Icy (1/?)
anonymous
September 19 2010, 15:59:20 UTC
Prussia was always an opportunist, always taking every chance he got and never waiting for another, better one to come up. At his best, he was reckless, and it was hard to control his actions because practically nothing could faze him.
Or so he kept telling himself. It was December 1974, thirteen years into the rise of the Iron Curtain. In 1961, Gilbert had thought that the worst thing he could suffer was Communist food. Three short years later, In 1964, it was the pipe; and by 1968, it was hulking Russian himself, the man who made Gilbert into more and more of an opportunist with every day.
It was with an protesting body and a broken wrist that Gilbert fled towards the wall, hoping to escape the crushing fingers of the Soviets like so many of his children had. The Prussian hardly cared where he went, so long as it was away from the Russian. If he was lucky, he would meet West; once on the other side, the Soviet Union's jurisdiction was about as powerful as a toddler waving a large stick, and Russia wouldn't dare challenge three Western allies just to get back Prussia - he'd still have the land, after all, so why bother?
Gilbert was almost to the Wall, one three-quarter-mile section that lay one and a half-hours' travel by train and then foot from Russia's East Berlin house (which Gilbert suspected had been built simply to flaunt the closeness of the Wall), unguarded because it lay on government land which was already near impossible to cross onto.
But Gilbert, who had only just learned of an unguarded section, was already on that government land, and it wasn't like he had anything to lose. The Western Allies would never allow Russia to exact his revenge on West; Prussia didn't care enough about the other Soviets to worry about them.
He was almost to the wall now, his broken wrist protesting at his quick sprint, but that didn't matter; he reached up and coaxed Fritz out of his hair, slowing to a jog as he spoke, "Go find West and tell him to get his ass over here!" The bird flew off quickly, right out of sight. Gilbert sped up again.
Panting, he stumbled to a stop before the wall, sticking out a hand to steady himself as he wheezed. Fritz, who had been waiting at the top of the wall, chirped happily.
"Bruder?"
Gilbert stopped breathing for a second.
"W-West?" he choked out.
"Gilbert!" Ludwig shouted, slamming his fists against the wall.
"You came, you came!" said the Prussian, grinning happily. "Help me get over the damn thing. It's so unawesome, you wouldn't even believe -"
Ludwig on the other side blinked as his brother cut off abruptly. "East? East, what's -"
The replying voice wasn't rough like Prussia's, but smooth and velvety and cold. "I'm sorry for this inconvenience. I'll just take him back home."
And Ludwig could practically hear his brother trembling.
Icy (2/?)
anonymous
September 19 2010, 16:47:11 UTC
The snow around the brothers was cold, but the coldness Gilbert felt was different. This cold was inside him, and he turned with a shaking grin to face the Russian.
"O-oh, hey! Fancy seeing you here, eh?"
The thump of Gilbert's head smashing against the concrete wall was loud, the force hard enough to crack a small bit and dislodge a few bricks. Blood dripped down the Prussian's face, falling into the snow and blooming like some sort of macabre flower.
"Russia!" Ludwig yelled, banging his fists against the Berlin Wall. "What the hell are you doing?!"
The Russian didn't reply, merely hit the albino again; the metallic clang and Gilbert's agonized yelp rang out, and Germany shouted in rage.
"I'm simply punishing my pet," came Russia's answer several seconds later.
"I'm not your fucking pet!" Gilbert bit out, coughing up blood and turning a defiant glare on the Russian.
Braginski looked cruel, tall and imposing and all angles. He was smiling, but it was more of a haughty smirk, and his eyes glittered maliciously.
"Now, what did I tell you about defying me?" asked the man calmly, hitting Gilbert and looking for all the world like he was having a discussion about the weather. I told you it would be cold, but you insisted on wearing shorts...
Braginski leaned in close to Gilbert's bruised face. "Do we need a repeat of last time?"
The Prussian blanched more than his regular paper-white skin tone, and his eyes widened in fear.
"O-oh God, n-no, n-not that!" he choked out. "N-not h-here!"
"Gilbert? Gilbert, what the hell is he talking about?!" demanded Ludwig.
A slow grin crept across Russia's face, and he grabbed Gilbert by the throat, picking him up and pushing him face-first against the wall.
"R-Russia!" he pleaded, struggling frantically. "Stop!" But the Russian was already yanking down his pants, cold air wrapping its fingers around Gilbert's thighs and making him shudder violently. "I-I'll go back! Just stop!"
