Spring Exchange Fic 2010 [3/4]
Title: To Build a Home [3/4]
Author: Me
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: app. 8,000 (with notes)
Warning: Enough fluff to rot your teeth and bones, a little bit of Cold War angst, and possible OoC situations, America being deep, self-beta’d.
Summary: Still in the slump of the recession, America proposes a ‘stay-at-home’ date. Russia whole-heartedly agrees, but that doesn’t mean that their time together doesn’t go on without a hitch.
A/N: Spring exchange fic for batneko. The prompt chosen was fluff and nonsense. I’m not sure if I added enough nonsense (or fluff, for that matter), but I hope you like it! :)
Russia stopped, biting his lip once America finished. Scratching the back of his head, he attempted to smile at the shorter nation, but he could feel the tension lock into his muscles. He would have to remember to mention something to China about not being bitter towards America about these things, especially when they concerned himself. “I like yours though, just as much as I like his.”
Perking up, America’s eyes met his and his pulling at fingers stopped (thank God, Russia thought, one day, America would pull one of his fingers from the socket). Russia could see the lines of a smile and he couldn’t help but want to see more. “Re… Really?” America inquired with the underlying joy sneaking into his voice. Russia chuckled. “Of course; why do you think I had you order us another box of it? It was very good.”
Grinning with white-teeth exposed, America then turned to the cabinet where he kept his phone books. As he pulled one out and began looking for the cordless phone (forgetting that his cell phone was in his pocket), Russia watched, feeling the stiffness in his body give way to the warmth return. With America now calling the nearest delivery restaurant, Russia diverted his attention back to the sink, turning on the hot water to wash the dishes.
“Hey, don’t worry about those until later, Ruski,” America called from behind him, his hand covering the receiver, “we’ll wash them once we’ve eaten something.”
Stopping just as America wanted, Russia turned off the water and went to sit on the barstool next to the shorter blond’s. Silently, he gazed at his lover, noting how sky-blue eyes hovered between the objects of the kitchen and how America shifted in his seat, as if unable to get comfortable. The time it took to order the food was short enough for Russia’s taste as America set the phone down after giving his cheerful ‘thank you’ to the man on the other line. “They say it’ll be about twenty minutes,” America mentioned lightly as if their original plans for dinner was not the equivalent of England’s typical cooking settling in the sink.
Russia nodded and took America’s hand into his own.
--
Having moved to the living room, America scanned the TV Guide channel to see if there was a movie that was considered ‘appropriate’ for both Russia and he. From his seat next to America on the couch, Russia could see the hopeful expressions turn to grimaces as the list of shows and films moved upward. Russia only glanced at the titles, but a few movies such as Red Dawn, Rambo, and The Russians are Coming were thankfully (mostly) passed and regarded with one of America’s winces of disgust or shrugs. Russia opened his mouth to suggest the Disney Channel, but when High School Musical appeared on the scrolling titles, he withheld.
Despite America’s comment of the food only taking twenty minutes, the door bell rang forty-five minutes later. America had given up trying to find a movie and was flipping through channels aimlessly before nearly jumping at the sound. Russia chuckled and kissed America’s cheek when a glare met his amused noise. “You are so cute when startled, sweet one,” whispered the elder before America’s blue eyes narrowed in vexation. “Yeah, yeah, and you’re so cute when you’re being a creepy bastard,” muttered America as he rose, pulling his wallet out on his way to the door.
“I can help pay,” Russia offered, standing to follow America to the entrance. America just shook his head and slipped two twenty dollar bills out of his leather wallet. “Nah; it’s the least I can do since I … you know, destroyed dinner,” and with that, the younger blond opened the door and blinked in question.
“… Korea?”
“An nyoung, Migug!” Korea, dressed in a red polo, khakis, and black baseball cap, greeted while waving with his free hand. “Oh, and Leosia! You are here, too! Exciting!?” Russia felt his eye twitch at the edge of question and he sighed, deciding to let America handle the overly-buoyant country.
Russia wondered if China was somehow connected to Korea’s appearances since he had mentioned to his Southern neighbor of his trip to see his lover.
“Ah, anyway, here’s your food! Straight from Korea, where all good food originated!” Korea proclaimed, holding up the plastic bag that held a paper bag. Russia could smell the aromas of stir-fried rice, chicken, and beef as America inhaled the smells deeply beside him. “Oh, man, that smells good, Korea!” America praised, holding out his money. “Here’s enough to cover and tip, m’kay?”
