Hey everybody. Angel here. Since Lucky is sooo slow (joking girl, you know I love you), I decided to upload this little side project I've been working on for a few days now. I'm really not sure about it and doubt it will get much feedback, but here's hoping. I found this picture on deviantart, that pretty much inspired this little thing here. XD If I get reviews saying continue, I guess I will, but if not, this will be my sexy oneshot.
For all you ladies reading Seven Little Killers, the new poll is up about who attacked our dear Russia. Vote and enjoy.
Okay, to be clear, this is completely AU because I don't feel like doing research and just wanted to wing it. All the nations are spies for their respective country, so there's a lot of juicy action because everyone knows spies are sexy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing! NOTHING!
The first thing Ivan felt when he saw Alfred (or as the other nation preferred, the United States of America) was a sort of emotional cocktail which called for a delightful mix of anger, a dab of hate, then just for laughs, a pinch of irritation. However, all of these things were promptly thrown out the same window the American had escaped out of that night, leaving nothing but deep humiliation, bitter attraction, and self-loathing to take its place.
But before all this happened to an 'innocent' Ivan (for lack of a better term), one must go back to the beginning.
It had been one of the worst winters Russia had ever seen, in the midst of some war Ivan only vaguely remembered. He'd been in disputes and skirmishes with so many other nations that they all tended to mold together into one giant…thing (again, for lack of a better term). Fight, fight, win. Fight, fight, win. Fight, fight, lose. The pattern went on endlessly.
This particular war only stood out in Ivan's mind because of one thing and one thing only. It had been the moment he met Alfred F. Jones-- the most annoying, yet strangely intriguing individual he ever had the pain and pleasure to come into contact with.
It all started the night his boss's office was broken into. Ivan had been put on guard duty, and although he knew it was necessary, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the concept of staying up so late to wait for an intruder. He yawned into the back of his hand, letting the lead pipe he carried tap against his leg in attempts to keep himself awake.
His allies at the time included both his sisters, and every satellite state east of Germany. Ukraine, his elder sister was on intelligence, due to the fact she was brilliant, yet lacked the heart to fight. Belarus, his frightening younger sister, was on reserve due to the simple fact her motto was kill first, ask questions later. Although for the most part this was no problem, the current mission had a slightly different goal. Ivan was to wait for the intruder and capture him.
His long black coat ruffled as he let his body lean against the wall outside, and every so often he fiddled with the headset that kept him connected to Ukraine. Apparently she had been able to hack into one of the enemy's files, thus warned everyone of an attempt to bug the office. Ivan's boss had been promptly evacuated, and now he waited patiently, yet tiredly.
In the midst of all this musing, Ivan's headset crackled to life.
"Your target is approaching," Ukraine's worried voice said. "He should be in the office right now. I can't tell who he is. He's hacked into all the security cameras and is playing a loop, but he's there, over." This wasn't worrisome. After all, they had been expecting at least some hacking of the security footage.
"Okay then, I'll go take care of him," Ivan replied sweetly. Now at least he'd get some entertainment, or so he thought. Little did he know that going into that room would forever change him--whether for better or for was up for debate.
"Be careful, Russia," Ukraine warned. "Belarus is worried sick." Ivan gave a small chuckle. Belarus worried sick meant that his little sister was either in the midst of attacking whoever was in close proximity or destroying valuable equipment.
"Tell her not to worry, I'm going into the office now."
"Affirmative, entering radio silence," Ukraine informed, before his headset went dead.
Silently, from the folds of his shin-length coat, he withdrew his trusty pistol and caulked it, removing the safety lock. Opening his coat's flap a little, he stuck the pipe in his belt, and made sure his handcuffs and taser were ready. Then he took a deep breath before buttoning it up again.
With one finger ready on the trigger, he silently opened the door and crept in like a shadow. His violet eyes narrowed as he drew his pale scarf over his nose and mouth to muffle his breathing. There were no lights outside the office or in, and Ivan had to rely completely on his natural night vision. The nation stood before the door he had effectively closed behind him, and he looked about the room with deadly concentration.
He became wary as he spotted a small light coming from under his boss's desk. Night vision goggles. How cute.
Whoever this was did everything professionally, going as far as to seamlessly hack the security footage to play loop of an empty office. Even as Ivan preformed a quick second study of his boss's holdings, he knew not one thing was disturbed. In fact, if Ukraine didn't hack that file, they all might have unknowingly fed the enemy valuable information. Ivan might have admired the intruder's tact had it not been the enemy.
