A small hiccup [America]

As another plane landed, Ivan had just concluded that “Bob” had lost his son in South America against a Venezuelan boy who had surprised him during an Amazon gorilla warfare raid. His son had inadequate training, being shipped off too soon. His wife had lost herself to alcohol and currently buried herself in her room with pills and whisky. It explained Bob’s tense features, as if the man had not felt the touch of a woman in a long time. He put the little idea on hold as the plane’s wheels hit the landing pad. It seemed America finally decided to make an appearance. He suspected all other flights to the airport were likely canceled due to this incident and only government planes were allowed to land. Quite good! Boredom could be quite tedious.

He did not say a word as the American approached, only kept a friendly smile on his face. It had been sometime since they had seen each other in person. They played their game of chess from afar, predicting the other’s move without a word to one another. If Ivan were honest, he missed seeing the American brat in person. It could be fun to toy with him, especially during World Conferences and G8 meetings. However, since the war no meetings such as those took place. It also could be quite annoying. The boy had a talent of making anyone’s patience wane quickly.

He giggled softly at the American. He always seemed to reek of undeserved arrogance. He looked forward to the day when America laid broken before him. Ah, but today would not be the day. Ivan’s hands were certainly tied at the moment. “Oh, I had not realized we are on first name basis, Fredka. That brings me quite joy,” Ivan said sweetly and clasped his hands together with a childish smile. He had gotten used to name calling, so even hearing his real name off the boy’s lips was a rare occurrence. “A phone call would have ruined the surprise. I had always thought you like surprises, da?” he continued, as if his plane crashing here did not cause alarm or ill will.

Though as the little child mentioned subpar, Ivan’s face twitched. It was quite embarrassing, but he would not give America the pleasure of rubbing this defect in his face. He held his friendly expression, as he glanced over his slightly destroyed plane. “I should have suspected it. This model was copied off of yours,” he stated offhandedly before turning to the American again and returning to the business at hand. “As you can see, I am without an aircraft, so I will need a new way home. I had assumed even someone with your low mental capability would have determined that,” he smiled brightly, “I will make certain to speak slower and clear in the future to you.”

It always somewhat surprised him how this young selfish arrogant child could be considered his equal, and, though Ivan would never admit it, on a few occasions surpass his strength. He had to give America credit, for it was him who constantly pushed Ivan to strive to be stronger and push himself further than even he knew was possible. The many years before America had even existed, Ivan had always wanted to be strong, wanted to protect himself from the constant invaders, but it was not until the man appeared on the world stage did he finally manage to accomplish it. For each step America took, Ivan would follow suit. For every step he took, he felt America right behind him. No other nation had ever brought him to such growth, but there could only be one great power in the world. Ivan attended it to be himself.

He chuckled at the boy’s response. He suspected there current situation had partly to do with the American’s rare moment of curtesy. He would enjoy it for the moment he had it. Few people called him by his human name, most far too frighten to ever attempt such an action, but he enjoyed it nonetheless when he heard it. Even from the obnoxious brat in front of him.

He almost rolled his eyes at his next clever use of words. Brilliant, America. I do hope you are not lacking such talent of words use when wooing a lady. He inwardly thought to himself, and for a quick moment he wondered how such an occurrence would even happen with him. He likely would go up to a girl, mouth filled with those disgusting burgers and say something along the lines of, Your hot, dude. He giggled, not even paying attention to America for a moment, too lost in the silly thought of how the girl would probably slap him. If they weren’t in a war, he might even suggest them going to a bar so he could witness it firsthand.

It took him a moment to realize America was still speaking, and he caught on to the men around them. They seemed be shifting away from the two of them. Oh, was America bringing out his big boy breaches for this conversation. Though as he realized what he was saying, he felt a spark of anger. It did not fault his smile, but his own men seemed to move farther away from him. “Oh? Your planes fall from the sky often, Fredka. They are quite easy to pick out. It is like duck season in the states, da?” he smirked and pointed his fingers into the shape of a gun, slowly bringing it up in the air, and for a brief moment it landed on America before pointing at the sky, “A few quick shots and they come flying down like flies.” Yes, he could feel the tension rising between them. America certainly had a talent of pressing his buttons, but he knew which ones to press back. He knew America in a way very few saw.

