Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [1/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 16:42:51 UTC
Anon apologizes for any failure, this being anon’s first fill. Sane!Ivan is OOC, says failure!anon. Also, anon cannot spell БЛИНЫ in English.
Ivan stumbled back into his house out of the freezing storm, snow dusting his entire form. He had enjoyed meeting with the other countries - they were all so lively, and Germany’s house was much warmer than his own - despite the fact that he didn’t quite understand why there were only seven countries present at the G8 summit he had just attended.
Although… he thought he had heard Arthur suggest that someone go look for a ‘Matthew’, and Ivan was almost sure he knew someone like that, but then again, he had had quite a few bottles of vodka by that point and couldn’t be certain of it.
Still, the bout of commotion Arthur had caused helped to alleviate Ivan’s boredom at listening to endless debates about global energy. He had enough of his own problems to deal with concerning the topic: Nataliya kept putting holes in his oil pipelines, to the point where he was considering sorting her out himself, no matter how scary she was. Then again, the threat of marriage to her was not something to be taken lightly. Ivan sighed, and wished that the Baltic brothers still lived with him; sweet and innocent Liet was so much nicer to deal with than his sister.
Ivan thought he felt a sharp pain at the thought, and decided that it was an indication of needing more vodka. Producing a half-full bottle from deep inside his coat, he took a swing and stumbled further into the house.
He had gotten to his bedroom when he realized that something was missing. Considering the bottle of vodka was still in his hand and his scarf was still secure, Ivan could only think of one thing he should still have (well, he could think of a few, like the Baltic nations, but this was a more immediate concern). Frowning, Ivan looked around the room, searching for his pipe.
Ten minutes later, he was still looking. He had checked on the bed, in his closet, gone past the kitchen (grabbing another bottle of vodka while he was at it), and even traipsed back to the front door, sticking his head outside and squinting into the snowstorm for a moment before slamming the door shut with a shiver. Ivan did not like to lose things that belonged to him, especially since he had had so many of them taken away not long ago, and so with a muffled curse, he made his way back to the bedroom, opening the vodka from the kitchen, and gulping down a good quarter bottle while he walked. Surveying his room again, Ivan sighed and bent to look under his bed, in a vain hope that the pipe had somehow rolled under it, only to feel something sliding up his leg.
Spinning around to face the unknown intruder, he smiled in a way that promised the kolhoz, personally reinstated for them, only to turn a shade paler. In front of him stood Nataliya, smiling in a way he was certain she had picked up from him - ‘and improved upon’ thought Ivan, shuddering at the glint in her eyes. A moment later, he recognized his precious pipe in her hands.
Re: Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [2/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 16:45:32 UTC
“Hello, dear brother”, crooned Nataliya, stepping out of the way just as he made a grab for it.
“Nataliya…”, Ivan didn’t want to bother with formalities like greetings, but Nataliya would be difficult to deal with if she got angry at him, and then he could say goodbye to his Druzhba pipeline unless he wanted to declare war, which he was a hair’s breadth from doing if she kept taunting him with his pipe!
“Nataliya…”. Ivan forced a smile onto his face as his eyes darkened a little in a way that would have sent Toris running for the hills. “Thank you for holding that for me. May I have it back now please?”
Nataliya, if possible, smiled even wider.
“Brother, I am so glad you are home! I missed you so!”
She had the pipe behind her back now, and well out of his reach.
“Please, brother, come eat something. I have made you some blinyi myself!”
Ivan sighed, and let himself be dragged to the kitchen - because he wanted his pipe back, not because he was hungry, he told himself. And definitely not because without a family to cook for, he had gotten lazy and lived off of salted bread and vodka for the past month.
Still, the food looked delicious, even if it was being held by a very smug Nataliya. Before he realized what he was doing, he had taken a big bite, the scent of warm pancakes intoxicating. He wasn’t sure how, but it looked like Nataliya had gotten her hands on his half full bottle of vodka, and was now pouring it for him into a stopka. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (or to refuse his favourite drink), Ivan quickly gulped it down, feeling his head swim a little.
Deciding that it was just the effect of real food after a month of bread, he didn’t pay it any heed and continued to down the meal, Nataliya constantly pouring the alcohol or adding pancakes to his plate. Was it just him, or was her grin getting wider by the minute?
Ivan couldn’t be sure, because her face was growing more and more hazy, and suddenly, the kitchen was spinning in front of his eyes in a most unpleasant way, and Nataliya was saying something in a sing-song voice, but he couldn’t make out what it was and…
Ivan slumped forward in his chair, arms sprawling across the table as a plate smashed on the floor.
