was wet. Completely soaked. The wet patch felt enormous, stretching from his lower back almost to his knees. He tensed his muscles a little, feeling that his bladder was empty. Russia groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, reluctant to get up and look at the damage.
Not again. Why was this happening again? It was just his luck that the problem had come back after he had finally worked up the nerve to sleep without a rubber sheet on his bed. The mattress would be a mess now.
Sighing heavily, Russia finally pushed back the blankets and peeled himself out of bed. His pajamas clung to his legs wetly, and he quickly shed them, hesitating for only a second before stripping off his sodden underwear too. It hardly mattered when there was no one around to see. That was the one good thing about living in an empty house now, it was much easier to hide whenever his problem flared up. There was no hiding soiled bedsheets from Lithuania these days, no making up excuses to Ukraine for why he needed extra time in the morning to prepare before he could meet with anyone. But then, his problem had been much worse back then. Stress always made it happen much more often. He wasn't dry for a single night during the Cuban Missile Crisis.
That made it even more infuriating that it was happening again now, when he had much less reason to be stressed. He hadn't had an...an accident in seven solid years. Why now? He could think of nothing to cause this...and all he could remember from the previous night was snatches of a dream. He had been running away from something (or perhaps after something) and ended up in front of a strange river. He had waded through it, and found the waters strangely warm and relaxing...he had given up running or chasing, and just let the warm water flow around his waist...and then he had woken up to find that the warm, wet sensation hadn't been from his imagination.
His house may have been empty, but Russia wrapped a towel around his waist anyway for his own peace of mind as he forced down the desire for an immediate shower and began the task of cleaning up his bed. The sheets and blankets were stripped off and added to the pile of his pajamas on the floor. The mattress was just as wet as he feared. It would need to be propped up to dry, and carefully wiped down to minimize the stain. From experience, he knew the right products to use to get rid of any smell, but it was hard to completely eliminate any staining. He would just have to take care not to let anyone see his mattress uncovered. The sheets and pajamas could be easily cleaned up with bleach. That would be no trouble.
Wet Nights [2/?]
anonymous
September 7 2010, 05:30:52 UTC
That taken care of, Russia finally started his much longed for shower, turning the water as hot as he could stand. He didn't feel truly clean unless the water was scorching hot, and he especially wanted to feel clean now, after what had happened. It was shameful, humiliating that this kind of thing still happened to him. This was a little child's problem, not a man's. It was been a worry when he was small too, but it was excusable when he was young enough to still be frightened of the dark. There was no excuse now. And nothing he did seemed to help. He tried drinking little at night and relieving himself before bed. It didn't change a thing. He had sought the help of various doctors over the years under the greatest secrecy, but no concoction or remedy could fix him. There was little he could do but try to predict when it would happen, and remember to keep a protective rubber sheet on his bed during especially stressful times. It didn't happen too frequently, often not for years at a time when there were few things to upset him, but it was hard to forget the embarrassment of a wet bed.
Finally clean, Russia shuffled out of the bathroom to find some clothes. The glow of his cell phone caught his eye on his bedside table. There was a new text from America:
'morning baby :) did u sleep good? i had a dream about u but its 2 dirty 2 tell u about now lol :) see u @ the meeting! luv u!'
Russia bit his lip, flushing as he read over the message over and over. These silly little texts from America always made his chest flutter. It was strange, the way America was so often and casual with his affections. Strange, but he found that he enjoyed it more and more. After so many years of exchanged threats and insults, words of love from his former enemy were even sweeter. It seemed odd that he could have come to love someone he had fought with so fiercely for so long. When he thought about it, Russia simply had to conclude that he never truly hated America, no matter how much he had claimed too. It had been impossible, even at the worst times, to forget his dear young friend from the past century, with dreams as vast and open as his plains and eyes as blue as the sky...
'America, I had a rough night,' Russia slowly texted back, punching each letter carefully. 'I am very tired now. Do not worry if I am a little late today. I will see you later.' After some deliberating, he added, 'I love you too.'
