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The room is cold enough to make you shiver as you enter. You know who this latest invader is. An innocent smile greets you as you ignore the cream-color Russian trench coat with matching pants and the pale scarf wrapped around his neck. He is tall. Taller than the Englishman and the German had been. And many times more dangerous than either. He is not reclining on your bed like the other two. No.. He is leaning against your wall, tapping that faucet pipe on an open palm. The air about him seems ominous, but as you wait expectantly, it slowly dissipates and the pipe vanishes somewhere in the folds of his coat. You are still wary as he approaches you... Though not afraid. This is not a nightmare... you hope.
He eyes you critically with his amethyst optics, and you take that time to truly observe him. The jacket he wears is massive, and yet it strains against his shoulders and chest, revealing to you just how massive this big-boned male is. Countless medals adorn his chest; symbols of his prowess on the battlefield. Even if you tried to flee, he could catch you with ease. You flinch as he suddenly reaches out to touch you.
"Ne volnuisya, milaya."
His voice is soft as he pats your head gently, soothingly. And you feel yourself relaxing. The pats turn to strokes, running through your hair languidly. The sensation is enough to make your knees weak... And he knows it. That smile is far too innocent for him to not know. It widens to show too many teeth as you moan at his touch. He catches you easily as your knees fail you, and you know that he would be able to lift a semi without breaking a sweat if he so desired. It is a terrifying thought.
"Vy milyi, malysha. Mozhet byt, oni pozvolyat mne vladet vami. "
He sounds thoughtful, but shakes his head and lowers you down onto your bed and lies down with you, cradling you in his arms.
You wake gradually, sore... But pleasantly so. You stretch fluidly, the dream a warm memory, and glance at your alarm clock. And jump out of bed with a startled oath as you realize how late you overslept.
And while you are getting ready... under your bed lies an innocent button bearing a double-headed eagle crest.
He eyes you critically with his amethyst optics, and you take that time to truly observe him. The jacket he wears is massive, and yet it strains against his shoulders and chest, revealing to you just how massive this big-boned male is. Countless medals adorn his chest; symbols of his prowess on the battlefield. Even if you tried to flee, he could catch you with ease. You flinch as he suddenly reaches out to touch you.
"Ne volnuisya, milaya."
His voice is soft as he pats your head gently, soothingly. And you feel yourself relaxing. The pats turn to strokes, running through your hair languidly. The sensation is enough to make your knees weak... And he knows it. That smile is far too innocent for him to not know. It widens to show too many teeth as you moan at his touch. He catches you easily as your knees fail you, and you know that he would be able to lift a semi without breaking a sweat if he so desired. It is a terrifying thought.
"Vy milyi, malysha. Mozhet byt, oni pozvolyat mne vladet vami. "
He sounds thoughtful, but shakes his head and lowers you down onto your bed and lies down with you, cradling you in his arms.
You wake gradually, sore... But pleasantly so. You stretch fluidly, the dream a warm memory, and glance at your alarm clock. And jump out of bed with a startled oath as you realize how late you overslept.
And while you are getting ready... under your bed lies an innocent button bearing a double-headed eagle crest.
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America quietly pressed an ice-pack to his cheek, it was bruised and aching, and the rest of his body was sore. Ivan had lied again…
Whimpering softly at the new onslaught of pain that came with the pack's icy touch, he laid his head down on the kitchen table, and felt rebellious tears escape his eyes.
"Damn commie," he said to himself, shutting his eyes; he felt so exhausted.
Starting to drift off into a weary sleep, he tensed as he heard footsteps in the hallway; Russia was awake… Did he remember anything, or had his insanity taken that away too?
Along with any feelings of love and kindness that he had had for Alfred.
He sw
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"Oh bloody hell."
America, sitting pretzel style on the front lawn of the White House, smiled sheepishly up at the other nation. "Oh, hey England. What's up?"
"What the hell are you doing?"
Biting his lip self-consciously, the boy rubbed the back of his neck. "Funny story."
England crossed his arms and raised a large eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yeah," America said slowly, drawing out the last syllable. "Boss kicked me out."
"…What?"
"It was a total accident!" America was on his feet now, pacing around the bright green lawn, ranting up a storm and arms flailing everywhere. Out of the corner of his eye, England could see the tourists visiting W
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Rome:
Look at your man, now back to me, now back at your man, now back to me. Sadly, he isn't me, but if he started using Old Spice you could try and pretend he is me. Look down, look back up, where are you? You're on a deserted island with a German, a Japanese, an Austrian, and the country your country could be like. What's in your hand? Look up, I have it, a guitar to play that one song you love about Heaven and Hell. Look again, the Guitar is now hundreds of sparkles, showing off my manly body along with a spotlight, illuminating those sparkles even further. Anything is possible when you are the Roman Empire and not some other country. I'
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Ee! I love this!