Red Fall: 4/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 00:22:41 UTC
“Are you questioning my methods, Liet?” the sing-song tone questioned; Alfred could here the shifting of a chair and heavy, measured footsteps.
“N-no, sir,” came the shaky voice of Toris, “I mean, I was just-I only meant to show the extent-I’m s-sorry, sir, p-please don’t be upset with me. You know that I would never say a-anything against you…”
“I know my little Liet, you just don’t think sometimes do you? Perhaps we need to talk privately again about your behavior, da? It would all depend on whether you can be a good boy or not… Now, now, there is no need for tears or trembling; an apology will suffice for now.”
“Thank you, s-sir,” Lithuania said in choked, hiccupping breaths, “I’m very, v-very sorry,” and after a pause he added, “I…I l-l-love you, Ivan.” America could hear the larger country purr in satisfaction and Alfred clenched his fists.
Monster.
His head was starting to swim again, Alfred noted; he needed to keep going, as much as he wanted to beat the Russian to a bloody pulp. As he prepared to quietly move past the door, the sound of shattering china exploded through the hallway.
A shaking mass in a scarlet uniform, which stood over the now broken tea cups, stared at Alfred, wide-eyed and gaping in surprise. Wind-swept blonde hair framed his large eyes and his hands were trembling uncontrollably as milk and hot liquid seeped into the floor. Alfred gave a startled look towards the door and time seemed to freeze; he wasn’t sure if he could handle Russia in his current state. He made eye contact, pleading, begging, the young Baltic to keep quiet.
“M-mr. A-america?” Latvia whispered, his lips barely moving; but it was too loud for the silent hallway, too loud for the door to muffle. Ignoring the rips of stitches and flesh, Alfred broke into a stumbling run. If he could just make it to the end of the hallway…
“Raivis? Those were not my nice teacups, da? You know what happens when- Well, well, look who has decided to join us.” Alfred froze, chills creeping up his spine; composing his face into the nastiest snarl he could manage, he turned to face his enemy.
Red Fall: 5/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 00:29:33 UTC
Ivan stood, a sickly smile plastered to his face as the shocked, tear-streaked Lithuania gazed upon the American with horror.
“Ha; wouldn’t want to miss out on the party, you sadistic bastard,” Alfred said, his tone dripping with malice, “I was thinking you could just let me go before I have to beat you so badly that even Belarus won’t love you anymore.” There it was again; that horrible laughter that made Alfred hollow inside.
“You don’t seem to be able to fully comprehend the situation, my dear Alfred,” Ivan began as he started towards the heavily breathing American, “You have lost; I am simply waiting for the formal surrender from your government. Your capture has caused, how to say, a panic, da?”
“Fuck you,” Alfred growled, “I die before I’d let my government surrender to you!” Ivan smirked, a horrible manifestation of promises of pain.
“Is that a challenge?” Ivan said as he continued to advance, merely an arms-length away now. He leaned into bandaged man, breath ghosting Alfred’s ear, “For I will certainly enjoy breaking you.”
Taking his chance, Alfred smashed his head into the Russian’s; stumbling back, a tumble of Russian poured from his enemy’s mouth. Holding his own severely throbbing head, he took off down the hallway, running for all he was worth.
But it wasn’t enough.
A strong arm encircled his waist, tightly gripping the recent wounds. Alfred bit back a scream, resulting in a muffled whimper. He would have collapsed had his pride not forced him to stand.
“I’d say that manners lesson is in order, da?” Ivan whispered fiercely into Alfred’s ear, stressing the end of his sentence as he squeezed the younger nation’s waist. Alfred bit his lip, drawing blood from the pressure.
“I want to hear you scream, my ‘land of the free,’ scream for me,” Ivan added, his fingers tracing shapes around his captive’s neck. Suddenly, he gripped with intense force, choking him with fervor. Alfred began to thrash and struggle, but in his weakened state, he couldn’t put up much of a fight; slowly, the struggles stopped and darkness edged his vision as he focused on each breath. Eyelids fluttering, he fell backwards into Ivan’s arms, eyes glassy and bloody saliva drooling from his mouth.
Ivan smiled.
“Liet,” Ivan said, switching back to his innocent tone, “Clean him up and then bring him to me. There is…a great deal to discuss.” Toris barely had time to react as the limp American was thrown into his arms and sank to the floor with Alfred in his lap.
“And if I find out that you’re coddling him, well, I can always take back what I said,” Russia added with a smile over his shoulder, “And Raivis? When I come back, this carpet better be clean enough to eat off of, da?”
As soon as Ivan rounded the corner, Toris sprang into action. “Raivis; Raivis, look at me!” he said furiously to his still trembling brother as he shook him by the shoulders, “You need to clean this up; don’t give him a reason to hurt you. You’ve got to move!”
“B-but, Ivan has Mr. A-america now, too! W-what are we g-going t-to do?” the blonde managed, tears sparkling in his eyes. Toris grimaced; he knew this was bad, but he confidence in the Hero in his arms.
“Don’t worry about him right now; you know how strong Mr. America is, right? Have faith in him; he can win,” Toris said, though the last part was spoken in a whisper. The young nation nodded and slowly began to pick up the shattered pieces, sniffling all the while.
Draping the still unresponsive America over his shoulder, he began the slow trek back to his room. At least he could clean the poor soul up before…before that. Holding back tears, the Lithuanian hoped with all his might that he was right about Alfred.
