RUSAME - one shots

the skaters [II]

The lake was vast, stretching as far as the eye could see, and the crimson sunrise smeared its blood red reflection like a crime scene over the black ice.  Rows of regal pines flanked the lake on either side.  America stumbled out of the truck and froze.

"Woah."

"Woah," Russia agreed, and they were still for a second, drinking in the serenity.  America coughed, feeling Rus's eyes on the side of his face.

"Imagine how many parking lots you could fit out here."  Russia shoved his shoulder with cold, rough fingertips, scoffing.  "Joking!  It was a joke!"

"Never can be too sure of that, with you," he replied dryly, and from somewhere in the truck bed pulled two gleaming pairs of leather ice skates.  "C'mon.  Let's skate."

America sat down to tie the skates on— double knotted— stood up, and immediately fell over.  "PLURGH.  Hey Russia.  I'm pretty sure I hate this."  He spat slushy snow out of his mouth, shaking it out of his hair.

"Silly.  You haven't tried."  Ame looked up, squinting at Russia's looming figure, haloed by the rising sun like a highly sarcastic angel.  He watched America flounder for several seconds, amused, and then tipped his head back to the last sprinkling of fading stars.  "You could ask for help if you needed to."

"Fine!" America groaned, rolling onto his back and thrusting one hand upwards.  "You got me!  I'm stuck!"

"There.  See?"  Ame's stomach jolted as Russia lifted him to his feet.  "Was that so bad?"

"It is if you keep looking at me like that."  

Russia tilted his head, a small smile sliding across his face.  "I think you like it."   America's breath caught in his throat; he was so close all of a sudden that the cold drained away and the vapor of his white breath crystallized in his eyelashes.  Rus brushed one calloused thumb across his cheekbone before stepping nimbly onto the black ice.

America's arms pinwheeled as he did everything in his power not to fall over again, shaking his head like he could shake the pink out of his cheeks.  

"That's my line, idiot," he muttered, and set one skate gingerly onto the lake, testing the slick, mercurial surface.  It was just as slippery as it looked, unfortunately, and Ame retreated to the shoreline.  "This is crazy.  What kind of crazy person does this for fun?  Did you make this up to torture me?"

"Nah."  Russia was there, suddenly, and held out his gloved hand with prince-like formality.  "Look."

Carefully, he pulled Ame toward him, wobbling skate blades cutting unsteady white lines into the ice.  America inhaled sharply, pitching forward, clutching Rus's arm with both hands.  

"AH!  Piss!  Balls!!  I'm gonna fall and break my skull open like a hard-boiled egg!"

"I won't let you fall," Russia said dryly, drawing him up.  "Will not let you keep swearing like that, either.  Piss?  Balls?  What kind of posh-ass cusses are those, mm?  I will teach you some real ones sometime."

"Listen, I'm kind of sort of trying not to die, here, so I'm sorry if my vocabulary wasn't exactly—" 

"C'mere."  Russia took him by the shoulders and slid him, flailing and hyperventilating, in front of his body.

"Don't like that.  Did not like that."  

"I've got you, luchik.*  You trust me?"  One hand held his shoulder steady, and the other reached in front of the both of them, open-palmed.  "Mm, probably don't answer that," Rus murmured as an afterthought, chuckling ruefully.  Ame, stumbling suddenly over a twig on the ice, twined his fingers with Russia's, and wondered what his answer would have been.

- [] -

"Left.  Right.  Left.  Right."  America nodded rapidly, biting down on the tip of his tongue in concentration.  He was beginning to get the hang of strokes— pushing off of one skate and gliding over the ice for a minute.  And although he wasn't inclined to admit it just now, he had certainly begun to see the appeal.  

"Good."  Russia squeezed his hand, so briefly Ame could wonder if it had even been on purpose.  "You want to try on your own?"

"Um."

"Will be easy."  Rus pressed one gloved hand to the small of his back and gave him a push.  The icy wind ruffled Ame's hair as he glided, throwing his arms out to either side for balance.  The view was beautiful.  The crimson sunrise had faded to a watery rose-pink, clinging to the edges of the clouds, and the pale, luminous sky stretched above them like a suspended tidal wave, washing everything in gold.  In the early morning light, the ice was no longer just black, but shot through with deep blues and greens like marble.  Even so, Ame had to catch himself before he turned over his shoulder to look back at Russia, because a move like that would definitely send him sprawling.  He bit his lip and maneuvered an awkward 4-point turn.  They locked eyes across the ice— Rus smiled with one corner of his mouth— warmth bloomed across Ame's cheeks and nose, and he figured he'd turned tomato-red. Normal affairs. 

The morning passed faster than he would have thought possible.  Ame could count on one hand the amount of times he'd fallen face-first onto the ice, and by the end he could start and go and even turn, if the wind was right.  Russia, of course, was incredible.  He skated like a hockey player, with an easy, heavy grace.  Sometimes America had to stop short to watch him.

It was high afternoon by the time they both trekked to shore, breathless and flushed.  America couldn't stop laughing.

"Your nose is pink," Rus said, matter-of-factly, stripping his skates off and throwing them in the truck bed.

"Yours is too!"

"Are you cold?"  America turned incredulous eyes on him.  A gentle snow had begun to shake loose from the gathering clouds, fine as powdered sugar.

"Are you not?!"  

"No.  Come on, get in the car."

In the passenger seat, America pulled his knees up to his chest and clamped both hands over his ears to warm them up.  He felt lightheaded and giggly, for reasons he couldn't explain.

"This was so cool, Russki," he began, kicking the seat compulsively.  "I had so much fun—"

Russia yanked off his glove with his teeth, cupped the side of America's face, and leaned over to kiss him, swift and firm and hot, over as soon as it began.

"Yeah."  The truck's engine choked to life as Rus flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, his voice throaty, a sideways grin exposing half his teeth.  "Anytime."

He floored it— Russia always drove like he was in a car chase— and America twisted around in his seat to watch the white clouds of exhaust dissipate.  It would be a long time before he could wring the dopey grin from his face.

- [] -[] -[] -

*sun ray, term of endearment.  cyrillic: Лучик

A/N: yes, i wrote a tender kind russia for my own mental health he must have been in a good mood.  now back to your regularly scheduled Jerk Content <33