America slowly walked up the stairs, one step at a time, carefully balancing a tray. Smoke rose from the tray, as well as the smell of coffee and chicken noodle soup. He walked down the hallway and stopped in front of a room. Shifting his tray so that he could free a hand, he took out a key and turned the lock. He slowly opened the door and walked into the pitch-black room. There was a small lump in the bed placed in the middle of the room. That much he could see from the hallway. He walked in without closing the door to give him guidance. He walked over to a small table set up next to the bed, and turned on the lamp. America carefully set down the tray and turned to the bed.

"Are you asleep?" he asked the lump. There was no answer. "I know you're not. You never sleep," he answered himself. He crouched over the bed and shifted the cover that was completely covering the figure from head to toe, so that he could see the head. The person did not stir, his body sideways, away from America.

"Hey," America muttered. "Wake up. I brought soup and coffee." When the person did not react, America reached out, and touched the smooth black hair that now almost reached to the shoulders. There was a slight shudder.

"Japan, you have to eat. You haven't eaten in five days." Japan did not give any indication that he heard. As a matter of fact, it was though he was deaf- he only reacted when the lights were turned on and when he was touched. After a few seconds of no movement, America moved his hand from Japan's hair to the bed cover and flung it off. There lay a thin man who was in almost a complete fetal position. He wore something that resembled a silk night gown or a robe. His arms were bare to his wrists, which were shackled in handcuffs. America shook the man's shoulders. He noted how willingly the body moved to his touch, as Japan's whole body shook. But there was no actual response. Irritated, America harshly squeezed Japan's shoulder. He knew it hurt, though he could not gauge how much exactly. But from the way Japan's body cringed violently, his eyes flew open, and his mouth opened in a silent scream, he knew it must hurt pretty damn badly.

And it was understandable. After the war, his body was mottled with wounds of all sizes and degrees. Though all were bad, the gash from his shoulder, diagonally down his chest, was the worst. America had warned him. He had warned him before giving him that blow. But Japan had foolishly refused to budge.

"My Japanese Soul will not allow me to give up," he had declared. So there was nothing America could do but deliver it. The effects of the war immobilized him, and Japan had lost the war. He could not get up, but America was still standing; those standing in the end are the victors- just like in that fateful rainy July, so long ago. It had been almost six months, and though most other wounds had healed, the last one was still there, a painful and grotesque reminder of what had happened. America had taken Japan and nursed him. It was then that he noticed there were barely any scars or wounds on his back- most were concentrated in the front of his body and face.

Japan's eyes blinked once, then twice.

"Japan," America said, lifting the bowl of soup and spoon. "Drink your soup."

"I don't want it," Japan finally replied, hoarsely. His voice was raspy and hoarse. He was already feeling dizzy and chronic headache plagued him- clear signs of extreme dehydration.

His eyes were half-lidded, and staring out into the dark. The bright flames that once lit up his whole face and his dark eyes, those eyes America had fallen for, were gone.

"Alright, then. We need to change your clothes," America said, putting down the soup and spoon. "They must be drenched in sweat."

"Turn over, Japan," he commanded. When Japan did not move, he added, "I need to take off your hand cuffs." Instantly, Japan flipped over as America took out a key from his pocket. He raised his wrists as instructed, and America clicked the lock and took the handcuffs off. He had turned around to pick up a fresh set of robes to exchange with the old, when Japan suddenly stood up, and dashed to the door. He gripped the rims of the door momentarily, peering into the hallway, looking to the left and right. Then he ran out towards the stairs, in the direction America had come from.

America did not act surprised. How far could a dehydrated and hungry man go in his mansion, anyways? Alas, after only a short run, Japan had his hand on the wall, steadying himself as he breathed heavily. His head was dizzy, and his legs were shaking. It did not help that the scar on his chest gave excruciating pain every time his heart beat.

But all that became unimportant when he hard a crack in the air and searing pain on his back. He had to take half a step to somewhat steady himself. His face contorted in pain as the leather swung through the air again, and made contact with his back. Repeatedly, it cracked onto the light fabric which did close to nothing in protecting him from pain. Finally, his knees gave out and he fell forward onto the carpeted floor.

America walked over, looming on above him. Through the thin fabric, he noted all the new, fresh, red welts overlapping on the old, showing that this was not a rare occasion. Japan's back was covered in welts of all differing ages that stood out against his pale skin, visible even through the robe.