He set the phone back down and headed to the closet to fetch the rubber sheet, before he forgot about it. That morning's incident might have been isolated, but he wasn't taking any chances. He carefully unrolled it for later, and blushed scarlet when he saw, stamped in the corner, 'Made in the U.S.A.'
Wet Nights [3/?]
anonymous
October 2 2010, 19:01:55 UTC
After taking his time with the unexpected clean up, Russia was indeed running late to the meeting. Half of him wanted to just call in sick, but no, he couldn't draw any attention to himself. He'd be better off pretending that nothing was amiss. And he had already told America he'd be coming. If he didn't show up, America would probably assume that Russia had been abducted by aliens and launch a massive international rescue mission before learning that Russia was just staying home because he was feeling all out of sorts over a humiliating personal problem. Better to save everyone the trouble and tough it out.
The meeting was already in full swing by the time he arrived, Germany in the middle of what was less of a speech and more of a lecture. Late arrivals were hardly an uncommon thing, not when many of the nations had a tendency of oversleep, so he only gave Germany an apologetic grin and began the hunt for an open seat. The unhappy weight in his stomach lightened by increments when he saw that America had saved him a chair, and was waving him over with not an ounce of discretion.
“Took you long enough!” America whispered when Russia took the offered seat. “I was starting to worry that you'd been abducted by aliens.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Russia whispered back. “I just had a bit of a rough night. It's nothing to worry about.”
America frowned slightly. “What was rough? Did you have a bad dream?”
It took all of Russia's will power to keep from blushing. “Something like that. Don't worry, I'm fine now.”
America didn't look convinced, but he shrugged anyway and went back to listening to Germany's speech. Russia attempted to do the same, but it was hard to focus through the sleepy haze of his brain. In addition to the...incident, he hadn't sleep too well. He longed to put his head down on the table to take as quick nap...but to make matters worse, he was becoming uncomfortably aware that he hadn't bothered to go to the bathroom before the meeting. He had been empty when he woke up, but the quick cup of tea he had fixed before leaving the house was working its way into his bladder at an alarming rate.
He had a sudden nightmarish daydream about accidentally nodding off in the middle of a meeting with a full bladder and...in front of everyone...in front of America...
Russia's stomach clenched sickeningly at the thought. Normally he would just cross his legs and endure the pressure until the meeting was over, but he was in no mood to tempt fate today. He rose from his chair as quietly as he could, ignoring America's questions about where he was going, and walked hastily to the restroom outside the meeting room. He managed to get as far as the urinal and was just unzipping his fly when America caught up with him.
“Ah ha, so this is where you were headed!” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.
“What did you think?” Russia grumbled, trying to ignore his unexpected audience to get the flow started.
“I dunno, you didn't answer when I asked! You could have just told me you had to pee, y'know. No need to be secretive about it.”
“I wasn't being secretive,” Russia sighed, finally managing to make his bladder relax enough to get relief. “I just did not feel the need to announce it.”
America huffed in annoyance. “Answering me honestly when I ask where you're going ain't exactly the same thing as raising your hand to ask if you can go potty, stupid. What are you being so weird about today?”
Wet Nights [4/?]
anonymous
October 2 2010, 19:07:11 UTC
“Nothing, I told you,” Russia snapped, pulling his zipper up quickly as soon as he finished. In his haste to finish and to get away from America, he failed to shake off the last few drops. His cheeks flushed as he felt them soak into his underwear, but he forced himself to ignore it as he pushed past America to wash his hands.
“Buddy, don't be this way,” America sighed, deflating some of Russia's irritation. “I'm just worried. You aren't yourself right now, and I wanna make you feel better, okay?”
“I know,” Russia mumbled. This was simply uncharted territory for him. Outside of his sisters, there weren't too many people who honestly cared about how he was feeling.
“So how about a hug? Will that make you feel any better?”