Instead, he silently tip-toed to the side of the desk where he noticed a pair of legs sticking out and crouched low, his hand tense on his pistol. The person was laying on their back, obviously attempting to hide the bug in one of the desk's many drawers.
"Ah, fuck!" he heard a hushed voice snarl. "It's that new kind of equipment. Piece of shit with all your tiny wires." Ivan narrowed his eyes. Whoever they were, they were speaking English, but not the smooth accented drawl of someone from Britain. It was a harsher dialect that put extra emphasis on the R's.
Ivan took in the legs, seeing that they were covered in baggy military pants which had an extensive amount of pockets and belts to hold a variety of wires and tools. Thick combat boots rose up to the intruder's ankles and were carelessly untied. However, Ivan's eyes narrowed further as he spotted a handgun holstered to the intruder's side. Tricky.
If he wanted to catch this bastard, he needed to pickpocket the gun and fast. The intruder was sill too far away to reach, and tasering him would do no good either, especially if he was a nation. The effect would probably only make him wet his pants, and as funny as that sounded, Ivan hated the smell of urine. He knew that once this spy was captured there was the mandatory frisking, which he would be stuck with undoubtedly.
He decided to do it the old fashioned way. Ever so silently, he reached over the top of the desk and switched on the lamp, kicked his boss's swivel chair out of the way, and stood before intruder, pistol raised with a steady hand.
"Freeze!" he demanded in English. "Put your weapon on the ground and come out with your hands up!" Immediately the intruder stiffened. Ivan once again reached into the folds of his coat and withdrew the taser just in case. He bent the arm with the shocking device underneath the one holding the gun and waited.
"Oh, you got to be friggin' kidding me!" the man beneath the desk sighed. He didn't sound scared at all, which only served to annoy Ivan further.
"Remove your weapon and place it on the ground!" Ivan ordered.
"Yeah, yeah," the man mumbled, removing the gun and blindly tossing it to the side. He was wearing fingerless black gloves. The exposed fingers were strong, yet surprisingly thin, obviously a key part in working with tiny bugs.
"Come out with your hands up!" Ivan ordered again. The man obeyed and sat up gingerly, both hands raised while clutching a screwdriver and a few wires.
This was the fated meeting…if one could call it such. If not a fated meeting, it certainly was the beginning to a lot of the Russian's troubles.
Alfred F. Jones glared back at Ivan with a mixture of irritation and apathy, his blond hair disheveled by the night vision goggles. The sleeves of his shirt were long and baggy, perfectly suited to the cold winter, but the Russian didn't notice any of this. Even given the situation, Ivan was taken aback by how startling the other man's eyes were. They were the purest form of blue, clear, piercing, and unafraid. Still, Ivan was Russia and refused to let that get to him. Right now, he had a prisoner to take care of.
"You are under arrest and will be taken in for questioning," Ivan explained in his best English.
"Cool," the other man said simply. Then, out of literally nowhere, he withdrew a cheeseburger and began to wolf it down hungrily. Ivan's stern eyes widened in shock.
"Where did you…?" he trailed off as his mouth turned downwards into a grimace upon hearing other man's disgusting chewing. Noticing Ivan's stare, yet misreading it completely, the caught spy looked up for a moment.
"I'm sorry, did you want some?" He held out the burger to a less then willing Ivan, who merely shook his head.
"More for me then." He finished the burger, then licked his fingers.
"State your name," Ivan demanded. The spy gave him a bright smile at this and promptly stood up, hands raised in surrender so Ivan knew not to shoot him.
"United States of America, or just America if it pleases you," he answered.
"So you're a nation," Ivan concluded.
"I'm guessing you're the Russia everyone is talking about," America observed. "They sent me here to bug the place, but it looks like I'm caught. Oh well, they paid shitty anyway." America crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.
"Hey, get off there!" Russia snapped. America's blue eyes widened and he stood up straight again.
"Easy Tiger, didn't mean to offend."
"I repeat, you're under arrest."
"Please, I'm just hired help that's all." America rolled his eyes. "Your war buddies wanted me to plant a bug so they paid the cheapest fee, so they got the cheapest service." Russia studied him and watched carefully as he removed the night vision goggles from on top of his head.
"Regardless, your actions prove which side you're on," Ivan countered. America blew through his lips and scratched the back of his head. Ivan kept his gun and taser ready.
