"Soviet…" He muttered under his breath. The words left his lips uncharacteristically sour. He wished he could say that word normally. He wished it with the same burning need that he wished he would stop having dream of the Russian.

But Alfred F. Jones never got what he wanted.

Alfred sat tiredly in his seat in the meeting. The fact he could barely get a good night rest anymore only played along to the fact his flight had been delayed and he was instructed not to sleep on the plane. And the freezing winter of Norway just about put him into hibernation, but he would get yelled at if he fell asleep.

So all-in-all he slumped on the table with a little over three hours of sleep in his system. But the other nations didn't expect anything, since he always slept during meetings.

And by the end of the meeting all the countries were taking their leave, except for him, who groaned loudly and refused to move.

"Yo, Alfred!" Gilbert slapped the other on the back, plopping down on the seat next to him.

Alfred jumped, almost falling back in his chair which only earned boisterous laughter from the micro-nation.

"You fell asleep! The awesome me was able to stay up through the whole meeting!" Gilbert bragged, pushing the other playfully.

The blonde squinted and swatted his hand away, "Yeah right."

.

Alfred visibly soured whenever Ivan entered the room. Everybody knew it. They knew that he was still incredibly uneasy around him, even though he's past his communist days.

Maybe he was uneasy because they could have been close. Could have. Before he was swallowed in his Imperial insanity.

Maybe.

Or maybe it was the fake smiles and constant staring.

Or maybe it was the fact that Alfred thought that Ivan was cute, and he had dreams about Ivan but yet, he still couldn't talk to the other kindly. He couldn't even talk about him kindly.

It was ridiculous.

"Amerika, why won't you talk to me?" Alfred immediately looked in the opposite direction, trying to avoid Ivan's innocent gaze.

No. He wouldn't talk to the old hag. He hated Russia. He couldn't stand him. Russia caused him to lose sleep. He caused him emotional exhaustion. He caused him a tightness in his chest when he thought about how bad their war was and how the Russia became so nasty. The Commie caused his stomach to flutter whenever they were in each other's presence.

And the worst part was he didn't know why.

"America?" Alfred jumped, forgetting that Ivan was behind him. He relaxed and looked down at his hands.

Ivan sighed and toke the empty seat next to him.

"Alfred, why don't you talk to me?" Alfred's stomach fluttered at the sound of his human name. His head turned to stare at the other in seconds, surprise written all over his face. Ivan's eyes showed a bit of worry, not that he was looking at his eyes. Alfred jumped up and removed himself from the the meeting room before he could say anything.

"Al?" The familiar voice of his albino friend rang through the halls. Gilbert stopped at the door he had just now entered and watched the distressed American exit with a glance, which only confused him more.

.

His pale fingers ran from his chin and across his chest, down to the hem of his shirt.

The pale blonde smiled lovingly down at the blue-eyed country as he slipped his hand under the fabric of his shirt. His face dipped down, snagging his bottom lip. Alfred hummed appreciatively as the other traced small circles into the skin of his stomach.

Alfred tilted his head up to fully capture Ivan's teasing lips completely.

Ivan snuck his tongue into the smaller boys mouth and roamed freely, at the same time lifting his shirt completely off, making sure to flick each of Alfred's sensitive buds in the process.

This caused the blue-eyed boy to mewl, which he tried to cover up with a hand over his mouth.

Ivan shook his head with his ever-present smile and pried the hand away, and recaptured his lips.

Ivan let his fingers trail down Alfred's chest and stomach and reached his belt, making quick work of it. The taller blonde slipped his jeans off, moving his lips to the others jawline and trailing down his neck, nipping occasionally and resting on Alfred's collarbone.

Ivan began to palm him, smirking as the pre-cum leaked through his boxers. He 'tsk'ed in appreciation at Alfred's readiness, kissing his collarbone happily, helping with Alfred's growing 'problem'.

.

Alfred rose in his bed with a hissing moan, face contorted in anger and fading pleasure.

"Not again!" He cried out, glaring at his boxers as if his mere anger would fix his sticky and irritating problem.

He inched himself off the bed, holding two sides of his boxers to try and ease the irritation. When he got off the bed he quickly tore off the boxers and grimaced, a white mess rolling down his legs.

"Fuck," He whined, grabbing a towel and retreating to the shower.

There was a meeting today.

In an hour.

Alfred groggily walked into the meeting room, squinting his eyes as the adjusted to the super bright light of the room. He slumped down into an empty chair, his head immediately fell to the table.

It's not that he was particularly tired, but he was a little bit.

He was mostly frustrated, confused, and sad. And that resulted in his irritable attitude.

He almost slapped the person who obnoxiously pulled at his jacket,

"Alfreeed," Gilbert's whiney voice rang through his ears.

"What?" He mumbled, looking up.

"You've been such a bum lately! You're being so unawesome," I glared at him and he frowned, raising an eyebrow as something clicked,

"More dreams?"

"The Soviet asshole never leave me alon-"

"That is quite rude, Amerika," Both Gilbert and Alfred jumped. Gilbert glared at Ivan before giving Alfred a reassuring glance and taking his leave.

"Why don't you sit where you usually do?!" Alfred sneered as he sat next to him. He sat up completely, resting his head in his hand, looking straight ahead and definitely not looking at the Russian.

"Because I wish to know what's wrong with you," He hummed, patting a hand softly on the top of Alfred's head.

"Well a greedy Commie bastard like you doesn't deserve to know!" He stood up, growling. His outburst received annoyed looks from most nations, minus France, England, and Canada, who gave him worried stares.

But he didn't care. He didn't care because he kept screwing up. Ivan wasn't communist anymore.

But he was greedy. Because the Russian toke his dreams and his innocence and most of every thought Alfred had is laced with Ivan. Greedy because he had perfect hair and beautiful eyes that made his heart pound. Greedy because he had a soft voice with a sexy, deep accent. Greedy because he was just correctly toned and moved gracefully.

It was hot.

And Alfred hated it.

Alfred found a seat across the room, slumping in it. His head fell back and he stared at the ceiling with a glare.

"Amerika, why have you been so unusual?" Alfred's head jerked up, Ivan was right in front of him.

But why did Ivan care?

He probably didn't.

"Because I hate you!" He screamed, standing up to size him up; even though Ivan was much taller.