From the Hetalia Kink Meme. Decided to whore it out as there needs to be more Russia/England. Edited to make it more friendly (the other was a little bit more naughty ohohohoho).

Alfred put down the smooth receiver of the phone back into its cradle with shaking fingers and sat down uneasily into the plush cold comfort of his plump office chair. Ten minuets passed in silence and stillness with Alfred trying desperately to banish the foreboding thoughts of conspiracies and betrayal taking root and budding in his brain. However despite the comfort of the chair and his vain attempt to quell the flurry of thoughts no comfort came to him, just a deep biting unsettlement stemming from the fact that England was now of Labour Government once again. Tapping his fingers wearily against the desk he stared intensely at the phone, innocent in its inanimateness, the ever present confident grin fading from his face replaced with one of concentration and restlessness. Whilst a Labour Government in England was not a problem within and of itself, the rumours that trailed behind such a move whispered darkly of Labour's sympathy towards Soviet Russia and communism were. With the feeling of tension from his boss and citizens that England could be collaborating with Russia against America, and the idea that Arthur could be collaborating with Ivan against himself, gnawed harshly at Alfred's stomach and he ran a still shaking hand through his golden hair.

The various unisons between Arthur and Ivan throughout the ages, such as the their alliances during the War of the Austrian Succession, the French revolution, Napoleonic Wars, the Greek Wars of Independence, the Anglo-Russian Entente in 1907 (or Triple Entente), and of course during World War Two (in which he was himself allied with Russia, and France, and China, and dear Arthur) were not new news to him at all. Neither were the trading or political relationships between the two countries, including the important bonds between Arthur's beloved, however grudgingly at times, Royalty and Ivan's Tsars.

When Alfred had confronted Arthur with these troublesome thoughts in the past Arthur had just rolled his eyes irritably and had maintained, rather viciously with flying scolding hot teapots and sharp words, that these links were just loose bonds, that he thought Ivan was a deranged and power mad, creepy purpled eyed bastard (who probably ate people), and that he wouldn't touch him with a barge pole unless it was absolutely, univocally needed and justified. In days gone by Alfred would have been comforted by these words, but now like his office chair Arthur's words seemed hollow. Dimly Alfred ran an unsteady hand through his golden locks and thought back to the 1920's when Labour had first been voted in.

It had been just an average everyday day when he had come to visit Arthur and congratulate him on his new government, prepared with cake, whiskey and celebratory burgers as a present. He had strode up to the door with purpose, glee and a true hero's attitude, which had been promptly deflated by the coy look of perverse innocence and terrible pleasure on Ivan's face when he opened Arthur's door, instead of Arthur himself, at Alfred's repeated knocking.

'Comrade Alfred! How nice to see you', he had said, voice joyous and thick with his Russian accent, 'I was just, what is the term…..celebrating with perhaps, no ahh…. wishing Comrade Arthur well with his new government, a socialist party. Very progressive of him, reminded me of myself. Did you want to come in?'

Alfred had frozen to the spot, mind blank, and had stared horrified at Ivan and his seemingly innocent face until Arthur had finally appeared from the depths of his house, a little worse for wear with the glint of perspiration on his brow, and stiffly told Ivan to have a pleasant afternoon and to get the sod off his property.

Arthur had been even more unbearable than normal that day, with terse words and ready to snap at anything Alfred said, especially when he asked questions relating to why Ivan was there, what happened and if he was okay. Alfred had often wondered with a heavy heart if he had interrupted something that day, or missed something important, but by the time the Second World War reared its ugly head these idle thoughts were placed away and near forgotten, lulled asleep by the fact that Arthur worked willingly and almost happily with Alfred like they used to during the Colonial years. Yet now with the Cold War full in swing that little box had been unconsciously reopened and all the unpleasant thoughts spilled out. A Pandora's box of sickening images and mockeries of their friendship.

Arthur pushed forcefully up against the wall of his office, sweater-shirt combo long discarded on the floor, his body beckoning, encouraging, and moaning under the large cold hands roaming freely over the valleys and hills of his fragile skin. Of lazy Russian words praising into Arthur's ear, his lips kissing Arthur's neck as his smaller hands scrabble impatiently to loosen Ivan's thick coat and scarf to reach and caress the ever winter under neither. Of English words murmuring promises of warmth, satisfaction, and unity which turned into foul obscenities as trousers and pants are pulled away, until both of them are naked and hard and needy, teeth sinking into Ivan's neck unforgivably as Ivan invades Arthur easily one slick finger at a time.

Alfred's hands fisted up upon the table, knuckles turning white from the pressure, nails digging unrelentingly into his skin and drawing blood, but it wasn't enough to turn him away from this as his mind reached further into the boxes poisoned depths.

Arthur is now panting, begging and demanding sharply for something more, something bigger and better if Ivan is man enough, green eyes half closed in ecstasy. Ivan laughs at this and tells him he is happy to do so 'Comrade' and Alfred punches the desk as he complies, causing Arthur breath to hitch and dig his nails into Ivan's back. Ivan pushes in and pulls away slowly, and Arthur grinds as best as he can from his position against the wall trying to top from the bottom and get more, trying to become a conqueror again. Alfred wishes this wasn't so, wishes that Arthur wasn't reciprocating to this betrayal of their friendship of their alliance, but was rather forced into it. Ivan laughs again, nuzzles Arthur and angles himself differently all the time whispering Russian, making Arthur emit a guttural primeval sound which makes Alfred feel all sorts of angry and hurt at the same time…..

The phone rings snapping Alfred out of his dark reverie. He stares dumbly at the calling creature until its cries quieten.

'I'm being stupid,' Alfred stated to the empty room, 'He has sided with me, not that damn commie bastard.' He stood from his chair and moved slowly to the door, away from the phone all the while wiping the ghastly red blood off of his knuckles.

'It's not his fault he's now a Labour government anyway, its democracy what the people want not him, like myself a good democratic country, not a Communist. These are just stupid rumours anyway, and Arthur,' the name stuck uncomfortably in his throat 'hates him anyway. I am being silly, he won't betray me'.

Still these little justifications did little to quell the ghostly sounds of imagined conspiracies and Alfred decided that he should keep a closer eye on Arthur just in case that Ivan tried anything, or the other way round.