The comment on space did not sit well either. Space and all it contained had always been a precious of hobby for Ivan. When he was young and sad, he would look to the stars in hopes of escape. The Space Race had been one of his prouder moments, but losing to America had been…unwanted. “Quite strange. I remember you having to use my own space crafts to get to your satellites in the sky. It seemed my scientists possessed more skills than yours, or yours were far too lazy to do it themselves,” he noted to the time before the war when America’s precious NASA program had shut down their space exploratory missions. It had been quite fun to rubbing it into the boy’s face as Russian crafts took Americans up into space.

The boy was foolish if he thought he held any upper hand in this situation. Ivan might be stranded in enemy territory, but he was the Russian Federation. He could manipulate actions with a few choice words. He certainly was not happy he had found himself in America, but he felt as in control as if he were home in Moscow. He smiled again at him and took a step forward to the boy. “It’s quite simple, Fredka,” he stated, “My Boss only knows I have landed in your country, and if you keep me here, it is likely he will become paranoid. You know as well as I what can happen when paranoia is unchecked.” He assumed he would not have to explain it to him. They both had lived through incredibly tense situations before where nuclear war teetered right on the edge.

America certainly had a talent of beating a dead horse as they say. He would go on and on until others finally got tired of hearing his obnoxious voice they finally accepted his words as fact. To tell America ‘no’ would be similar to trying to push a large boulder up to the mountains peek, eventually it would roll over you. It was annoying to say the least. So as he kept pointing out the flaw in his aircraft like a boy poking at a dead possum, Ivan felt an itch of irritation. His smile seemed forced, but he kept it in place. Oh how he would enjoy to rub America’s face in his own mistakes, his own stupidity. For now, he would play their little game.

Instead of responding to the accusation, he shrugged uncaringly, his scarf covering his chin for a brief moment as his eyes went to the air as if to say things-happen. He would not be admitting to the mistake. He would rather eat one of America’s disgusting burgers than to have such words leave his lips. America could push and push, but that response would be the best he would ever receive.

His violet eyes met his sky blue ones as the boy took a step forward. He had stared into these eyes for centuries. They had been sweet and hopeful once. They had even brought Ivan great joy, reminding him of pretty sunflowers. Yet with each passing year, they grew darker and darker. He knew the childish sweet boy with large dreams still resided in the nation before him, but he had seen a side of America few had the honor. Others assumed America was an idiot taking actions on a whim, and while Ivan occasionally debated with the idea himself, he knew every move made by him was calculated, thought out, and executed. All you had to do was look in his eyes…and you could see the quest for world domination written across them.

He smiled brightly at his words. It appeared the boy did plan to send Ivan home. Here he had thought the boy would make it far more difficult than it needed to be like always. He enjoyed when America had moments of clarity. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as he too took another step forward to America. “I suspected you missed me, Fredka,” he teased. He had no qualm with spending a few moments chatting with the child. He could entertain him.

Ivan watched the order take place, and the Americans leave, meeting the boy’s demanding gaze when it returned to him. Oh, he wanted his soldiers to leave as well? Always barking orders somehow. Where did the boy expect them to go in enemy territory? He could send them off to town to woe over the locals, yet he suspected America would not like the response. He smirked, and did not break his eye contact with the boy as he spoke in Russian, “Comrades, leave and entertain yourself with the silly Americans. It seems the attention whore would like my undivided focus.”

He could sense that his men were hesitant of the request, but they did not speak a word against it before nodding and following the direction of the American soldier.

Ivan stayed in place, waiting patiently as the men left, his eyes locked with his. The air felt thick and hot as it became more and more apparent that they were alone. Something always drew Ivan closer to the man before him. He always assumed it was his want to snap the man in half that kept him moving, but if he were honest, it was the suffocating feeling of the air and the weight of the tension. He would never run from it. He would push through it.