Russia felt his resistance crumbled when America smiled and held his arms out invitingly. It was all too easy to step closer into those warm arms and let himself be held and coddled for a change.
“Still can't tell me what's wrong?” America asked. His voice was muffled from where he rest his face against Russia's shoulder.
“Nyet.”
“You should've just let me stay out at your house last night. Then I could take care of your nightmares or whatever's bugging you so much.”
Not this again. “I told you, my house would not suit your tastes. It's very drafty. You were better off staying at the hotel.”
“Babe, a draft won't kill me. Why are you always so against me staying over at your place? I get it's not convenient most of the time, but when we've got a meeting in Moscow? It's weird that my boyfriend has me stay at a hotel instead of his place.”
“It's not...it's not that I don't want you over...”
“Then what? You never stay the night at my house either. Hell, I don't think we've ever slept at the same place together, ever. Are you trying to hide something from me? Do you sleepwalk or snore or something? Because I don't care about any of that stuff-”
“Please drop it,” Russia muttered sadly, pulling away. America said he didn't care, but he would be disgusted if he knew the truth.
“Come on, what is it? Are you a werewolf? Because I'm seriously running out of possible reasons why you won't let me sleep with you.” He paused, then scratched his head. “And I mean sleep sleep, not sex. The sex is fine. More than fine. But it kind of sucks that you always leave afterward instead of just drifting off with me...you know...” America suddenly looked terribly small. The sight made Russia's chest ache. “Is it me? Is it something I'm doing wrong?”
“Nyet! It's not you at all! You're doing nothing wrong, you are...” Wonderful. Beautiful. Perfect.
“Then stay over at my house at the meeting next week! It's at Washington D.C., and it'd be stupid to waste money on a hotel when my house is so close by. Just one night, okay? We don't even have to stay in the same bed. Just one night, please. Consider it a really early Christmas present.”
He really shouldn't agree to that. He really should just make up one more excuse, but when America was so close and begging... “Just one night,” Russia reluctantly agreed, hoping he wouldn't live to regret that.
Re: Wet Nights [4/?]
anonymous
October 3 2010, 22:44:44 UTC
damn it stories as cute as this (oh and americas insecurities are delicious when russia also has insecurities) make me sorta like juuust a biiit this kink.
Re: Wet Nights [4/?]
anonymous
October 3 2010, 22:46:08 UTC
They are so cute! Poor Russia couldn't say no...I already got happy fuzzies when he felt the need at the meeting, so I'm pretty excited by what's coming...
Re: Wet Nights [4/?]
anonymous
October 5 2010, 04:33:29 UTC
Seriously? This fill is adorable. I love everything about it, from the different texting style to how insecure (but in such a cute way) Ivan is to how caring Alfred is. I can't wait to see where this goes. Please update soon. :]
Wet Nights [5/?]
anonymous
October 8 2010, 03:25:49 UTC
If Russia had hoped that he problem was going to magically vanish, those hopes would have been dashed the on the following morning, a Tuesday, when he woke up drenched again. He was wet again on Wednesday, dry on Thursday, dry again on Friday, wet on Saturday (though he blamed that on foolishly drinking vodka before bed when he was still getting over the most recent episode of his condition,) dry on Sunday and dry again on Monday. He tried to convince himself that he was getting better. Saturday had been a fluke, and if he ignored that, he hadn't had any...incidents for several days. Maybe he had just strained his bladder somehow earlier that week, maybe that was the only reason for what had been happening. And surely he was on his way to recovery now, yes? Nothing would happen at America's house. He told himself that again and again as he packed his bags and hunted for his passport. Nothing would happen. It couldn't happen. Surely even Russia wasn't that unlucky.
The flight over was quiet and uneventful, but the worry in his belly started churning again when he spotting America at the airport, bouncing on his toes as he waited impatiently. He almost, almost wanted to avoid the younger man, or fish out a new excuse for staying at a hotel for the week-long conference, because what if, what if...
