True Love's Kiss
By: Verin Mystal
Summary: Due to a magical mishap, America and Russia are forced to reenact classic fairy tales. Every time they screw up or fight, they just end up in a new fairy tale. They can't escape until they manage one True Love's Kiss...
Note: Written for the Kinkmeme at LiveJournal
This isn't happening…this is a joke. You can't be the enemy. The villain…
America faltered and let his sword fall to his side.
America's voice sounded vague and distant.
"Well?" Russia glared at him. "What are you waiting for?"
"…huh?" America stared at him in confusion. "Waiting for…?" He clenched the sword in his hand. "…this?"
America fell into silence, his thoughts a jumbled mess. Russia only added to it, choosing to level a narrowed glare at him rather than fumble with words.
Tell him. A voice within his mind whispered. Explain to him. His chest tightened at the thought, and for the first time since his revolution, nervousness flooded him. Show him.
"Amerika." Russia's accent was thick, but his voice level, save for the boiling anger resting just under the surface. "I waited at the pond for six months. Six. Do you know how many days that is?"
America opened his mouth, but his throat constricted and nothing came out, save for a breathless sigh.
"182.62 days." The violet of Russia's eyes darkened and swirled, emotion broiling just under the surface. "I waited at the pond. Counting those days. Waiting for you to finish that story, to marry some prince-"
"And I didn't do it."
Russia tensed and the black staff in his hand snapped in half. The remains fell to the floor, clattering upon the white marble tile.
"Is this just a game to you? Where we will re-live your disillusioned desire for heroism and-!"
"No, no!" America exclaimed with sudden clarity. "It's not like that. I did it for something…something really important."
Russia stared at him, waiting for him to continue. America met his stare and opened his mouth, only to have his lips fall shut. His mouth burned with the desire to say those three little words would explain everything. But his tongue held fast and felt glued to the roof of his mouth. The meta-physical elephant remained planted in the room, turning the air thick and the distance between them greater than the iron curtain of the past.
"But I suppose that doesn't matter now." Russia ground through clenched teeth. "Because fairytales are simple."
America picked his head up in surprise.
"All you have to do is kill me, and kiss the dead girl behind me." Russia smoldered at him. "That's easy enough, da?"
America blinked and suddenly felt the weight of the sword in his right hand. Letting his eyes fall to the floor, he caught the light refracting off the blade and mirroring it onto the surrounding walls.
"You have wanted to kill me often enough in the past." Russia continued. "And now you have your chance to do so, without consequence."
His hands and feet felt leaden, his chest tight and mouth dry.
"What are you waiting for?" Russia's voice turned venomous. "It would be so easy, very unlike your fumbling attempts in the past… spying, threatening… never following through on your promises… disappointing-"
Anger flared up within him; he tightened his fingers around the sword hilt and launched forward, crossing this distance in three steps. He pressed the tip of the sword to Russia's neck and gasped.
Russia kept himself still as a statue, his eyes rolling down to meet America' blazing blue pools.
"What are you waiting for?" He asked again.
America clenched his teeth and thought of the past. Thought of all the barbed comments and threats and near encounters of mutual destruction they promised to each other on a monthly, weekly, daily basis. The fear of his people seeping into him, the frightened, naive hatred of the country drowned in red, the misunderstandings, the fond memories of years past, the longing stares he sent him when he thought he wasn't looking, the late nights spent nursing the whiskey bottle hidden under his bed, the cold lonely feeling he felt upon awakening, touching the bare space beside him thinking of what if's and if only's.
Russia stared down at him, and for the infinite time since meeting him on that fateful day in 1698, he felt himself drowning in those violet pools.
America faltered, his angry glare softening.
"I can't." He staggered backwards, the sword falling away from his numb fingers and clattering to the marble floor below. "I won't."
"Why must you be so difficult?" Russia growled, his voice livid. "Do you want to stay here? Is that it?"
"No!" America shouted suddenly. "I want out of here just as much as you do!"
"Then why do this? Why ruin things at the end, just as we are so close to finishing it?" Russia demanded, his voice harsh and growling. "Why?"
