(no subject)
Title:South Pacific
Characters/Pairings: Russia/America
Rating: PG13, for swear words and naked men
Genre: Romance + wartime
Notes: Inspired by gutennachte's art. Specifically, 002.
Summary: All Alfred wants is a goddamn bed. All Ivan wants is to make sure Alfred's in one piece.
It's been a hell of a day.
Really, it's just supposed to be a simple reconn mission. A quick in and out and then back to base for some beer with the boys and maybe a round of baseball, or a dip in the small lake by the base to wick away the low muggy heat. And there is the prospect that in less than six hours a plane from the Soviet Union will be landing on the makeshift Army base Alfred is stationed at, carrying one Ivan Braginski. Out among the clouds, with verdant islands below and the South Pacific sea stretched around him, Alfred feels lighter than air, serious and yet not focused, grinning despite himself as he scans the environment.
Then he flies into a nest of Zeros and things go downhill from there.
The resulting dogfight is intense, and it's only by playing a long and tiring game of hide and seek that allows him to get away.
Alfred manages to get back to base, barely, with his baby holding herself together with two supports and a prayer. The helmet comes off when one of the controllers waves to him to shut off his engine (though in another minute it would've shut itself off - a bullet to the gas tank and he's leaking precious fuel).The cockpit is a complete mess and the windshield gives up the ghost when he touches it and part of it shatters, burying a shard in his arm and slicing across his right eye.
At this point, all he really wants is a goddamn bed.
He manages to clean himself up some; pulls out the shard and ties himself a bandage around his arm, tries to figure out what to do about the cut above his eye, and generally keeps out of the way of any medical personnel during his search for a place to sleep. He's not in the mood to be fussed over, even by the pretty nurses here. The boys need it more than him.
He gives up on the eye - it's not like it won't heal itself in a few hours anyways.
In the midst of all this he finds a senior enough officer to report where he found the Zeros, and some activity he had seen on one of the islands. Probably an airstrip, most likely makeshift, but it might lead to something later. That's left to the higher-ups, in any case. Alfred gets some bunk about seeing one of the doctors (clearly not senior enough to know who exactly this young pilot is) and after a sharp salute, walks out.
He finally finds a room at the other end of the complex (in the hospital, actually. It's a room set up for quarantine, but it's so new that it hasn't seen any use. Alfred is just happy it has a bed and clean sheets). He strips down to his dog-tags and blacks out before his head even hits the pillow.
He's not quite sure how Ivan found him. It might be one of those Soviet secrets, knowing how to track someone down in a hell hole in the backend of nowhere. All he knows is, when he is finally conscious again there is another body in the bed with him, lying on top of him to be precise, cradling him close like he's something precious. Only Ivan holds him like that, so that rules out anyone else deciding to take a nap on an army cot that can hardly hold one person, let alone two grown men.
Ivan's also naked, which shuffles in as an afterthought.
Except there is nothing erotic at all about this. Alfred smells like sweat, blood, and oil, in desperate need of a bath. Ivan stinks like he's been on a plane for the past 48 hours (he probably came straight here after landing. Ivan avoids reporting to officers, let alone American ones if he can help it). And while he really does love the big guy, he's having a hard time breathing under Ivan's weight.
"Big-boned my ass," Alfred wheezes, trying to shift into a position that allows air into his lungs.
The movement is elicits a squeeze from the elder nation. Alfred winces as it pushes on a bruise (a vague recollection of slamming into the side of cockpit during the a particularly tense part of the dogfight comes to his mind). He shoves a shoulder up.
"Off," he mutters. "Not that I don't appreciate seeing you, but I kind of like breathing."
With a grunt Ivan shifts his weight and Alfred wiggles a little bit to the right in relief. He swipes his forehead with his hand and sprawls forward, not protesting when Ivan covers it with his.
"When did you get in?"
"About an hour ago. You were not there to greet me, so I went looking for you." The mumble is deceptive; Ivan may sound tired, but every muscle in his body is tense. "I heard you ran into some trouble."
Alfred wiggles again in the hope that Ivan will loosen his grip; it only tightens in response. "Is this about the fucking Zeros? Jesus, I made it back okay. Barely a scratch on me, look." He twists his face around to look at the Russian.
"You are bleeding."
"Fuck." The cut above his eye has reopened some time during their conversation. He tries to free his hand so he can rub the blood away but Ivan has suddenly decided to claim his hand in the name of Mother Russia, or something because he's not letting go of it.
"I'm not going to die, asshole." Alfred grinds out, tugging on his hand.
"…"
"'mm serious." He says in exasperation.
"Da," Ivan mutters into his shoulder, and that's a weird sensation that crawls up his shoulder-blade. Alfred tenses instinctively, and that in turn causes the arm around his waist to tighten even more.
"Jesus. Fuck. Ow. Stop squeezing so damn tight!"
"Nyet." Simple. Firm. Immoveable. Alfred's stuck, whether he likes it or not.
He lays his head down, exhaustion creeping in. "You're such a girl," Alfred mutters, without any heat.
He gets a kiss on his neck for his trouble and tries to ignore the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Extra notes: I'm getting the sense that the original artist has a storyline with her drawings, so this is a sort of one off, and I'm thinking of rewriting the scene to fit in with what story she is telling. I'll have to see what she strings together. (and if she even wants me to continue)
Also, Zeroes were effective, long range, and could carry a lot of firepower. These were the planes that attacked Pearl Harbor, and essentially brought the Chinese Airforce to their knees.
And here is a bit on Island Hopping. Interesting and nasty stuff.