"Of course," America said slowly, putting his belt away into the rings of his pants. "Not a peep- how fitting for a masochist nation of the Samurai…" He watched as Japan, shaking, tried to get up using his arms. "You used to make it at least to the front gate," he added. "I told you, you should eat."

Japan pushed himself up, gritting his teeth. America grabbed Japan's arm and pulled him up the rest of the way. He took him into his arms and lifted him up.

"You should really learn to become more obedient." Japan looked away while being carried back to the room. How short the distance was that he ran with all his might. This kind of distance would obviously give America as much time as he wanted to swiftly walk and snap off his belt, catching up in no time. America threw Japan on the bed, and went back to the door to close and lock it. Japan winced silently as his fresh welts slammed into the mattress.

"Really, Japan," America said, putting his glasses on the table. "How long are we going to do this?"

Japan flipped over to stare at the wall again. He closed his eyes as the mattress heaved to America's weight as he kneed onto it. He pulled Japan's shoulder to put him on his back, and bent over to kiss him.

"You don't actually like this, do you?" he asked, removing his belt and placing that on the table as well. The coffee and soup had gone cold a long time ago.

He bent over Japan again, kissing him more passionately this time, using his tongue to open up the weaker man's mouth, staring straight into the other man's vacant eyes. Japan moaned for breath but America was not ready to let go. Japan's struggles aside, America dug his tongue deeper, probing into his small mouth. No matter how hard Japan pushed with his arms, it did not seem to have any effect on the larger man; he just came closer still. Of course, he was much taller than he, and probably weighed twice as much. In raw muscle power, he was no match. At all. It was a true wonder how he had waged a huge war against him, and lived.

"You can't do anything without me, Japan," America muttered in Japan's ear as he lifted his mouth off his. "You can't even live a day without me."

Japan closed his eyes.

America moved to straddle Japan by the waist and untangled the silk belt that loosely held the robe together on the thin man. He pulled it out of the loops on the robe and brought it up to tie his captive's limp wrists together. Japan moved his head to the side, and opened his eyes, staring at his shoulder. America slid his hand into the fold of the robe, enjoying the soothing sensation of the silk as he moved it, his other hand holding Japan's wrists up above his head.

"Of course," he added. "There is no reason why you would want to get away from me." He spread open the robe as he talked. "I give you everything. Everything and anything you could possibly need or want." With every word, he made a point to breathe out onto the other man's bare skin, enjoying the small shuddering movement every time. He took a moment to take in the sight before him; the bare, pale skin, with mostly healed wounds, and in midst of all the paleness, a huge scar going down diagonally across his chest, still red. America bent over again and licked it. Japan shuddered visibly, pulling weakly at the binding on his wrists. Clearly enjoying himself, America pushed his thumb all the way up the length of the scar, ignoring Japan's legs' movement under him and the pull on the belt, his face contorted in pain. It was a wonder how most of his other wounds had healed, but this one was still raw.

May it never go away, America willed in his mind. It's a mark of me… A permanent mark upon your skin, branding you… you are mine.

America moved his hand to lightly brush one of Japan's exposed nipples. After he gained no reaction, he pinched the small protrusion, smiling when Japan's body shuddered slightly. He rolled the nipple with his finger, enjoying the sensation of it hardening from the stimulation. He repeated the motion on the other nipple. He smiled in content at the colored flesh, and whispered, "Look, they are so hard already…"

He bent over and licked one gently, massaging all sides of it. After a while, he moved to the other one, fully aware of the twitching and soft, suppressed moans under him. He peered up and noted in content that Japan was blushing. He lifted his head off Japan's body, and visibly saw Japan's body sink back into the bed. Not missing the moment, America reached down with his free hand, and felt Kiku's crotch.

"You've become so hard," he said to Kiku, only an inch away from his face. "Just from some nipple stimulation." He saw Japan's face flush even more and turn his head to the side again.

America pushed himself up, still straddling the smaller man. He took the remaining length of the rope binding Japan to tie him to the head of the bed, pulling Japan's wrists closer together to give him more length. His other hand was now free from having to hold the other man's wrists down over his head. The sight before him was beautiful- a pale, toned body lied on the bed, with colors only on the lips, the scar, and the erections he gave him.

He reached down once again, and touched the hard object between Japan's legs. It was covered by a thin cloth of a pair of boxers he gave him to wear, decorated with an American flag; just as a small hint of dominance. After giving the mass a light squeeze, which did not fail to earn him a shudder, he pulled them down. Moving so that he could take them off fully, he tossed them off the bed and moved back to where he was before.

