Toleration [SovAme]

the One where America cross dresses

The next airplane ride was even more uncomfortable for Soviet. He'd grown several more feathers which brushed uncomfortably against the edges of his space. He was less bored after finally figuring out how to work his phone offline. He ended up playing a music game, driving America nuts the whole plane ride.

America couldn't do a thing either, although, he did meow into his mic a few times which was strange. He had giggled afterwards too. Clearly he had thought it was hilarious.

The flight felt longer than it was but Soviet was tired when America finally landed them 3 hours from the place they started. He pulled out his bag which America handed to him before they started the walk to their hotel room. It wasn't too far from the airport, but the 20 minute walk still hurt before they finally crashed in their room.

Soviet got the bed again much to America's disappointment and they both showered, getting nice and clean. Soviet felt nice and fresh as he lay on his bed, his phone was charging, he was tired, and the room was dark. America was sleeping, Soviet wished he was.

Now that he was laying down on the bed, he couldn't sleep. His thumb lightly tracing the bumps on his dagger. Slowly he heard little small noises from America, then there was the thump of America falling off of the couch and onto the floor.

Soviet felt a twinge in his heart. It was strange. He'd only felt this with America recently, and when he thought of his father. He couldn't, he couldn't be starting to enjoy America's presence was he?

No absolutely not. Totally not. 100% not. But, Soviet dragged himself out of bed, carefully picked America off of the floor, stuck him on the bed, pulling the covers over him, before getting in himself. He sighed as America kept tossing and turning before hugging him to keep him still. America's small noises of distress slowly tapered off leaving him to finally be able to fall asleep. His knife in his hands still, against America's chest, rather than his own.

The next morning Soviet woke up very comfy, gently rubbing the hilt of his dagger, and pushing his face into a nice warm pillow. He hummed softly. He hadn't felt this relaxed while sleeping in years.

There was a quiet noise from his pillow and he slowly opened his eyes before letting go of America who tumbled to the ground immediately. "Why are you in my bed?" The tiredness was slowly going away and he remembered right after those words left his mouth, but he wasn't going to correct himself.

"Why were you hugging me?" Soviet could assume America was just as annoyed as him, which somehow hurt.

"Why were you in my bed to be hugged?"

"I assume you brought me into your bed because I rarely move when I'm asleep." America got up and was staring at Soviet with his arms on his hips.

"Why in the world would I help you asshole?"

"You like me, you want to be on better terms with me, you want to practice for when you fuck me, there's tons of options."

"I," Soviet took a moment searching for the perfect word. Hate didn't feel like it would cut it. "I despise you."

America narrowed his eyes at Soviet. "Suuuuure. I guess we'll find out after tonight. I got Intel that our politician goes to a specific club every night. I'm picking up the IDs that will let us get in at precisely 9:02 this morning. Afterwards we have to wait until like 8 or 9 tonight which will only feel like, 3 pm for us due to jet lag. I'll explain more later. I need to get going." Soviet stared at America, barely registering the words he said to him.

So Soviet sat in the hotel room. Alone. He stretched. That was the very first thing he did, America would tease him for the moves he made to stretch especially stretching his lower body like his hips and his hamstrings. The stretching felt good and he let out sighs as his body stretched out more. This morning wasn't too bad, even though he'd woken up with America in his arms, overall the morning was good.