Re: Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [3/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 16:47:35 UTC
He was in a field of sunflowers - beautiful, bright golden sunflowers, the blue sky stretching overhead. The sunshine was warm on his back as he spun around in wonder, looking for even a hint of the snow and ice he was so used to. His purple eyes widened when he only saw the golden fields, stretching as far as he could see. Slowly, he felt a smile spread across his face, not a cruel childish grin, but a true smile, shining with its carefree brilliance.
“Ivan”
He though he heard his name. He cast his eyes up to the sky, questioningly.
“Ivanushka”
There, he heard it again. He felt a warm breeze on his skin, ruffling his ashen hair, and saw the sunflowers shift.
“Ivan”
The flowers shifted again, growing hazy, first in the distance and then closer and closer to him, sliding in and out of focus in a whirlwind of colours. Desperately, Ivan tried to bring them back into focus, to remember their summer scent, but with each moment, he could feel himself drifting further from this sunlit field.
“Ivan”
Groggily, Ivan opened his eyes, and immediately regretted doing so, partly because of the feeling a sharp pain in his head, and partly because they met with the site of Natasha, hovering about an inch from his face.
He considered pretending to be asleep and even acted on his resolution, but feeling a knee press uncomfortably close to his southern regions, his eyes snapped open again in shock. His mind was growing clearer, and a second jab of the knee brought certain questions to his mind, like ‘Where exactly was he?’ and ‘Why exactly was he here’ and ‘Why didn’t his arms and legs want to move’ and ‘Where was his pipe when he needed it?!’.
Ivan decided to go in order. Looking around, he recognized the outlines of his own bedroom, barely lit by a single faulty lamp (he made a note to replace the batteries whenever he could, the flickering light was hurting his eyes). The second question was harder to answer, so he decided to skip to the third, and craned his head up to look at his arms, only to find himself tied by the wrists to the bars at the head of his bed. Ivan blinked, to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, and tried to remember how much vodka he had drunk. But no, the rope seemed to be quite real, and Ivan could only remember drinking two bottles at dinner with Nataliya…
Re: Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [4/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 17:14:30 UTC
Suddenly, Ivan wasn’t feeling so well. Had he honestly made the mistake of eating something that Natasha had offered him? Discretely, he looked around the room for anything that might look like a marriage certificate. Instead, he was met with the sight of a devilishly happy Nataliya straddling him, his pipe in her hands.
Well, that answered the last question then.
“You are awake now, brother?”
Ivan tries to answer, but finds that he can’t, that there’s something in his mouth that’s keeping him from talking.
“You don’t have to say it brother, I know you are grateful for the meal, yes?”, smiles Natasha.
Ivan is too busy trying to break the restraints to listen. Of course, he’s been tied up before; it was always discipline, even torture, that followed, and he considers his sister quite capable of it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have threatened her with cutting off oil in that letter…
“You do love me, right brother?”
Ivan is about to make a noise of protest, and then notices Nataliya’s other hand reaching for the knife at her waist. He freezes as she holds it close to his face, tracing along his jawbone.
“I know it, you do love me!” Natasha smiles. “But you’re afraid that if we are married, you might hurt me, yes?”
Ivan wants to tell her that it’s the other way around, but all he can manage is a muffled groan.
Nataliya puts the knife down beside him, and gently unwinds his scarf. As soon as it is gone, Ivan feels a chill, like he is somehow exposed. Nataliya considers the thin scar around his neck for a moment, then proceeds to undo his coat. She doesn’t bother trying to remove it, instead spreading it open around him, and hooking her knife under his shirt.
Ivan is more that unnerved by this point. Sure, his sister has attempted to force him into marriage before, but this is going too far, even for her. He almost whimpers in fear as the knife slices open the cotton of his shirt, twisting away from the knife. Nataliya seems to sense his discomfort.
“Don’t worry, brother. I know you want to become one with me, so I will help you. You don’t want to be alone anymore, right, brother?”
Ivan is about to make a noise of protest, and then notices Nataliya’s other hand reaching for the knife at her waist. He freezes as she holds it close to his face, tracing along his jawbone.
“I know it, you do love me!” Natasha smiles. “But you’re afraid that if we are married, you might hurt me, yes?”
Ivan wants to tell her that it’s the other way around, but all he can manage is a muffled groan.