Free from its binding, Japan's erection stood, slightly bent over. Japan had his eyes open, but shifted his gaze away when America met it from below. Smiling mischievously, he began lightly massaging it. Moans escaped from Japan's throat, which he quickly tried to cover up by slamming his face into his shoulder. But America had not missed it, and he took it as a cue to start stroking and pumping the shaft. He saw Japan visibly tense up, his feet digging into the bed sheets.  

Suddenly, he stopped his stroking, which provoked a jerking motion. Moments later, Japan let out a sigh of pleasure as America took his time licking the sides of his shaft. He looked up at Kiku's face and saw a few beads of tears, from the internal struggle that was surely wrecking havoc inside him. He forced the penis into his mouth, and Japan groaned.

"Ahh…." Japan let out, against his will. This time, America did not give him time to push his face into his shoulder to muffle the sounds from the back of his throat. "Mm….nn…!"

America enjoyed every noise and movement that came from the other man. By then, Japan was tugging harshly at his binds, and his back arched to push himself into America's mouth.

"Deeper! Deeper!" his body shouted, as he cried in his heart, "No! No! I don't want this!" It was as though his body had a mind of its own, begging for more, as he, the mind, was begging to be freed from the torment. Clusters of folds of sheets he created from moving around so much were under his feet.

"Ahh!" he let out another voice and came into America's mouth. America quickly lifted his head off the shaft which was still dripping out, and swallowed the bit that was in his mouth, wiping it with the back of his hand.

America was pleased with himself. He took a look again at what was before him. There was a mess on Japan's flat stomach where America had left the penis to finish spilling, and his captive's face was wet with tears. His body was limp, and he was grimacing from, presumably, the pain on his chest.

America lifted himself up again to be in a more confident position. The real fun started from here.

"I never gave you permission to come," he declared. "I think you deserve some punishment… Don't you?"

He ignored the frantic shake of disagreement, and traced a circle with his finger on Japan's stomach. Once he decided that his finger was sufficiently wet, he brought it down and nudged open the small opening below. Japan's eyes flew open, and his body tensed up as America began massaging his insides. When he felt the finger feel up his prostate, he jumped, then grimaced again as the scar on his chest went on fire. Enjoying the changing expressions, America continued probe, and then to move his finger in and out rhythmically. After a while, he added another finger, and then another, moans escaping from Japan's throat every time one was added. Finally, America quickly pulled out his fingers, and Japan's body sighed in relief. But the peace was short lived, as America unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and flung is pants and boxers off him to reveal a very erect mass at least an inch longer and quite a bit thicker than the other man's. Japan eyed it wearily, and dropped his head back onto his pillow. He sucked in his breath and closed his eyes tightly to brace himself for the pain that he knew was coming. No matter how many times it happened, he never got used to it. The sensation of the large penis entering his small hole felt as though he were being ripped apart into two, and his body screamed out in pain. Without a voice, Japan closed his eyes even tighter. There was searing pain every time America moved; at first slowly, as though testing the waters, then quicker and quicker, as slapping sounds of his thighs hitting Japan's cheeks filled the air.

As America moved, letting his body and instincts take over to push his pleasure up to maximum, he saw a bright, red flower seep through the area from the shoulder to chest on the cloth Japan was barely wearing, and blossom onto the bed sheets. Absentmindedly, he noted that the sheets needed to be changed. But that would have to come much later, for there was a very strong urge for pleasure that was building up inside him. He thrust deeper and deeper, harder and harder, not noticing that the figure under him had gone limp from the heavy movement and pain. His breath became labored, and after a short pause, he let it all out, coming inside Japan's body. He pulled out slowly and rolled over on the bed, still breathing heavily. While liquid dripped out of Japan as he lay shaking. He never got used to the pain in his body or his heart every time.

After a few minutes, America lifted himself up to a sitting position and untied Japan. His wrists were red and bruised from pressure. Blood had seeped even to the cloth near Japan's stomach, and he rolled over, away from America, still shaking in pain and shame.

America tried to lay his hand on Japan's shoulder, but the flinch was so harsh that he pulled his hand away.

"You know that I love you, right?" he said to the frail man, who pulled his limbs closer to his heart at the statement. "I love you more than anything else in the world."

You are mine, Japan, and I'm never letting you go- even if it means I will make sure your would never heals so that you cannot run away from me again…