Author's Notes: Wow, it's been, what, FIVE YEARS since I wrote fanfic (well, this one's a drabble, but still...)? I was inspired to do this after reading Ipona's Sweden/Finland story.
Apologies in advance for the less than steller Russian. I USED GOOGLE TRANSLATE in my haste, so if it's wrong, please inform me and I will change it!
I dedicate this drabble to Hetaween 2011 and the Hetalia fandom. Thank you for making fandom fun again!
I don't own Hetalia, Russia, or America. Though I wish I owned Russia~
America had always wanted to learn a foreign language. Ever since he was little and living with England, he had entertained the thought. There was something distinctly sexy about talking in a foreign language and America wanted to master it.
This had lead him to his current situation- sitting in a chair opposite a bed in which Russia sat, half dressed but wearing a look full of smug comfort on his face.
For you see, even though America wanted to learn a language other than his own, he absolutely sucked at it and lacked the motivation to work at it. So, in traditional romantic movie study assistance, Russia bargained that with every successful exchange of Russian words, he would remove some of his clothes for America.
Russia smiled, amusement flickering in his eyes. "продолжать." He prompted.
America shifted uneasily in his chair. "Вы ищете..." He wracked his brain for the right words. "...хорошо сегодня, Россия?"
Russia nodded with approval and, with a simple flick of a few buttons, let his coat flip open, exposing his bare chest and stomach. "Продолжайте."
At this point, America was having a hard time concentrating. Not only because speaking Russian was hard, but he was becoming so aroused he didn't know what to do with himself. "Russia?" He ventured.
"What is it, America?" The dusky-blond spoke with his thick accent, something that, if possible, only served to turn America on more.
"Could I possibly take my pants off? It feels like my zipper is trying to kill me..."
Russia responded with a child-like smile. "Only if you say it in Russian."
Deadpan shock ran through America as he stared at his friend. "Россия," He started with exasperation and careful consideration. "Мог ли я, пожалуйста снимаю... мой..." He grasped for the right words in his head, only to have nothing but unresolved sexual frustration remind him of his predicament.
Relief suddenly surged through him when he heard Russia speak up. "брюки."
America's face lit up and he repeated the question back to Russia.
"Of course." Russia answered, a hint of a mischievous note in his voice. "But only if I can get you out of them~"
Вы ищете хорошо сегодня, Россия/You're looking well today, Russia
Россия, Мог ли я, пожалуйста снимаю... мой.../Russia, could I please take off my... my...