Substitutes - 2b/??
anonymous
January 2 2012, 12:57:42 UTC
“No, little Latvi. This-” Russia squeezed America's shoulder with one hand, smiling as America fought the urge to cry out in pain; and waving towards Canada with the other. “-is what happens to liars and people who think to make me look a fool. Now we must teach you not to run off like you did.”
“But Ca- Lithuania!” America winced as he barely caught the slip. “You said you were done! You weren't going to hurt him anymore!”
“I'm not going to hurt him.” Russia paused for a brief moment, letting America's eyes shine with wary hope, before continuing. “You are.”
“Wha- No!” America shook his head frantically. “I won't hurt him!”
“Oh, but you will Latvi,” Russia chuckled, stepping back and pulling the chain to drop the hook America was dangling from, lowering it until America could pull his arms free. America stumbled forward, collapsing to his knees and barely catching himself before he fell face-first into the floor. He hunched over, biting his lip as the pain in his arms and the sudden movements nearly made him sick.
Russia knelt in front of America, pulling back at his hair until there was no choice but to meet Russia's eyes. “You used to be such a good boy, before Litva turned you against me. But now, he needs to learn respect and you, you need to learn that I am your master, not him.” His grip released, letting America's head bow again as Russia snapped his arm back into place (forcing America to bite back a yelp of pain) before patting his hair like a child. “You will fuck him until he bleeds, or I will - and if I do it, bleeding will be the least of his worries.”
Shaking his head, America tried to say something, to argue or tell Russia where he could shove his “punishment”, but nothing would come. “I-I. . . I. . . I can't. . . .”
“You will not do it, then?”
America couldn't help but look to where Canada laid in a puddle of blood - his eyes closed, almost peaceful save for the expression of pain on his face and the way his chained arms bent awkwardly above his head, the skin torn and bleeding; with only the sound of his ragged breathing to reassure America that he hadn't died. He swallowed, his own expression a picture of horror. Canada, Mattie, his twin, his best friend; America couldn't even bring himself to think of hurting him like that - but the thought of Russia doing it nearly made him sick.
“I. . .” America looked from Canada to Russia's self-satisfied expression and back, and he knew he couldn't say no. The tears came, as he shook his head slowly. “I. . . I will- I will do it.”
Russia grinned, grabbing the chain between America's hands and dragging him towards Canada. “I want to hear him scream.” He all but threw America on top of Canada - forcing America to struggle to catch his breath and regain his balance as Canada let out a near-silent scream as his wounds were aggravated by the stone floor and America's weight and movements.
“Oh god, Matt,” America managed to pull away, kneeling at Canada's side and letting his aching hands hover sympathetically over torn skin as Canada shuddered and gasped for air. “M-” Russia's disapproving hum sent a shiver through America as he realized his mistake, not daring to look up as he clenched his fists. “L-Lithuania. . . ?”
Canada's eyes opened a crack, “A-Al. . . ?” His voice was hoarse, more breath than sound. “You. . . n-not. . . not hurt?”
His lips were drawn, his brow furrowed, and it obviously hurt him just to get out those few words that America had to strain to catch (though, thankfully, it seemed Russia hadn't heard him), but there was genuine relief in his eyes when America shook his head, choking on the words that threatened to stick in his throat.
“You didn't let him hurt me.” America wanted to scream at Canada, to tell Canada how much it hurt to hang there and watch as his twin was beaten near to death and not be able to do anything - because he's supposed to be the hero who protects Canada; but he couldn't spit on Canada's sacrifice like that. Not when Canada smiled at him like that - small and trembling, but so real that America nearly cried; not when it would be America who hurt him next. “I could have taken it though," is his compromise.
“But Ca- Lithuania!” America winced as he barely caught the slip. “You said you were done! You weren't going to hurt him anymore!”
“I'm not going to hurt him.” Russia paused for a brief moment, letting America's eyes shine with wary hope, before continuing. “You are.”
“Wha- No!” America shook his head frantically. “I won't hurt him!”
“Oh, but you will Latvi,” Russia chuckled, stepping back and pulling the chain to drop the hook America was dangling from, lowering it until America could pull his arms free. America stumbled forward, collapsing to his knees and barely catching himself before he fell face-first into the floor. He hunched over, biting his lip as the pain in his arms and the sudden movements nearly made him sick.
Russia knelt in front of America, pulling back at his hair until there was no choice but to meet Russia's eyes. “You used to be such a good boy, before Litva turned you against me. But now, he needs to learn respect and you, you need to learn that I am your master, not him.” His grip released, letting America's head bow again as Russia snapped his arm back into place (forcing America to bite back a yelp of pain) before patting his hair like a child. “You will fuck him until he bleeds, or I will - and if I do it, bleeding will be the least of his worries.”
Shaking his head, America tried to say something, to argue or tell Russia where he could shove his “punishment”, but nothing would come. “I-I. . . I. . . I can't. . . .”
“You will not do it, then?”
America couldn't help but look to where Canada laid in a puddle of blood - his eyes closed, almost peaceful save for the expression of pain on his face and the way his chained arms bent awkwardly above his head, the skin torn and bleeding; with only the sound of his ragged breathing to reassure America that he hadn't died. He swallowed, his own expression a picture of horror. Canada, Mattie, his twin, his best friend; America couldn't even bring himself to think of hurting him like that - but the thought of Russia doing it nearly made him sick.
“I. . .” America looked from Canada to Russia's self-satisfied expression and back, and he knew he couldn't say no. The tears came, as he shook his head slowly. “I. . . I will- I will do it.”
Russia grinned, grabbing the chain between America's hands and dragging him towards Canada. “I want to hear him scream.” He all but threw America on top of Canada - forcing America to struggle to catch his breath and regain his balance as Canada let out a near-silent scream as his wounds were aggravated by the stone floor and America's weight and movements.
“Oh god, Matt,” America managed to pull away, kneeling at Canada's side and letting his aching hands hover sympathetically over torn skin as Canada shuddered and gasped for air. “M-” Russia's disapproving hum sent a shiver through America as he realized his mistake, not daring to look up as he clenched his fists. “L-Lithuania. . . ?”
Canada's eyes opened a crack, “A-Al. . . ?” His voice was hoarse, more breath than sound. “You. . . n-not. . . not hurt?”
His lips were drawn, his brow furrowed, and it obviously hurt him just to get out those few words that America had to strain to catch (though, thankfully, it seemed Russia hadn't heard him), but there was genuine relief in his eyes when America shook his head, choking on the words that threatened to stick in his throat.
“You didn't let him hurt me.” America wanted to scream at Canada, to tell Canada how much it hurt to hang there and watch as his twin was beaten near to death and not be able to do anything - because he's supposed to be the hero who protects Canada; but he couldn't spit on Canada's sacrifice like that. Not when Canada smiled at him like that - small and trembling, but so real that America nearly cried; not when it would be America who hurt him next. “I could have taken it though," is his compromise.
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