But there was no time for that, because America had spied Russia and bounded out with the enthusiasm of a puppy. Hugs and greetings were exchanged, even though it had only been a week since they had last seen each other, and Russia had no time for any excuses before America had grabbed Russia's luggage, seized Russia's hand and drug both out of the airport to his car.
“Is it crazy to say that I missed you after only a week?” he laughed, shoving the bag into the trunk. “Because I totally did. Couldn't get you out of my mind for days. Not that I don't think about you normally, but lately, man! Sucks that we don't live closer to each other.”
“2.4 miles,” Russia muttered to himself.
“2.4 miles to what?” America cocked his head like a bird.
“Between you and I. There are only 2.4 miles between the Diomede Islands, the islands in Bering Strait that separate our countries. We are never very far away.”
America's smile was warmer than the sun. “That's a nice way of thinking about it. But we still can't visit as much as I want. Oh well. You're here now, that's what matters.”
Normally America's presence could easily put Russia at ease, but not today. The anxiety over what was coming lingered. Maybe he should just try to stay awake all night. But what if America noticed? No, he should act natural and just avoid drinking anything. But would that be enough?
They had already gotten back to America's house and unloaded Russia's bag before America seemed to notice that something was off.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asked with a frown. “You look all out of whack again. Just like last week, actually. Is something going on?”
“I'm just tired,” Russia lied, but immediately realized his mistake.
“We should go to bed early tonight!” America suggested. “Nothing like a full night of sleep to fix whatever's wrong. Oh, and I know I said earlier that we could sleep in separate beds, but...well, Tony was doing some crazy alien experiments in my room the other day, and he somehow managed to spill acid on my bed. Crazy strong stuff, ate half of it away in no time flat. Anyway, he said he'd get me a new bed, but the one he ordered isn't gonna get here until tomorrow. So the only bed I've got right now is the guest bed. And there's no way I'm letting my guest sleep on the floor or the couch, but...um...”
“W-we can sleep together, if that is what you want,” Russia allowed, trying to keep his voice unconcerned. This earned him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, babe! You're great. Hey, did you eat dinner yet?”
“Da, they served one on the plane.”
“Yeah, I got Burger King on the way over. So how about we turn in now? That should help you get feeling better.”
Wet Nights [6/?]
anonymous
October 8 2010, 03:27:59 UTC
It was a struggle to keep his mind calm as he changed into pajamas and went through his nighttime routine. Brush his teeth, wash his face, go to the bathroom...the last step took longer than usual, as he struggled to squeeze every drop of liquid out of his body. Certain that he was empty, he reluctantly joined America in the guest bed, keeping as far away as the bed would allow him.
“Thanks for coming over,” America said, as he switched off the light. “I dunno why this is a big deal to you, but I'm glad you came anyway.”
Russia couldn't think of anything to say, so he kept quiet and rolled over.
America sighed. “Good night, babe.”
The forest seemed to stretch on forever. Russia couldn't remember how long he had been walking, but the trees just continued on and on. What was he there for, anyway? He was looking for something...something important. But when he tried to think, he couldn't remember what it was. He would know when he found it, he was sure...
Through the trees, he could see a creek nearby, bubbling and splashing noisily. Russia stopped, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His bladder was full. Uncomfortably so. Why hadn't he noticed earlier? He bit his lip and squeezed a hand between his legs. The need had become urgent at once. He had to go, NOW.
There was no one around to see. Using a tree wouldn't be a problem, not this deep in the forest and all by himself. Flinching at a rush of desperation, Russia hastily undid his zipper, pulled himself out and aimed at a tree. The stream started at once, and he soon felt relief. He sighed contently at the slowly easing pressure...but something wasn't right. His thighs and crotch felt warm and wet...it was almost as if...
As if...
Oh no.