Nataliya puts the knife down beside him, and gently unwinds his scarf. As soon as it is gone, Ivan feels a chill, like he is somehow exposed. Nataliya considers the thin scar around his neck for a moment, then proceeds to undo his coat. She doesn’t bother trying to remove it, instead spreading it open around him, and hooking her knife under his shirt.
Ivan is more that unnerved by this point. Sure, his sister has attempted to force him into marriage before, but this is going too far, even for her. He almost whimpers in fear as the knife slices open the cotton of his shirt, twisting away from the knife. Nataliya seems to sense his discomfort.
“Don’t worry, brother. I know you want to become one with me, so I will help you. You don’t want to be alone anymore, right, brother?” The sound of cloth ripping fills the room. Although Ivan can’t tilt his head far enough, he can imagine his poor shirt being torn to shreds as he feels the cold air hit his bare chest.
When Nataliya starts on his pants, Ivan decides that he’s had enough. With all his strength, he throws himself to the side, nearly dislodging Nataliya. He feels pain shoot through his arms, but ignores it, as he tries to kick the girl off him, only to find that his legs are also securely fastened. He feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Nataliya laughs.
Re: Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [5/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 17:35:36 UTC
“Oh, brother, you are so playful!”
Ivan sends her his best glare, three parts insanity to one part malice, but she seems completely unfazed.
“You are angry because I am not playing fair, yes? You also want me to remove this, yes?” Nataliya chirps, pointing to her dress. Ivan shakes his head desperately, but Nataliya doesn’t see that as she tugs the blue cotton over her head. In another moment, she is sitting in a thin slip and Ivan is considering building a moat around his house, or at least asking Kiku for a fancy security system that could keep his life Natasha-free.
His thoughts snap back to the present, as he feels the remainder of his pants being torn from his legs and squirms uncomfortably. Really, Ivan reasons, the situation could be worse. For example, it could be that loudmouthed American sitting on top of him and stuffing his face with the pig’s food he calls hamburgers while saying caviar was disgusting. Or it could be Francis, who would probably film the situation for future blackmail, in which case Ivan would have to go threaten to make sure his famous tower never stood straight again unless he got back the tape. Or it could be … Natasha holding his pipe?!
Ivan’s eyes widened, and he almost let out another whimper at seeing the look on Natasha’s face.
“See, brother? Since you are afraid to hurt me, I will show you that it doesn’t hurt!”
Ivan’s face turns ashen pale as Natasha makes quick work of his underwear. Ripping his last bit of cover off, she considers the knife a moment, and then imbeds it in the wall behind him. Ivan swallows hard, seeing the handle vibrating from the force of the impact an inch from his head.
“Do not worry brother, you will see that it is not painful!” Natasha smiles.
Ivan can only shake his head in desperation, wishing that anyone - even the damned American would be welcome now - would come in and shoot a few rounds of tranquilizer into his sister. It couldn’t be real bullets, of course, because she was still family - ‘but maybe he wouldn’t mind that so much either’, panics Ivan, seeing her reach to the left and smelling…sunflowers?
Natasha sits back, again in his line of vision, and he notices an oily sheen to her hands and his pipe. Realizing what she intends to do, Ivan makes one last-ditch attempt to break free, throwing his weight back and forth and straining at the rope. He almost twists his hand free before Natasha regains her balance and slides a hand between his legs. Ivan screams out “Natasha, get off!’ which comes out as another grunt. Natalia seems to interpret that as a sign of consent, sliding a finger into him.
Ivan throws his head back, trying to at least knock himself out against the headboard. He can’t quite reach it, but he keeps trying anyways.
Natasha adds a second finger, then a third, and Ivan cringes a little at the pain. He’s used to being hurt, but this is entirely new for him. The intrusion is uncomfortable, and he tries to twist away, which only makes it worse.
Re: Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [5/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 18:05:32 UTC
Dimly, he can hear Natasha speaking.
“You are enjoying this, yes, brother? Then we will have to do it again!”
Ivan vows that if he ever gets out of this situation, he’ll build a fifteen foot wall covered with electric wire around his house and never open the door to anyone.
“But it will also get better, da?”
Seeing Natasha grab his pipe again, Ivan considers praying. ‘Bozhe, please let this all be one terrible alcohol induced dream. If you let me wake up now, I will never touch a drop of vodka again.’
Apparently, one prayer is not enough to make up for years of atheism.
Ivan screams, tears in his eyes, as Natasha pushes the pipe into him. Natasha completely ignores the horror in his eyes, as she pushed it a little further into him. Finally, she stops moving, and Ivan pants with pain and humiliation. Sister or not, when he gets his hands on her…
Ivan doesn’t finish the thought, as Nataliya moves the pipe again, out of him. He stiffens at the pain, biting down hard on the gag.