And from around the corner, Ivan smiled, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
(Goodness this is long (and has more Baltics than America)! ^^; A-Anon apologizes, but hopes you'll still enjoy. Expect a daily update (maybe more) and remember I'm always open to comments. Thanks. :)
Re: Red Fall: 5/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 03:29:36 UTC
this is still so good anon; I love the baltics so I really liked the fact that you included them too, specially because of how hopeful they are of America, I missed Estonia though~ I'll be waiting for the next parts!
Re: Red Fall: 5/?
anonymous
June 24 2009, 14:44:06 UTC
Omg LATVIAAA~~~~!
I LOVE you anon! It's so awesome to see a Russia/US fill that includes the Baltics!
God, is it so horrible that I love America getting beat down every time he tries to escape? FFF YOU GO ALFRED! SHOW THAT COMMIE WHO'S THE LAND OF THE FREE!!
Red Fall: 6/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:37:37 UTC
(...A-Anon thinks she might have gone a little overboard ^^;. I've never written torture, so it might suck, sorry. :( But A-Anon tried her best! Please pardon any grammer mistakes and enjoy.)
The silence in the room was deafening; blindfolded with a coarse strip of fabric, all of Alfred’s other senses were painfully aware. He could feel the gritty material digging into his face and a damp and rotting smell invaded his mind. No sounds, other than that of his ragged breathing, filled the room. Ivan hadn’t even shown his face yet, the sick fuck, and it had been several days …It had been days, hadn’t it? Alfred wearily shook his head; he was losing track of time in this place.
Every once in a while in quick, quiet footsteps, Toris would come to him, urging him in hushed whispers to eat and drink what he had brought; it was never a lot, a piece of bread and some water, but it probably came from Toris’s own share, and Alfred was always grateful. But Toris always left as quickly as he came, leaving Alfred alone in the darkness.
It wasn’t his fault; the Baltic was already risking a great deal to help him.
But…
He was just so lonely; though he would never wish for the company of the Russian, the Hero thrived on interaction, on conversation, on laughter…
Just not that laughter.
Alfred was jarred from these thoughts by the slow creaking of the door; lifting his head slightly, Alfred forced a small smile to his face.
“Hey,” he said, his own hoarse tone sounding foreign, “Welcome back; get caught up serving tea to that loon, again?”
“I find that statement ironic, dear Alfred,” a sickly sweet voice began, “since this is the first time I have graced you with my presence.” America felt his mouth go dry and the smile fractured on his face.
“Ivan,” he whispered, his throat burning painfully, “took you long enough to get down here; having trouble on the front?” A hum of chuckles answered him back.
“You wish, little patriot; I was merely reminding Liet that coddling the prisoners makes me very upset; while he was adamant about his misguided beliefs, I think that I finally convinced him of the right path.” Alfred paled; was that why Lithuania hadn’t come today?
“You mean you beat him until he finally agreed with you,” Alfred growled, “Lithuania deserves better than you; so do all the Baltics.” He felt two fingers tip his chin upwards and warm, vodka-saturated breath across his face.
“It is you, then, who has been corrupting my toys? Who made me punish sweet Liet? I don’t like to hurt my little Toris, but he needs to remember that Mother is always watching and Mother always knows best,” Ivan said, burying his head in the crook of the American’s neck, “Mother thinks that one more punishment is in order.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Alfred said viciously, though with a slight edge of uncertain fear. A harsh slap across the face was his reply.
“You will not speak to mother that way; apologize,” Ivan said, his tone cool and calm.
“Go to hell.”
Ivan’s boot connected with Alfred’s shin, causing the American to cry out in pain. Flames licked up his leg as he collapsed as far as the chains would allow, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.
Red Fall: 7/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:41:36 UTC
“Fu-fuck you,” Alfred mumbled, feebly trying to regain his footing. The Russian continued to pummel him, breaking bones and drawing blood, but his target refused to give anything more than a terse reply; there were no tears, nor was there begging. The Hero was sure he could pull through this. Just last one more punch, one more hit-
And then the pipe connected with his chest.
Alfred howled in pain, fragile, previously broken bones shattering once again. Involuntary tears leaked from his eyes as rattling breaths choked his frame. His body felt heavy and limp as his chest shifted with each small inhale.
"Apologize,” Ivan said, his tone still even, though it had become even sweeter than before. Alfred fell into a coughing fit, his body wracked with shuddering tremors as a metallic taste filled his mouth.
“A-ah…Aaa-ah…”
“Oh? One more hit then?” Ivan said as he raised the pipe for another go; as he moved to swing downward, the shaking voice interrupted.
“A-ah, p-plea-se, n-no m-more,” Alfred managed, his blindfold completely saturated with tears. The tall man paused; lowering his pipe, he let the end hit the floor with a clink.
“What do you say?” Ivan drawled, his voice toned as if he were addressing a child.
“M’ srr’y,” Alfred mumbled, trying to limit his movements.
“Da? What was that?”
“I’M S-SORRY!” Alfred gushed, a new fit of coughing accenting his outburst. Red trickled from his mouth, dying his lips a lovely scarlet. Purring with pleasure, the Russian leaned forward, his tongue darting across his captive’s bloody lower lip. Shuddering in repulsion, Alfred pulled himself as far away as possible, trying to force back his gag reflex. His pride lay crying at his feet.