Russia sat bolt upright in bed. For a few seconds was he too disoriented to understand what was happening. Then it all caught up with him in one heart beat. His pajamas were wet. The sheets under him were wet. And he was still pissing uncontrollably, the wet spot below him growing rapidly as his bladder continued to empty. His hands darted down to his cock, trying to squeeze off the flow, but it did no good. He had never been able to stop once he started to piss.
In a blind panic he lurched out of the bed, staggering for the bathroom. His cock was still traitorously gushing by the time he got there, and his hands shook too badly to undo the buttons on the front of his pajamas. He whimpered as he felt a puddle starting to grow under his feet on the bathroom floor, and finally he just clambered into the bathtub, allowing his bladder to finish emptying into his clothes. Finally, finally he was able to stop, and the horror of what had happened crashed into Russia's brain.
He had to hide this. He had to stop America from finding out. How? Maybe if he got a blow drier, he could dry his side of the bed before America woke up...no, too much noise. Oh no, he needed to clean the puddle on the bathroom floor too, and he had probably dribbled all the way across the floor. That would need to be mopped up too. And his pajamas, could he just hide them and change into day clothes? He needed time, and he needed America to stay asleep. Maybe if he got his pipe and knocked America unconscious...no, that was wrong. But what could he do?! America was going to find out, he was going to see what Russia did, he was going to be disgusted, he was going to laugh...
Trying to swallow down a wave on panicked nausea, Russia got to work wiping up the floor, using almost half a roll of toilet paper in the process. He was in no frame of mind to be efficient in his work. That finished, he reluctantly crept back out of the bathroom, tiptoeing over to the bed. The wet spot was large and obvious...how to hide that? Could he lie and say that he spilled a drink? No, the smell would give him away. Maybe he could....could....
Russia looked past the wet spot and saw something that made his heart stop. America was awake. His eyes were open, wide in surprise, and staring straight at Russia. Russia who was still in wet pajamas and standing over a suspiciously soaked bed. There was no way America didn't know what had happened.
Russia's legs reacted before his mind could catch up; he ran back to the bathroom, slammed the door behind him and locked it.
Not again. Why was this happening again? It was just his luck that the problem had come back after he had finally worked up the nerve to sleep without a rubber sheet on his bed. The mattress would be a mess now.
Sighing heavily, Russia finally pushed back the blankets and peeled himself out of bed. His pajamas clung to his legs wetly, and he quickly shed them, hesitating for only a second before stripping off his sodden underwear too. It hardly mattered when there was no one around to see. That was the one good thing about living in an empty house now, it was much easier to hide whenever his problem flared up. There was no hiding soiled bedsheets from Lithuania these days, no making up excuses to Ukraine for why he needed extra time in the morning to prepare before he could meet with anyone. But then, his problem had been much worse back then. Stress always made it happen much more often. He wasn't dry for a single night during the Cuban Missile Crisis.
That made it even more infuriating that it was happening again now, when he had much less reason to be stressed. He hadn't had an...an accident in seven solid years. Why now? He could think of nothing to cause this...and all he could remember from the previous night was snatches of a dream. He had been running away from something (or perhaps after something) and ended up in front of a strange river. He had waded through it, and found the waters strangely warm and relaxing...he had given up running or chasing, and just let the warm water flow around his waist...and then he had woken up to find that the warm, wet sensation hadn't been from his imagination.
His house may have been empty, but Russia wrapped a towel around his waist anyway for his own peace of mind as he forced down the desire for an immediate shower and began the task of cleaning up his bed. The sheets and blankets were stripped off and added to the pile of his pajamas on the floor. The mattress was just as wet as he feared. It would need to be propped up to dry, and carefully wiped down to minimize the stain. From experience, he knew the right products to use to get rid of any smell, but it was hard to completely eliminate any staining. He would just have to take care not to let anyone see his mattress uncovered. The sheets and pajamas could be easily cleaned up with bleach. That would be no trouble.