“Shhh, relax brother! It will be good, just relax”
Relaxing is the last thing that Ivan wants to do, but he tries it anyway, and the pain shooting along his back seems to subside. Breathing deeply, he fights down panic and tries to think of a way - any way - to get Nataliya to stop. He even considers offering to marry her (temporarily, of course), but the gag won’t let him make that offer.
Meanwhile, Natasha pushed into him again. It’s less painful this time, but the humiliation of it is still there. Vaguely, Ivan wonders if this is how Liet felt… but then again, he never shoved a piece of metal into the boy.
Realizing that his eyes are shut tight, Ivan considers sending Natasha a glare, so that she might, by some miracle, understand how dead she is if she doesn’t get off now!
He opens his eyes, ready to shoot proverbial lightning bolt, but freezes in shock as he sees Natasha still straddling him, one hand on the pipe and one hand… one hand sliding down her body, under the slip, fondling her breasts, face flushed and panting. Her hand slips lower, between her legs, and she lets out a sound he didn’t know she could make.
In pace with her hand, she speeds up the pipe. Ivan cringes again, but the pain subsides to be replaced with… well, he can’t call it good, but he can’t call it bad either, especially when the sensation is growing steadily more … something, something he can’t quite place, but he feels his breath speed up a little, and the warmth of Natasha’s thighs is growing more and more overwhelming.
Re: Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [6/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 18:49:05 UTC
Suddenly, the pipe brushes against something inside of him, and Ivan lets out an involuntary gasp of surprise. He isn’t sure if Natasha hears him through the gag, but suddenly, he’s being hit in that place every time, shots of pleasure racing up his spine and he throws his head back without the intent of knocking himself out.
In a last attempt to save what’s left of his battered pride, he opens his eyes (he hadn’t even realized they were screwed shut), but the growl of protest dies in his throat as he sees Natasha, panting and writhing above him, slip sticking to the sweat on her body, outlining her every contour. Flushed, he turns away, but he can still hear her moaning his name, and can’t help but answer with a moan of his own as he feels the pleasure build inside of him.
Swallowing his dignity, Ivan wretches his eyes shut and tries to think of nothing but the scent of sunflowers filling the room, but the feeling of how Natasha feels on top of him, and how that thing feels inside of him are blocking out all other thoughts and suddenly, he gives in, moaning and bucking, all restraint forgotten. He doesn’t have the sense to regret his decision anymore, because it feels so good, and he can hear himself gasp and make needy noises through the gag as he feels fire racing through his body, and all of a sudden, he sees stars and light and sunflowers and he’s screaming himself hoarse as his whole body stiffens in pleasure and he feels a warm splatter on his stomach.
Through a haze, he can just make out Nataliya throwing her head back and opening her mouth in a scream, but he can barely focus anymore because he’s suddenly so sleepy and the world spins for the third time that day, but he doesn’t mind, somehow, as he falls into dreams.
*** The G8 meeting is progressing nicely, barring the fact that Ivan seems a bit jumpy in his chair. Ludwig stares at him for a minute, and then decides not to push his luck by asking what’s wrong. He already has a jumpy Italian to deal with, who keeps on forgetting to put on his pants and has to borrow Ludwig’s every morning (not that Ludwig minds, although he’ll never admit it).
Alfred, however, is not so careful.
“Hey, Russia, what’s your problem with the oil supply to Belarus?”, he demands, fist clenched and eyes ablaze with heroic passion. “Problem?”, inquires Russia innocently, childish smile gracing his features.
Re: Belarus/Russia, in which Ivan's pipe is practically a main char [6/?]
anonymous
April 13 2009, 18:52:06 UTC
“Yeah, problem! You cut off the oil supply, didn’t you! Where is Belarus, anyways? I thought she’d be the first to beat some sense into you, but…”
“I think I saw her with Francis, actually”, suggests Matthew timidly, hoping Ivan won’t sit on him again like he did last meeting.
“With Francis?”, asks Ivan thoughtfully. Suddenly, he stands out and hurries out of the room.
He doesn’t have to look far to find the French man; Ivan just follows Kiku’s screams and soon walks in on Francis trying to be a little too friendly with the poor Japanese.
Seeing Ivan, Francis releases Kiku, who rushes hurriedly out of the room. Ivan is a little disconcerted with the look Francis is shooting him, but plasters a smile onto his face and watches the Frenchman’s hands very carefully just in case.