“Good boy,” Ivan hummed, savoring the remnants of ruby on his tongue. Alfred stifled the urge to cry; Heroes never cry Heroes never cry Heroes never give in-
Alfred repeated this mantra, head hung, as the larger nation gently ruffed his hair and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“Be a good by while Mother is gone, da?”
Alfred said nothing as he heard the footsteps retreat and the door click shut; the insufferable silence was filled only by the sound of teardrops hitting the floor.
Red Fall: 8/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:46:04 UTC
It was almost six days before Ivan came again, not that Alfred knew; lost in pain and his constant mantra, which repeated like a broken record (the hero-the hero-the hero), it had felt like eternity. Alfred didn’t even look up as the door was opened; he thought it must have been another fragment of his mind, spurred by gnawing hunger and hurt. Still blindfolded, it was the smell that caught his attention.
The smell.
He could feel his mouth whet from the aroma, the mild fragrance of flaky bread and melted butter. His ribs shifted painfully at the thought of swallowing, but he was almost too hungry to care.
“Mother is back, little patriot,” the sugar laced tone said, “You have been good, da?”
Alfred wearily nodded his head, his temples pulsing with pain. He felt hot and sleepy; when had that come upon him? He heard the clink of china and suddenly a cool hand felt his forehead; as he felt himself leaning into the touch, he pulled back immediately, disgusted with himself. The Russian tutted.
“My rebel has a fever,” Ivan murmured thoughtfully, “This will not do. I cannot feed you in such a condition.” The American growled in displeasure, though the threatening edge had long since whittled away.
“Do not take that tone with me; you will be fed when I deem so, da? Now, I am going to move you; I advise you not to struggle,” the violet-eyed nation said. As the cuffs released his wrists, Alfred shot to his feet, but immediately crumpled into Ivan’s waiting arms, squirming and flailing.
“Do not test me,” Ivan rumbled primally, “I would not want to drop you on the hard-wood floors by accident.”
Slowly, the American stopped, his figure much like that of an over-loved rag doll. He barely felt Ivan remove his blindfold through the haze; his eyes fluttered as he met the smiling face of the Russian, the dim light seeming to blind him.
“That is much better,” Ivan noted, “What a good boy you are.” Alfred whimpered softly as he buried his head in his captor’s jacket, unable to stomach the crazed gaze. Held like a shy bride, Alfred gripped Ivan tightly as they went through the door and up a flight of stairs. Another door and, suddenly, they were back in the large foyer of Ivan’s house. Humming a soft lullaby under his breath, the blonde carried the American through the halls and approached the kitchen.
Alfred could hear the sounds of a foreign tune, obviously much loved through its careful annunciation. Was it Toris? Entering through the swinging doors, warmth and the scent of cooking food made Alfred further slacken in Ivan’s grip.
“Dear Liet,” the Russian sweetly began. Slightly tensing, Toris turned from the stove, a boat of gravy balanced in one hand.
“Yes? What is it-Oh my god!” the Lithuanian shrieked in shock, the dishware shattering on the floor. The brunette stood trembling, his wide-eyed gaze trying to connect with Alfred’s glassy one.
“N-no A-America,” Toris whispered, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Two sets of footfalls approached the opposite door, and two young men burst through.
“Toris, we heard the crash-my god…” the first began, but faltered. The light reflected off of his bespectacled stare, his mouth parted in shock. Young Raivis, who had followed Eduard out of concern, was now choking back bile, utterly horrified at the scene in front of him.
Red Fall: 9/?
anonymous
June 25 2009, 00:50:22 UTC
“You promised, Ivan…Ivan, you promised you’d leave him alone and wouldn’t hurt him if I took my punishment and I did! I-Ivan, why…? It’s all I asked for…” Toris sobbed angrily, tears streaking down his face at the thought that his pain had been worth nothing.
“Ah, but it is because of that I couldn’t give it to you, my Liet; you were being selfish. I left Alfred alone, for almost a week, da? I thought it was too cruel,” Ivan said with a smile, “But that is another matter; the little patriot burns with his twisted ideals; it is the first step in the right direction, to get rid of all the bad. Make some broth while I take him upstairs, da?”
The Russian left the room with a smile, the mass in his arms mumbling, ‘Toris? Is he okay? Toris…?’
The Lithuanian sank to his knees, tears clouding his vision as he pounded the floor; the broken bits of china bit into his hand, drawing red.
“Why? He promised; that bastard PROMISED!” Toris yelled in frustration; the middle-child quickly came to his brother, grabbing the country’s hands to prevent further damage.
“Toris, this isn’t going to help! Stop!” Eduard pleaded, giving his brother a rough shake. For a moment, Lithuania gazed at him dazedly before collapsing onto his shoulder.
“What have I done? What have I done?” the eldest moaned. His brother gripped him tightly, mumbling small phrases of comfort that didn’t seem to mean anything. The youngest stood apart from his siblings, salty trails marking his cheeks.
“What will the Hero do now, brother?” Raivis questioned softly, trembling, “what now?”
((Yeah, A-Anon went overboard.^^; But she hopes you still enjoyed! There are still several more parts planned, so please keep reading (and commenting; all of these nice comments make A-Anon so happy <3 )!))
Red Fall: 10/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 01:59:48 UTC
(Again, A-Anon is still new at this, but she tried. Please pardon any grammar errors.)
The sheets felt cool against his flushed frame; a light washcloth had been laid across his forehead. The icy water trickled along his temple, quickly warming from the temperature of the flesh. America’s eyelids barely fluttered, the lashes brushing against his cheeks; his fever had yet to break, even though it had been two days since he was released from there. He had barely slept at all due to the pain he was in, both from his fever and the marks that Ivan had so lovingly given him; he would nod off for a few minutes only jerk back to reality.
