RUSAME - one shots

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦

"Kay. Okay." America's hands didn't shake when he got nervous; they jittered like bad game graphics. He stood in front of the mirror, bouncing up and down as he surveyed his outfit. Russia didn't think he realized he was doing it.

"You will do great, luchik," he offered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Company will not know what hit them. You will be promoted in no time." He paused. "Right? Is that what the capitalists say?"

"The fit, Russki! How's the fit?" He spun on one heel, turning anxious eyes up at his boyfriend. Russia bit down on his thumbnail as his gaze dragged up America's form— slacks and jacket in a daring shade of cadet blue that cinched at his tapered waist, cross-tie in deep brown around his delicate throat, and boots shined so severely they could have been made of metal. He looked... like a morally corrupt oil tycoon. A nauseatingly attractive morally corrupt oil tycoon. Russia cleared his throat and swallowed the humiliating words that had pressed up to his mouth like vomit.

"The fit is alright." This room was too warm. "You will be late."

"Alright, I'm going!" America's teeth sank into his lower lip as he dashed for the table, where all the things he needed were scattered in a hellish jumble like a still life reference pieced together by a particularly sadistic art teacher. "Um um um... phone, car keys... maybe they'll think I'm cool if I'm a little late. Maybe they'll be like woah! He's so awesome and has so much going on that this important interview doesn't even matter that much to him! He's so cool!"

"Mm," Rus replied, watching the veins in Ame's thin wrists flex as he threw things into his suit pockets.

"OKAY. Bye Russki! Wish me luck or don't!" He almost flew to the door, flung it open so hard it left yet another dent in the wall, and paused mid-dash when Rus called out "Wait!"

"What? What is it?!"

"You forgot something," he said, striding towards America, and halted in his tracks when Ame jumped up to his tiptoes like Michael Jackson and kissed him.

It was hot. It was hot, and it was breathless, and it was over before he could register it had begun, leaving Russia utterly red in the face, his thoughts short-circuiting into incoherency. America grinned with all his straight, white teeth.

"Ehm," Rus blurted, and held out America's black leather wallet in his open palm.

"Ohhhhh." America snapped his fingers and took it, puffing his cheeks out. "That would make more sense. Yeah."

Air returned to Russia's lungs in a flat whoosh. "I love you," he said, only a little strangled. "Go, go on." For a second he would have sworn there were actual stars swimming in America's enormous upturned eyes.

"Iloveyoutoo," Ame breathed, and barreled into the car at the speed of light or near it. "They have to hire me!" he yelled out the open window, over the roar of the car's engine. "They have to! Diversity in the workforce!! I'm GAY!!!" He backed out of the driveway into the road and then floored the gas in glorious billows of capitalist exhaust.

Watching, holding his breath, from the garage, Russia bit hard on his tongue, turned unsteadily. Fisted his hands in his hair. He resolved to go inside and take a shower cold enough to kill him.

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a/n: im convinced my readers are the funniest people on wattpad if not the planet

i have a very cute adorable project planned that u guys will Lov i promise i think ill tell u about it sometime this week