Prove Me Wrong (Rusame)

Build Up

Narrator's POV

America woke up with a hangover.

He groaned, not bothering to open his eyes. At that moment, all he wanted was to fall back asleep, to be ridden of the pounding in his head. He would even great death welcomingly in his pain and sleep-deprived state.

After a few minutes, he Ipened his eyes and let out a yawn, peeved that he couldn’t fall asleep. His vision returned to him and he squinted, noting that everything seemed brighter. The light seeping through curtains and the lamp seemed to pulsate in rhythm to the dull pounding in his head.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” He groaned and turned his head back into what he thought was a pillow. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t. When he did, he could care less. Then he opened his eyes once more and noticed a familiar brown sweater and red skin. It dawned on him that he was laying on top of Russia.

The instinct to jump off of him and have yet another of a series of gay panics was overruled by his headache and sickly stomach. He didn’t want to risk getting up and throwing up all over the floor, and possibly even Russia. Besides, he was comfortable and was laying on top of Russia. Why would he want to move?

America peaked open his eye, looking up at Russia’s sleeping face. His mouth was shut, in a relaxed but downward from. The usual cold or stern expression that was on his face was gone, leaving him in a peaceful state. He looked really attractive, causing a warm feeling to make itself known in his heart and stomach. What was odd, though, was how brighter the colors were still. And how a weight was seemingly losses from his face.

His hand cupped over his eye, expecting the usual feeling of sunglasses there. But there was nothing.

Shooting upright, America’s head spun on a swivel as he tried to spot those valuable barriers to his secret. He saw them on the cushion next to him and reached to grab them. He felt Russia stir underneath him and he felt something rub against his butt. His brows furrowed together, and he looked over his shoulder to see that Russia had his hands cupped around his ass.

“Well, that’s interesting,” was the first thing that America thought to say. He’ll think about that in a moment, what he needed was his glasses. He hurried to grab his glasses before Russia woke up. Then he’ll ask Russia why was he grabbing his ass, and make a comment about it not being a straight thing to do.

When he had his glasses in his hands, he practically smacked them over his face. A little relaxed, he exhaled lightly and turned his head back to Russia. His eyes were shut and his breathing was steady. He knew enough to know when Russia was fake sleeping and when he was really sleeping. Russia was in fact asleep.

Then he noticed his neck. The obvious marks of hickeys.

Memories of the previous night came flooding back to him. All up until he guessed he fell asleep.

America sharply inhaled through clenched teeth. “Ohhhh, I’m going to die.”

He spoke too loudly. Russia moved his head and groaned slightly, sifting a little more under his body. Panicking, America lowered his head as quickly and softly as he could. Then he steadied his breathing and tried to pretend he was asleep.

Russia began to stretch out, curling his hands into a tight fist. The touch made America tense up but he decided to keep pretending to sleep. Just until he could stop his headache since he didn’t want to deal with a pissed of Russian right at the moment.

Although, he felt kind of proud of himself for drunkenly making those marks on him. Kind of like revenge. In a weird way. Which made him feel slightly guilty, but he still couldn’t help the pleased blush that formed on his cheeks.