Braginski smiled cruelly. "But you need to learn," he said, taking care to make his belt very loud as he undid it.
Ludwig froze in horror. "STOP! YOU BASTARD, STOP!"
"But when pets act out of line, they must be punished, da?"
And he thrust slowly into the albino, tearing through muscle and skin and drawing a scream from the smaller man. Gilbert scraped his fingers against the concrete as inch after agonizing inch slipped in deeper, breaking him in two; the steady dripping of blood onto the snow was nearly drowned out by Prussia's shouts.
"TAKE IT OUT!" he shrieked, squirming and flailing as he tried to get away from the man. Ludwig stood, frozen and facing the Wall and unable to even move to help his brother.
A few more moments passed and Russia was buried to the hilt, sighing at the tight, velvety space enclosing his erection.
Then he began to move, and Gilbert's screams started anew.
Re: Icy (2/?)
anonymous
September 21 2010, 03:51:22 UTC
Authornon, you just broke my heart with this. Poor Gilbert and Ludwig! D: D: D:
On another note, am I the only one who's feeling really, really guilty for enjoying this so much? :P Then again, I always love abusing the my favourite characters...
I seriously heart the OP who made this request and the authornon who wrote this. This fill is so bookmarked.
Icy (3/3)
anonymous
September 22 2010, 14:16:08 UTC
The Prussian sobbed dryly as Braginski built the pace, in and out and in and out and in and out. The little blood that didn't fall was lubricating him, but it hardly helped; he could still feel every searing inch, every torn tissue. Every time Russia did this to him, it was a little less painful than the last, but that didn't mean it stopped hurting.
Oh, no. Russia was sure of that, thrusting haphazardly and purposefully avoiding Gilbert's sweet spot, gripping his hips so tightly that purple bruises, shaped perfectly for his large hands, throbbed their way into existence.
After a while, Gilbert stopped screaming. As he couldn't see Russia's scowl, Ludwig thought that maybe it was done, and then -
His brother moaned, loudly and definitely not in pain. The sound made Ludwig's heart shatter - how could he have never assumed what that sick fuck was doing to his older brother? It was all his fault.
Russia smirked. "Whore," he breathed into Gilbert's ear as he slammed into his prostate again. "Filthy little slut, you like moaning for your brother, don't you?"
"N-no!" he gasped out, arching back as Braginski wrapped a hand around his erection and started to pump.
"You do. Enjoying rape? Kinky, Gilbert..."
And the albino shuddered. Prussia would have fought back. Hell, even the GDR, with Ulbricht at their mantle, would have resisted. But Gilbert was so tired...
He sobbed anyway.
Russia's breathing sped up, and he pulled Gilbert's hips up as he increased his pace. Gilbert arched, wincing at how slutty the motion was; the constant barrage against his prostate drove him over, and he came with a scream. His come spattered into the snow, next to blood and tears; he shuddered at the sight before a more sinister thought took hold in his mind.
West had heard him.
West had heard him screaming like a slut for his rapist.
Oh, Gott.
The utterly broken look on the Prussian's face made Russia grin coldly as he came inside him a few moments later, the spasming muscle around him too much. He pulled out with a thick stream of white dripping out of Gilbert's entrance; without Braginski's support, the albino fell to the ground.
Russia knew all too well what was happening. He'd broken bones, faith, and honor, but never Gilbert's pride: no matter what he did to him, he would look back up with a pained smirk and say, "Better luck next time!"
Ah, well. He leaned down and bundled the trembling man into his arms, wondering if Gilbert thought he was Ludwig as he gripped at the overcoat.
Who knew all it took was fucking him in front of his brother?
-x-x-x-
Ludwig remained at the wall for what felt like hours afterward, rage rising with every passing moment, though his face remained perfectly blank.
"I'll get you out of there, Gilbert."
god that ending sucked. -le facepalm- and do I go post this in the fill thing again now that it's done? is a fail :'D
Re: Icy (3/3)
anonymous
September 23 2010, 12:36:33 UTC
Random anon here! And you're right - post it in the fill thing again to let readers know that you've updated (I stumbled in completely by chance btw ^^;;)
Anywayyyss. THIS. This fill makes me hurt for Gilbert. This line in particular really struck a chord with me:
"Prussia would have fought back. Hell, even the GDR, with Ulbricht at their mantle, would have resisted. But Gilbert was so tired..."
OUCH. And to imagine that the hell is not over yet...Gilbert still has roughly 20 more years to go through...Thanks for posting this fill authornon!
