Hetalia oneshots

Baby, It's Cold Outside -RusAme

Summary: Trying to escape the cold, America ends up at Russia’s house, but his careless actions turn the incident much less innocent.

A/N: This was a Secret Santa gift I wrote for syntha7 on tumblr. I tried to use as many of the prompts as I could work in and still have it make sense, although I couldn’t quite bring myself to make it M-rated… OTL

”Geez, I’m freezing my jingle bells off out here,” Alfred complained, trudging through the thick snow.  Arthur had been lecturing his ear off, and he had finally decided to take a walk just to get away from the big-browed Brit.  Unfortunately, he’d been about as prepared as Napolean for the Russian winter.

His eyes lit up as he spotted a vaguely familiar sight.  He’d only been there a few times and rarely on good terms, but he knew Russia’s house when he saw it.  Yearning for warmth more than stressing over the occupant of the house, America stepped up his pace and reached the front door a few minutes later.

At first his knock went unanswered, and he was starting to think Russia might actually let him freeze to death.  Then the door suddenly creaked open, revealing a fake, childish smile.

"Privet, America," Russia greeted in his falsely cheerful voice, blocking the opening with his broad body.

"Hey dude, let me in," America begged, his need for warmth overriding his usual tendency to shun the Russian.

"Why?" Russia asked, sounding honestly surprised.

"It’s freezing out here!" America whined, shifting from foot to foot in an attempt to generate some warmth.

Russia visibly relented and stepped aside, letting America enter the house.  The warmth hit the North American Nation like a wave, washing over him and brushing off the chill.

"Thanks, man," America said with more sincerity than he’d used with the Russian in a long time.  The deep violet eyes widened slightly in surprise.

The house was huge, with tall ceilings and too much space for one person, even if he was a Nation.  It was warm though, and Alfred could see the warm glow of a fire through a doorway off the main hall.  He kicked his boots off and led the way in, Ivan following him in a sort of stupor of surprise.

America was a bit surprised to find the room empty.  He’d expected that Russia might have his siblings or the Baltics staying with him while he hosted the current World Conference, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

America shrugged it off and settling himself as close to the fire as he thought safe, shrugging off his jacket and arranging it around himself like a nest.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Ivan asked.  It sounded as if he was torn between acting like a good host or making some snide comment about his rival making himself at home.  Not that America would have noticed, of course.

"Yeah, hot chocolate sounds great!" America replied, his blue eyes glistening with the thought of the rich liquid.  Russia smirked, casting a glance at America’s stomach.  He had to admit he was a bit amazed at the fact the other Nation was still in such good shape, given his diet.

Nevertheless, he left the room to get what his uninvited guest had requested.  Despite their past, the social requirements of being a host were deeply ingrained in Russia’s past.  Also, he had to admit, though only to himself, he didn’t hate America as much as everyone seemed to think.

When he returned to the warm room, where Alfred sat holding his hands up to the roaring fire, he found the blond humming to himself.  The song sounded familiar, but Russia didn’t know it.  He figured it must be more common in the other’s country.

"What is that song you are humming?" he asked, causing America to break off as he looked back over his shoulder at the Russian.

"Baby, It’s Cold Outside," America replied, "hey, thanks!"

He took his drink from Russia, who seemed slightly frozen.  America settled back down, making small, appreciative noises at the taste of the drink.

The Russian, on the other hand, was beginning to feel a bit hot under the collar.  He tried to tell himself that America had no ulterior motive for humming that particular song, but his hope betrayed him.  After all, why else would America have shown up on his doorstep?

He set his own drink aside and settled himself down beside the blond, who looked up in surprise.

"Russia?" Alfred began, "What are you—mmf!"

He was interrupted by a kiss, shy but determined.  Russia had pushed aside his doubts and hesitation, deciding to act on his own feelings.  If the American returned them, he could relax.

America didn’t seem to be in a particularly cooperative mood, however.  He quickly pushed the Russian away with both hands on his chest.  There was a moment of silence following the action, in which wide blue eyes stared into violet in shock.

Ivan looked away first, trying to act as if the other’s actions hadn’t hurt him.  He got to his feet, thinking he might find a quieter place in his house to sulk.

"Wait—Russia!" America exclaimed from behind him, accompanied by the sounds of him scrambling to his feet.  Russia didn’t turn, but he hesitated.  It was enough; the American was able to catch him, grabbing the fabric of Russia’s shirt in one hand.

"I’m sorry! I—what was that?"  America asked, his eyes still wide.

"It was nothing," Russia assured him, but he wasn’t able to conjure his usual fake smile.  The expression he did manage to come up with, whatever it was, wasn’t even enough to fool America.

"Liar," the blond stated, his voice dropping to a murmur as he pressed further into Ivan’s personal space.  The Russian found himself having to resist the urge to grab America and kiss him senseless.  He shook the thought away, chalking it up to the adrenaline rush that kissing America the first time had given him.

"What brought it on?" Alfred asked.  Ivan kept his mouth shut, but it was clear that the American wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon.  He was also nearly pressed against Ivan now, so of course the Russian couldn’t be expected to think clearly.

"Your song," he murmured finally, looking away from those clear blue eyes.

"My song?" Alfred asked, confused, "You mean ‘Baby, It’s C—"  His eyes widened in sudden realization.

There was a moment of silence, then the man giggled.  Russia could feel an embarrassed, frustrated blush rising to his cheeks.  There would be no way to live this down; he was sure America would hold it over his head for years—maybe several decades even.

He was caught off guard by Alfred’s lips pressing against his own.  The American’s hands came up to tangle in his pale hair, preventing escape should Ivan have wanted it.  He didn’t, instead opting to pull America closer by the waist, returning the kiss hungrily.

Minutes passed before they pulled away from each other, panting heavily.

"Shall we move to the bedroom?" Alfred asked, smirking.

Ivan rolled his eyes at the American’s forward attitude even as a guess, but he pulled the blond down the hall all the same.