I don't play FPS games or war games, so this will more than likely be inaccurate. this will most likely be the placeholder for future rusame smut.

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The sounds of explosions emit from the speakers, and America leans forward a little bit, fingers hitting against the buttons on the small black controller as Russia sits next to him, a look of disgust on his face.

"How can you stand games like these?"

"Catharsis." Comes the offhand answer, on hand quickly covering the mic connecting to the headphones he's wearing. "Oh god damn it." Russia hears cackling from the headphones.

"This is boring."

"You wanna join?"

The Russian clicks his tongue and eyes the American for a brief moment. "Nyet, I am not interested."

America shrugs. "If you say so, dude." Russia is only staying the night because America's boss suggested that they should learn to get along, somehow. For awhile, they had been doing their own thing, America playing with the neighbor's kids or paperwork, while Russia unpacked, or read. They had mostly just ignored each other for the time being, until dinner came around and America made something for the both of them.

Surprisingly, America is a decent cook and even more surprising, doesn't live off of fast food. And now, an hour after dinner, the American is playing a game online with a group of people and Russia had decided to see what it was about. He's less than impressed, but America is engrossed in it and Russia has nothing better to do.

The television screen goes red and he watches America's avatar get blown back and as the screen fades, another player run by. America curses once again, and Russia eyes the American out of the corner of his eye, an idea forming in his head.

They're certainly not close, but they don't hate each other as much as they used to. He wonders how well America can remain focused on his game with Russia purposefully distracting him.

This wouldn't be the first time they've done this.

America at first doesn't notice, brows knit together and a frown on his face, the utter concentration is surprising. So, Russia plans his palm on America's leg and gets no response. He slowly makes his way up to his thigh, and finally, he receives a little glance from the other.

"Dude, you're distracting me."

Russia only gives him an innocent smile and curls his fingers into America's clothed thighs. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

America rolls those pretty blue eyes of his. "Whatever." As he returns his attention back to the game, Russia leans in a little too close for the American's comfort, whom shifts a bit away, eyes still glued to the screen before him. "Nah, someone who is staying over is just bein' annoying."

Russia slides his hand up higher and presses his lips against America's jawline. "Let's see if you can focus while I do this, yeah? Make it even more interesting?" He nips at the flesh, and suckles softly as as his fingers nimbly unzips and unbuttons America's jeans. America stifles a groan, but doesn't jerk away.

The Russian is disappointed to find that America is only half erect, and trails wet, noisy kisses along his jawline and downwards, towards his neck, purposefully nudging the hands that hold the controller. He hears America swallow, and try to utter out something to the people he's playing with. Now, Russia trails feather light kisses along the side of America's neck, stopping to nibble ever so lightly at his pulse point. Gingerly, he trails the tips of his fingers along America's cock, feeling it harden as he continues his ministrations.

America desperately tries to ignore Russia, biting his lower lip to keep a moan from coming out as Russia wraps his fingers around his penis and slowly pumps, rubbing the pad of this thumb over his head. Weakly, he tries to nudge Russia away with his elbow, but it's ignored.

There's cursing on the other end as America dies on the screen.

"D-damn it, Ivan, I'm trying to win a game here!"

"Then keep playing." Russia tugs at America's shirt, stretching it out at the shoulders so he can keep nipping and kissing at skin. "I'm not stopping you."

"Yesss, you are." America draws in a deep breath and squeezes his eyes closed for a brief moment, and rips off his headset, tossing it aside. He can't focus with too many things going on, and he's not that much of an exhibitionist to let anyone know what's happening. Russia lets out a little hum at that, and gets off the couch. Russia gets up for a moment, stretching out and America stares up at him, face flushed and scowling.

"You don't look happy."

"My team is losing because of you."

"What a pity." Russia doesn't sound sorry for him at all, and America is tempted to punch him square in the face but he doesn't want to be scolded by his boss tomorrow if the Russian shows up with a black eye. America licks his lips, momentarily forgetting the game before reverting his attention back to it when an explosion emits from the screen and he starts swearing.

"They're going to boot me, I swear."

