Stimulation (Hetalia Fanfiction)

It Takes Two To Tango

Enjoy, Darlings!

America woke up to the taste of dirt. Eyes opening slowly, he groaned and sat upwards. Or at least, he tried to sit upwards. Something heavy was on on his back.

The American cursed and twisted in an attempt to stand, but whatever was on top of him refused to budge. Managing to lift his head, he turned and caught a quick glimpse of a very familiar scarf lying next to him.

He shifted positions, unpleasant feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Please say it's not him, America pleaded to the heavens above. Anyone but him.

The weight on top of him moved, dragging the scarf along with it. "Amerika?" a deep voice asked.

His hopes plummeted. Oh no. It was him. No longer feeling the weight of a certain someone on his back, America turned to come face to face with the violet eyed nation.

"Russia," he answered evenly, looking up at the nation that was looming over him. "Why're you here?"

The Russian giggled, smiling as he stared at the cold gaze the younger nation gave him. "Should you not be thanking me for my help?" Russia asked instead. "You would have been dead or worse soon if I had not come to help you, da?"

The American glared at his rival. "Did you lose a few screws since the last time we met? I have no idea what you're talking about, bastard."

The Russian's eyes flashed before closing as he smiled pleasantly. "It is you who should have the ah, 'screws lose', comrade. Surely even a Capitalist Pig such as yourself can understand that my presence will help you overcome whatever challenges you may face?"

America had no idea what was going on. Russia wasn't helping the situation- actually, he made it even more complicated. Cursing Russia under his breath, he asked his question very clearly so anyone could understand. Even a psychopathic Russian.

"What?"

The Russian blinked before he realized the idiot actually had no idea what situation he was in. "You are even more or an idiot than I thought," Russia wondered in awe, "If you really do not know how much danger you are in."

America snapped at the Russian. "Then explain it to me!"

Russia tilted his head and picked a piece of America's wheat colored hair. "Your hair is a very pretty color, Amerika. Maybe, if you are lucky, it will not be stained red after this ordeal."

"What's this 'ordeal'?" America asked impatiently. Russia was avoiding his question.

Russia chuckled. "You are so naive, little Amerika. Without me here, your fragile body would surely break in half. Then you would definitely bathe in red."

America punched the Russian in the face. It needed a makeover, anyway. Russia reeled back, hand covering his now bruised cheek. Childlike smile stretching across his face, he looked through half-lidded eyes at the American in front of him.

"Amerika, you should not have done that," Russia warned. 

America rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just tell me what the hell's going on!"

Russia viewed his options. Either he could beat the American now, or he could watch him suffer later and then also beat him. The dim witted boy would not know what was happening until Russia's pipe met the back of his head. 

Russia mentally nodded in approval. He would skin the idiot later. Humming happily at his decision, he shifted to the side of the American, moving to a more comfortable position. 

Fingers running up and down his pipe, he offhandedly said, "You are in another plane parallel to our own that will incorporate your greatest fears and life-changing experiences into present day life."