Gilbert kicked in the door to Ivan's study the first day of his imprisonment demanding to be released. He stumbled a bit; pain shot through his body, the wounds were still fresh from the war. Gil was already pissed that he woke up in a small disheveled excuse for a bedroom, missing half his uniform and no shoes in site. The walk to the study had left his feet almost numb from the cold floors, it didn't help that he had trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

"You think you're cute?! Knocking a guy out and dragging him back to your house? Where are the rest of my clothes?!" Gilbert continued to spew questions in between threats. Meanwhile, Ivan stood and walked around his desk to better face his intruder. He was completely prepared for this, knowing how Gilbert would react. The German stopped talking when the taller man moved closer. He stumbled back a bit, his headache was aching.

"What do you think is happening?" he asked bending down to be eye level with Gilbert, attempting to check his pupil dilation, making sure the head trauma wasn't too bad.

"You fucking kidnapped me! I…I don't know!" Gilbert's voice was still a bit hoarse but it was a scream none the less. Ivan continued his inspection of his new territory. "I can't remember much since the Reichstag raid...and…and West crying." Gilbert smacked Ivan's hand away before it could slip into his white button-up oxford. Ivan laughed; he stood, looming over the German. The atmosphere drastically changed as the Russian's smile showed daggers. In one fluid motion he was behind the old Prussian, one arm wrapped around, holding his arms to his side, the other moved to his face covering Gilbert's eyes.

"You've been separated, all completely legal. England, France and the Patriot have your defeated brother."

He forced Gilbert's head back making it easier to whisper closer into his ear. Gilbert jeered but said nothing, "And you, little Ost, you belong to me now"

The hand flew from his face and his large fingers wrapped themselves around the cross on Gilbert's neck. He pushed Gilbert to the ground pulling the symbol of honor and German heritage from him.

Gilbert hit the ground. In an instant he realized what had been taken, and retaliated, standing up and throwing a punch at the Russian. An idiotic move, Ivan back handed him, causing him to yet again fall to the ground.

Ivan smirked and stepped forward, purposely stepping on Gilbert's right hand. He screamed, feeling every crack or break. Gilbert rolled over onto his knees facing the desk, cradling his throbbing hand.

"Fuck you, Soviet Bastard!"

Another hand to his face and Gilbert was back on the ground.

"You need to learn some respect, Ost!" Ivan said, barely looking down at his broken prisoner, holding up the small trinket to the light from the sun shining through the large window behind his desk. "Welcome to my home, my family, East Germany!" Ivan whispered.

Gilbert screamed and with all his might, stood and pushed Ivan back, slamming him into the desk. "Don't you DARE call me that, dreckiger Slave!"

That did it, he was going to let the little shit off easy at first, it was a troubling week and he didn't want Gilbert to over exert himself. Ivan really didn't want to break Gilbert if he could avoid it, but he knew the Prussian pride all too well. The last comment however could not be overturned, now it was personal.

Ivan pushed off the desk, forcing Gilbert to fall back to the floor. He grabbed a handful of silver hair dragging Gilbert back to the desk; the younger nation struggled, trying to realize him. The Russian's other hand sent the items on its top cascading to the floor; the objects hit a nearby pole knocking it over, a thin material landed on the tan, oak desk. Ivan smirked "How poetic"

He picked him up by the hair bending him over the desk roughly. Gilbert opened his eyes, the red material was almost blinding, and Ivan pushed Gil's face harder into the desk bending over him. "You and your disgusting brothers, trumping through my lands. Killing, torturing...raping my civilians, my children! How dare you fight me now after the horrors you've committed." He leaned in closer. "You have no right; you don't even deserve to scream!"

He knew it then, the memories of the black boots stomping through villages, the bombings, and the gunfire…the camps. His mind had been in a fog over the last few hours, after getting knocked out in the Reichstag building in the last battle of the war. "How long ago had that been?" he thought. He remembered waking up in a hospital-like room, fading in and out and…West…West crying, his arms outstretch.

East had been separated from West. Gilbert was now to live with Russia, the one man he plotted to beat, humiliate, and destroy on the cold, winter battlefields of Stalingrad. Now, Ivan held him down, now Ivan had the upper hand and threatened to humiliate him. The worst part was that everything the Russian said was right. He really had no right to fight back, to scream or threaten.

This was punishment, or perhaps the beginning of punishment for his recent crimes against humanity. Back and forth, roughly, the red fabric that covered the hard wood desk did nothing for comfort other then something to squeeze in order to deal with the extreme agony. The structure itself made a horrible creaking noise every time Ivan moved forward, not used to the exceeding weight. The pain continued to grow and it was more of a struggle to stay silent; he would surely bleed to death if he bit his lip. The large Russian hands danced wildly on his back and thighs; scratching as he worked while his teeth claimed Gilbert's neck and collarbone. Gilbert took everything that was thrusted into him, finally the pain conquered the orders of silence and he let out a thunderous scream. Ivan pushed his face into the fabric bellow, attempting to forcibly muffle his cries with the Soviet flag.

It ended in a mix of pain and pleasure, a feeling that Gilbert never had the joys of experiencing; he seldom was on the bottom. His mind was mentally spent; he desperately tried to forget that he orgasmed at all. Ivan grabbed a handful of silvery hair pulling the abused body up, forcing his head back in an awkward position, Gilbert almost choked on the long tongue as it invaded his mouth. The Russian pulled out harshly stepping back to observe his conquest. Gilbert was still bent over the desk, his still spread legs began to wobble and he slowly slipped off. With nothing behind him to support his fall he gently grabbed the flag, but it made no difference. He fell hard on his back to the floor, the flag covering his naked, bleeding and now cum-filled body. He blinked a few times, only his eyes moved, searching for Ivan, a few more blinks and East Germany slipped into an unconscious state.