Between You And I... [2...]
anonymous
July 2 2009, 08:56:36 UTC
"Oh, little Latvia." Russia grinned. "My little malchik."
Latvia blushed and looked away. He so desperately wanted respect from others, but it always seemed Russia was holding him back. He could chat amicably to the other nations (who seldom seemed to take his thoughts and opinions seriously), but Russia was always in the background, ready to misinterpret anything that came from his mouth. Even telling Sealand that he had to make friends in order to become strong or else it would be extremely hard for him, had resulted in Russia sneaking up on him, first asking if he found anything wrong with 'living with him', and then a solid punishment the moment they arrived home.
Russia leant over him, stroking one shaking cheek, Latvia's eyes hazing into what would be the equivalent of a verbal scream. This was when he bit his lip a little too hard, groaning quietly as saliva mixed with blood in his mouth, colouring his lips somewhat.
The Russian took his little prey there and then. He reached down and rubbed noses with Latvia in an attempt to calm the boy down, but soon pressed his icy-cold lips against warm, bleeding ones. And then his tongue greedily entered the hot little cavern of Latvia's mouth, tasting the wine that was his blood, the vodka which was ever-present on Russia's mouth stinging the cut on Latvia's lip, making him shift uncomfortably, fresh tears springing forth from his eyes.
Russia's tongue was careful, almost sensitive at first, but the moment Latvia's tongue had shyly attempted to poke against his, Russia became violent, keeping Latvia's arms pinned down, his head pressed hard against the boy's head, not allowing him to break off the kiss. Latvia's mouth soon bruised and bled even more, quietly whimpering beneath the kiss, the taste of blood and vodka now firmly imprinted on his tongue.
Not OP, but...
anonymous
July 8 2009, 19:35:47 UTC
I'm really enjoying this! I love the way you've written this - Russia's madness coming out at terror, the whole way you've portrayed Latvia (especially what he wants to say but can't), how he wants respect from others, ahhh~ I can't wait to read the rest!
Re: Between You And I... [3...]
anonymous
July 10 2009, 09:49:07 UTC
(Writer!Anon is back. Enjoy it, I seriously think this pairing needs more love. ;w; Also lol at the ReCaptcha being HAROLD PORPOISE.)
Raivis looked up terrified at Russia the moment he withdrew, beginning to shake even harder. He swallowed the disgusting taste in his mouth, grimacing as the alcohol burned his throat, the blood mixing with it to make a bittersweet sensation, pouring down his throat.
Russia was enjoying himself. He'd decided tonight to make Latvia his, and he knew he could set the boy into total terror with threats. He slid off the bed, marvelling at Raivis' tiny frame.
"Do you not ever wish to be taller, comrade?" Ivan murmured.
Raivis weakly nodded. He then squealed as Russia obliged his 'request', and grabbed his ankles tightly, beginning to pull and stretch his legs. He cried even louder as his knees clicked in unison, and gaskets of air popped over tendons in his ankles, like Russia was playing with the limb of a plush animal. Was this what it was like to be stretched on a rack?
Latvia whimpered and cried. Didn't Russia know that if he dislocated or broke Latvia's legs, he wouldn't walk for weeks?
Russia smirked at the cries he was eliciting, and then let go of Latvia's legs, temporarily, gripping them in a softer hold than before. "You won't get taller by stretching, da? I'll make sure to buy more milk, comrade." (Latvia didn't really want to say at this moment that he hated the taste of milk.) "Because, when everyone is one with Russia, I will need strong boys to be my soldiers."
Latvia bit his lip at the emphasis on 'strong'. He wanted to be strong, he desperately did! Couldn't Russia see that he was holding back Latvia from his potential?
He barely felt his boots and trousers slipping off at the Russian's hands. Lying on his back against Russia's thick sheets, hands clenching the duvet, eyes brimming like the edge of a waterfall, every breath juddering and meek, staring at Russia like a rabbit trapped in headlights, Russia noted how beautiful his prey looked to him. Cowering under him, begging not to be hurt via his body language.