But there was another reason; he didn’t want to fall asleep with the Russian so close. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he drifted off. He still clung to a few tattered banners of logic; he knew he needed to stay alert.
But it was so hard.
Though his bandages had been replaced, his ribs constantly ached and sent pulses of pain throughout his now weak body. He feebly cursed. Was this the fate of the world’s superpower? To die, alone and sick in his enemy’s house? Another flow of traitorous tears trickled from his half-open eyes; he didn’t deserve to be called a Hero.
“Do not cry, little patriot; Mother is here.” Alfred tilted his gaze slightly, meeting the happy and smiling visage of one platinum blonde.
“Ivan,” the American whispered, his voice muted and thin. The tears refused to stop, soaking into fluffy pillow he rested on. The Russian gently stroked Alfred’s hair, the straw blonde locks parting through his fingers.
“It is all right; you are getting rid of the bad, the poison that has polluted your blood,” Ivan said as he traced along Alfred’s damp hairline, “That is the misguided capitalism that has destroyed your economy,” a kiss, “that is the anger and hate of your people,” another kiss, “and the destruction of the poorly structured government,” a third kiss.
A soft keen caught in the back of the American’s throat; no, he needed to focus! He shifted away from the ministrations, trying to bury himself in his pillow.
“Do not turn away from me, troublesome rebel,” the Russian whispered along Alfred’s ear, the sugar seeping into his tone, “You will learn to love me, to live for me; you are at my mercy.” The sickly man looked wearily at Ivan, his eyes misty and glazed.
“N-no,” Alfred whimpered, but it possessed nothing of the fight from before. A flicker of a twisted grin flashed across Ivan’s face, but vanished as quickly as it came.
Red Fall: 11/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 02:02:50 UTC
“Now, I have some soup for you; you are hungry, da?” Alfred gave the slightest of nods; he hadn’t eaten in so long the idea seemed almost foreign to him. Nevertheless, he reached out a gauze-draped hand towards the spoon resting in the cooling bowl. A light smack hit his hand and Alfred cried out pitifully, withdrawing into himself.
“нет,” the elder country said firmly, slipping into his native tongue, “I will feed you.” Alfred became wary, a significantly delayed reaction; who knows what was in that stuff? Perhaps he wasn’t so hungry after all…
Lifting the American carefully off of the bed, Ivan shifted until the man was comfortably sitting his lap, his head leaning against the much beloved scarf. Ladling out a spoonful of soup, he presented it to Alfred.
"Open wide, Мальчик мой,” Ivan said, the ever present smile in full force. His captive squirmed uncomfortably, ducking into the rough coat to avoid the unknown liquid.
“I am trying to make this easier; you will eat or I will force you.” The undercurrent in his captor’s tone mad him tense immediately; thoughts of his country’s own brutal methods (now long since banned) raced across his mind, and Alfred felt his lips part. The space was immediately filled, the spoon clicking against his teeth as it was withdrawn. The American reluctantly swallowed, partly due to Ivan’s drilling gaze but also due to his renewed desire to eat. As soon as the warmth touched his tongue, resistance melted away. He eagerly leaned forward for more, his eyes pleading.
“Ah ah, little patriot; you’ll get sicker if you are a glutton,” Ivan said, his tone maliciously teasing, “You will be patient or there will be no more.” Alfred opened his mouth for a terse retort, but found the words dying on his lips. He bowed his head and bit his tongue; he was just so hungry…
“Good boy,” the elder country purred, “Now say ‘Ah.’” The weak blonde slightly parted his lips, but the soup didn’t come. His gaze flicked upward and met Ivan’s expectant one. He realized what was wanted.
“A-ah…” Alfred managed, his throat still like sand-paper. The warmth trickled down his throat, and he was so grateful he hardly minded the strange taste.
The ritual repeated many more times until the bowl was half-empty. Each time he would bend to the Russian’s demands, saying ‘ah’ or waiting patiently for each spoonful. Alfred’s life suddenly became defined by Ivan’s hands, the hands that were feeding him after almost nothing for more than a week.
However, so focused was he on the Russian’s hands, he didn’t notice as he frame became heavier and his eyelids drooped. He was leaning against Ivan more now, his head comfortably nestled against his captor’s neck. Ivan paused as the new spoonful touched Alfred’s lips.
Red Fall: 12/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 02:05:59 UTC
“Perhaps this is enough for now; the little rebel seems tired,” Ivan said, returning the spoon to the bowl. Alfred made small noises of protest and pushed feebly against his chest; the Russian chuckled as he leaned into the man, trailing his lips along his ear.
“I noticed that you haven’t been sleeping, Мой милый, and children need their rest; I added something to the soup just for you, to help.” Alfred slightly tensed; his half-lidded eyes met the grinning face of his captor, whose smile was edged with darkness. He faintly began to shake his head from side-to-side, disbelief written across his sleepy features.
He couldn’t fight if he was asleep.
“Nngh…n-no; c-can’t-sleep,” Alfred said, gripping the coarse coat tightly in his shaking hands. There it was again; that smirk that was steeped in ill intentions, an offense to a true smile.
“Ah ah; mother knows best,” Ivan said firmly as he tucked the limp American beneath the sheets, smoothing the wrinkles in the quilt, “I don’t have a story to read, but a good-night kiss should suffice, da?” Gently cupping Alfred’s face, he kissed away the quickly forming tears and molded their lips together.