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Finally clean, Russia shuffled out of the bathroom to find some clothes. The glow of his cell phone caught his eye on his bedside table. There was a new text from America:
'morning baby :) did u sleep good? i had a dream about u but its 2 dirty 2 tell u about now lol :) see u @ the meeting! luv u!'
Russia bit his lip, flushing as he read over the message over and over. These silly little texts from America always made his chest flutter. It was strange, the way America was so often and casual with his affections. Strange, but he found that he enjoyed it more and more. After so many years of exchanged threats and insults, words of love from his former enemy were even sweeter. It seemed odd that he could have come to love someone he had fought with so fiercely for so long. When he thought about it, Russia simply had to conclude that he never truly hated America, no matter how much he had claimed too. It had been impossible, even at the worst times, to forget his dear young friend from the past century, with dreams as vast and open as his plains and eyes as blue as the sky...
'America, I had a rough night,' Russia slowly texted back, punching each letter carefully. 'I am very tired now. Do not worry if I am a little late today. I will see you later.' After some deliberating, he added, 'I love you too.'
He set the phone back down and headed to the closet to fetch the rubber sheet, before he forgot about it. That morning's incident might have been isolated, but he wasn't taking any chances. He carefully unrolled it for later, and blushed scarlet when he saw, stamped in the corner, 'Made in the U.S.A.'
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poor Russia!
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The meeting was already in full swing by the time he arrived, Germany in the middle of what was less of a speech and more of a lecture. Late arrivals were hardly an uncommon thing, not when many of the nations had a tendency of oversleep, so he only gave Germany an apologetic grin and began the hunt for an open seat. The unhappy weight in his stomach lightened by increments when he saw that America had saved him a chair, and was waving him over with not an ounce of discretion.
“Took you long enough!” America whispered when Russia took the offered seat. “I was starting to worry that you'd been abducted by aliens.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Russia whispered back. “I just had a bit of a rough night. It's nothing to worry about.”
America frowned slightly. “What was rough? Did you have a bad dream?”
It took all of Russia's will power to keep from blushing. “Something like that. Don't worry, I'm fine now.”
America didn't look convinced, but he shrugged anyway and went back to listening to Germany's speech. Russia attempted to do the same, but it was hard to focus through the sleepy haze of his brain. In addition to the...incident, he hadn't sleep too well. He longed to put his head down on the table to take as quick nap...but to make matters worse, he was becoming uncomfortably aware that he hadn't bothered to go to the bathroom before the meeting. He had been empty when he woke up, but the quick cup of tea he had fixed before leaving the house was working its way into his bladder at an alarming rate.
He had a sudden nightmarish daydream about accidentally nodding off in the middle of a meeting with a full bladder and...in front of everyone...in front of America...
Russia's stomach clenched sickeningly at the thought. Normally he would just cross his legs and endure the pressure until the meeting was over, but he was in no mood to tempt fate today. He rose from his chair as quietly as he could, ignoring America's questions about where he was going, and walked hastily to the restroom outside the meeting room. He managed to get as far as the urinal and was just unzipping his fly when America caught up with him.
“Ah ha, so this is where you were headed!” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.
“What did you think?” Russia grumbled, trying to ignore his unexpected audience to get the flow started.
“I dunno, you didn't answer when I asked! You could have just told me you had to pee, y'know. No need to be secretive about it.”
“I wasn't being secretive,” Russia sighed, finally managing to make his bladder relax enough to get relief. “I just did not feel the need to announce it.”
America huffed in annoyance. “Answering me honestly when I ask where you're going ain't exactly the same thing as raising your hand to ask if you can go potty, stupid. What are you being so weird about today?”
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“Buddy, don't be this way,” America sighed, deflating some of Russia's irritation. “I'm just worried. You aren't yourself right now, and I wanna make you feel better, okay?”
“I know,” Russia mumbled. This was simply uncharted territory for him. Outside of his sisters, there weren't too many people who honestly cared about how he was feeling.
“So how about a hug? Will that make you feel any better?”