Raivis' skin was soft, and he had some slender curves in the right places, although his torso ruined the whole image - Russia's insistence on only a few meals a week ("our other comrades need to eat too, let us fast and think about those less lucky than us"), had made his ribs stick out, and had made him pale and sometimes lethargic from malnourishment.
At this moment in time, Liet was still being America's housekeeper. He'd written that although he was getting sick of the taste of hamburgers, he enjoyed America's company - leading Russia to tear up the letter when he'd wrenched it out of Latvia's hand.
Russia pressed a kiss at Latvia's thin, swan-like throat, sucking and nipping the skin, ignoring the boy's cries. He bit too hard at one point, bruising the flesh, but he then simply moved on, nearer and nearer the main artery in the neck, biting down clumsily, lapping up the little droplets of blood, clutching Latvia by the hair in one hand and wrapping an arm around his back as he sucked.
Raivis whimpered, not being able to take it. He pushed Russia off, then pressed one hand against the wound on his neck, wincing as the blood painted his palm bright red.
Russia grumbled, then hit Raivis. "Stay here, da." He then disappeared into the bathroom, re-emerging in night-clothes, something clenched in his hand...
Re: Between You And I... [4...]
anonymous
July 17 2009, 18:59:40 UTC
Latvia squirmed when he caught sight of what was really in Russia's hand, once he'd left the bathroom, then the bedroom, and had come back up again.
A baby bottle. A glass bottle filled with milk with a rubber teat stretched over the top. Russia liked to use this to punish the Latvian whenever he cried - for acting like a baby.
He didn't dare protest when he was pulled into Russia's lap, the tip of the bottle pushed onto his lips. He began to suck it, the warm milk sliding down his throat, whilst Russia smirked down at him, musing, stroking his arm deceptively gently.
When the bottle was taken away, Latvia's cheeks flushed. He always hated this punishment, it made him squirm.
The bottle was eventually tossed away, Russia thinking to himself of how adorable his prey truly was. He loved their contrasts. Short and tall. Powerful and weak.
His massive weight descended upon the boy again, kissing and sucking at his shoulders.
Latvia knew he didn't want this, but he knew he mustn't struggle, for fear of aggravating Ivan. If the baby bottle was the most painless form of punishment, he knew Ivan would have a lot more in store for him.
Latvia blushed and looked away. He so desperately wanted respect from others, but it always seemed Russia was holding him back. He could chat amicably to the other nations (who seldom seemed to take his thoughts and opinions seriously), but Russia was always in the background, ready to misinterpret anything that came from his mouth. Even telling Sealand that he had to make friends in order to become strong or else it would be extremely hard for him, had resulted in Russia sneaking up on him, first asking if he found anything wrong with 'living with him', and then a solid punishment the moment they arrived home.
Russia leant over him, stroking one shaking cheek, Latvia's eyes hazing into what would be the equivalent of a verbal scream. This was when he bit his lip a little too hard, groaning quietly as saliva mixed with blood in his mouth, colouring his lips somewhat.
The Russian took his little prey there and then. He reached down and rubbed noses with Latvia in an attempt to calm the boy down, but soon pressed his icy-cold lips against warm, bleeding ones. And then his tongue greedily entered the hot little cavern of Latvia's mouth, tasting the wine that was his blood, the vodka which was ever-present on Russia's mouth stinging the cut on Latvia's lip, making him shift uncomfortably, fresh tears springing forth from his eyes.
Russia's tongue was careful, almost sensitive at first, but the moment Latvia's tongue had shyly attempted to poke against his, Russia became violent, keeping Latvia's arms pinned down, his head pressed hard against the boy's head, not allowing him to break off the kiss. Latvia's mouth soon bruised and bled even more, quietly whimpering beneath the kiss, the taste of blood and vodka now firmly imprinted on his tongue.