"…Why?" America echoed. "I…" Waves of nervousness returned with a vengeance. "Ah…"
America swallowed, steeled himself, and locked eyes with Russia. "The reason why…is…that… that I-"
The doors behind him exploded open and slammed into the walls. America spun around to face the sudden intruder and was met with five archers and three glowing lights.
"Fair prince, we've come to help!"
"Maleficent is bewitching you!"
"Archers! Ready your arrows!"
"Wait!" America gawked opened mouthed and shook his head. "This…this isn't how it's supposed to go-"
America surged forward, anger rising up within him. "Wait just a second-!"
America turned and lunged forward, shoving Russia to the ground. Four arrows sunk into his chest with hollow thuds. Pain blossomed and he collapsed to the marble floor with a grunt. There was a sudden gasping intake of air and Russia appeared at his side, his eyes confused and alarmed all at once. America looked down and found two of the arrows in his shoulder and collarbone, snapping it in two upon impact, which in turn severed his artery. The other two landed solidly on the left side of his chest, both puncturing his left lung. Blood trickled from the wounds, save for the one on his collarbone, which seemed to gush blood within seconds of the injury. Crimson soaked his clothing and pooled on the stark white marble floor beneath him.
America groaned, and winced at the sudden wave of pain. Blood rose up his throat and filled his mouth, staining his tongue and teeth red.
Russia opened his mouth, but the annoying glowing fairy's interrupted.
"You…you'd defend such an unholy creature?"
"Archer's, aim for the both of them!"
Russia glared at them, but turned back to America, thrust his hands under his back and lifted him into his arms. He rushed to the other side of the bed where the sleeping princess was on and with a kick of his foot, overturned the bed onto its side and unceremoniously dumping the unconscious girl to the floor. Russia fell to his knees behind the bed just as the arrows slammed into the mattress with hollow thunks.
The bed protecting them from the arrows, Russia lowered America to the floor. He surveyed his wounds, eyeing the two in his left lung and especially the one that broke his collarbone.
"…Why?" Russia asked after a long moment, his voice breathless with shock. "Why did you do that?"
America stared at him, his eyes glassy from the pain flooding his chest and body.
Explain to him.
"Russia." America started, his voice wet and bubbly from the blood rising up his throat. "That…Thumbelina tale…I followed through with it, I did everything that I was supposed to…but when I got to the prince and he asked me to marry him… I said no."
"You…said no?" Russia narrowed his eyes him, but it held more confusion than anger. "But why?"
"Because…" America swallowed the rising wave of nervousness, despite the pain from his chest. "Because I told him that…I loved someone else."
"You…love someone else?" Russia's voice was strangled. "…Who?"
America opened his mouth and took a breath, but got nothing but blood. Gagging, he coughed up the blood and let it fill his mouth. Crimson stained his lips and dribbled past his chin, jawline and down his neck. Russia surged forward, but America pressed a hand to his chest. Russia tried pushing it away with an alarmed glance, but America held fast, keeping his hand planted to his chest. Breathing shallowly, America moved his hand over to the left, where he pressed his palm and splayed his fingers into the cool skin.
Russia frowned at him for a moment, worry filling his gaze when realization dawned. His eyes fell to America's hand, staring at it as if it were foreign. The muscles of his mouth and throat worked, and Russia lifted his head back up.
"…Me?" Russia croaked, his voice unbelieving. "You…you love me?"
America swallowed, and nodded, his eyelids growing heavy.
Russia noticed and leaned forward. "Don't fall asleep." He touched America's hand, gently tugged his from his chest and into his own grasp. "If you fall asleep…"
America filled in what Russia couldn't say.
If I fall asleep…I won't wake up again. Because I'll be dead.
America let the blood filling his mouth spill past his lips to drain down his jawline and neck. He squeezed Russia's hand with the one he clenched in his chilled fingers.
It's okay. He wanted to say, to reassure, to comfort. The spell will return everything to normal. Just like it did my tongue.
The room slowly started to spin, the spell starting to enact itself.