Perhaps the American expected Ivan to be as cold as his snow covered lands, but his lips were warm and supple. Alfred didn’t press into the kiss, but he didn’t draw away; he was just too tired. His fever hovered at the edge of his consciousness and the sleepiness filled his mind with cotton. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, the feeling of Ivan’s kiss his last coherent thought.
The elder country pulled back, gazing upon his now sleeping charge. He laughed softly, darkly, as he brushed Alfred’s lips with one finger.
“Not much longer,” he said, his chest vibrating with shadowy chuckles. He stood, straightening his coat and scarf as he walked towards the door. He turned down the lights, the shade casting his face at a sinister angle.
“Good night, little patriot.”
((A-Anon hopes that everyone is still enjoying this story; I apologize for its length, but I want to develop the IvanxAlfred interaction. There are still several more parts to go, so please keep reading and commenting (oh the comments, how they make me wibble ^///^)!
Translations:
Нет- No, Мальчик мой- my little boy, Мой милый- my sweet (boy) ))
“N-no, sir,” came the shaky voice of Toris, “I mean, I was just-I only meant to show the extent-I’m s-sorry, sir, p-please don’t be upset with me. You know that I would never say a-anything against you…”
“I know my little Liet, you just don’t think sometimes do you? Perhaps we need to talk privately again about your behavior, da? It would all depend on whether you can be a good boy or not… Now, now, there is no need for tears or trembling; an apology will suffice for now.”
“Thank you, s-sir,” Lithuania said in choked, hiccupping breaths, “I’m very, v-very sorry,” and after a pause he added, “I…I l-l-love you, Ivan.” America could hear the larger country purr in satisfaction and Alfred clenched his fists.
Monster.
His head was starting to swim again, Alfred noted; he needed to keep going, as much as he wanted to beat the Russian to a bloody pulp. As he prepared to quietly move past the door, the sound of shattering china exploded through the hallway.
A shaking mass in a scarlet uniform, which stood over the now broken tea cups, stared at Alfred, wide-eyed and gaping in surprise. Wind-swept blonde hair framed his large eyes and his hands were trembling uncontrollably as milk and hot liquid seeped into the floor. Alfred gave a startled look towards the door and time seemed to freeze; he wasn’t sure if he could handle Russia in his current state. He made eye contact, pleading, begging, the young Baltic to keep quiet.
“M-mr. A-america?” Latvia whispered, his lips barely moving; but it was too loud for the silent hallway, too loud for the door to muffle. Ignoring the rips of stitches and flesh, Alfred broke into a stumbling run. If he could just make it to the end of the hallway…
“Raivis? Those were not my nice teacups, da? You know what happens when- Well, well, look who has decided to join us.” Alfred froze, chills creeping up his spine; composing his face into the nastiest snarl he could manage, he turned to face his enemy.
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“Ha; wouldn’t want to miss out on the party, you sadistic bastard,” Alfred said, his tone dripping with malice, “I was thinking you could just let me go before I have to beat you so badly that even Belarus won’t love you anymore.” There it was again; that horrible laughter that made Alfred hollow inside.
“You don’t seem to be able to fully comprehend the situation, my dear Alfred,” Ivan began as he started towards the heavily breathing American, “You have lost; I am simply waiting for the formal surrender from your government. Your capture has caused, how to say, a panic, da?”
“Fuck you,” Alfred growled, “I die before I’d let my government surrender to you!” Ivan smirked, a horrible manifestation of promises of pain.
“Is that a challenge?” Ivan said as he continued to advance, merely an arms-length away now. He leaned into bandaged man, breath ghosting Alfred’s ear, “For I will certainly enjoy breaking you.”
Taking his chance, Alfred smashed his head into the Russian’s; stumbling back, a tumble of Russian poured from his enemy’s mouth. Holding his own severely throbbing head, he took off down the hallway, running for all he was worth.
But it wasn’t enough.
A strong arm encircled his waist, tightly gripping the recent wounds. Alfred bit back a scream, resulting in a muffled whimper. He would have collapsed had his pride not forced him to stand.
“I’d say that manners lesson is in order, da?” Ivan whispered fiercely into Alfred’s ear, stressing the end of his sentence as he squeezed the younger nation’s waist. Alfred bit his lip, drawing blood from the pressure.
“I want to hear you scream, my ‘land of the free,’ scream for me,” Ivan added, his fingers tracing shapes around his captive’s neck. Suddenly, he gripped with intense force, choking him with fervor. Alfred began to thrash and struggle, but in his weakened state, he couldn’t put up much of a fight; slowly, the struggles stopped and darkness edged his vision as he focused on each breath. Eyelids fluttering, he fell backwards into Ivan’s arms, eyes glassy and bloody saliva drooling from his mouth.
Ivan smiled.
“Liet,” Ivan said, switching back to his innocent tone, “Clean him up and then bring him to me. There is…a great deal to discuss.” Toris barely had time to react as the limp American was thrown into his arms and sank to the floor with Alfred in his lap.
“And if I find out that you’re coddling him, well, I can always take back what I said,” Russia added with a smile over his shoulder, “And Raivis? When I come back, this carpet better be clean enough to eat off of, da?”
As soon as Ivan rounded the corner, Toris sprang into action. “Raivis; Raivis, look at me!” he said furiously to his still trembling brother as he shook him by the shoulders, “You need to clean this up; don’t give him a reason to hurt you. You’ve got to move!”