Characters/Pairings: Russia/America
Rating: PG13, for swear words and naked men
Genre: Romance + wartime
Notes: Inspired by gutennachte's art. Specifically, 002.
Summary: All Alfred wants is a goddamn bed. All Ivan wants is to make sure Alfred's in one piece.
It's been a hell of a day.
Really, it's just supposed to be a simple reconn mission. A quick in and out and then back to base for some beer with the boys and maybe a round of baseball, or a dip in the small lake by the base to wick away the low muggy heat. And there is the prospect that in less than six hours a plane from the Soviet Union will be landing on the makeshift Army base Alfred is stationed at, carrying one Ivan Braginski. Out among the clouds, with verdant islands below and the South Pacific sea stretched around him, Alfred feels lighter than air, serious and yet not focused, grinning despite himself as he scans the environment.
Then he flies into a nest of Zeros and things go downhill from there.
The resulting dogfight is intense, and it's only by playing a long and tiring game of hide and seek that allows him to get away.
Alfred manages to get back to base, barely, with his baby holding herself together with two supports and a prayer. The helmet comes off when one of the controllers waves to him to shut off his engine (though in another minute it would've shut itself off - a bullet to the gas tank and he's leaking precious fuel).The cockpit is a complete mess and the windshield gives up the ghost when he touches it and part of it shatters, burying a shard in his arm and slicing across his right eye.
At this point, all he really wants is a goddamn bed.
He manages to clean himself up some; pulls out the shard and ties himself a bandage around his arm, tries to figure out what to do about the cut above his eye, and generally keeps out of the way of any medical personnel during his search for a place to sleep. He's not in the mood to be fussed over, even by the pretty nurses here. The boys need it more than him.
He gives up on the eye - it's not like it won't heal itself in a few hours anyways.
In the midst of all this he finds a senior enough officer to report where he found the Zeros, and some activity he had seen on one of the islands. Probably an airstrip, most likely makeshift, but it might lead to something later. That's left to the higher-ups, in any case. Alfred gets some bunk about seeing one of the doctors (clearly not senior enough to know who exactly this young pilot is) and after a sharp salute, walks out.
He finally finds a room at the other end of the complex (in the hospital, actually. It's a room set up for quarantine, but it's so new that it hasn't seen any use. Alfred is just happy it has a bed and clean sheets). He strips down to his dog-tags and blacks out before his head even hits the pillow.
He's not quite sure how Ivan found him. It might be one of those Soviet secrets, knowing how to track someone down in a hell hole in the backend of nowhere. All he knows is, when he is finally conscious again there is another body in the bed with him, lying on top of him to be precise, cradling him close like he's something precious. Only Ivan holds him like that, so that rules out anyone else deciding to take a nap on an army cot that can hardly hold one person, let alone two grown men.
Ivan's also naked, which shuffles in as an afterthought.
Except there is nothing erotic at all about this. Alfred smells like sweat, blood, and oil, in desperate need of a bath. Ivan stinks like he's been on a plane for the past 48 hours (he probably came straight here after landing. Ivan avoids reporting to officers, let alone American ones if he can help it). And while he really does love the big guy, he's having a hard time breathing under Ivan's weight.
"Big-boned my ass," Alfred wheezes, trying to shift into a position that allows air into his lungs.
The movement is elicits a squeeze from the elder nation. Alfred winces as it pushes on a bruise (a vague recollection of slamming into the side of cockpit during the a particularly tense part of the dogfight comes to his mind). He shoves a shoulder up.
"Off," he mutters. "Not that I don't appreciate seeing you, but I kind of like breathing."
With a grunt Ivan shifts his weight and Alfred wiggles a little bit to the right in relief. He swipes his forehead with his hand and sprawls forward, not protesting when Ivan covers it with his.
"When did you get in?"
"About an hour ago. You were not there to greet me, so I went looking for you." The mumble is deceptive; Ivan may sound tired, but every muscle in his body is tense. "I heard you ran into some trouble."
Alfred wiggles again in the hope that Ivan will loosen his grip; it only tightens in response. "Is this about the fucking Zeros? Jesus, I made it back okay. Barely a scratch on me, look." He twists his face around to look at the Russian.
"You are bleeding."
"Fuck." The cut above his eye has reopened some time during their conversation. He tries to free his hand so he can rub the blood away but Ivan has suddenly decided to claim his hand in the name of Mother Russia, or something because he's not letting go of it.
"I'm not going to die, asshole." Alfred grinds out, tugging on his hand.
"…"
"'mm serious." He says in exasperation.
"Da," Ivan mutters into his shoulder, and that's a weird sensation that crawls up his shoulder-blade. Alfred tenses instinctively, and that in turn causes the arm around his waist to tighten even more.
"Jesus. Fuck. Ow. Stop squeezing so damn tight!"
"Nyet." Simple. Firm. Immoveable. Alfred's stuck, whether he likes it or not.
He lays his head down, exhaustion creeping in. "You're such a girl," Alfred mutters, without any heat.
He gets a kiss on his neck for his trouble and tries to ignore the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Extra notes: I'm getting the sense that the original artist has a storyline with her drawings, so this is a sort of one off, and I'm thinking of rewriting the scene to fit in with what story she is telling. I'll have to see what she strings together. (and if she even wants me to continue)
Also, Zeroes were effective, long range, and could carry a lot of firepower. These were the planes that attacked Pearl Harbor, and essentially brought the Chinese Airforce to their knees.
And here is a bit on Island Hopping. Interesting and nasty stuff.