Re: Icy (3/3)
anonymous
September 27 2010, 05:17:22 UTC
drunk!commenter is back - and no longer drunk - although that might have helped her get through this. ;_;
Really, this whole thing was creepy and sad, but it was this line that really got to me: He leaned down and bundled the trembling man into his arms, wondering if Gilbert thought he was Ludwig as he gripped at the overcoat.
Or so he kept telling himself. It was December 1974, thirteen years into the rise of the Iron Curtain. In 1961, Gilbert had thought that the worst thing he could suffer was Communist food. Three short years later, In 1964, it was the pipe; and by 1968, it was hulking Russian himself, the man who made Gilbert into more and more of an opportunist with every day.
It was with an protesting body and a broken wrist that Gilbert fled towards the wall, hoping to escape the crushing fingers of the Soviets like so many of his children had. The Prussian hardly cared where he went, so long as it was away from the Russian. If he was lucky, he would meet West; once on the other side, the Soviet Union's jurisdiction was about as powerful as a toddler waving a large stick, and Russia wouldn't dare challenge three Western allies just to get back Prussia - he'd still have the land, after all, so why bother?
Gilbert was almost to the Wall, one three-quarter-mile section that lay one and a half-hours' travel by train and then foot from Russia's East Berlin house (which Gilbert suspected had been built simply to flaunt the closeness of the Wall), unguarded because it lay on government land which was already near impossible to cross onto.
But Gilbert, who had only just learned of an unguarded section, was already on that government land, and it wasn't like he had anything to lose. The Western Allies would never allow Russia to exact his revenge on West; Prussia didn't care enough about the other Soviets to worry about them.
He was almost to the wall now, his broken wrist protesting at his quick sprint, but that didn't matter; he reached up and coaxed Fritz out of his hair, slowing to a jog as he spoke, "Go find West and tell him to get his ass over here!" The bird flew off quickly, right out of sight. Gilbert sped up again.
Panting, he stumbled to a stop before the wall, sticking out a hand to steady himself as he wheezed. Fritz, who had been waiting at the top of the wall, chirped happily.
"Bruder?"
Gilbert stopped breathing for a second.
"W-West?" he choked out.
"Gilbert!" Ludwig shouted, slamming his fists against the wall.
"You came, you came!" said the Prussian, grinning happily. "Help me get over the damn thing. It's so unawesome, you wouldn't even believe -"
Ludwig on the other side blinked as his brother cut off abruptly. "East? East, what's -"
The replying voice wasn't rough like Prussia's, but smooth and velvety and cold. "I'm sorry for this inconvenience. I'll just take him back home."
And Ludwig could practically hear his brother trembling.
Reply
"O-oh, hey! Fancy seeing you here, eh?"
The thump of Gilbert's head smashing against the concrete wall was loud, the force hard enough to crack a small bit and dislodge a few bricks. Blood dripped down the Prussian's face, falling into the snow and blooming like some sort of macabre flower.
"Russia!" Ludwig yelled, banging his fists against the Berlin Wall. "What the hell are you doing?!"
The Russian didn't reply, merely hit the albino again; the metallic clang and Gilbert's agonized yelp rang out, and Germany shouted in rage.
"I'm simply punishing my pet," came Russia's answer several seconds later.
"I'm not your fucking pet!" Gilbert bit out, coughing up blood and turning a defiant glare on the Russian.
Braginski looked cruel, tall and imposing and all angles. He was smiling, but it was more of a haughty smirk, and his eyes glittered maliciously.
"Now, what did I tell you about defying me?" asked the man calmly, hitting Gilbert and looking for all the world like he was having a discussion about the weather. I told you it would be cold, but you insisted on wearing shorts...
Braginski leaned in close to Gilbert's bruised face. "Do we need a repeat of last time?"
The Prussian blanched more than his regular paper-white skin tone, and his eyes widened in fear.
"O-oh God, n-no, n-not that!" he choked out. "N-not h-here!"
"Gilbert? Gilbert, what the hell is he talking about?!" demanded Ludwig.
A slow grin crept across Russia's face, and he grabbed Gilbert by the throat, picking him up and pushing him face-first against the wall.
"R-Russia!" he pleaded, struggling frantically. "Stop!" But the Russian was already yanking down his pants, cold air wrapping its fingers around Gilbert's thighs and making him shudder violently. "I-I'll go back! Just stop!"
Braginski smiled cruelly. "But you need to learn," he said, taking care to make his belt very loud as he undid it.