"Please, I'm not on anybody's side in this one. I happen to think this entire war is stupid and pointless. Neither side is necessarily right or wrong, so there's no need for my heroics, just got to pay the bills. My economy's not too hot at the moment, so here I am."
"I didn't ask for your life story," Ivan said.
"Sure, you didn't, but you wanted to know, right?" America gave a smile and a wink, flashing him a thumbs up.
"Yes, you did, you just didn't know it," America insisted. "Anyway, I better be going. Toodles or whatever you Russians say for goodbye." He gave a salute and was about to turn around, when Ivan stepped forward and jammed the barrel of the gun into America's forehead.
"Perhaps," Ivan began icily, "you didn't hear me. You are under arrest and are going to be taken in for questioning." America pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed briefly, before he broke out into another grin, confusing Ivan even more. Maybe his English wasn't as up to par as he thought. Wasn't being 'arrested and taken in for questioning' considered bad in his language? It certainly was in Russian.
"Oh, so do you want to hire me now?" Ivan blinked, and his finger hesitated on the trigger.
"Excuse me?" he asked flatly. "Since when does 'under arrest' mean the same thing as 'I want to hire you'?"
"I have to say, my expertise is quite remarkable for the right price," America bragged, completely ignoring Ivan's previous statement. "If the other guys added three extra zeros on the end of that check, I guarantee you, we would not be standing here my friend."
"I somehow doubt that, and I'm not your friend," Ivan growled. America gave a sigh, but his smile didn't waver.
"You're a tough guy aren't you?" he teased. "I like that. Tough guys make good heroes." Ivan felt his threatening mask fade slightly.
"I still have a gun pressed to your head." America continued to smile, and Russia felt his heart speed up as he looked into those sharp blue eyes. Even in the relative gloom of the lamplight, they shown like pieces of the sky.
"If you were going to shoot me you'd have done it already."
"Don't test me," Ivan warned, pressing the gun a little harder into America's forehead.
"Not a test, just and observation," America assured. Ivan felt his stomach do a flip. America was attractive and obviously very bright. So bright in fact, the old moth to a flame analogy was making itself prevalent in the moment-- not that either were fully aware of this.
To dear Alfred, this was merely a little game he had lost, but he hadn't been really trying in the first place, so it was all good. Ivan on the other hand, was in mental turmoil over the current development. All he had to do was press the button to his taser, release the shocking coils, and he'd have this America arrested and on his way to interrogation. However, as America continued to stare peacefully at him, he found his fingers were frozen.
It was just something about that look was so enticing. It contained no fear or hatred. He loved to see all those things in the other nations, but something told him if he were to muddy these bright blue pools with such things, he'd regret it for the rest of his life. There was something so warm about them, so inviting. Ivan had many dreams where he'd be in a field surrounded by sunflowers, and the infinite sky he always looked up to in those dreams were the same color as America's eyes.
He hurriedly shook away such thoughts. He was a spy for God's sake. He was a strong, feared nation. He was Russia.
"You have lovely hands," America said suddenly, bringing Ivan out of his desperate thoughts of self-preservation. America reached out his own and let his fingers touch the other nation's. Ivan jumped backwards as a shock of warmth tore up his arm.
"Don't touch me!" he yelled.
"Hey, easy now," America laughed gently, taking a brave step forward. Half out of stubbornness and half out of the deep down longing to actually be close to this strange fellow, Ivan didn't retreat. "I don't bite…unless you want me to."
"What is wrong with you?" Ivan found himself asking, not sure he really wanted to know. America let out a bark of laughter.
"I like you. You're kinda cute, in a sort of intimidating sense." Ivan heart went into uneven spasms at this and felt his breath stop short as America took yet another step forward. "Your eyes are very pretty too. Only problem is that scarf there, but once we move that, I bet you're as pretty as an amber wave of grain." America gave a laugh, although Ivan failed to see what was so funny. After a moment, America calmed himself and leaned forward slightly. "In fact, you're quite a gem now that I got a good look at you. I bet you're a real lady-killer."
Ivan felt the blood run to his cheeks, and was thankful his scarf was still pulled over his mouth and nose. He pressed the gun under America's chin in an attempt to stop him from advancing any further.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," he rebuked. America merely tilted his head to the side, closing his eyes in a delightful little grin. Why was everything about him so magnetizing?
