“You used him first, America-kun,” Russia pointed out and pushed him back until he sat into the chair again. “Right, so like I was saying before you interrupted me so rudely, you like England enough if you come here into the middle of nowhere-alone, unless you didn’t keep your word and then I’ll have to kill you both right here, consequences be damned-so, I’ll release him and let you take him away, on one condition.”
“And that is?” America asked, warily eyeing Russia.
“I’m going to fuck you, right here and now-in front of your dear England-and you’re going to enjoy it. That’s my win.”
“What, no!” it was England who exclaimed before America could even react. “That’s stupid!” He wanted to say much more, but Russia's hand moved and a Bayonet-knife embedded itself near England's right ear, slicing a bit of his hair and nicked the skin of his cheek.
“I wasn’t talking to you, England.” Russia smiled nastily. “Please wait for your turn.” His hand on the trigger didn’t even shake, giving America no room to even think about overpowering Russia.
“I do not agree with it,” America said after a pause. His face had hardened into a scowl and he wasn’t looking at England.
Russia hummed under his breath and jerked his left hand lightly. Another knife appeared into it, sliding down from its hiding place in the sleeve and he tossed it into the air, catching the blade deftly between his fingers. His eyes never left America as he did so. “The next one won’t miss England's throat, America-kun.”
“Now, look here-” another knife whizzed past England's face and sliced through his skin and drew blood, cutting America short. Another knife appeared in Russia's hand and he lifted it up to lick the edge with his tongue, staining it with blood.
“Choose. England's life or death depends upon your choice.”
America clenched his fists. His entire frame shook with anger and his self-control only good enough to hold him in-just barely. England swallowed something thick down his throat, feeling thirsty again even though he just drank-was fed-water.
“Don’t listen to him,” he found himself saying, ignoring the wetness of blood on his cheek, “don’t even think about it.” The mere thought of America having sex with Russia made his sight redder than blood.
Russia frowned at that and left America’s side to approach him. England glared at him defiantly until he saw Russia pick up his faucet from the stool. Over Russia's shoulder, he saw America’s eyes widen and he supposed that his eyes mirrored that. The chair was pushed back with the force America employed to hurl his body at Russia, and Russia, already expecting the attack, whipped around and hit him squarely in the chest with the faucet. He reeled back due to the impact and clutched at his chest, sputtering and groaning.
Russia twisted himself back with same force and this time, hit England with his weapon. The tap connected solidly with his left cheek and a metallic taste flooded England's mouth, making his face go numb.
America’s face was ashen and his fingers gripped the front of his jacket in a manner that suggested he was in pain. He must have broken a rib with that, England realized dazedly as he worked his jaw. It ached with every single, miniscule movement and he knew that blood and drool was escaping his lips-but he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t feel his lips anymore.
Russia swung the faucet in his hand and stepped closer to America, making a face that put apprehension on even that face and said, “Let’s not get unruly here, right America-kun? You do not hold the cards here, in this place. Your guns and weapons were already removed at the check, I know, and England here cannot help you. And unless you want to watch me crack his body open with this,” he brandished the faucet again; “you’ll consider my question seriously, won’t you?”
“Fuck you,” America said and spat on Russia's face. He wiped it away with the hand holding the gun and then he placed his foot on America’s chest, crushing the hand beneath it, right where he had hit him before.
“And that is?” America asked, warily eyeing Russia.
“I’m going to fuck you, right here and now-in front of your dear England-and you’re going to enjoy it. That’s my win.”
“What, no!” it was England who exclaimed before America could even react. “That’s stupid!” He wanted to say much more, but Russia's hand moved and a Bayonet-knife embedded itself near England's right ear, slicing a bit of his hair and nicked the skin of his cheek.
“I wasn’t talking to you, England.” Russia smiled nastily. “Please wait for your turn.” His hand on the trigger didn’t even shake, giving America no room to even think about overpowering Russia.
“I do not agree with it,” America said after a pause. His face had hardened into a scowl and he wasn’t looking at England.
Russia hummed under his breath and jerked his left hand lightly. Another knife appeared into it, sliding down from its hiding place in the sleeve and he tossed it into the air, catching the blade deftly between his fingers. His eyes never left America as he did so. “The next one won’t miss England's throat, America-kun.”
“Now, look here-” another knife whizzed past England's face and sliced through his skin and drew blood, cutting America short. Another knife appeared in Russia's hand and he lifted it up to lick the edge with his tongue, staining it with blood.
“Choose. England's life or death depends upon your choice.”
America clenched his fists. His entire frame shook with anger and his self-control only good enough to hold him in-just barely. England swallowed something thick down his throat, feeling thirsty again even though he just drank-was fed-water.
“Don’t listen to him,” he found himself saying, ignoring the wetness of blood on his cheek, “don’t even think about it.” The mere thought of America having sex with Russia made his sight redder than blood.
Russia frowned at that and left America’s side to approach him. England glared at him defiantly until he saw Russia pick up his faucet from the stool. Over Russia's shoulder, he saw America’s eyes widen and he supposed that his eyes mirrored that. The chair was pushed back with the force America employed to hurl his body at Russia, and Russia, already expecting the attack, whipped around and hit him squarely in the chest with the faucet. He reeled back due to the impact and clutched at his chest, sputtering and groaning.
Russia twisted himself back with same force and this time, hit England with his weapon. The tap connected solidly with his left cheek and a metallic taste flooded England's mouth, making his face go numb.
America’s face was ashen and his fingers gripped the front of his jacket in a manner that suggested he was in pain. He must have broken a rib with that, England realized dazedly as he worked his jaw. It ached with every single, miniscule movement and he knew that blood and drool was escaping his lips-but he couldn’t control it. He couldn’t feel his lips anymore.
Russia swung the faucet in his hand and stepped closer to America, making a face that put apprehension on even that face and said, “Let’s not get unruly here, right America-kun? You do not hold the cards here, in this place. Your guns and weapons were already removed at the check, I know, and England here cannot help you. And unless you want to watch me crack his body open with this,” he brandished the faucet again; “you’ll consider my question seriously, won’t you?”
“Fuck you,” America said and spat on Russia's face. He wiped it away with the hand holding the gun and then he placed his foot on America’s chest, crushing the hand beneath it, right where he had hit him before.
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