“Hello, Francis. I heard that you were with Natasha…”, he begins.
“Nataliya? She was just ‘ere. She asked me for a faveur, and ‘ow could a gentleman like me refuse.”, interrupts Francis.
Ivan wonders why Francis is being so to the point, and adjusts his look away from one of murderous intent.
Francis, who looks a little more relieved, continues, “And ‘ere it was actually a faveur for you!”
“I do not need any favours”, smiles Ivan, clenching his teeth.
“Well, aren’t you quite ze ungrateful one. And here I was going to return something of yours that I ‘ave”, smiled Francis.
Ivan looks at him with mild curiosity, smiling sweetly. “What is it, Francis?”
“Look what I found - it iz so strange, to be so far away from your ‘ouse, non?”
With that, Francis rummages about in his clothing and extracts - Ivan doesn’t want to think from where - the Russian’s metal pipe.
In the main hall, Arthur and Alfred jump, as a scream of horror echoes through the hallways.
Ivan stumbled back into his house out of the freezing storm, snow dusting his entire form. He had enjoyed meeting with the other countries - they were all so lively, and Germany’s house was much warmer than his own - despite the fact that he didn’t quite understand why there were only seven countries present at the G8 summit he had just attended.
Although… he thought he had heard Arthur suggest that someone go look for a ‘Matthew’, and Ivan was almost sure he knew someone like that, but then again, he had had quite a few bottles of vodka by that point and couldn’t be certain of it.
Still, the bout of commotion Arthur had caused helped to alleviate Ivan’s boredom at listening to endless debates about global energy. He had enough of his own problems to deal with concerning the topic: Nataliya kept putting holes in his oil pipelines, to the point where he was considering sorting her out himself, no matter how scary she was. Then again, the threat of marriage to her was not something to be taken lightly. Ivan sighed, and wished that the Baltic brothers still lived with him; sweet and innocent Liet was so much nicer to deal with than his sister.
Ivan thought he felt a sharp pain at the thought, and decided that it was an indication of needing more vodka. Producing a half-full bottle from deep inside his coat, he took a swing and stumbled further into the house.
He had gotten to his bedroom when he realized that something was missing. Considering the bottle of vodka was still in his hand and his scarf was still secure, Ivan could only think of one thing he should still have (well, he could think of a few, like the Baltic nations, but this was a more immediate concern). Frowning, Ivan looked around the room, searching for his pipe.
Ten minutes later, he was still looking. He had checked on the bed, in his closet, gone past the kitchen (grabbing another bottle of vodka while he was at it), and even traipsed back to the front door, sticking his head outside and squinting into the snowstorm for a moment before slamming the door shut with a shiver. Ivan did not like to lose things that belonged to him, especially since he had had so many of them taken away not long ago, and so with a muffled curse, he made his way back to the bedroom, opening the vodka from the kitchen, and gulping down a good quarter bottle while he walked. Surveying his room again, Ivan sighed and bent to look under his bed, in a vain hope that the pipe had somehow rolled under it, only to feel something sliding up his leg.
Spinning around to face the unknown intruder, he smiled in a way that promised the kolhoz, personally reinstated for them, only to turn a shade paler. In front of him stood Nataliya, smiling in a way he was certain she had picked up from him - ‘and improved upon’ thought Ivan, shuddering at the glint in her eyes. A moment later, he recognized his precious pipe in her hands.
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“Nataliya…”, Ivan didn’t want to bother with formalities like greetings, but Nataliya would be difficult to deal with if she got angry at him, and then he could say goodbye to his Druzhba pipeline unless he wanted to declare war, which he was a hair’s breadth from doing if she kept taunting him with his pipe!
“Nataliya…”. Ivan forced a smile onto his face as his eyes darkened a little in a way that would have sent Toris running for the hills. “Thank you for holding that for me. May I have it back now please?”
Nataliya, if possible, smiled even wider.
“Brother, I am so glad you are home! I missed you so!”
She had the pipe behind her back now, and well out of his reach.
“Please, brother, come eat something. I have made you some blinyi myself!”
Ivan sighed, and let himself be dragged to the kitchen - because he wanted his pipe back, not because he was hungry, he told himself. And definitely not because without a family to cook for, he had gotten lazy and lived off of salted bread and vodka for the past month.
Still, the food looked delicious, even if it was being held by a very smug Nataliya. Before he realized what he was doing, he had taken a big bite, the scent of warm pancakes intoxicating. He wasn’t sure how, but it looked like Nataliya had gotten her hands on his half full bottle of vodka, and was now pouring it for him into a stopka. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth (or to refuse his favourite drink), Ivan quickly gulped it down, feeling his head swim a little.