Korea nodded, taking the money before handing over the bag. “Gamsahabnida! Oh, and Aniki mentioned to me to add something special for you two, but of course, I gave you an amazing gift from me! Have fun!” With that, Korea then left the two standing in the doorway as he ran off to wherever he came from.
America then tilted his head to Russia, eyebrow cocked upward in question. Returning the expression, Russia nodded to the bag. “… Gift?”
“It’s probably something awesome when you think about it!” America thought aloud while he gestured to the bag-in-a-bag in his hand. Hurrying off to the kitchen, America had the bag on the table and opened by the time Russia was peering down over his shoulder. As he scoured through the containers and the paper bag, his enthusiasm began to leak out and disappear into the air. “There’s nothing special,” whined America as he opened the lid on the last take-out box that contained another portion of fried rice. “This sucks, man, it’s enough I have to deal with his antics already, but to say there’s something special when there isn’t? Seriously, that’s below the belt.”
Russia was not as sure as America. Granted, Korea could have been lying, but that seemed unlikely. He assessed the food as the superpower pulled it out, sniffing and making sure nothing was out-of-place-- as out-of-place as American Chinese food could be-- but everything seemed fine until he picked up a wax-paper bag and peeked inside.
Ginseng, Russia mind fired off as his eyes widened, red ginseng.
Russia didn’t know whether or not to throw the bag against the wall or to put some of the plant in their (at least America’s) food and thank China (or Korea, whichever) when he saw his Southern neighbor in the future. The ‘gift,’ while very crude in many ways, held a lot of key, basic benefits that Russia knew would be beneficial for him. America caught sight of the confliction creasing along Russia’s features and nudged him in order to draw him from his thoughts. Russia glanced down and saw America biting his lip to contain his laughter.
“You look like you’re constipated,” teased the younger blond, snickering as he took Korea’s surprise to see what exactly it was. “… What the hell is this? Fried squid? Seriously?” When he moved his blue eyes to glance at Russia, he was met with an affronted expression. “What?”
Russia’s eyebrow rose in petulance, and America shrugged before giving a wide-Texan grin. “Aw, c’mon, sweet-cheeks, I meant nothin’ by it! It was just a little joke is all!” Despite his attempts to crack a smile on his lover’s face, America figured that the cocked eyebrow would stay there until the subject left and he returned to the bag to figure out what the hell the mystery stuff was.
While America mumbled over the ginseng, the taller man felt his face flush with anger; expecting America to keep his mouth shut and not make a crude comment was something that Russia found was stupid to believe in, so he took it all in strides. However, that didn’t mean that it didn’t piss him off whenever one of those ‘Americanisms’ were used (though he did find the Southern drawl quite endearing). Edging closer to nip at America’s ear, Russia decided to get his revenge, chuckling evilly under his breath. “If you eat it, it will grow inside of you and make you a woman,” he muttered as he licked along the shell of America’s ear. A shiver greeted his ministrations, the hitch of America’s breath tugging a smirk along Russia’s mouth; it never failed whenever he used his accent to his advantage.
America was slower than usual to gain his bearings, having leaned back into Russia to feel the lips descend to his neck. “I… I doubt that,” America said with a broken chuckle, “I mean, fried squid can’t turn a man into a woman. That’s impossi-! Oh.” Russia’s teeth tugged on the sweet spot of America’s nape, a deep purr from Russia meeting his lover’s sound of approval. “Ah, but,” murmured the colder nation as his fingers gently pushed America’s head towards him, “how can you be so sure?”
Another whimper was all America could reply with as their lips met, America dropping the ‘fried squid’ onto the table before twisting around and wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck. “You… You’re a bastard. A cold…” America moved in for another kiss, which Russia granted whole-heartedly, “dirty…” the soft, wet sound of another kiss dissipated in the space between them, “… wonderful… bastard.”
“Da, I am aware,” Russia grinned, kissing the other country’s forehead, “but I am your wonderful bastard, hm?” America smirked almost drunkenly and rested his head against the other’s broad shoulder. “Maybe?” joked America, and Russia responded by shaking his head. “Of course you’re my wonderful bastard; my wonderful, big bastard of a teddy bear.”
