America was frazzled, frayed too thin, and by the end of the whole endeavor he was completely spent. He was the host of this diplomatic hearing, so he stayed behind until everyone else had left to make sure he could answer any questions anyone had. Well, answer them wasn't quite what he did. It was more of just him trying to formulate some kind of response that sounded good enough to satisfy them until he could find actual answers somewhere else from someone that actually knew what they were talking about.

He watched the last person go, waited until the door was fully shut, then collapsed onto the floor, laying down half under the meeting table. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands roughly, trying to keep from letting the frustrated tears escape.

"What are you doing under the table, America?" a heavy Russian accent asked, followed by a childish face peeking under the tabletop at him. He groaned; America had thought that he was finally alone. Couldn't he have five minutes without having to tell someone what to do?

"What's it to you, Braginsky?" he snapped, shooting him a glare. Russia frowned.

"Why are you so hostile? I just asked you a question. I would not think that that was an offense."

"Maybe I just wanted to be left alone, alright?" He pulled himself out from under the table, and stood to collect his things. He stuffed his papers into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "I'm sorry if you have concerns, but I don't have the answers right now. I didn't develop this plan, nor do I agree with it. But that's what I've got and if you got beef then too fucking bad, 'kay?"

America brushed past him, fixing his gaze on the ground in front of him to keep his face angled down, trying to hide his expression. Russia grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. He immediately reached for where his gun should have been, then felt a jolt of fear shoot down his spine when he remembered that it was outside in his car. "What?" he growled.

"What is wrong with you? You haven't been like this in the better part of fifty years." America thought that he might have seen concern in Russia's face, but he told himself that that wasn't possible. Or if he had that it was for himself and what the crazy American would tell him to do. He couldn't meet his eyes.

"Nothin's wrong with me," he lied. "E'rything is peachy."

"Hey, look at me," Russia told him quietly, tilting his chin up, "There's definitely something wrong with you if you're talking like that."

"I ain't talking any way." He let his gaze be shifted to meet the other's eyes.

"Yes, you are. Heavy American dialect; that means you're overwhelmed, right? Or has that changed in fifteen years?"

America's face dusted with a blush at being found out. "Wha' d'you care?"

Russia sighed. "You know very well why I care, Alik. So tell me, what's wrong?"

"Do you really wanna know?" the American asked in a small voice, reluctant to spill himself over. Russian nodded, and he closed his eyes before continuing. "I... All of the others, they look to me as the only world superpower. They all depend on me, and with good reason; I dictate their entire lives. I have to have all of the answers. I always have to know everything about everything so that I can help everyone at once without them ever having to ask. I don't- I can't- " He cut himself off. The tears that he so desperately tried to be rid of slid down his cheeks, so he pushed himself away from the other, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Are you complaining about having control of everyone?" Russia asked in disbelief. He thought back to his conquests. He had spent centuries working to be able to have control of everything, and he was thwarted by this child of a nation that didn't even want it. "I don't understand. Why would you not want that?"

"Yeah, Russia, I fucking am. I have ta make sure everything is under control at all times. Under my control. And I'm fuckin' tired of it, okay? I want someone else t' do this for once. I wanna go back to havin' the freedom to do as I please without it affecting everythin' else in the world. So sue me, why don't ya?" His voice wavered while he spoke, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to steady it again.

"You want everyone else to control themselves?" Russia ventured, uncertain, "Or you want them to control you?"

"I don' know, Russia," he said in exasperation, "Maybe I do want to be able to- to- to just relinquish e'ery bit of control that I have o'er to someone else for a few moments, just to get a glimpse of what bein' normal feels like." His voice started to peter off, getting softer with the last phrase he poke, "Maybe I just want to submit, just once, just to know wha' it feels like. T' know what it means for someone to actually take care of me without takin' somethin' in exchange."

The anger returned to him in a harsh wave, and he stormed out of the room without saying anything else. His strides were swift, and Russia almost had to jog to catch him again. When he did, America all but exploded. "What d' you want from me? I already told you e'erything. I don' need you to make fun of me for it, too."

"Why would I do that?"

"Gee, I dunno, maybe it's 'cause I'm a fuckin' child that doesn' know what he really wants, yeah?"

Ivan shook his head, then checked up and down the hallway, making sure they were alone. "Listen," he said, "I believe in fair exchange of information, so I'll tell you something too, if you'll hear it."

Alfred almost stepped away from him in distrust. "Yeah, okay... Since when have you-"

"That is unimportant. But you will listen to what I have to say, yes?"

"Yeah, I guess." He shifted so that he was braced against the wall of the hallway, and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Russia took a deep breath before he began, seeming to have to psych himself up to reveal something about himself that Alfred could use against him later. He didn't blame him. "You don't actually know why we have bad relations now."

Alfred was confused. "Yeah I do. It was all political, then my people started ta be afraid o' you an' things got outta hand. That's the reason."

