So. I meant to write chapter two of this other Russiamerica fan fiction, right? And then suddenly three hours passed and this is what was on my screen. By the way, my space key is being a bitch and I don't carefully read this over and I could have if my light wasn't burnt out.. excuse me if there are glaring mistakes.
Pairing:Russia/America or Ivan/Alfred
Fandom: Hetalia
Disclaimer: Yup.
Warnings: Homosexual stuff. In this fan fiction. If you don't like it. I do not give a shit. Really.

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Mix - 01

Ivan Braginski was a little tipsy. And by a little tipsy, he meant a little drunk.

And by that, he meant completely inebriated.

Or something along those lines of being unable to walk in a straight line without getting confused, tripping over his own two feet and making good acquaintances with the cement.

Privyet, Comrade!

A giggle.

The cement was quite unkind to Mister Braginski, for he scratched his left cheek. Ivan pouted slightly, put out from Comrade Cement's unkindly greeting.

Lifting his massive frame from the unkind cement below him, Ivan decided that he never wanted to be the cement's comrade, anyway. It was much too cold and wet for his liking. He had had enough of such back in the Russian Federation, thank you. The unbearably large Russian steadied himself with his arms stretched wide, his face twisted in concentration. Passer-by's stared with odd looks as he continued on his way, one gloved hand on the brick building beside him and the other stretched out in the air, forcing anyone that passed close enough to duck.

He was so pathetically inebriated that he barely heard the shouting voices until it was too late.

Once again, Ivan Braginski made acquaintances with the cold, wet cement.

Such a fate. Ivan felt a bit sad, actually. He expressed it with a childish pout, before being ripped from his thoughts as the body on top of his squirmed and a palm dug into his inner thigh. He whined quietly, shoving off the imposter and crossing his arms.

"Hey, Dumb-ass, I'm not done with you! I'm goin' to kick your culo right back to that shit country you came from," Ivan heard a loud smack and an obnoxiously loud cackle. The obnoxious noise was soon after silenced, and Ivan heard a body slam into something obviously metallic. The Russian shook his head and squinted into the dark alley, trying to find the two fighting figures through his drunk faze.

There was the sounds of fists hitting flesh for a good three minutes before a sudden crash and loud cursing and more obnoxious laughter.

"Man," there was a quick pause, the silence filled with groaning an the scuffing of feet, "I am so," another crash and more loud cursing before the voice continued. "Shwaaasted." The made-up word was said in a high pitch, and suddenly there was more obnoxious laughter. "COME AT ME, BRO."

"You are dead, American. You hear me?"

The obnoxious laughing stopped and suddenly a deeper, more mad, laughter could be heard. Ivan squinted a bit more, sobering at the thought of such a brutal fight. The outline of a gruff-looking man could be seen, his shoulder shaking as he laughed and continuously drove his shoe into the smaller shadow, who was on the ground, grunting at every kick.

Ivan had a feeling that the larger man was at a greater advantage than the groaning heap below him.

The large Russian let out a strange noise, attempting to get the attention off the smaller figure, as he raised himself from a sitting position. "Privyet… I do hope there is not a problem here, da?" Ivan smiled, slowly making his way towards the gruff man. "I do not have to… Intercept, da?"

The man gave the groaning figure a final kick before replying. "Whatever, man. Just keep this culo away from me and we're cool."

"Very nice," Ivan's voice lowered in decibels as he slowly spoke, the childish falsetto disappearing completely.

The Cuban looked momentarily uncomfortable before making his leave back into the bar the two fighters came from. Ivan clicked his tongue thoughtfully, staring down at the shaking figure on the ground.

"You are still alive, da?" the large man nudged the figure's head, carefully, with his shoe.

It would not be professional to be blood all over your shoe, now, would it?

No, it would not.

The figure twitched before groaning and rolling over, successfully showing the tall Russian how young the smaller fighter was, compared to the gruff Cuban man. He rubbed his face shakily, looking down at his hands after. Probably to check for blood. Which there was.

A lot of it, actually. It would be quite alarming if Ivan wasn't still quite drunk. "Is… Is he gone?"

"Da."

"Are," a groan. "you sure?"

"Da."

"Okay, good."

"Are," the Russian immediately felt uncomfortable when he looked down at the young teen. "Are you… Crying?"

"No," the teenager rubbed his face near-violently, turning away from the man, who he thought suspiciously looked like a bear.

Only because he couldn't see anything but the outline the streetlight was giving.

"Yes you are."

"No, shut up, stupid weirdo with a creepy accent."

Ivan felt relatively offended at that.

He crossed his arms, showing that he was offended at the young man's description. The American simply quirked his lips at the site.

"Okay, I lied.. You have a pretty cool accent.. Way cooler than my stupid Dad, at least," the teenager mumbled. "Can you help me up? I'm drunk.. and I hurt everywhere… and I'm drunk."

Ivan wrinkled his nose, thinking.

Well, trying to at least. His mind was still a tad fuzzy from such large amounts of vodka he drank such a short while ago. Hesitantly, the large man reached out and grabbed the young man from under his armpits and easily lifted him into the air. He stood there momentarily, confused as the what to do next.

The young American simply hung there, looking sheepish.

Ivan couldn't help but smile as a child would and say, "Hello, Comrade."

"Hi," the teenager mumbled, looking away.

Ivan carefully set the young man on his feet before carefully taking him by the waist and leading him towards the sidewalk.

"Thanks for, you know, helpin' me out and stuff back there," the young man looked down at his sneakers, biting his lip in thought. "I'm Alfred, by the way."

"Hello, Alfred. My name is Ivan."

"German?" the younger male tilted his head, momentarily resting his head against the taller man.

"Russian," Ivan corrected.

"Oh," Alfred nodded, feeling awkward. "Cool. I like Tetris."

Ivan couldn't help but chuckle.

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PS. - It would not hurt to leave a review telling me what you think. I really do enjoy your opinion and suggestions! I don't bite; I recently got surgery on my mouth so I really... can't bite. :l