Scoffing, Russia glanced back at the food and sighed. “As much as I like to tease you and listen to you call me a ‘teddy bear,’ I know that your stomach will growl in a few moments, solnyshko.” America smiled sheepishly and stepped out of Russia’s embrace to pick up the containers of warm Chinese food. “Let’s go find a movie while we eat!” America suggested as he moved towards the living room, placing the food onto the coffee table before jogging back into the kitchen for silverware and drinks.
“That sounds lovely, dear one,” Russia agreed, grabbing what he assumed was his own portions along with the ginseng. Making his way into the living room, he set his own take-out down before quickly tearing up some of the ginseng and stirring it in America’s fried rice and beef and broccoli. He finished just in time for America to rush back into the living room with two Cokes and forks.
“All right, now that we have the food, all that’s left is the movie!” said America while he stuffed a piece of beef into his mouth before he grabbed the remote, returning to his earlier job of finding the perfect movie. Russia munched on his sesame chicken, watching with glee as America made it through half of the fried rice before he hummed and glanced downward. “Tastes different,” he mentioned, shrugging it off in a second’s notice before his sky-blue irises fluttered back to the flat-screen television. Shoving another forkful of rice into his open mouth, the younger blond continued as if nothing had jarred his methodical search through the channels. Another ten minutes ticked away before America groaned in annoyance and stopped at a random channel and sat back. “There, surely this is good.”
Russia, at first, watched a group of yellow sponges with buckteeth panic around a pink office room, shredding papers and deleting files from the computers as America giggled beside him. Tilting his head in confusion, the taller man glanced down at the other blond and poked his side. “What… are the little sponges doing?”
America blinked back. “Um, he’s destroying his memory so he can be a good waiter, I think. Spongebob--.”
“Who?”
Russia wondered if the shock on America’s façade was a good omen or not. America appeared so startled that Russia searched for his scarf ends to tug at. “You mean you’ve never seen Spongebob, never heard of Spongebob, even after us dating for the past, I dunno, two decades?!” Russia could only nod, sinking in his seat as he contemplated what was so special about this little yellow sponge who was serving food to an… octopus? A squid? Russia was not sure exactly. “Nyet. I think I have heard of him but I have never seen it.”
“Wow, hun, just… wow,” America stuttered, clearly taken aback by the abrupt revelation that Russia, in America’s terms, hadn’t lived. “Look, it’s Spongebob! He’s funny and has a starfish for a friend--.”
“A starfish,” Russia repeated with little amusement. He could not tear his eyes from the screen; now Spongebob was having a frantic fit over trying to remember his name. Well, his name was Spongebob, wasn’t it?
“Yes, a starfish named Patrick and then there’s Sandy, she’s a squirrel-.”
“But, they are underwater, yes?” Russia interrupted again. He was seeing bubbles and octopi (or maybe squid, he still wasn’t completely stable in his reasoning) and crabs and Russia pondered if his lover was on some sort of drugs to find an enjoyment out of this. Surely there was logic, something that made sense. America scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Yeah, and?”
Sighing in defeat, Russia slumped farther into the couch and shook his head. “I will never understand your idea of entertainment. It is not logical.” America huffed, leaving his fork in his Styrofoam box; “You sound like Japan when you say that.”
Russia felt his left eye twitch. “Da, and I am sure that everything Japan has is logical,” he bit back with a tone enriched with sarcasm. America nodded emphatically, “Yeah, he does! I mean, he’s one of the smartest guys I know!”
Poking at his chicken, Russia sighed, obviously finished with the conversation. “Of course, love.”
America took to silence, and after not hearing anything from him, Russia tilted his head slightly to see downcast blue eyes watching him before turning back to the television. The room was filled with noisy commercials and with the sounds of a sponge with a squirrel and a starfish for friends. Russia found that he was easily bored staring down at his take-out and that his neck was beginning to ache. Grunting, he stretched, hearing a loud pop before he felt relief and he regarded America again, finding him slowly nibbling on a piece of broccoli. “Doro--.”
With a few sudden clicks, Russia found his words stopped by the house falling mute and into blackness.
America shifted beside him on the couch, and for a brief moment, Russia wondered if he would mutter incessantly about being haunted and ghosts, or would explain that Tony was conducting some new experiment. Ready to comfort his lover (because he knew how these things affected America), the colder country carefully transferred his food to the coffee table before reaching out an arm towards his lover. “Amerika?”
