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) ))
Re: Red Fall: 12/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 04:43:09 UTC
As an Amerinon, I really shouldn't enjoy seeing my country so beaten upon but...gah, you're just soo good at writing it! You turn me traitorous, writer-anon!
You handle the delicate ways of Russia's manipulation of America very well, though <3 The slow, careful way he breaks his resistance is just incredible and creepy, but it's Russia, so twistedly creepy methods are expected~
I'm waiting for some attempted Baltic rescue, lol. Maybe seeing America so broken will work odd reverse-psychology, and push Toris into the knight that's totally still at his core? XD
Re: Red Fall: 12/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 05:39:03 UTC
Oh A-Anon, You spoil us so much with your constant updates♥ but I think we all love you for that. This gets better everytime; and don't apologize for its length, the longer the better; it makes the writing more deep. Oh and I forgot to comment before, but I'm so glad you included Estonia in the previous parts; I'm really hoping to see more of the Baltics... Keep the good work A-Anon! This is one of the best fills I've seen for this pairing~
Re: Red Fall: 12/?
anonymous
June 26 2009, 06:33:39 UTC
Wahhhh this fic is so damn sexy ;w; I don't even like Russia/America that much but this caught my eye. Why do I enjoy seeing my own country being beaten down like this? Who knows. I love how you write Alfred's inward struggles. Like how he keeps telling himself not to give in, but Russia is just slowly draining out any resistance. And the Baltics~~~ I <3 their role in this. So in character too.
Red Fall: 13/?
anonymous
June 27 2009, 03:35:07 UTC
(Please pardon any grammar errors and the shortened length ((but that means more next time, right? ^^;)))
His fever broke sometime during the night; the overbearing heat slowly trickled away, his body finally able to fight the sickness during his forced rest. However, the illness had left its own mark; one couldn’t help but wonder why it all came together so perfectly, like the pieces of a child’s puzzle.
The sunlight streamed through the timid curtains, panels of light warming sections of the bed. Slowly, Alfred opened his eyes, blinking to dim the brightness of the room. He pushed himself to a sitting position, his chest protesting painfully. Dazedly looking about the room, the American wrapped an arm protectively around his ribs.
“So you are awake, my patriot.”
Alfred shifted his gaze towards the door, the frame occupied by the tall, light-haired Russian. There was little reaction from the welkin-eyed man, other than a slight squint that descended over his visage; confusion.
“There is something wrong, da?” Ivan said, his head tilted in mock concern. Lifting a hand, Alfred rubbed his head, resting his brow in his palm.
“Who…who are you?”
There were several beats of silence; a smile wormed its way across Ivan’s features and he had to bite back his laughter.
Fever indeed.
Wiping the demented grin from his countenance, he eased concern into his face; a slight sad sparkle to the eye, a downward quirk to the lip.
“What do you mean? I do not enjoy these games you play with me, little one,” Ivan said disapprovingly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rested his cool hand across Alfred’s upper brow, checking his temperature; the sky-eyed man unconsciously leaned into the touch.
“Your fever is gone; this is good, da?” the Russian said with a smile; his perfect mask didn’t falter as he let concern further saturate the guise, “Do you really not remember me, Мой милый? Do you not know where you are, who you are?”
Alfred gripped his head; a throbbing pain was manifesting in his temples; there were shards, the briefest glimpses of a battle, of hollow laughter; broken, faded pictures of a crying brunette comforted by a bespectacled boy and a trembling blonde; but his name…?
Red Fall: 14/?
anonymous
June 27 2009, 03:40:27 UTC
“I can’t-I don’t-w-who am I? Why c-can’t I r-remember?” the straw-haired man finally choked out, his eyes glazed with tears. Ivan gathered Alfred in his arms, whispering nothings into the sobbing man’s hair as he rubbed circles on his shuddering frame. Raising his chin with two fingers, violet eyes met azure as tears were wiped away. Suddenly, lips touched, and Alfred pressed into the contact, salty streaks still damp on his cheeks.
Flash; unbearable heat, his mind filled with cobwebs, warmth spreading across his mouth as he fell into unconsciousness-
They withdrew from each other, a light pink dusting on the American’s face. His still sleepy eyes regarded the Russian in a different light.
“Ah-I-Ivan…?” Ivan turned his smile as high as possible as he hugged Alfred tightly.
“Yes, Мой любимый; you haven’t forgotten me after all. I-I’m so grateful,” the elder country said, misty eyes the final touch on his act. Alfred rested on the other, his hands holding the coat in a slackened grip.
Something felt…wrong. But Ivan would help him through it, right? Said country’s teeth were grazing the outer shell of the American’s ear, earning a breathy whimper for his efforts.
“Yes, Mother is very thankful; do not worry. Mother won’t leave you alone anymore.”
Flash; the life of the lonely Hero. He was trying his best, he really was, but it wasn’t enough, never enough-I need-I want-Why aren’t you-It’s all your fault-
“Thank you, thank you; p-please don’t leave me. I d-don’t want to be alone anymore,” Alfred sobbed, the broken rememberings suffocating him as he cried into the wool.
He couldn’t contain his smile; it broke his face, the twisting nestling itself deep in his black heart. As he stroked his charge’s head an almost inaudible laugh slipped past his lips; the taint was beginning to pick up, stripping the American layer by layer, his vulnerable core easy to manipulate.