Ludwig froze in horror. "STOP! YOU BASTARD, STOP!"
"But when pets act out of line, they must be punished, da?"
And he thrust slowly into the albino, tearing through muscle and skin and drawing a scream from the smaller man. Gilbert scraped his fingers against the concrete as inch after agonizing inch slipped in deeper, breaking him in two; the steady dripping of blood onto the snow was nearly drowned out by Prussia's shouts.
"TAKE IT OUT!" he shrieked, squirming and flailing as he tried to get away from the man. Ludwig stood, frozen and facing the Wall and unable to even move to help his brother.
A few more moments passed and Russia was buried to the hilt, sighing at the tight, velvety space enclosing his erection.
Then he began to move, and Gilbert's screams started anew.
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man, poor Ludwig :/ and, you know, poor Gilbert, because he's busy getting raped right now, but it would suck to have to listen to that.
alcohol does not dull my creepy feeling after reading this. *shivers* I want to hug Gilbert.
Reply
On another note, am I the only one who's feeling really, really guilty for enjoying this so much? :P Then again, I always love abusing the my favourite characters...
I seriously heart the OP who made this request and the authornon who wrote this. This fill is so bookmarked.
Reply
Oh, no. Russia was sure of that, thrusting haphazardly and purposefully avoiding Gilbert's sweet spot, gripping his hips so tightly that purple bruises, shaped perfectly for his large hands, throbbed their way into existence.
After a while, Gilbert stopped screaming. As he couldn't see Russia's scowl, Ludwig thought that maybe it was done, and then -
His brother moaned, loudly and definitely not in pain. The sound made Ludwig's heart shatter - how could he have never assumed what that sick fuck was doing to his older brother? It was all his fault.
Russia smirked. "Whore," he breathed into Gilbert's ear as he slammed into his prostate again. "Filthy little slut, you like moaning for your brother, don't you?"
"N-no!" he gasped out, arching back as Braginski wrapped a hand around his erection and started to pump.
"You do. Enjoying rape? Kinky, Gilbert..."
And the albino shuddered. Prussia would have fought back. Hell, even the GDR, with Ulbricht at their mantle, would have resisted. But Gilbert was so tired...
He sobbed anyway.
Russia's breathing sped up, and he pulled Gilbert's hips up as he increased his pace. Gilbert arched, wincing at how slutty the motion was; the constant barrage against his prostate drove him over, and he came with a scream. His come spattered into the snow, next to blood and tears; he shuddered at the sight before a more sinister thought took hold in his mind.
West had heard him.
West had heard him screaming like a slut for his rapist.
Oh, Gott.
The utterly broken look on the Prussian's face made Russia grin coldly as he came inside him a few moments later, the spasming muscle around him too much. He pulled out with a thick stream of white dripping out of Gilbert's entrance; without Braginski's support, the albino fell to the ground.
Russia knew all too well what was happening. He'd broken bones, faith, and honor, but never Gilbert's pride: no matter what he did to him, he would look back up with a pained smirk and say, "Better luck next time!"
Ah, well. He leaned down and bundled the trembling man into his arms, wondering if Gilbert thought he was Ludwig as he gripped at the overcoat.
Who knew all it took was fucking him in front of his brother?
-x-x-x-
Ludwig remained at the wall for what felt like hours afterward, rage rising with every passing moment, though his face remained perfectly blank.
"I'll get you out of there, Gilbert."
god that ending sucked. -le facepalm-
and do I go post this in the fill thing again now that it's done? is a fail :'D
Reply
Anywayyyss. THIS. This fill makes me hurt for Gilbert. This line in particular really struck a chord with me:
"Prussia would have fought back. Hell, even the GDR, with Ulbricht at their mantle, would have resisted. But Gilbert was so tired..."
OUCH. And to imagine that the hell is not over yet...Gilbert still has roughly 20 more years to go through...Thanks for posting this fill authornon!
Reply
Btw authornon, I posted an update for you at the Fills 2 page - http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/18224.html?view=54542384#t54542384
Whenever you start/update/complete a fill, just make a post like what I've done that the Fills 2 page. ^^
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Oh! Thank you for that! :)
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Really, this whole thing was creepy and sad, but it was this line that really got to me: He leaned down and bundled the trembling man into his arms, wondering if Gilbert thought he was Ludwig as he gripped at the overcoat.
asdfghjkl;'Gilbert. :'[
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I feel sooooo bad for grinning like a demented idiot while reading all this. MIEN GOTT THAT WAS GOOD!
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