He took another step forward. “We are alone,” he smiled brightly, “You now plan to fall to your knees and cry for mercy, da?” The image itself made Ivan even happier.

The crisp cool air of Alaska seemed to do little for the heavy weight that seemed to be accumulating around them. Power. Pure strength of power. He could sense it radiating off the boy, and it would have been suffocating if his own did not press against it. It never surprised him why his allies like Iran and others were afraid of America. They never would admit it allowed, but he been at World Meetings. He saw the way Iran would shutter when America shot the man a glance. The way he would crumble into himself unable to stand up against the strength of his aura. It only made logical sense that Iran tried to fight it through snide remarks and plots. Then again, Iran wasn’t the only one afraid of the boy in this world.

Ivan was no fool. He had faced strong powerful countries before. They invaded his land, punished his people, and took him in as a slave. He had been a conquered country, yet all the countries who had conquered him paled in comparison to the boy before him. America was the most powerful nation he had ever had the unpleasant pleasure of meeting, and in that sense, it terrified him. It terrified him that if he were to become weak, America could easily take control of his land and territory and infest him with his selfish culture. He heard America’s words before the war, how he would constantly shout nonsense of spreading democracy and freedom to the world. Ivan knew the words of a conqueror, and while America might not use the same tactics of Empires before him, it did not make him any less of one.

Thankfully, America was not the only powerful country in the world.

He smiled kindly through the boy’s laughter, attempting not to find it annoying. Oh, how he truly wishes he could simply invade him. To bring the fight onto America’s soil, to have his people bleed. But he was right, stepping onto his land with forces would mean a missile heading to Moscow seconds after his foot touched the ground. If America or Russia fall, the world falls with them, yet only one could win. It was the great dilemma in the current war they found themselves in.

He held his ground as the boy closed the distance, always enjoying the extra height he had on the younger nation. It meant America would always have to look up to him. He matched his gaze and saw the flame beneath him. He’d seen that look before. His smile turned to a smirk as he heard the words that followed.

He chuckled and leaned his face closer to his, not touching him, merely matching him step to step, as his own violet eyes darkened. “Such confidence, one might think your overcompensating,” he eyes glanced downwards, making certain to absorb the boy’s entire form before landing back on his eyes. Ivan could never explain the draw he felt for the annoying child. He supposed he sometimes confused the current America with the one of the past, the sweet and nice one, or maybe it was the fact that they danced on the edge of the world constantly, playing this balancing game no other could play. Or maybe…he felt like he understood him.

Nonetheless, the game of chess was not the only one they played.

Without warning, Ivan grabbed the collar of America's shirt, twisting it tightly to make it hard to breath and jerking him closer. He stared down at him with the same friendly smile. “I merely thought you realized the direction of the war, Fredka,” he said darkly, leaning forward, his breath against his lips, “I’m winning.” He smiled larger, “No, I do not plan on invading you, but I will have every nation around you, leaving you all alone.”

He enjoyed having America in his grasp. He suspected it might be how god feels when he attempts to hold the sun in the palms of his hands. Such heated power in his grip, trying to contain it under control, yet if you grip to tight the entire star would burst destroying all around it in matter of moments. If only he could wipe that smirk off the boy’s face.

He smiled softly at his statement. Ivan hardly saw himself as delusional. He knew the reality of the war, and if America did not take appropriate action soon, he would conquer Poland, push further into South America, and take Israel from him. It was only a matter of time, though Ivan knew better then to share such strategies with his enemies. He watched a few of America’s terrible Hollywood movies. He had a talent of labeling the Russian the bad guys, fighting against the great American hero. It was utter ridiculous nonsense, only shown more when the Russian would pace around in a thick accent explaining his entire plan to the so called hero. Did America truly think of him in such horrid manner? It was almost disrespectful. He never was able to finish any of the movies, usually breaking his television in the middle of it before storming off to distract himself with knitting or a book. Nyet, he would keep his plans to himself, and America would have to solve the puzzle for himself.