“B-but, Ivan has Mr. A-america now, too! W-what are we g-going t-to do?” the blonde managed, tears sparkling in his eyes. Toris grimaced; he knew this was bad, but he confidence in the Hero in his arms.
“Don’t worry about him right now; you know how strong Mr. America is, right? Have faith in him; he can win,” Toris said, though the last part was spoken in a whisper. The young nation nodded and slowly began to pick up the shattered pieces, sniffling all the while.
Draping the still unresponsive America over his shoulder, he began the slow trek back to his room. At least he could clean the poor soul up before…before that. Holding back tears, the Lithuanian hoped with all his might that he was right about Alfred.
And from around the corner, Ivan smiled, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
(Goodness this is long (and has more Baltics than America)! ^^; A-Anon apologizes, but hopes you'll still enjoy. Expect a daily update (maybe more) and remember I'm always open to comments. Thanks. :)
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daily update!? HOMG MARRY ME!
I am quite curious where you'll be taking this
still loving this and F5ing
yup
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I'll be waiting for the next parts!
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I LOVE you anon! It's so awesome to see a Russia/US fill that includes the Baltics!
God, is it so horrible that I love America getting beat down every time he tries to escape? FFF YOU GO ALFRED! SHOW THAT COMMIE WHO'S THE LAND OF THE FREE!!
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Love how in-character Russia is. <3 you make my inner psycho squirm
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The silence in the room was deafening; blindfolded with a coarse strip of fabric, all of Alfred’s other senses were painfully aware. He could feel the gritty material digging into his face and a damp and rotting smell invaded his mind. No sounds, other than that of his ragged breathing, filled the room. Ivan hadn’t even shown his face yet, the sick fuck, and it had been several days …It had been days, hadn’t it? Alfred wearily shook his head; he was losing track of time in this place.
Every once in a while in quick, quiet footsteps, Toris would come to him, urging him in hushed whispers to eat and drink what he had brought; it was never a lot, a piece of bread and some water, but it probably came from Toris’s own share, and Alfred was always grateful. But Toris always left as quickly as he came, leaving Alfred alone in the darkness.
It wasn’t his fault; the Baltic was already risking a great deal to help him.
But…
He was just so lonely; though he would never wish for the company of the Russian, the Hero thrived on interaction, on conversation, on laughter…
Just not that laughter.
Alfred was jarred from these thoughts by the slow creaking of the door; lifting his head slightly, Alfred forced a small smile to his face.
“Hey,” he said, his own hoarse tone sounding foreign, “Welcome back; get caught up serving tea to that loon, again?”
“I find that statement ironic, dear Alfred,” a sickly sweet voice began, “since this is the first time I have graced you with my presence.” America felt his mouth go dry and the smile fractured on his face.
“Ivan,” he whispered, his throat burning painfully, “took you long enough to get down here; having trouble on the front?” A hum of chuckles answered him back.
“You wish, little patriot; I was merely reminding Liet that coddling the prisoners makes me very upset; while he was adamant about his misguided beliefs, I think that I finally convinced him of the right path.” Alfred paled; was that why Lithuania hadn’t come today?
“You mean you beat him until he finally agreed with you,” Alfred growled, “Lithuania deserves better than you; so do all the Baltics.” He felt two fingers tip his chin upwards and warm, vodka-saturated breath across his face.
“It is you, then, who has been corrupting my toys? Who made me punish sweet Liet? I don’t like to hurt my little Toris, but he needs to remember that Mother is always watching and Mother always knows best,” Ivan said, burying his head in the crook of the American’s neck, “Mother thinks that one more punishment is in order.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” Alfred said viciously, though with a slight edge of uncertain fear. A harsh slap across the face was his reply.
“You will not speak to mother that way; apologize,” Ivan said, his tone cool and calm.
“Go to hell.”
Ivan’s boot connected with Alfred’s shin, causing the American to cry out in pain. Flames licked up his leg as he collapsed as far as the chains would allow, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.
“Apologize.”
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And then the pipe connected with his chest.
Alfred howled in pain, fragile, previously broken bones shattering once again. Involuntary tears leaked from his eyes as rattling breaths choked his frame. His body felt heavy and limp as his chest shifted with each small inhale.
"Apologize,” Ivan said, his tone still even, though it had become even sweeter than before. Alfred fell into a coughing fit, his body wracked with shuddering tremors as a metallic taste filled his mouth.
“A-ah…Aaa-ah…”
“Oh? One more hit then?” Ivan said as he raised the pipe for another go; as he moved to swing downward, the shaking voice interrupted.
“A-ah, p-plea-se, n-no m-more,” Alfred managed, his blindfold completely saturated with tears. The tall man paused; lowering his pipe, he let the end hit the floor with a clink.
“What do you say?” Ivan drawled, his voice toned as if he were addressing a child.
“M’ srr’y,” Alfred mumbled, trying to limit his movements.
“Da? What was that?”
“I’M S-SORRY!” Alfred gushed, a new fit of coughing accenting his outburst. Red trickled from his mouth, dying his lips a lovely scarlet. Purring with pleasure, the Russian leaned forward, his tongue darting across his captive’s bloody lower lip. Shuddering in repulsion, Alfred pulled himself as far away as possible, trying to force back his gag reflex. His pride lay crying at his feet.
