Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
So what was his boss expecting, anyway? That they would become friends and start hanging out? America laughed at the thought. Him, hanging out with Russia, just like his...
That thought trailed off and America frowned at the reminder. What was Canada's deal, anyway? He was friends with Cuba and Russia! The poor thing was too innocent to realize what they were really like. And Canada was always telling America about it, about watching hockey with Russia, or going out for drinks, or karaoke, or dancing. And America would loudly protest and give Canada a list of just why he didn't like Russia, and Canada would clam up and never get to the point of why he liked to tell America about his time spent with Russia.
Maybe once America and Russia were on better terms, he could make the heroic sacrifice and hang out with Russia so that the jerk would stay away from his brother. How many North American friends did he need, anyway?
“Fine, don't come and help me.” Finding himself alone in the entryway, America dropped his bags and walked further inside. The living room was empty, too, though the television was still on. The people in that country were still speaking Russian, so America had no idea what the show was. “Russia? It's America! Your soon-to-be new best friend!”
He wandered into the kitchen. Pans and plates in the sink indicated that dinner had already been consumed, which America found rather rude. He was hungry, too... He opened the fridge in search of leftovers, but didn't find anything he wanted, so he continued his quest.
Maybe Russia was in the bathroom. America would check those... last.
He tried the dining room next. “Hello?” Well, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised by the lack of Russia, he knew from the mess in the kitchen he had already eaten.
America walked up the staircase. He paused halfway up, listening intently. He could have sworn he heard voices... He shook his head and continued up, not hearing anything else.
He checked a bedroom that was used for guests. “Hello?” It was neatly made and dusty. And empty, of course. Well, why would Russia be in his guest room? Preparing it for someone he didn't know was coming?
“Hellooo?” America peeked into the room Russia used as a library and study. He frowned at the disarray the place was in. All of the papers and pens and lamp that normally sat on the desk had been swept onto the floor, and there were articles of clothing strewn about. Coat, sweater, socks, underwear...
America was starting to worry. Something strange was afoot! As much as he didn't like Russia, the big dumb Commie didn't deserve to have something bad happen to him when a perfectly good hero was around. So America continued on his search, keeping an eye and ear out for anything unusual.
His ear noticed it first. Sounds of distress! This time for sure. America quietly hurried in that direction, wondering if it was Russia or the intruders in distress.
America, however, wasn't completely stupid, nor was he an innocent. As the noises grew louder, he realized what the rhythmic cries must mean. Russia wasn't in danger, that was for sure.
Ohh. So that explained the clothes thrown all over the place...
America really should leave. That would be the polite thing to do. Spying on a private moment like that would be creepy and wrong, and he didn't even like Russia.
But... it was Russia. It was hard to even picture the freaky childish weirdo having sex. And he was apparently good, judging by the accolades he was receiving. America crept closer, until words became decipherable.
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