He gruffed in annoyance as the boy managed to jerk free, another reminder of the strength possessed. He wished at the freedom America would run…hopefully afraid…but he never did. He never did. He always pressed himself further into his face, challenging his actions. Yes, America was right. It would not be easy, but Ivan would not call any of the past thirty years of this war easy. Each had been a difficult and planned push to move every inch forward. He actually found his other comment humorous, and if it were under different circumstances, he might have laughed carefree. Boring. He did so enjoy his fun. It reminded him of America's youth and the times so long ago…

His thoughts did not have time to ponder on the days when Ivan actually considered America a friend for the boy's next statement….

He felt his entire body tense with rage. His smile frozen on his face as his jaw locked in place. His hand shaking next to his side as if he was a mere second away from punching him. Did he forget? Did he forget what he had already done to him? Did he forget how he took everyone away from him after his fall? How Ivan spent months locked alone in his decaying home, drinking, and feeling the sheer agony of losing everyone around him?

“Do not act as if you have not already done so before, Fredka,” he spat his name, his tone darker, lacking any sense of good cheer, as his eyes narrowed to utter cruelty. He leaned closer himself as his own rage radiated off his form. His sisters…his friends…he took them away. He gave them his hands and offered his help. They ran from Ivan and right into this little brat’s arms. He took in a deep breath, trying to stop his shaking hands from reaching up and strangling the man before him. “You poisoned them,” he spoke darkly, remembering the beginning of this war, how difficult it was to even return his sisters to his home. “You poisoned them against me,” he hissed. His eyes shooting open, violet turning a deeper shade of purple. What had he offered them? Had he touched them as well? He had his suspicions. The American whore probably lulled them in with sweet words and touches.

He took another calming breath, his hand fisting together as he reeled his anger back in. His smile returned, and he tilted his head. “It’s alright. In such loneliness, I found a sweet friendly companion. We bonded on the ice, and he shared such nice stories with me. Far different from his obnoxious loud mouth sibling,” he chuckled and leaned forward more, his nose almost touching his.

“You should have heard the beautiful sounds that left your brother’s lips as he laid moaning underneath me,” he whispered darkly a playful smirk dancing across his face.

He knew it to be the truth. If America did not exist, had not challenged him for world superiority, his family would have never left him. His sisters, his friends, they wouldn’t have ran. They wouldn’t have been tricked by his lies and power. They wouldn’t have been won over by that addicting and captivating smile and that always supposedly friendly offered hand. The self-proclaimed hero deluded them with his façade of a better life, a life away from Ivan. It was America’s fault. It was all his fault, and it wasn’t fair. It hadn’t been fair. Oh, how long had Ivan sat in his living room chanting that same mantra to himself as the vodka bottles laid piled up at his side. Ivan tried to be kind. He offered his family and friends smiles and protection. He gave them everything, and yet they still left.

You did that yourself.

His anger flashed again. He’d done nothing wrong, but he would make certain America felt his pain as well. By the end of this war, the boy would have no one. No one at all. He would come crawling to Ivan and ask for Ivan’s safety and protection. He would, and Ivan would open his arms and hold the boy close, never letting go. It was only a matter of time.

His smirk pulled further as he watched the boy’s own anger slip through. He preferred America like this, on edge, showing his true self he hid from the others. He could see that killer look in his blue eyes ready to attack. He suspected America planned to punch him, and oh, he would gladly take it, so he could punch the brat back and hopefully knock him onto the ground. And yet…

He felt the grip on his scarf and the pressure of his lips against his. It burned at the touch, and caused a heat to escape through the gate he always attempted to lock away. A need and possessiveness. He wanted Alfred. Alfred belonged to him. Alfred belonged only to him.

His hands bolted up, one going to his back and jerking the boy’s body against his roughly as the other threaded into his soft hair, gripping it tightly and forcing him into a deeper kiss. His own lips matched his and tried to dominate the action, his tongue slipping into his mouth in attempts to suffocate him with it.

It would be a lie to say this was the first time this occurred between them. It would be a lie to say it happened rarely. No, the tension always seemed to draw them here. A pure battle of strength and lust. There were no limits or rules. Whoever was stronger won. Simple as that, and the victor took the prize.

Like this war, Ivan planned to win.