Russia felt his resistance crumbled when America smiled and held his arms out invitingly. It was all too easy to step closer into those warm arms and let himself be held and coddled for a change.
“Still can't tell me what's wrong?” America asked. His voice was muffled from where he rest his face against Russia's shoulder.
“Nyet.”
“You should've just let me stay out at your house last night. Then I could take care of your nightmares or whatever's bugging you so much.”
Not this again. “I told you, my house would not suit your tastes. It's very drafty. You were better off staying at the hotel.”
“Babe, a draft won't kill me. Why are you always so against me staying over at your place? I get it's not convenient most of the time, but when we've got a meeting in Moscow? It's weird that my boyfriend has me stay at a hotel instead of his place.”
“It's not...it's not that I don't want you over...”
“Then what? You never stay the night at my house either. Hell, I don't think we've ever slept at the same place together, ever. Are you trying to hide something from me? Do you sleepwalk or snore or something? Because I don't care about any of that stuff-”
“Please drop it,” Russia muttered sadly, pulling away. America said he didn't care, but he would be disgusted if he knew the truth.
“Come on, what is it? Are you a werewolf? Because I'm seriously running out of possible reasons why you won't let me sleep with you.” He paused, then scratched his head. “And I mean sleep sleep, not sex. The sex is fine. More than fine. But it kind of sucks that you always leave afterward instead of just drifting off with me...you know...” America suddenly looked terribly small. The sight made Russia's chest ache. “Is it me? Is it something I'm doing wrong?”
“Nyet! It's not you at all! You're doing nothing wrong, you are...” Wonderful. Beautiful. Perfect.
“Then stay over at my house at the meeting next week! It's at Washington D.C., and it'd be stupid to waste money on a hotel when my house is so close by. Just one night, okay? We don't even have to stay in the same bed. Just one night, please. Consider it a really early Christmas present.”
He really shouldn't agree to that. He really should just make up one more excuse, but when America was so close and begging... “Just one night,” Russia reluctantly agreed, hoping he wouldn't live to regret that.
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The flight over was quiet and uneventful, but the worry in his belly started churning again when he spotting America at the airport, bouncing on his toes as he waited impatiently. He almost, almost wanted to avoid the younger man, or fish out a new excuse for staying at a hotel for the week-long conference, because what if, what if...
But there was no time for that, because America had spied Russia and bounded out with the enthusiasm of a puppy. Hugs and greetings were exchanged, even though it had only been a week since they had last seen each other, and Russia had no time for any excuses before America had grabbed Russia's luggage, seized Russia's hand and drug both out of the airport to his car.
“Is it crazy to say that I missed you after only a week?” he laughed, shoving the bag into the trunk. “Because I totally did. Couldn't get you out of my mind for days. Not that I don't think about you normally, but lately, man! Sucks that we don't live closer to each other.”
“2.4 miles,” Russia muttered to himself.
“2.4 miles to what?” America cocked his head like a bird.
“Between you and I. There are only 2.4 miles between the Diomede Islands, the islands in Bering Strait that separate our countries. We are never very far away.”
America's smile was warmer than the sun. “That's a nice way of thinking about it. But we still can't visit as much as I want. Oh well. You're here now, that's what matters.”
Normally America's presence could easily put Russia at ease, but not today. The anxiety over what was coming lingered. Maybe he should just try to stay awake all night. But what if America noticed? No, he should act natural and just avoid drinking anything. But would that be enough?
They had already gotten back to America's house and unloaded Russia's bag before America seemed to notice that something was off.
“Are you feeling alright?” he asked with a frown. “You look all out of whack again. Just like last week, actually. Is something going on?”
“I'm just tired,” Russia lied, but immediately realized his mistake.