Deciding that it was just the effect of real food after a month of bread, he didn’t pay it any heed and continued to down the meal, Nataliya constantly pouring the alcohol or adding pancakes to his plate. Was it just him, or was her grin getting wider by the minute?
Ivan couldn’t be sure, because her face was growing more and more hazy, and suddenly, the kitchen was spinning in front of his eyes in a most unpleasant way, and Nataliya was saying something in a sing-song voice, but he couldn’t make out what it was and…
Ivan slumped forward in his chair, arms sprawling across the table as a plate smashed on the floor.
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“Ivan”
He though he heard his name. He cast his eyes up to the sky, questioningly.
“Ivanushka”
There, he heard it again. He felt a warm breeze on his skin, ruffling his ashen hair, and saw the sunflowers shift.
“Ivan”
The flowers shifted again, growing hazy, first in the distance and then closer and closer to him, sliding in and out of focus in a whirlwind of colours. Desperately, Ivan tried to bring them back into focus, to remember their summer scent, but with each moment, he could feel himself drifting further from this sunlit field.
“Ivan”
Groggily, Ivan opened his eyes, and immediately regretted doing so, partly because of the feeling a sharp pain in his head, and partly because they met with the site of Natasha, hovering about an inch from his face.
He considered pretending to be asleep and even acted on his resolution, but feeling a knee press uncomfortably close to his southern regions, his eyes snapped open again in shock. His mind was growing clearer, and a second jab of the knee brought certain questions to his mind, like ‘Where exactly was he?’ and ‘Why exactly was he here’ and ‘Why didn’t his arms and legs want to move’ and ‘Where was his pipe when he needed it?!’.
Ivan decided to go in order. Looking around, he recognized the outlines of his own bedroom, barely lit by a single faulty lamp (he made a note to replace the batteries whenever he could, the flickering light was hurting his eyes). The second question was harder to answer, so he decided to skip to the third, and craned his head up to look at his arms, only to find himself tied by the wrists to the bars at the head of his bed. Ivan blinked, to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, and tried to remember how much vodka he had drunk. But no, the rope seemed to be quite real, and Ivan could only remember drinking two bottles at dinner with Nataliya…
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Well, that answered the last question then.
“You are awake now, brother?”
Ivan tries to answer, but finds that he can’t, that there’s something in his mouth that’s keeping him from talking.
“You don’t have to say it brother, I know you are grateful for the meal, yes?”, smiles Natasha.
Ivan is too busy trying to break the restraints to listen. Of course, he’s been tied up before; it was always discipline, even torture, that followed, and he considers his sister quite capable of it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have threatened her with cutting off oil in that letter…
“You do love me, right brother?”
Ivan is about to make a noise of protest, and then notices Nataliya’s other hand reaching for the knife at her waist. He freezes as she holds it close to his face, tracing along his jawbone.
“I know it, you do love me!” Natasha smiles. “But you’re afraid that if we are married, you might hurt me, yes?”
Ivan wants to tell her that it’s the other way around, but all he can manage is a muffled groan.
Nataliya puts the knife down beside him, and gently unwinds his scarf. As soon as it is gone, Ivan feels a chill, like he is somehow exposed. Nataliya considers the thin scar around his neck for a moment, then proceeds to undo his coat. She doesn’t bother trying to remove it, instead spreading it open around him, and hooking her knife under his shirt.
Ivan is more that unnerved by this point. Sure, his sister has attempted to force him into marriage before, but this is going too far, even for her. He almost whimpers in fear as the knife slices open the cotton of his shirt, twisting away from the knife.
Nataliya seems to sense his discomfort.
“Don’t worry, brother. I know you want to become one with me, so I will help you. You don’t want to be alone anymore, right, brother?”
Ivan is about to make a noise of protest, and then notices Nataliya’s other hand reaching for the knife at her waist. He freezes as she holds it close to his face, tracing along his jawbone.
“I know it, you do love me!” Natasha smiles. “But you’re afraid that if we are married, you might hurt me, yes?”
Ivan wants to tell her that it’s the other way around, but all he can manage is a muffled groan.
Nataliya puts the knife down beside him, and gently unwinds his scarf. As soon as it is gone, Ivan feels a chill, like he is somehow exposed. Nataliya considers the thin scar around his neck for a moment, then proceeds to undo his coat. She doesn’t bother trying to remove it, instead spreading it open around him, and hooking her knife under his shirt.