"Not quite. I know that's what you think, and what I and my government have told you, but it's more personal than that. After the war, when everyone realized that you were the reason the Allies didn't fall, they started to love you more and more, so you paid more attention to them than you did me. And I was jealous. Jealous enough that my spite bled down to my people and my officials."

"You were... just overwhelmingly jealous... of half of Europe... for over half o' century?"

"It's more than that."

"What is 't, then?"

Ivan huffed in frustration, both at himself and at the other's not realizing this sooner. "It's that, yes. That played a very big role. But that's not the whole thing."

"Quit beatin' around the god damn bush, Braginsky." His voice was starting to raise again, but he didn't move from his spot against the wall. Russia moved closer, pushing both of his shoulders against the wall. His violet eyes were dark, and hidden power dripped off of him, tangible in the enclosed space. Alfred swallowed, half from fear and half from something he couldn't quite place.

"You're not making things easy on either of us, America," he growled out in a low voice. Alfred shivered, pressing his hands against the wall to ground himself. "But in honesty," he continued, "I don't envy your allies anymore, not really. But now I just want your power. The power that you apparently wish you didn't have."

"S-so where does that put me?"

"Hopefully, under me." Ivan smirked, invading his space even more. 

Alfred felt his face burn. "Th-that's not wh-"

"Oh, but it is, isn't it? That's exactly what you meant. Exactly what you want. Am I wrong?"

America opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. He really wasn't wrong. He looked to the side, hiding his face again. "We should take this somewhere more private," he mumbled.

"I guess we should, shouldn't we?" Russia turned to escort him out of the building, a hand on the small of the other's back the entire way.

----------

He was pressed up against the bed, head hitting the headboard every time either of them moved. He tried to adjust his position so that he could have more freedom to move, but couldn't do much. Ivan pulled at the cords around his wrists, testing them, then pushed them over his head. He held them there with one hand, and traced a line down America's side with the other. 

They were once again pressed together, so close that they were breathing the same air, damp and hot and together. Already, he was starting to lose the lines of where he stopped and where the Russian began. "W-wait," he managed, "Are you s-sure that I can t-trust you enough for this? That you won't... won't use this? Use me?"

"I don't know. Are you?" Ivan bit at Alfred's lower lip gently. "Are you sure that you trust me enough for this? That I won't use you?" America whined softly, the words not forming before the sound could leave his mouth. "I'll take that as a yes, then.

"Now, you may be able to trust me not to use you, but you'll have to do as I tell you until we're done. That's okay?" Alfred nodded as much as he could, not wanting to just whine pathetically again. Every nerve in his body was telling him to get away, to get on top, to break the restraints, get back in control because he's going to hurt you and there's nothing you can do in this pos-

The thought was cut short, interrupted for just a moment, with another gentle touch, this time under his shirt. The sharp cold of Russia's hand against his ever-temperate, now heated skin seemed to burn, and he wanted to push into it and pull away from it all at once. So he stayed still, just relishing being touched by someone in a way that was... caring. Non business and non threatening. He wouldn't dare call it sweet.

Russia's mouth found a place at the base of his throat, and the teeth grazed his skin, making him tilt his head away and twitch involuntarily. "Alik," he whispered, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you." He swallowed, but couldn't say anything. "You're going to have to trust me."

Trust. There was that word again. A word he never got to use anymore. He couldn't trust. Once, once he'd thought that he could. But now it was too dark and foreign of a thought for him to even begin to understand. 

The hand under his shirt started to drag down his skin, leaving searing throbbing scars where it touched. A few fingers looped under the hem of his jeans, and his hip tilted up to meet them. Once again, he was too close and not close enough. Alfred made a frustrated noise. It wasn't moving fast enough for him. "T-touch me," he pleaded, choosing to ignore his pride, "I need you to touch me, Ivan. Please..."

He could feel the grin against his skin. Cocky bastard. But he didn't find it in him to care enough for a biting remark that would have been par for the course here. "Please, just..."

"I hear you, Alik. I hear you." He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then onto his knees, still leaning over the American. Ivan pulled off his plush scarf, then laid it over Alfred's eyes, wrapping it around his head and over his mouth as well. He fastened it by tying a knot over his throat. His movements were slow and deliberate, taking his time to brush Alfred's skin when he could, tantilizing. 

Russia bent over him, leaning down to kiss and mark him possessively. He ran his hands down his side and up his thighs. He heard Alfred's muffled voice again. "Are we... are we actually going to have sex?"

Russia paused. "Do you want to?"

"If I say yes?"

Russia carded a hand through the other's hair, bouncing the cowlick gently. "Then we will."

"And if... If I say no?" Russia hummed in response. They were still pressed together, and at some point their breathing had synced. He took a moment, concentrating on the way the fabric of their clothes caught against each other and rubbed against their skin. "Russia?" Alfred sounded vulnerable and, he'd dare to venture, scared. 

"Then I'll just let you relax." America tilted his head back, into Russia's hand still tangled in his bangs.

"Can we do that, then? Just until... just until I don't feel like... this, anymore."

"Of course, Fedya."

"Thank you..."