“We should go to bed early tonight!” America suggested. “Nothing like a full night of sleep to fix whatever's wrong. Oh, and I know I said earlier that we could sleep in separate beds, but...well, Tony was doing some crazy alien experiments in my room the other day, and he somehow managed to spill acid on my bed. Crazy strong stuff, ate half of it away in no time flat. Anyway, he said he'd get me a new bed, but the one he ordered isn't gonna get here until tomorrow. So the only bed I've got right now is the guest bed. And there's no way I'm letting my guest sleep on the floor or the couch, but...um...”
“W-we can sleep together, if that is what you want,” Russia allowed, trying to keep his voice unconcerned. This earned him a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, babe! You're great. Hey, did you eat dinner yet?”
“Da, they served one on the plane.”
“Yeah, I got Burger King on the way over. So how about we turn in now? That should help you get feeling better.”
“D-da,” Russia agreed weakly.
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“Thanks for coming over,” America said, as he switched off the light. “I dunno why this is a big deal to you, but I'm glad you came anyway.”
Russia couldn't think of anything to say, so he kept quiet and rolled over.
America sighed. “Good night, babe.”
The forest seemed to stretch on forever. Russia couldn't remember how long he had been walking, but the trees just continued on and on. What was he there for, anyway? He was looking for something...something important. But when he tried to think, he couldn't remember what it was. He would know when he found it, he was sure...
Through the trees, he could see a creek nearby, bubbling and splashing noisily. Russia stopped, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His bladder was full. Uncomfortably so. Why hadn't he noticed earlier? He bit his lip and squeezed a hand between his legs. The need had become urgent at once. He had to go, NOW.
There was no one around to see. Using a tree wouldn't be a problem, not this deep in the forest and all by himself. Flinching at a rush of desperation, Russia hastily undid his zipper, pulled himself out and aimed at a tree. The stream started at once, and he soon felt relief. He sighed contently at the slowly easing pressure...but something wasn't right. His thighs and crotch felt warm and wet...it was almost as if...
As if...
Oh no.
Russia sat bolt upright in bed. For a few seconds was he too disoriented to understand what was happening. Then it all caught up with him in one heart beat. His pajamas were wet. The sheets under him were wet. And he was still pissing uncontrollably, the wet spot below him growing rapidly as his bladder continued to empty. His hands darted down to his cock, trying to squeeze off the flow, but it did no good. He had never been able to stop once he started to piss.
In a blind panic he lurched out of the bed, staggering for the bathroom. His cock was still traitorously gushing by the time he got there, and his hands shook too badly to undo the buttons on the front of his pajamas. He whimpered as he felt a puddle starting to grow under his feet on the bathroom floor, and finally he just clambered into the bathtub, allowing his bladder to finish emptying into his clothes. Finally, finally he was able to stop, and the horror of what had happened crashed into Russia's brain.
He had to hide this. He had to stop America from finding out. How? Maybe if he got a blow drier, he could dry his side of the bed before America woke up...no, too much noise. Oh no, he needed to clean the puddle on the bathroom floor too, and he had probably dribbled all the way across the floor. That would need to be mopped up too. And his pajamas, could he just hide them and change into day clothes? He needed time, and he needed America to stay asleep. Maybe if he got his pipe and knocked America unconscious...no, that was wrong. But what could he do?! America was going to find out, he was going to see what Russia did, he was going to be disgusted, he was going to laugh...
Trying to swallow down a wave on panicked nausea, Russia got to work wiping up the floor, using almost half a roll of toilet paper in the process. He was in no frame of mind to be efficient in his work. That finished, he reluctantly crept back out of the bathroom, tiptoeing over to the bed. The wet spot was large and obvious...how to hide that? Could he lie and say that he spilled a drink? No, the smell would give him away. Maybe he could....could....
Russia looked past the wet spot and saw something that made his heart stop. America was awake. His eyes were open, wide in surprise, and staring straight at Russia. Russia who was still in wet pajamas and standing over a suspiciously soaked bed. There was no way America didn't know what had happened.
Russia's legs reacted before his mind could catch up; he ran back to the bathroom, slammed the door behind him and locked it.
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