“Why can’t one damn thing go right…?”
Russia stopped, surprised at the question that seemed to rise from an unknown space in the darkness. “Chto?” Russia asked, inching closer to the other body as best he could through the darkness. “What can’t go right?”
“Everything!” America hollered, throwing his hands in the air as he ranted, “Not one thing has gone right tonight! I burned dinner, Korea put some weird fried squid in our food, there were no good movies on the T.V. and we can’t watch any of my DVDs because they’re all action… sci-fi shit that you don’t like, so I put on Spongebob, but you’ve never heard of Spongebob, and… Japan…!” America fumbled for the words as his voice rose and his hands gestured angrily.
“What about Japan?” Russia asked timidly in fear of his lover’s outburst.
“Nothing, forget it!” America nearly screamed, huffing as he stopped, falling silent, and a tiny broken sound slipped from somewhere Russia could not completely see. “I just… wanted us to…”
Ah, Russia thought as it clicked in his head, and he reached for America again with both arms and tenderly embraced him. “Shhh, dear one, it is all right.” America shook against Russia’s comforting and he sniffed. “No, it’s not all right! I’ve ruined everything and now the power’s out, a-and--!” America’s words caught in his throat once lips touched his own and he sighed, relinquishing the tension and guilt he felt to let his tongue glide along Russia’s. Moaning in approval, Russia brought America closer to his chest to grant his tongue better space to probe and lick. Once America was softly whining for more, the elder kissed along his jaw and cheeks, whispering sweet endearments in Russian against America’s skin in consolation.
Seconds, minutes, time sluggishly flew away as Russia eased his lips along America’s neck before a gentle hum met his ears. America slowly pushed Russia back by his chest, biting his kiss-swollen lip. Their sharp breaths mingled in the chilled air and America pleaded for more so suddenly, so desperately, that Russia could not find the means to deny him.
As he laid his lover down to ravish him senseless, Russia relished the mellifluous mewls as he crawled lower in the hopes to show his lover that there was one thing that he could ensure would go perfectly right.
--
(Part IV)
Author: Me
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: app. 8,000 (with notes)
Warning: Enough fluff to rot your teeth and bones, a little bit of Cold War angst, and possible OoC situations, America being deep, self-beta’d.
Summary: Still in the slump of the recession, America proposes a ‘stay-at-home’ date. Russia whole-heartedly agrees, but that doesn’t mean that their time together doesn’t go on without a hitch.
A/N: Spring exchange fic for batneko. The prompt chosen was fluff and nonsense. I’m not sure if I added enough nonsense (or fluff, for that matter), but I hope you like it! :)
Russia stopped, biting his lip once America finished. Scratching the back of his head, he attempted to smile at the shorter nation, but he could feel the tension lock into his muscles. He would have to remember to mention something to China about not being bitter towards America about these things, especially when they concerned himself. “I like yours though, just as much as I like his.”
Perking up, America’s eyes met his and his pulling at fingers stopped (thank God, Russia thought, one day, America would pull one of his fingers from the socket). Russia could see the lines of a smile and he couldn’t help but want to see more. “Re… Really?” America inquired with the underlying joy sneaking into his voice. Russia chuckled. “Of course; why do you think I had you order us another box of it? It was very good.”
Grinning with white-teeth exposed, America then turned to the cabinet where he kept his phone books. As he pulled one out and began looking for the cordless phone (forgetting that his cell phone was in his pocket), Russia watched, feeling the stiffness in his body give way to the warmth return. With America now calling the nearest delivery restaurant, Russia diverted his attention back to the sink, turning on the hot water to wash the dishes.
“Hey, don’t worry about those until later, Ruski,” America called from behind him, his hand covering the receiver, “we’ll wash them once we’ve eaten something.”
Stopping just as America wanted, Russia turned off the water and went to sit on the barstool next to the shorter blond’s. Silently, he gazed at his lover, noting how sky-blue eyes hovered between the objects of the kitchen and how America shifted in his seat, as if unable to get comfortable. The time it took to order the food was short enough for Russia’s taste as America set the phone down after giving his cheerful ‘thank you’ to the man on the other line. “They say it’ll be about twenty minutes,” America mentioned lightly as if their original plans for dinner was not the equivalent of England’s typical cooking settling in the sink.