“Hush now, little patriot; remember,” Ivan began, fighting to keep the glee from his voice, “Mother loves you.”
(I wasn’t as satisfied with this part as I hoped to be, but it’s still okay, I think. ^^; The Batlics make an appearance next chapter, so stay tuned! Please keep reading and commenting (Thank you for those, BTW! A-Anon turns to goo every time she reads them *o*) Translations:
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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nnng, Don't give up Alfred!
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the beating, and now spoon feeding?
OP is turned on already
I can't wait for tomorrow to be here for the next parts!
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You handle the delicate ways of Russia's manipulation of America very well, though <3 The slow, careful way he breaks his resistance is just incredible and creepy, but it's Russia, so twistedly creepy methods are expected~
I'm waiting for some attempted Baltic rescue, lol. Maybe seeing America so broken will work odd reverse-psychology, and push Toris into the knight that's totally still at his core? XD
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This gets better everytime; and don't apologize for its length, the longer the better; it makes the writing more deep. Oh and I forgot to comment before, but I'm so glad you included Estonia in the previous parts;
I'm really hoping to see more of the Baltics...
Keep the good work A-Anon! This is one of the best fills I've seen for this pairing~
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Why do I enjoy seeing my own country being beaten down like this? Who knows. I love how you write Alfred's inward struggles. Like how he keeps telling himself not to give in, but Russia is just slowly draining out any resistance. And the Baltics~~~ I <3 their role in this. So in character too.
This anon cannot wait for more ;AAA;
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His fever broke sometime during the night; the overbearing heat slowly trickled away, his body finally able to fight the sickness during his forced rest. However, the illness had left its own mark; one couldn’t help but wonder why it all came together so perfectly, like the pieces of a child’s puzzle.
The sunlight streamed through the timid curtains, panels of light warming sections of the bed. Slowly, Alfred opened his eyes, blinking to dim the brightness of the room. He pushed himself to a sitting position, his chest protesting painfully. Dazedly looking about the room, the American wrapped an arm protectively around his ribs.
“So you are awake, my patriot.”
Alfred shifted his gaze towards the door, the frame occupied by the tall, light-haired Russian. There was little reaction from the welkin-eyed man, other than a slight squint that descended over his visage; confusion.
“There is something wrong, da?” Ivan said, his head tilted in mock concern. Lifting a hand, Alfred rubbed his head, resting his brow in his palm.
“Who…who are you?”
There were several beats of silence; a smile wormed its way across Ivan’s features and he had to bite back his laughter.
Fever indeed.
Wiping the demented grin from his countenance, he eased concern into his face; a slight sad sparkle to the eye, a downward quirk to the lip.
“What do you mean? I do not enjoy these games you play with me, little one,” Ivan said disapprovingly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rested his cool hand across Alfred’s upper brow, checking his temperature; the sky-eyed man unconsciously leaned into the touch.
“Your fever is gone; this is good, da?” the Russian said with a smile; his perfect mask didn’t falter as he let concern further saturate the guise, “Do you really not remember me, Мой милый? Do you not know where you are, who you are?”
Alfred gripped his head; a throbbing pain was manifesting in his temples; there were shards, the briefest glimpses of a battle, of hollow laughter; broken, faded pictures of a crying brunette comforted by a bespectacled boy and a trembling blonde; but his name…?
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Flash; unbearable heat, his mind filled with cobwebs, warmth spreading across his mouth as he fell into unconsciousness-
They withdrew from each other, a light pink dusting on the American’s face. His still sleepy eyes regarded the Russian in a different light.
“Ah-I-Ivan…?” Ivan turned his smile as high as possible as he hugged Alfred tightly.
“Yes, Мой любимый; you haven’t forgotten me after all. I-I’m so grateful,” the elder country said, misty eyes the final touch on his act. Alfred rested on the other, his hands holding the coat in a slackened grip.
Something felt…wrong. But Ivan would help him through it, right? Said country’s teeth were grazing the outer shell of the American’s ear, earning a breathy whimper for his efforts.
“Yes, Mother is very thankful; do not worry. Mother won’t leave you alone anymore.”
Flash; the life of the lonely Hero. He was trying his best, he really was, but it wasn’t enough, never enough-I need-I want-Why aren’t you-It’s all your fault-
“Thank you, thank you; p-please don’t leave me. I d-don’t want to be alone anymore,” Alfred sobbed, the broken rememberings suffocating him as he cried into the wool.
He couldn’t contain his smile; it broke his face, the twisting nestling itself deep in his black heart. As he stroked his charge’s head an almost inaudible laugh slipped past his lips; the taint was beginning to pick up, stripping the American layer by layer, his vulnerable core easy to manipulate.
“Hush now, little patriot; remember,” Ivan began, fighting to keep the glee from his voice, “Mother loves you.”
(I wasn’t as satisfied with this part as I hoped to be, but it’s still okay, I think. ^^; The Batlics make an appearance next chapter, so stay tuned! Please keep reading and commenting (Thank you for those, BTW! A-Anon turns to goo every time she reads them *o*)
Translations:
Мой милый- my sweet (boy), Мой любимый- my love)
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Can't wait for the next chapter!
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