“Good boy,” Ivan hummed, savoring the remnants of ruby on his tongue. Alfred stifled the urge to cry; Heroes never cry Heroes never cry Heroes never give in-
Alfred repeated this mantra, head hung, as the larger nation gently ruffed his hair and gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“Be a good by while Mother is gone, da?”
Alfred said nothing as he heard the footsteps retreat and the door click shut; the insufferable silence was filled only by the sound of teardrops hitting the floor.
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The smell.
He could feel his mouth whet from the aroma, the mild fragrance of flaky bread and melted butter. His ribs shifted painfully at the thought of swallowing, but he was almost too hungry to care.
“Mother is back, little patriot,” the sugar laced tone said, “You have been good, da?”
Alfred wearily nodded his head, his temples pulsing with pain. He felt hot and sleepy; when had that come upon him? He heard the clink of china and suddenly a cool hand felt his forehead; as he felt himself leaning into the touch, he pulled back immediately, disgusted with himself. The Russian tutted.
“My rebel has a fever,” Ivan murmured thoughtfully, “This will not do. I cannot feed you in such a condition.” The American growled in displeasure, though the threatening edge had long since whittled away.
“Do not take that tone with me; you will be fed when I deem so, da? Now, I am going to move you; I advise you not to struggle,” the violet-eyed nation said. As the cuffs released his wrists, Alfred shot to his feet, but immediately crumpled into Ivan’s waiting arms, squirming and flailing.
“Do not test me,” Ivan rumbled primally, “I would not want to drop you on the hard-wood floors by accident.”
Slowly, the American stopped, his figure much like that of an over-loved rag doll. He barely felt Ivan remove his blindfold through the haze; his eyes fluttered as he met the smiling face of the Russian, the dim light seeming to blind him.
“That is much better,” Ivan noted, “What a good boy you are.” Alfred whimpered softly as he buried his head in his captor’s jacket, unable to stomach the crazed gaze. Held like a shy bride, Alfred gripped Ivan tightly as they went through the door and up a flight of stairs. Another door and, suddenly, they were back in the large foyer of Ivan’s house. Humming a soft lullaby under his breath, the blonde carried the American through the halls and approached the kitchen.
Alfred could hear the sounds of a foreign tune, obviously much loved through its careful annunciation. Was it Toris? Entering through the swinging doors, warmth and the scent of cooking food made Alfred further slacken in Ivan’s grip.
“Dear Liet,” the Russian sweetly began. Slightly tensing, Toris turned from the stove, a boat of gravy balanced in one hand.
“Yes? What is it-Oh my god!” the Lithuanian shrieked in shock, the dishware shattering on the floor. The brunette stood trembling, his wide-eyed gaze trying to connect with Alfred’s glassy one.
“N-no A-America,” Toris whispered, the words tumbling out of his mouth. Two sets of footfalls approached the opposite door, and two young men burst through.
“Toris, we heard the crash-my god…” the first began, but faltered. The light reflected off of his bespectacled stare, his mouth parted in shock. Young Raivis, who had followed Eduard out of concern, was now choking back bile, utterly horrified at the scene in front of him.
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“Ah, but it is because of that I couldn’t give it to you, my Liet; you were being selfish. I left Alfred alone, for almost a week, da? I thought it was too cruel,” Ivan said with a smile, “But that is another matter; the little patriot burns with his twisted ideals; it is the first step in the right direction, to get rid of all the bad. Make some broth while I take him upstairs, da?”
The Russian left the room with a smile, the mass in his arms mumbling, ‘Toris? Is he okay? Toris…?’
The Lithuanian sank to his knees, tears clouding his vision as he pounded the floor; the broken bits of china bit into his hand, drawing red.
“Why? He promised; that bastard PROMISED!” Toris yelled in frustration; the middle-child quickly came to his brother, grabbing the country’s hands to prevent further damage.
“Toris, this isn’t going to help! Stop!” Eduard pleaded, giving his brother a rough shake. For a moment, Lithuania gazed at him dazedly before collapsing onto his shoulder.
“What have I done? What have I done?” the eldest moaned. His brother gripped him tightly, mumbling small phrases of comfort that didn’t seem to mean anything. The youngest stood apart from his siblings, salty trails marking his cheeks.
“What will the Hero do now, brother?” Raivis questioned softly, trembling, “what now?”
((Yeah, A-Anon went overboard.^^; But she hopes you still enjoyed! There are still several more parts planned, so please keep reading (and commenting; all of these nice comments make A-Anon so happy <3 )!))
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I don't even LIKE America that much, but this fic omfg please update soon anon. I'm begging you.
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VERY good for your first fill! ;o; I am the worst kind of American for loving how Mother Russia is taking care of anon's country. XD;;
Anon can't wait to read the rest<3
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The sheets felt cool against his flushed frame; a light washcloth had been laid across his forehead. The icy water trickled along his temple, quickly warming from the temperature of the flesh. America’s eyelids barely fluttered, the lashes brushing against his cheeks; his fever had yet to break, even though it had been two days since he was released from there. He had barely slept at all due to the pain he was in, both from his fever and the marks that Ivan had so lovingly given him; he would nod off for a few minutes only jerk back to reality.
But there was another reason; he didn’t want to fall asleep with the Russian so close. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he drifted off. He still clung to a few tattered banners of logic; he knew he needed to stay alert.
But it was so hard.