"It's not flattery if it's true," America said, opening his eyes again. "I'm usually not one to fall for someone in the midst of a job, but like I said, I like you. I can tell you're my type." Ivan blinked a few times.
"Are you seriously flirting with me?"
"Is it working?" Ivan's eyes narrowed and he readied his taser, trying not to feel too insulted.
"No." America sighed.
"France owes me ten bucks. Oh well, I tried." With that, America reached into one of his many pockets and withdrew a wrench. Swinging it widely, he caught the other nation completely off guard by the sudden attack. It collided with Ivan's wrists, causing the Russian to drop his gun and taser.
With a shout of pain, Ivan reeled back and ducked just as America swung the wrench again, nearly clipping him in the temple. Ivan had his own secret weapon, however. Reaching back into his coat he tore the lead pipe off his belt and brought it above his head just as America was bringing the wrench down for another blow.
"Oh, you have your own little surprise I see," America laughed. Ivan kicked out a leg in attempts to trip the other nation, but America jumped backwards and out of harm's way. Ivan rushed him and swung the pipe trying to hit him in the side, but America blocked with the wrench again.
They were equally matched, and Ivan took a few steps backwards to take a deep breath. America apparently hand other plans, as he ran head on at the other nation. Eyes narrowed, Ivan swung the pipe down again, hoping to beat America's brains in, but gasped lightly as the smaller nation merely feinted to the right before using his shoulder to ram him backwards against a wall.
Ivan let out a breath and froze rigid as America's hand clamped around his wrist, effectively neutralizing the pipe. His knee forced itself between Ivan's legs, putting his vital regions in jeopardy of falling victim to a well-placed jab.
"Damn you!" Ivan spat. There was that same smile on America's face, without a hint of condescending or arrogance, just mere curiosity mixed in with a bit of fascination.
"I wasn't lying to you by the way, Russia." He panted lightly from their previous quarrel. Ivan couldn't help but notice how moist the other's lips were, how strangely intoxicating and inviting they were. America's mouth was almost like a puzzle piece, missing the other part. "After that display, I really like you now."
Then the worst possible thing happened to an already challenged Ivan. America stood on the balls of his feet, used his free hand to bring Ivan's scarf down, and kissed him. Ivan's eyes widened in shock and horror as he felt the other nation's lips against his own.
They were warm and wet against his dry cold ones, and Ivan only managed to stand awkwardly as he felt America's warm tongue prod his lips. What the hell was he doing? He knew he could take this creepy little bastard out if he really wanted to, but did he really?
Their lips fit perfectly together, despite Ivan's lack of cooperation. The puzzle had completed itself, as disturbing, humiliating, but arousing it sounded. Ivan lifted his free hand and placed it on America's forearm, where his fingers tightened around the black cloth of the other nation's sleeve. He wasn't sure if he was trying to push America away or draw him closer, but he certainly was doing something.
It was suddenly too hot in the room, with America's body pressing him against the wall and the smaller nation's knee between his legs moving dangerously upwards.
Obviously, America had experience with kissing, as his lips moved tenderly yet purposefully against Ivan's own unresponsive ones. America's grip was relentless on Ivan's wrist, just as Ivan's grip was relentless on America's forearm. They were trying to give each other bruises, no doubt succeeding.
Neither had closed their eyes, and they stared intensely at one another. America's bright blue orbs were hypnotizing, but it seemed Ivan's eyes had the same effect on America. They left each other frozen, America looking at him almost expectantly, while Russia remained shocked, unwilling to give into the lust threatening to overtake him.
After what seemed like hours, there was a faint roaring sound coming from outside, and America finally pulled away with the most mischievous little grin.
"Well, there's my ride." From yet another one of his pockets he withdrew a small radio and spoke into it.
"America here, the mission was a flop, over." The radio crackled for a moment before a bright voice answered.
"Aw, mate that's too bad. You better get out here quick. Guards are headed for your location. Also, Canada and English are worried sick about you, over."
"Ten-four, Australia. Don't let England hear you call him that. He'll use your kangaroo for a weird soup, over."
"Who, Joey? That's not right even for him! Anyway, the plane is coming around top. Get your yank ass out here, over."
"Yeah, yeah," America dismissed, replacing the tiny radio and redirecting his gaze back at Russia."I enjoyed that, although I do wish you had been a little more responsive."
