Handcuffs (RusAme)

Chapter 11

"Because. Я люблю вас. And it is not normal, since we are supposed to be enemies. So.. So I always do my best to try and tick you off. And it is stupid, I know, but it is life. Every time I said I hated you, I vanted to say I love you. It was all lies. And then came the handcuffs, and... well... we kissed.. And you told me that-"

As Russia had been speaking, America had shuffled to be in front of Russia, to better face him.

However, America chose to be an ass and not let Russia finish speaking, or rather ranting. America had jumped onto Russia, and kissed him. Admittedly, not the best kiss America had ever had, but oh well.

With a silent Russia, who was trying to comprehend what had just happened, America hugged the tall Slav.

"Thanks..." America muttered.

Then, America, having returned to his usual bubbly attitude, got to his skate board.

"Russia! Race ya to yer house!"

Russia blinked several times, and then shouted;

"Что за херня!"

(Google translaete//Russian: What the fuck!)

America cackled.

Yep. That is the normal, annoying as shit, America.

Russia did not respond, and chosing to not participate, he walked casually to his bike.

.

.

Russia was first to get back to his home, America arriving only a minute later. Russia smirked.

"I win."

And with that being said, the Russian walked back inside the house, the American following quickly behind with a bit of grumbling.

Once inside, however, America collapsed on the nearest couch, and went straight to sleep. Russia slyly began dropping hints that he wanted everybody who did not live in the house to leave.

It took about ten minutes, but the household had been emptied out.

Now, the only life forms, other than the two or three cats that lived independently in Russia's home, was Russia, America, who was sleeping.

Russia retrieved the handcuffs, and picked America up, bring him upstairs to the guest room. Russia dumped the capitalist onto the rough bed, and after a few moments hesitation, pecked the american forehead.

Russia left the room, small blush on his face, and shut the door. He then took some time to check his messages on his phone as he sat outside the door of the room.

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From: Finland

To: Russia

CC: (nobody)

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Greetings, asshat.

You are with the american bastard now? Romantically involved? According to Mexico, you are.

Dont murder the Mexican. (You would fail, anyways)

He did not send me this.

.- downloading image -.

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