Russia nodded and took America’s hand into his own.
--
Having moved to the living room, America scanned the TV Guide channel to see if there was a movie that was considered ‘appropriate’ for both Russia and he. From his seat next to America on the couch, Russia could see the hopeful expressions turn to grimaces as the list of shows and films moved upward. Russia only glanced at the titles, but a few movies such as Red Dawn, Rambo, and The Russians are Coming were thankfully (mostly) passed and regarded with one of America’s winces of disgust or shrugs. Russia opened his mouth to suggest the Disney Channel, but when High School Musical appeared on the scrolling titles, he withheld.
Despite America’s comment of the food only taking twenty minutes, the door bell rang forty-five minutes later. America had given up trying to find a movie and was flipping through channels aimlessly before nearly jumping at the sound. Russia chuckled and kissed America’s cheek when a glare met his amused noise. “You are so cute when startled, sweet one,” whispered the elder before America’s blue eyes narrowed in vexation. “Yeah, yeah, and you’re so cute when you’re being a creepy bastard,” muttered America as he rose, pulling his wallet out on his way to the door.
“I can help pay,” Russia offered, standing to follow America to the entrance. America just shook his head and slipped two twenty dollar bills out of his leather wallet. “Nah; it’s the least I can do since I … you know, destroyed dinner,” and with that, the younger blond opened the door and blinked in question.
“… Korea?”
“An nyoung, Migug!” Korea, dressed in a red polo, khakis, and black baseball cap, greeted while waving with his free hand. “Oh, and Leosia! You are here, too! Exciting!?” Russia felt his eye twitch at the edge of question and he sighed, deciding to let America handle the overly-buoyant country.
Russia wondered if China was somehow connected to Korea’s appearances since he had mentioned to his Southern neighbor of his trip to see his lover.
“Ah, anyway, here’s your food! Straight from Korea, where all good food originated!” Korea proclaimed, holding up the plastic bag that held a paper bag. Russia could smell the aromas of stir-fried rice, chicken, and beef as America inhaled the smells deeply beside him. “Oh, man, that smells good, Korea!” America praised, holding out his money. “Here’s enough to cover and tip, m’kay?”
Korea nodded, taking the money before handing over the bag. “Gamsahabnida! Oh, and Aniki mentioned to me to add something special for you two, but of course, I gave you an amazing gift from me! Have fun!” With that, Korea then left the two standing in the doorway as he ran off to wherever he came from.
America then tilted his head to Russia, eyebrow cocked upward in question. Returning the expression, Russia nodded to the bag. “… Gift?”
“It’s probably something awesome when you think about it!” America thought aloud while he gestured to the bag-in-a-bag in his hand. Hurrying off to the kitchen, America had the bag on the table and opened by the time Russia was peering down over his shoulder. As he scoured through the containers and the paper bag, his enthusiasm began to leak out and disappear into the air. “There’s nothing special,” whined America as he opened the lid on the last take-out box that contained another portion of fried rice. “This sucks, man, it’s enough I have to deal with his antics already, but to say there’s something special when there isn’t? Seriously, that’s below the belt.”
Russia was not as sure as America. Granted, Korea could have been lying, but that seemed unlikely. He assessed the food as the superpower pulled it out, sniffing and making sure nothing was out-of-place-- as out-of-place as American Chinese food could be-- but everything seemed fine until he picked up a wax-paper bag and peeked inside.
Ginseng, Russia mind fired off as his eyes widened, red ginseng.
Russia didn’t know whether or not to throw the bag against the wall or to put some of the plant in their (at least America’s) food and thank China (or Korea, whichever) when he saw his Southern neighbor in the future. The ‘gift,’ while very crude in many ways, held a lot of key, basic benefits that Russia knew would be beneficial for him. America caught sight of the confliction creasing along Russia’s features and nudged him in order to draw him from his thoughts. Russia glanced down and saw America biting his lip to contain his laughter.
“You look like you’re constipated,” teased the younger blond, snickering as he took Korea’s surprise to see what exactly it was. “… What the hell is this? Fried squid? Seriously?” When he moved his blue eyes to glance at Russia, he was met with an affronted expression. “What?”