Though his bandages had been replaced, his ribs constantly ached and sent pulses of pain throughout his now weak body. He feebly cursed. Was this the fate of the world’s superpower? To die, alone and sick in his enemy’s house? Another flow of traitorous tears trickled from his half-open eyes; he didn’t deserve to be called a Hero.
“Do not cry, little patriot; Mother is here.” Alfred tilted his gaze slightly, meeting the happy and smiling visage of one platinum blonde.
“Ivan,” the American whispered, his voice muted and thin. The tears refused to stop, soaking into fluffy pillow he rested on. The Russian gently stroked Alfred’s hair, the straw blonde locks parting through his fingers.
“It is all right; you are getting rid of the bad, the poison that has polluted your blood,” Ivan said as he traced along Alfred’s damp hairline, “That is the misguided capitalism that has destroyed your economy,” a kiss, “that is the anger and hate of your people,” another kiss, “and the destruction of the poorly structured government,” a third kiss.
A soft keen caught in the back of the American’s throat; no, he needed to focus! He shifted away from the ministrations, trying to bury himself in his pillow.
“Do not turn away from me, troublesome rebel,” the Russian whispered along Alfred’s ear, the sugar seeping into his tone, “You will learn to love me, to live for me; you are at my mercy.” The sickly man looked wearily at Ivan, his eyes misty and glazed.
“N-no,” Alfred whimpered, but it possessed nothing of the fight from before. A flicker of a twisted grin flashed across Ivan’s face, but vanished as quickly as it came.
He was winning.
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“нет,” the elder country said firmly, slipping into his native tongue, “I will feed you.” Alfred became wary, a significantly delayed reaction; who knows what was in that stuff? Perhaps he wasn’t so hungry after all…
Lifting the American carefully off of the bed, Ivan shifted until the man was comfortably sitting his lap, his head leaning against the much beloved scarf. Ladling out a spoonful of soup, he presented it to Alfred.
"Open wide, Мальчик мой,” Ivan said, the ever present smile in full force. His captive squirmed uncomfortably, ducking into the rough coat to avoid the unknown liquid.
“I am trying to make this easier; you will eat or I will force you.” The undercurrent in his captor’s tone mad him tense immediately; thoughts of his country’s own brutal methods (now long since banned) raced across his mind, and Alfred felt his lips part. The space was immediately filled, the spoon clicking against his teeth as it was withdrawn. The American reluctantly swallowed, partly due to Ivan’s drilling gaze but also due to his renewed desire to eat. As soon as the warmth touched his tongue, resistance melted away. He eagerly leaned forward for more, his eyes pleading.
“Ah ah, little patriot; you’ll get sicker if you are a glutton,” Ivan said, his tone maliciously teasing, “You will be patient or there will be no more.” Alfred opened his mouth for a terse retort, but found the words dying on his lips. He bowed his head and bit his tongue; he was just so hungry…
“Good boy,” the elder country purred, “Now say ‘Ah.’” The weak blonde slightly parted his lips, but the soup didn’t come. His gaze flicked upward and met Ivan’s expectant one. He realized what was wanted.
“A-ah…” Alfred managed, his throat still like sand-paper. The warmth trickled down his throat, and he was so grateful he hardly minded the strange taste.
The ritual repeated many more times until the bowl was half-empty. Each time he would bend to the Russian’s demands, saying ‘ah’ or waiting patiently for each spoonful. Alfred’s life suddenly became defined by Ivan’s hands, the hands that were feeding him after almost nothing for more than a week.
However, so focused was he on the Russian’s hands, he didn’t notice as he frame became heavier and his eyelids drooped. He was leaning against Ivan more now, his head comfortably nestled against his captor’s neck. Ivan paused as the new spoonful touched Alfred’s lips.
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“I noticed that you haven’t been sleeping, Мой милый, and children need their rest; I added something to the soup just for you, to help.” Alfred slightly tensed; his half-lidded eyes met the grinning face of his captor, whose smile was edged with darkness. He faintly began to shake his head from side-to-side, disbelief written across his sleepy features.
He couldn’t fight if he was asleep.
“Nngh…n-no; c-can’t-sleep,” Alfred said, gripping the coarse coat tightly in his shaking hands. There it was again; that smirk that was steeped in ill intentions, an offense to a true smile.
“Ah ah; mother knows best,” Ivan said firmly as he tucked the limp American beneath the sheets, smoothing the wrinkles in the quilt, “I don’t have a story to read, but a good-night kiss should suffice, da?” Gently cupping Alfred’s face, he kissed away the quickly forming tears and molded their lips together.
Perhaps the American expected Ivan to be as cold as his snow covered lands, but his lips were warm and supple. Alfred didn’t press into the kiss, but he didn’t draw away; he was just too tired. His fever hovered at the edge of his consciousness and the sleepiness filled his mind with cotton. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, the feeling of Ivan’s kiss his last coherent thought.
The elder country pulled back, gazing upon his now sleeping charge. He laughed softly, darkly, as he brushed Alfred’s lips with one finger.
“Not much longer,” he said, his chest vibrating with shadowy chuckles. He stood, straightening his coat and scarf as he walked towards the door. He turned down the lights, the shade casting his face at a sinister angle.
“Good night, little patriot.”
((A-Anon hopes that everyone is still enjoying this story; I apologize for its length, but I want to develop the IvanxAlfred interaction. There are still several more parts to go, so please keep reading and commenting (oh the comments, how they make me wibble ^///^)!
Translations:
Нет- No, Мальчик мой- my little boy, Мой милый- my sweet (boy) ))
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