RUSAME - one shots

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐬

[ random seeds of ideas that never went anywhere.  enjoy ! ! ]

- [] -

America flicked the hotel room light on and froze.

"Oh no," he breathed.

"What? What is wrong?"

"There's only one bed." He turned gleefully to Russia. "Guess we'll have to share, damn it."

"There are two beds." Russia jerked his head to the other side of the room and chucked America on the back of the head. "Idiot."

"No there's not. Don't look over there."

"Mm. What is word for this? Gas-lamp? You are very bad at it."

- [] -

"Look." Russia ground the heel of his hand into his forehead, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I do not like you and you do not like me, da? But that does not mean—"

"Who says I don't like you?"

Russia's eyes narrowed into the deadly, corrosive thousand-yard stare he was such an expert at, and he took a step forward. "You."

"Ahhh." America flicked his sunglasses up and down, reshouldering his backpack. "That was ages ago."

"Two weeks."

"You've been counting?"

- [] -

"I like your accent, you know. You kind of sound like Count Dracula."

Russia slowly put down his book, the beginnings of a headache already stirring in his temples.

"What?"

"You know— Count Dracula." America, on the sofa across from him, made a picture frame with his fingers and squinted at him through it. "I vant to suck your blood."

"I do not know English word for this," Rus began, pinching the bridge of his nose, "but отвали*."

"Heyy. No need to get all touchy about it. I like Count Dracula. He's kinda cool."

"Have you been drinking?"

"No. Um, maybe? I forgot. Haha."

"Count Dracula is from Romania. Wrong country, clodpole."

- [] -

"I am going to pretend I do not hear you."

"Are you gonna pretend you don't hear this?" Grinning, candy cane hanging out the corner of his mouth like a film noir gangster, America heaved in a breath. "SANTA BABY..."

"No."

"...slip a sable under the treeeee for meeeee....."

"I am going to end you."

"I been an AWFUL good girl, Santa babeeeyyy, now hurry down the ch—"

"Please tell me this is not real song."

"Oh, it's real alright. Me and Santa..." Ame slung a comradely arm over Russia's shoulder and gestured expansively with his free hand. "We go way back. Love story for the ages."

"Saint Nicholas cannot be your sugar daddy," Russia said incredulously, wresting America off of him.  Ame grinned.

"Not with that attitude, he can't."

———

* f[ri]ck off; get out