"You aren't getting away!" Ivan snapped, tightening his grip on America's arm. He was sputtering on the inside, his body was breaking out in sweat. It wasn't just he didn't want the other nation to get away, it was that he couldn't let him get away. America merely continued to grin cheerily, oblivious to all this emotional subtext, his own cheeks slightly flushed.
"Who said anything about getting away, handsome?" Ivan felt America's fingers press something into the hand gripping his arm. Unconsciously, Ivan released America and stared down at the tiny white business card.
"There's my number. Just say you're Russia and ask for Alfred F. Jones. I'll be sure to give you a discount at top quality service." America gave another wink and pecked him on the cheek before stepping away quickly and running towards the window. Ivan gave a snarl of rage and hurried after with full intent to capture the little bastard.
"Get back here!" America threw open the window and climbed onto the sill like some over-sized cat, his untied bootstraps serving no obstacle.
"Nyet, my scary Russian friend. Give me a call and we'll talk business." Just as Ivan was about to make a grab for the other nation, America slipped over the side and disappeared only to reappear seconds later hanging on a rope that was attached to a small plane. America looked over his shoulder and gave a salute. "Here's wishing I could take you with me!"
Thus the emotional cocktail out the window, leading Ivan into nothing but despair. Unconsciously, he touched his lips, still feeling America on them. Still tasted him. His lips, once dry, were now wet with what America had given him, but as romantic as it sounded, humiliation was the main feeling. He watched as the plane disappeared into the horizon. No one was ever going to know about this. No one.
"Russia, are you okay?" Ukraine's voice crackled over his headset once again. "Did you get the intruder?" So she hadn't seen that little escapade. Good. Last thing he needed was his sister's questions about his sexuality.
"No, he got away," Ivan answered. "But I got the bug."
Later the war ended. Ivan kept the business card with the one number printed on the back as sort of proof that the interaction in his boss's office had been real.
Of course, there were times he wanted to simply dispose of the card and forget it ever happened. After a few years, the edges had blackened from where Ivan had tried to burn it, but the thing was possessed and refused to die. At least, that's what Ivan told himself.
It wasn't truly supernatural by any means, but every time Ivan went to destroy by one way or another, he'd feel America's lips against his own. He'd remember the heat and the taste of the other nation, and he'd find himself unable to go through with it. Thus the card would be shoved back inside a drawer or his pocket, whichever was closer.
There were a few occasions where he had lost the card, and for the first few hours he'd brush it off as a simple 'oh well'. Then those eyes appeared in his mind and he'd end up tearing his office apart to find it. It really was no way to live, which made Ivan even more embarrassed for himself. He wasn't his sister, he didn't obsess over people.
Despite this fact, Alfred F. Jones certainly was a strange nation that evoked both hatred and curiosity within him. Part of Ivan wanted to call, while his more sensible stubborn half remained impassive.
One day, he let his tongue run across his lips, which he had been doing a lot in private these days, and sighed as he looked at his phone. It was tempting.
Oh so tempting.
He reached out a hand and then pulled it away.
Wait for another war where he needed to bug someone, he figured. That way, the crazy American wouldn't mistake it for some kind of invitation. That was the last thing he needed. Then again, he was at war with a few nations who were rumored to have WMD's ready to use against him. None of this had been confirmed, but a bug would definitely do the job.
He reached for the phone, grabbed the receiver off the hook, and dialed the number on the card before he changed his mind. There were a few rings, before someone picked up.
"G'day mate, Australia speaking, how may I help you?" Ivan cleared his throat, not sure what to say.
"Just say you're Russia and ask for Alfred F. Jones."
"This is Russia, I would like to speak to Alfred F. Jones." Dear Lord all he really wanted to do was slam his head onto his desk for being so stupid.
"Oh, so you're the bloke the Ol' Yank's been crushing on!"
"Australia!" a voice yelled from the background. There was a moment of scuffling before a breathless voice spoke. "Sorry about him. This is Canada, my brother will be right with you."
"Very well," Russia sighed. After a few seconds of silence, there came the familiar drawl of the spy that got away.
"Hey, handsome, where've you been keeping me waiting all these years?"
Emotional cocktail ahoy….
Ha, hope you enjoyed. Just wanted to practice my kissy scenes. XP Like I said, this thing's pretty much up in the air. I happen to love RussiaxAmerica, but there aren't many good fics about them. Not saying this is any good, but I figured I'd contribute. Also, I HAD to add Australia. He's just too cute, even though he hasn't really appeared in any of the comics yet. Or has he...?
Well, review if you like.