Book 2 - The Angel Against Revolution

XXIV - Rabid

Russia snuggles against America's chest and smiles. He breaths in deeply and relaxes. He puts special attention to ignore how the car was being driven so he doesn't backseat drive. He knew if he paid it too much attention, he might panic at how inept Kentucky is at driving in the winter weather. He carefully squeezes his fingers together, and sits up a little, curling up against America. America squirms.

"Hey," America whines, "that tickles."

Russia hums.

"You are ridiculous," America mutters, leaning back.

They sit quietly and America begins petting the top of Russia's head, and Russia closes his eyes. Russia lets his mind wander, feeling relaxed, but not tired enough to fall asleep.

'Love warm magic man...'

'Love -my- warm magic man...'

Russia smiles at the thoughts. His chest fills with fluttery feelings. He pushes up on the seat and into America. America laughs quietly.

"You're like a god damn cat," America comments, kissing Russia's forehead.

Russia grins and tucks his face into America's collar. He relaxes.

The car ride is calm.

Too calm.

'Something is going to go wrong.'

The thought swirls around Russia's head, but he does his best to shake it off.

Russia pokes his head up and pecks America's cheek, trying his best to repress his shivers. America brushes Russia's hair off his forehead and smiles at him.

"How are you feeling?" America asks, affection in his tone.

"Better," Russia mutters, tucking his face into America's chest.

America playfully pokes the side of his face and Russia scrunches his nose. America giggles.

"Come on. You got to get dressed now that you're feeling better."

"Nooo... it's too cold," Russia whines, his voice muffled.

"Nope. If we are gonna be around my kids, you are wearing a shirt in front of them."

Russia groans but gives in, reluctantly pulling away and sitting up in his own seat. America picks up his clothes that had been shoved to the floor in front of the heaters and shakes off the crumbs it had accumulated on them.

"Seems dry enough," America comments, handing to Russia. Arizona purposefully looks out to the white blanket outside.

Russia pulls his sweater back over his head. It still has some cold spots but doesn't feel wet anymore. As soon as he has it situated, America hands him his pants.

Russia smirks at America.

"What?" America says, a strange look on his face.

Russia's smirk just widens a little and slowly takes his clothes, staring America in the eyes.

America's face suddenly goes bright red and he averts his eyes. Russia's concentration breaks and he can't help but laugh hysterically, covering his mouth in a vain attempt to quiet himself.

"Hurry up and put them on," America says, averting his eyes and puffing his cheeks out.

Russia struggles for a second because of the laughter shaking his frame. He manages to pull them on and giggles. Russia's head falls against America's, trying to muffle his laughter behind his hands. He pulls the blankets back around his shoulders, wrapping himself up and buckling into the seat. He leans against America, and throws the blanket's ends over America, tucking them around America's back.