"Mhm," Russia kneels down in front of America, forcible pushing his legs apart. "That'll be a shame."

"You don't sound like you care."

"I do." Russia grips the base of America's cock, pumping slowly as he does so and looks up at America. "For a military based country, you certainly are terrible at this game."

"Because you're distracting me." America nearly yells, and bites back a gasp as Russia licks the underside of his cock, along the vein and over the slit. "Damn it, Russia."

"Get back to playing your game since it's important to you."

America licks his lips, fighting to even out his breathing as he squints at the television as Russia takes him into his mouth. He starts with the tip first, running his tongue over the tip, tasting the pre-cum and softly sucking and he hears America quietly swear as he misses his shot. Russia lets out a chuckle and pulls him out of his mouth with a wet pop noise. The American had stopped pounding at the buttons, and stopped messing with the controller altogether.

They're at the default stats screen.

"We lost," America whines.

"Hmm, that sucks."

"This is your fault,"

Russia licks his lips. "That's all you care about?" He hums, as he strokes America's erection. America's face flares red. "You should play another round."

"Offline," America grunts.

"If you must." Russia has to admit that America is doing a pretty good job at (mostly) ignoring him, though it's obvious that he just wants to forsake the game. That means throwing away his pride, or at least, what's left of it. He wraps his lips over the head of America's cock again when America starts a new game, and starts to noisily suck now, taking in more of the other, and pushes him to the back of his throat and swallows.

Now, America lets out a moan, hips bucking. Russia chokes a little at that, and slowly pulls off, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin. From the screen, he can hear garbled German and the sounds of guns going off but America isn't playing the game now.

So, Russia stops, pulling off and frowning up at America. "I thought you wanted to play your game?" Slack jawed, red-faced, glasses now askew because he had been covering his face with one hand as the other lay limp on the couch, gripping the controller.

"I can't,"

"Then I'll stop."

America's eyes widen. "You bastard."

Russia smirks a little as he stands up. "I'd hate to interrupt it."

"Fuck you," His erection twitches, and aches and America reaches down to touch himself, but Russia smacks his hand away with a frown. "Fine, I'll get back to playing."

Russia lets out a soft chuckle at that and kneels back down. He listens to the clicks of the buttons, and goes back to slowly blowing America, pushing him to the back of his throat and drawing back. He roughly rubs whatever he doesn't take in, and pulls off for a moment. Russia peers up at America through his eyelashes and for a brief moment, their eyes meet but America quickly breaks it, obviously flustered and embarrassed.

Once again, Russia rubs the tip of America's cock, gripping tightly and pumping slowly. America lurches forward at that, but continues to grip the controller and his game, obviously losing and quickly dying.

Focus, aim, shoot. Ignore the bastard. America tries to tell himself this over and over again, but fails as he lets out a moan, bucking his hips forward, pausing for a moment when Russia deep-throats him and swallows, letting out a moan that sends vibrations up his cock and to his balls. Focus. Focus. Without thinking, America lets one hand go of the controller and grabs onto the back of Russia's head and pushes down, tugging at the locks as he does so.

He looks down again, feeling Russia continue to suck and noisily so, feeling the tongue rub at the skin.

"H-hey, R-Russia-" he groans out, freeing his head, and feels him pull off again. "Don't-"

"Do you want to cum?"

America's ears burn red as Russia calmly asks him that, watching him lick the pre-cum off his lips. He draws in a few deep breaths, trying to calm his rapid beating heart. "Y-yeah."

Russia plants a few kisses along his cock, and gives it one more long lick. He presses a chaste kiss to the tip, and takes him all the way in and a hand reaches up to his clothed balls and squeezes as he sucks hard, hallowing his cheeks as he does.

With on more bob and letting out a groan around America's cock, America cums in spurts, the hand returning to his head, controller thrown aside somewhere as he thrusts his hips and upper half of his body slumps forward.

Russia continues to suck after his initial orgasm, taking as much as possible and finally pulls off, a trail of cum and saliva following. He grabs a fist full of blond hair, forcing him to look up at him, a cruel grin crossing his face.

"You lost," The fear in America's eyes is absolutely wonderful.