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Raivis looked up terrified at Russia the moment he withdrew, beginning to shake even harder. He swallowed the disgusting taste in his mouth, grimacing as the alcohol burned his throat, the blood mixing with it to make a bittersweet sensation, pouring down his throat.
Russia was enjoying himself. He'd decided tonight to make Latvia his, and he knew he could set the boy into total terror with threats. He slid off the bed, marvelling at Raivis' tiny frame.
"Do you not ever wish to be taller, comrade?" Ivan murmured.
Raivis weakly nodded. He then squealed as Russia obliged his 'request', and grabbed his ankles tightly, beginning to pull and stretch his legs. He cried even louder as his knees clicked in unison, and gaskets of air popped over tendons in his ankles, like Russia was playing with the limb of a plush animal. Was this what it was like to be stretched on a rack?
Latvia whimpered and cried. Didn't Russia know that if he dislocated or broke Latvia's legs, he wouldn't walk for weeks?
Russia smirked at the cries he was eliciting, and then let go of Latvia's legs, temporarily, gripping them in a softer hold than before. "You won't get taller by stretching, da? I'll make sure to buy more milk, comrade." (Latvia didn't really want to say at this moment that he hated the taste of milk.) "Because, when everyone is one with Russia, I will need strong boys to be my soldiers."
Latvia bit his lip at the emphasis on 'strong'. He wanted to be strong, he desperately did! Couldn't Russia see that he was holding back Latvia from his potential?
He barely felt his boots and trousers slipping off at the Russian's hands. Lying on his back against Russia's thick sheets, hands clenching the duvet, eyes brimming like the edge of a waterfall, every breath juddering and meek, staring at Russia like a rabbit trapped in headlights, Russia noted how beautiful his prey looked to him. Cowering under him, begging not to be hurt via his body language.
Raivis' skin was soft, and he had some slender curves in the right places, although his torso ruined the whole image - Russia's insistence on only a few meals a week ("our other comrades need to eat too, let us fast and think about those less lucky than us"), had made his ribs stick out, and had made him pale and sometimes lethargic from malnourishment.
At this moment in time, Liet was still being America's housekeeper. He'd written that although he was getting sick of the taste of hamburgers, he enjoyed America's company - leading Russia to tear up the letter when he'd wrenched it out of Latvia's hand.
Russia pressed a kiss at Latvia's thin, swan-like throat, sucking and nipping the skin, ignoring the boy's cries. He bit too hard at one point, bruising the flesh, but he then simply moved on, nearer and nearer the main artery in the neck, biting down clumsily, lapping up the little droplets of blood, clutching Latvia by the hair in one hand and wrapping an arm around his back as he sucked.
Raivis whimpered, not being able to take it. He pushed Russia off, then pressed one hand against the wound on his neck, wincing as the blood painted his palm bright red.
Russia grumbled, then hit Raivis. "Stay here, da." He then disappeared into the bathroom, re-emerging in night-clothes, something clenched in his hand...
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ohhh I love this ** More please **
You really do a great job with this pairing =3
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Oh god, I can't wait for more.
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Loving this, anon!
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A baby bottle. A glass bottle filled with milk with a rubber teat stretched over the top. Russia liked to use this to punish the Latvian whenever he cried - for acting like a baby.
He didn't dare protest when he was pulled into Russia's lap, the tip of the bottle pushed onto his lips. He began to suck it, the warm milk sliding down his throat, whilst Russia smirked down at him, musing, stroking his arm deceptively gently.
When the bottle was taken away, Latvia's cheeks flushed. He always hated this punishment, it made him squirm.
The bottle was eventually tossed away, Russia thinking to himself of how adorable his prey truly was. He loved their contrasts. Short and tall. Powerful and weak.
His massive weight descended upon the boy again, kissing and sucking at his shoulders.
Latvia knew he didn't want this, but he knew he mustn't struggle, for fear of aggravating Ivan. If the baby bottle was the most painless form of punishment, he knew Ivan would have a lot more in store for him.
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