Ivan is more that unnerved by this point. Sure, his sister has attempted to force him into marriage before, but this is going too far, even for her. He almost whimpers in fear as the knife slices open the cotton of his shirt, twisting away from the knife.
Nataliya seems to sense his discomfort.
“Don’t worry, brother. I know you want to become one with me, so I will help you. You don’t want to be alone anymore, right, brother?”
The sound of cloth ripping fills the room. Although Ivan can’t tilt his head far enough, he can imagine his poor shirt being torn to shreds as he feels the cold air hit his bare chest.
When Nataliya starts on his pants, Ivan decides that he’s had enough. With all his strength, he throws himself to the side, nearly dislodging Nataliya. He feels pain shoot through his arms, but ignores it, as he tries to kick the girl off him, only to find that his legs are also securely fastened. He feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Nataliya laughs.
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Ivan sends her his best glare, three parts insanity to one part malice, but she seems completely unfazed.
“You are angry because I am not playing fair, yes? You also want me to remove this, yes?” Nataliya chirps, pointing to her dress. Ivan shakes his head desperately, but Nataliya doesn’t see that as she tugs the blue cotton over her head. In another moment, she is sitting in a thin slip and Ivan is considering building a moat around his house, or at least asking Kiku for a fancy security system that could keep his life Natasha-free.
His thoughts snap back to the present, as he feels the remainder of his pants being torn from his legs and squirms uncomfortably.
Really, Ivan reasons, the situation could be worse. For example, it could be that loudmouthed American sitting on top of him and stuffing his face with the pig’s food he calls hamburgers while saying caviar was disgusting. Or it could be Francis, who would probably film the situation for future blackmail, in which case Ivan would have to go threaten to make sure his famous tower never stood straight again unless he got back the tape. Or it could be … Natasha holding his pipe?!
Ivan’s eyes widened, and he almost let out another whimper at seeing the look on Natasha’s face.
“See, brother? Since you are afraid to hurt me, I will show you that it doesn’t hurt!”
Ivan’s face turns ashen pale as Natasha makes quick work of his underwear. Ripping his last bit of cover off, she considers the knife a moment, and then imbeds it in the wall behind him. Ivan swallows hard, seeing the handle vibrating from the force of the impact an inch from his head.
“Do not worry brother, you will see that it is not painful!” Natasha smiles.
Ivan can only shake his head in desperation, wishing that anyone - even the damned American would be welcome now - would come in and shoot a few rounds of tranquilizer into his sister. It couldn’t be real bullets, of course, because she was still family - ‘but maybe he wouldn’t mind that so much either’, panics Ivan, seeing her reach to the left and smelling…sunflowers?
Natasha sits back, again in his line of vision, and he notices an oily sheen to her hands and his pipe. Realizing what she intends to do, Ivan makes one last-ditch attempt to break free, throwing his weight back and forth and straining at the rope. He almost twists his hand free before Natasha regains her balance and slides a hand between his legs. Ivan screams out “Natasha, get off!’ which comes out as another grunt. Natalia seems to interpret that as a sign of consent, sliding a finger into him.
Ivan throws his head back, trying to at least knock himself out against the headboard. He can’t quite reach it, but he keeps trying anyways.
Natasha adds a second finger, then a third, and Ivan cringes a little at the pain. He’s used to being hurt, but this is entirely new for him. The intrusion is uncomfortable, and he tries to twist away, which only makes it worse.
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“You are enjoying this, yes, brother? Then we will have to do it again!”
Ivan vows that if he ever gets out of this situation, he’ll build a fifteen foot wall covered with electric wire around his house and never open the door to anyone.
“But it will also get better, da?”
Seeing Natasha grab his pipe again, Ivan considers praying.
‘Bozhe, please let this all be one terrible alcohol induced dream. If you let me wake up now, I will never touch a drop of vodka again.’
Apparently, one prayer is not enough to make up for years of atheism.
Ivan screams, tears in his eyes, as Natasha pushes the pipe into him.
Natasha completely ignores the horror in his eyes, as she pushed it a little further into him. Finally, she stops moving, and Ivan pants with pain and humiliation. Sister or not, when he gets his hands on her…
Ivan doesn’t finish the thought, as Nataliya moves the pipe again, out of him. He stiffens at the pain, biting down hard on the gag.
“Shhh, relax brother! It will be good, just relax”
Relaxing is the last thing that Ivan wants to do, but he tries it anyway, and the pain shooting along his back seems to subside. Breathing deeply, he fights down panic and tries to think of a way - any way - to get Nataliya to stop. He even considers offering to marry her (temporarily, of course), but the gag won’t let him make that offer.
