The Companion [5.4/??]
anonymous
May 5 2010, 18:43:02 UTC
Russia's arms snaked around his waist without hesitation, wrapping tightly to keep America still. America assured himself it was all for his balance, and nothing more, inwardly denying that even the slightest blush touched his cheeks. He tried concentrating on other things, like how he was going to kick Russia's ass once he got his wits about him.
"I'm sorry," Russia murmured softly, "but I can't have you leaving me."
"I wasn't trying to, seriously." America's arms loosened, slid from Russia's neck and down his chest. Russia kept his hold on America's waist. America decided to rest his head against Russia's shoulder for a moment. Just a minute more, he thought, and I'll have my bearings.
Russia swung America around in an instant, tossing him on the bed like a rag doll. Before America could react the open door slammed loudly, the noise echoing in the small room and rattling America's body. Russia made his way back to America, dipping momentarily to snatch his pipe back up from the floor.
"Don't throw me around like that!" America barked, more than a little startled. He hadn't expected things to go so poorly.
"Explain to me why you were trying to sneak out the door," Russia snarled back, smacking the pipe repeatedly into the flat of his palm as he neared the bed.
Panicked tears welled in America's eyes as he watched the pipe. The first hit hadn't been so bad, but the darkened expression of malice that played across Russia's face turned his blood to burning ice. He let out a yelp of fear as Russia brought the pipe down on the foot of his bed, scuttling towards the headboard to avoid being hit.
"I just wanted to talk to you," America cried, the pent up tears spilling down his cheeks. Russia looked undeterred. "Please," America begged, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please don't," he sobbed, too far gone to care about the scene he was making.
Russia swung the pipe like a bat straight at America's face, and America squeezed his eyes shut, his heart choking up in his chest, waiting for the impact, an impact that never came. The pipe stopped short of his face, hovering in the air before America's face.
"Open your eyes," Russia prompted.
America chanced a glance and burst in to fresh tears at the sight, overwhelmed beyond words. He should have known not to try to sneak up on Russia, especially when the door to his room was open. He'd gotten too comfortable with him in captivity, entertained the idea that maybe Russia wasn't all bad. But now he was going to pay for his mistakes by getting his skull bashed in after being played with, and he couldn't handle the thought.
The pipe dropped with a dull thud onto the sheets. Russia knelt with one knee on the bed and pried America's hands away from his face as they wiped at the flood of tears. America reared away from his touch, shooting Russia a wild look.
Russia's face was lined with concern, his lips drawn into a pensive, if not concerned, frown. "America. America, did I really frighten you?" he asked timidly, "I was only playing, yes? Only a little game." America continued to bawl away.
Russia sighed sadly and stopped trying to tug on America's hands, instead letting his own rest on America's head, carefully combing through his blond locks. He murmured quiet things in Russian, posed what America thought might be questions, and generally babbled softly, all the while trying to lure America away from his fright.
America's hitching sobs soon petered out, withering into miserable, shaking breaths, shuddering shoulders, and quietly cried tears. He huddled his knees to his chest and hugged them. "That was the worst game ever," he managed between hiccups.
"You will have to forgive me," Russia hastily implored. "And there is something you must understand. At times my emotions are like children, unintentionally petty and cruel, even uncontrollable. But never do I mean to hurt you." He weaseled his way onto the bed and gathered America up in his arms. "Never," he repeated in a hoarse whisper.
"I'm sorry," Russia murmured softly, "but I can't have you leaving me."
"I wasn't trying to, seriously." America's arms loosened, slid from Russia's neck and down his chest. Russia kept his hold on America's waist. America decided to rest his head against Russia's shoulder for a moment. Just a minute more, he thought, and I'll have my bearings.
Russia swung America around in an instant, tossing him on the bed like a rag doll. Before America could react the open door slammed loudly, the noise echoing in the small room and rattling America's body. Russia made his way back to America, dipping momentarily to snatch his pipe back up from the floor.
"Don't throw me around like that!" America barked, more than a little startled. He hadn't expected things to go so poorly.
"Explain to me why you were trying to sneak out the door," Russia snarled back, smacking the pipe repeatedly into the flat of his palm as he neared the bed.
Panicked tears welled in America's eyes as he watched the pipe. The first hit hadn't been so bad, but the darkened expression of malice that played across Russia's face turned his blood to burning ice. He let out a yelp of fear as Russia brought the pipe down on the foot of his bed, scuttling towards the headboard to avoid being hit.
"I just wanted to talk to you," America cried, the pent up tears spilling down his cheeks. Russia looked undeterred. "Please," America begged, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please don't," he sobbed, too far gone to care about the scene he was making.
Russia swung the pipe like a bat straight at America's face, and America squeezed his eyes shut, his heart choking up in his chest, waiting for the impact, an impact that never came. The pipe stopped short of his face, hovering in the air before America's face.
"Open your eyes," Russia prompted.
America chanced a glance and burst in to fresh tears at the sight, overwhelmed beyond words. He should have known not to try to sneak up on Russia, especially when the door to his room was open. He'd gotten too comfortable with him in captivity, entertained the idea that maybe Russia wasn't all bad. But now he was going to pay for his mistakes by getting his skull bashed in after being played with, and he couldn't handle the thought.
The pipe dropped with a dull thud onto the sheets. Russia knelt with one knee on the bed and pried America's hands away from his face as they wiped at the flood of tears. America reared away from his touch, shooting Russia a wild look.
Russia's face was lined with concern, his lips drawn into a pensive, if not concerned, frown. "America. America, did I really frighten you?" he asked timidly, "I was only playing, yes? Only a little game." America continued to bawl away.
Russia sighed sadly and stopped trying to tug on America's hands, instead letting his own rest on America's head, carefully combing through his blond locks. He murmured quiet things in Russian, posed what America thought might be questions, and generally babbled softly, all the while trying to lure America away from his fright.
America's hitching sobs soon petered out, withering into miserable, shaking breaths, shuddering shoulders, and quietly cried tears. He huddled his knees to his chest and hugged them. "That was the worst game ever," he managed between hiccups.
"You will have to forgive me," Russia hastily implored. "And there is something you must understand. At times my emotions are like children, unintentionally petty and cruel, even uncontrollable. But never do I mean to hurt you." He weaseled his way onto the bed and gathered America up in his arms. "Never," he repeated in a hoarse whisper.
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