"No." Russia whispered and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to America's. His skin felt gloriously cool against his heated and feverish skin. "Not again. I don't want it to happen again."
America pursed his lips and tried making a reassuring shushing sound. Reaching up, he touched Russia's shoulder and delicately skipping over his neck, touched his hair, silently relishing its soft texture once more.
"I don't want it to happen again, because I feel the same."
America stilled and silently gaped at him.
"Yes…I, Ivan Braginski, love Alfred F. Jones." Russia narrowed his eyes at him suddenly. "And if I have to watch some prince or princess touch you, kiss you, or marry you, I will claim their head as my own personal trophy."
America smiled and squeezed his eyes shut, relief flooding and filling him to the brim. Acting on instinct, America closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Russia's. Russia returned the kiss with interest, and America felt the pain fade. The room became a distant blur, the sounds of the archers and shrieks of the fairy's all coming out of focus and falling away. His stomach bottomed out, and the sensation of freefalling filled him until his back met the earth with a bone shattering thud.
Gasping, America opened his eyes and surged upward. Gasping, he touched his chest and felt it blissfully free of arrows and blood. The chainmail and princely clothing was replaced by his normal, modern clothing. The throne room was gone, and in its place was England's musty storage room. Somewhere to his side Russia gasped and sat up. America turned to him and found him in the same confused state as him, looking around until their eyes locked.
America stared at the magical book lying harmlessly on the floor. Upon checking his cellphone, hardly any time had passed since they entered the book. While in the fairytale world it felt as if it had been a year since they entered the strange world, while in the modern day only seconds went by.
America stepped away and turned around. Russia stood by the door, his hands in the pockets of his coat.
"We should leave before England gets back."
"Right," America agreed and crossed the room. "Should probably go before England returns…"
No way England could have done this on purpose… he could never have come up with something like this on his own.
The two fled England's home and exited via the front door. America shut the door, making sure it was locked before turning around to face Russia.
"So is this it?" Russia asked suddenly. "Will we never speak of this again?"
"What do you mean, is this it?" America glared at him. "I wasn't lying. When I tell someone that I love them, I mean it."
"As do I." Russia smiled, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
"Well…" America felt something flutter in his chest at the smile Russia gave him; heat spread across his cheeks in response. "I wanted to know if…you wanted to get something to eat."
"Something…to eat?" Russia stared at him. "You wish to go out for dinner?"
America nodded. "Ah, yeah. Um." He swallowed and damned the blush on his cheeks. "It's nothing serious or anything it's just that I'm really hungry and the food sucked in those fairytales and-"
Cool lips mashed to his own, and America found himself swept away in the kiss, his body melting in the other's arms as they closed around him. America threaded his arms around Russia's neck and returned the lip lock with a vengeance, pressing himself closer and feeling Russia's arms surround him and his fingers raking over his back, digging into his spine, running lower and lower-
The kiss abruptly ended with Russia stepping away, a cool smile on his face.
"I think I would like that."
America stood gawking, watching Russia turn on his heel and walk calmly up the walkway to the street where America's rented car was parked. Drawing in a quivering breath, America shuddered, the feel of Russia's hands on his back, his body pressed to him, his cool lips mashed to his own… all burned into his memory. Shaking himself free of the daze, America surged after him and, for the first time, looked forward to England's crappy restaurants.
"Did it work?"
France sat across from England at a table in a fancy restaurant. Their food sat half-eaten before them.
"If you're asking if my magic worked, then yes, of course it did. It all depends on the people if you want results."
"Ah yes, like that time you tried it on Hungary and Prussia." France smirked and swirled the wine in his crystal glass. "But trust me, mon cherie, it will work."
"They've wanted to kill each other for the past fifty years or so. I don't understand how they could be attracted to each other, much less love one another."
France smiled and tipped the crystal glass, letting the contents slide down his throat with a pleased smile.
"It worked for us, didn't it?"
Authors Note:Thank you guys so much for all the phrase and comments (I never expected you guys to like this so much). I'm glad you enjoyed it, I just hope you like the ending! Also, the reason why there is no smut is because the request was about love, not sex.