Meanwhile, Natasha pushed into him again. It’s less painful this time, but the humiliation of it is still there. Vaguely, Ivan wonders if this is how Liet felt… but then again, he never shoved a piece of metal into the boy.
Realizing that his eyes are shut tight, Ivan considers sending Natasha a glare, so that she might, by some miracle, understand how dead she is if she doesn’t get off now!
He opens his eyes, ready to shoot proverbial lightning bolt, but freezes in shock as he sees Natasha still straddling him, one hand on the pipe and one hand… one hand sliding down her body, under the slip, fondling her breasts, face flushed and panting. Her hand slips lower, between her legs, and she lets out a sound he didn’t know she could make.
In pace with her hand, she speeds up the pipe. Ivan cringes again, but the pain subsides to be replaced with… well, he can’t call it good, but he can’t call it bad either, especially when the sensation is growing steadily more … something, something he can’t quite place, but he feels his breath speed up a little, and the warmth of Natasha’s thighs is growing more and more overwhelming.
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In a last attempt to save what’s left of his battered pride, he opens his eyes (he hadn’t even realized they were screwed shut), but the growl of protest dies in his throat as he sees Natasha, panting and writhing above him, slip sticking to the sweat on her body, outlining her every contour. Flushed, he turns away, but he can still hear her moaning his name, and can’t help but answer with a moan of his own as he feels the pleasure build inside of him.
Swallowing his dignity, Ivan wretches his eyes shut and tries to think of nothing but the scent of sunflowers filling the room, but the feeling of how Natasha feels on top of him, and how that thing feels inside of him are blocking out all other thoughts and suddenly, he gives in, moaning and bucking, all restraint forgotten. He doesn’t have the sense to regret his decision anymore, because it feels so good, and he can hear himself gasp and make needy noises through the gag as he feels fire racing through his body, and all of a sudden, he sees stars and light and sunflowers and he’s screaming himself hoarse as his whole body stiffens in pleasure and he feels a warm splatter on his stomach.
Through a haze, he can just make out Nataliya throwing her head back and opening her mouth in a scream, but he can barely focus anymore because he’s suddenly so sleepy and the world spins for the third time that day, but he doesn’t mind, somehow, as he falls into dreams.
***
The G8 meeting is progressing nicely, barring the fact that Ivan seems a bit jumpy in his chair. Ludwig stares at him for a minute, and then decides not to push his luck by asking what’s wrong. He already has a jumpy Italian to deal with, who keeps on forgetting to put on his pants and has to borrow Ludwig’s every morning (not that Ludwig minds, although he’ll never admit it).
Alfred, however, is not so careful.
“Hey, Russia, what’s your problem with the oil supply to Belarus?”, he demands, fist clenched and eyes ablaze with heroic passion.
“Problem?”, inquires Russia innocently, childish smile gracing his features.
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“I think I saw her with Francis, actually”, suggests Matthew timidly, hoping Ivan won’t sit on him again like he did last meeting.
“With Francis?”, asks Ivan thoughtfully. Suddenly, he stands out and hurries out of the room.
He doesn’t have to look far to find the French man; Ivan just follows Kiku’s screams and soon walks in on Francis trying to be a little too friendly with the poor Japanese.
Seeing Ivan, Francis releases Kiku, who rushes hurriedly out of the room. Ivan is a little disconcerted with the look Francis is shooting him, but plasters a smile onto his face and watches the Frenchman’s hands very carefully just in case.
“Hello, Francis. I heard that you were with Natasha…”, he begins.
“Nataliya? She was just ‘ere. She asked me for a faveur, and ‘ow could a gentleman like me refuse.”, interrupts Francis.
Ivan wonders why Francis is being so to the point, and adjusts his look away from one of murderous intent.
Francis, who looks a little more relieved, continues, “And ‘ere it was actually a faveur for you!”
“I do not need any favours”, smiles Ivan, clenching his teeth.
“Well, aren’t you quite ze ungrateful one. And here I was going to return something of yours that I ‘ave”, smiled Francis.
Ivan looks at him with mild curiosity, smiling sweetly. “What is it, Francis?”
“Look what I found - it iz so strange, to be so far away from your ‘ouse, non?”
With that, Francis rummages about in his clothing and extracts - Ivan doesn’t want to think from where - the Russian’s metal pipe.
In the main hall, Arthur and Alfred jump, as a scream of horror echoes through the hallways.
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