Russia’s eyebrow rose in petulance, and America shrugged before giving a wide-Texan grin. “Aw, c’mon, sweet-cheeks, I meant nothin’ by it! It was just a little joke is all!” Despite his attempts to crack a smile on his lover’s face, America figured that the cocked eyebrow would stay there until the subject left and he returned to the bag to figure out what the hell the mystery stuff was.
While America mumbled over the ginseng, the taller man felt his face flush with anger; expecting America to keep his mouth shut and not make a crude comment was something that Russia found was stupid to believe in, so he took it all in strides. However, that didn’t mean that it didn’t piss him off whenever one of those ‘Americanisms’ were used (though he did find the Southern drawl quite endearing). Edging closer to nip at America’s ear, Russia decided to get his revenge, chuckling evilly under his breath. “If you eat it, it will grow inside of you and make you a woman,” he muttered as he licked along the shell of America’s ear. A shiver greeted his ministrations, the hitch of America’s breath tugging a smirk along Russia’s mouth; it never failed whenever he used his accent to his advantage.
America was slower than usual to gain his bearings, having leaned back into Russia to feel the lips descend to his neck. “I… I doubt that,” America said with a broken chuckle, “I mean, fried squid can’t turn a man into a woman. That’s impossi-! Oh.” Russia’s teeth tugged on the sweet spot of America’s nape, a deep purr from Russia meeting his lover’s sound of approval. “Ah, but,” murmured the colder nation as his fingers gently pushed America’s head towards him, “how can you be so sure?”
Another whimper was all America could reply with as their lips met, America dropping the ‘fried squid’ onto the table before twisting around and wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck. “You… You’re a bastard. A cold…” America moved in for another kiss, which Russia granted whole-heartedly, “dirty…” the soft, wet sound of another kiss dissipated in the space between them, “… wonderful… bastard.”
“Da, I am aware,” Russia grinned, kissing the other country’s forehead, “but I am your wonderful bastard, hm?” America smirked almost drunkenly and rested his head against the other’s broad shoulder. “Maybe?” joked America, and Russia responded by shaking his head. “Of course you’re my wonderful bastard; my wonderful, big bastard of a teddy bear.”
Scoffing, Russia glanced back at the food and sighed. “As much as I like to tease you and listen to you call me a ‘teddy bear,’ I know that your stomach will growl in a few moments, solnyshko.” America smiled sheepishly and stepped out of Russia’s embrace to pick up the containers of warm Chinese food. “Let’s go find a movie while we eat!” America suggested as he moved towards the living room, placing the food onto the coffee table before jogging back into the kitchen for silverware and drinks.
“That sounds lovely, dear one,” Russia agreed, grabbing what he assumed was his own portions along with the ginseng. Making his way into the living room, he set his own take-out down before quickly tearing up some of the ginseng and stirring it in America’s fried rice and beef and broccoli. He finished just in time for America to rush back into the living room with two Cokes and forks.
“All right, now that we have the food, all that’s left is the movie!” said America while he stuffed a piece of beef into his mouth before he grabbed the remote, returning to his earlier job of finding the perfect movie. Russia munched on his sesame chicken, watching with glee as America made it through half of the fried rice before he hummed and glanced downward. “Tastes different,” he mentioned, shrugging it off in a second’s notice before his sky-blue irises fluttered back to the flat-screen television. Shoving another forkful of rice into his open mouth, the younger blond continued as if nothing had jarred his methodical search through the channels. Another ten minutes ticked away before America groaned in annoyance and stopped at a random channel and sat back. “There, surely this is good.”
Russia, at first, watched a group of yellow sponges with buckteeth panic around a pink office room, shredding papers and deleting files from the computers as America giggled beside him. Tilting his head in confusion, the taller man glanced down at the other blond and poked his side. “What… are the little sponges doing?”
America blinked back. “Um, he’s destroying his memory so he can be a good waiter, I think. Spongebob--.”
“Who?”
Russia wondered if the shock on America’s façade was a good omen or not. America appeared so startled that Russia searched for his scarf ends to tug at. “You mean you’ve never seen Spongebob, never heard of Spongebob, even after us dating for the past, I dunno, two decades?!” Russia could only nod, sinking in his seat as he contemplated what was so special about this little yellow sponge who was serving food to an… octopus? A squid? Russia was not sure exactly. “Nyet. I think I have heard of him but I have never seen it.”
“Wow, hun, just… wow,” America stuttered, clearly taken aback by the abrupt revelation that Russia, in America’s terms, hadn’t lived. “Look, it’s Spongebob! He’s funny and has a starfish for a friend--.”
“A starfish,” Russia repeated with little amusement. He could not tear his eyes from the screen; now Spongebob was having a frantic fit over trying to remember his name. Well, his name was Spongebob, wasn’t it?
“Yes, a starfish named Patrick and then there’s Sandy, she’s a squirrel-.”
“But, they are underwater, yes?” Russia interrupted again. He was seeing bubbles and octopi (or maybe squid, he still wasn’t completely stable in his reasoning) and crabs and Russia pondered if his lover was on some sort of drugs to find an enjoyment out of this. Surely there was logic, something that made sense. America scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Yeah, and?”
Sighing in defeat, Russia slumped farther into the couch and shook his head. “I will never understand your idea of entertainment. It is not logical.” America huffed, leaving his fork in his Styrofoam box; “You sound like Japan when you say that.”
Russia felt his left eye twitch. “Da, and I am sure that everything Japan has is logical,” he bit back with a tone enriched with sarcasm. America nodded emphatically, “Yeah, he does! I mean, he’s one of the smartest guys I know!”
Poking at his chicken, Russia sighed, obviously finished with the conversation. “Of course, love.”
America took to silence, and after not hearing anything from him, Russia tilted his head slightly to see downcast blue eyes watching him before turning back to the television. The room was filled with noisy commercials and with the sounds of a sponge with a squirrel and a starfish for friends. Russia found that he was easily bored staring down at his take-out and that his neck was beginning to ache. Grunting, he stretched, hearing a loud pop before he felt relief and he regarded America again, finding him slowly nibbling on a piece of broccoli. “Doro--.”
With a few sudden clicks, Russia found his words stopped by the house falling mute and into blackness.
America shifted beside him on the couch, and for a brief moment, Russia wondered if he would mutter incessantly about being haunted and ghosts, or would explain that Tony was conducting some new experiment. Ready to comfort his lover (because he knew how these things affected America), the colder country carefully transferred his food to the coffee table before reaching out an arm towards his lover. “Amerika?”
“Why can’t one damn thing go right…?”
Russia stopped, surprised at the question that seemed to rise from an unknown space in the darkness. “Chto?” Russia asked, inching closer to the other body as best he could through the darkness. “What can’t go right?”
“Everything!” America hollered, throwing his hands in the air as he ranted, “Not one thing has gone right tonight! I burned dinner, Korea put some weird fried squid in our food, there were no good movies on the T.V. and we can’t watch any of my DVDs because they’re all action… sci-fi shit that you don’t like, so I put on Spongebob, but you’ve never heard of Spongebob, and… Japan…!” America fumbled for the words as his voice rose and his hands gestured angrily.
“What about Japan?” Russia asked timidly in fear of his lover’s outburst.
“Nothing, forget it!” America nearly screamed, huffing as he stopped, falling silent, and a tiny broken sound slipped from somewhere Russia could not completely see. “I just… wanted us to…”
Ah, Russia thought as it clicked in his head, and he reached for America again with both arms and tenderly embraced him. “Shhh, dear one, it is all right.” America shook against Russia’s comforting and he sniffed. “No, it’s not all right! I’ve ruined everything and now the power’s out, a-and--!” America’s words caught in his throat once lips touched his own and he sighed, relinquishing the tension and guilt he felt to let his tongue glide along Russia’s. Moaning in approval, Russia brought America closer to his chest to grant his tongue better space to probe and lick. Once America was softly whining for more, the elder kissed along his jaw and cheeks, whispering sweet endearments in Russian against America’s skin in consolation.
Seconds, minutes, time sluggishly flew away as Russia eased his lips along America’s neck before a gentle hum met his ears. America slowly pushed Russia back by his chest, biting his kiss-swollen lip. Their sharp breaths mingled in the chilled air and America pleaded for more so suddenly, so desperately, that Russia could not find the means to deny him.
As he laid his lover down to ravish him senseless, Russia relished the mellifluous mewls as he crawled lower in the hopes to show his lover that there was one thing that he could ensure would go perfectly right.
--
(Part IV)