Author's Notes: Based on this prompt from hetalia_kink: "Yandere!Latvia/Lithuania (non-con). Latvia takes out his frustration on Liet every time Russia pisses him off." But this is all OOC and melodramatic and garrrrrrrrrrrr. Sorry guys. :(

From Between Here and There

Russia's never touched him. Bruised him, beaten him, flogged him, cut him, broken him but never touched. It's almost inane, that he hasn't. Almost.

"T-Toris?" comes Raivis's shaky, innocent voice from his doorway. Toris turns around.

"Raivis?" He realizes that the boy's ever-tearful eyes look even more teary than usual. "What's wrong?"

There's a heavy sigh. "Nothing important," sniffles Latvia. "Just Mr. Russia was..."

Lithuania sighs. He wonders if he can get away with letting Latvia handle on his own, but – no. "Come in here," he says.

Latvia slams the door shut behind him.

"...Are you okay?"

"I think so," says Raivis. "I just..."

"I know."

There's an awkward pause.

"I'm sick of this," Latvia mutters, sitting down on the bed. Lithuania hesitates – but in the end, he sits down next to Raivis, as always.

"We all are."

"What happened to him?"

Lithuania frowns. He's heard questions like this before, but... "You mean, what's wrong with him? It's..." He was there when Russia crossed that line, but...

"What's right?" asks Latvia, which – confuses Lithuania. "He's just a country. Large, but... Why can he just... control us like this?"

Lithuania hesitates. "I – I don't know," he says. "What has happened... has happened, and this is the result."

Latvia sighs and leans his head on Lithuania's shoulder. Toris stiffens, just for a second. It's okay. "It shouldn't be like this."

"I know."

"No you don't," says Latvia, and Lithuania cringes. He knew it was coming; it's always coming, but... it hurts. "You're his favorite, after all. He'd do anything for one last piece of you. How could you possibly know how I feel?"

And Lithuania holds his breath as Latvia's tiny hand snakes around his back, playing with the hem of his shirt. He knows Latvia knows about how Russia really treats him; the scars and markings there, but it doesn't matter – that's a good thing. Shows Latvia doesn't mean a word he says.

Still, Toris finds his hands shaking on the bedspread. "Raivis, don't."

He doesn't know why he bothers.

Latvia gives him a mocking pout. "What, do you think he'll be jealous?" he asks. "Poor you."

Lithuania holds his breath as Raivis's other hand slides across, resting gently on his thigh. God, the boy seems so young.

"S-so what's it like?" asks Latvia, voice starting to quiver. That always happens before he loses himself completely. "Playing whore to the man who's keeping us captive and making our lives a living hell? You know, just curious."

"Stop." But he doesn't do anything as Latvia pulls him back by the shirt and pushes him down by the chest; he lets himself collapse on the bed. He can hardly fight back, can he?

"I hate you sometimes, you know," says Raivis, and he says it so innocently. "I don't even understand why."

Lithuania shakes his head – he doesn't try to answer things once they reach this stage. "Latvia, no."

"Stop me," says the boy.

Lithuania wants to. He's always wanted to, since the first time – he left Raivis with a black eye when he first came into Toris's room, and it made him feel sicker than almost anything he's done. And Russia was suspicious – he was certain he hadn't left that bruise (Russia makes sure his property isn't being damaged by others). It didn't do him any good. The more Latvia did the more obvious it was that something had changed, and Lithuania couldn't fight. Not after that.

His arms are spread out either side of him as Raivis makes fast work of the clothes. He's not meant to do anything, he knows that – to fight back would be to ruin it, and would only bring himself and everyone else more pain. And to say yes – that would be wrong. It would be taking advantage of someone much to young and mentally unstable. So Lithuania lies there, paralyzed.

"I'm stronger than you," Latvia cooes, and – God, Lithuania almost vomits when he realizes just how much like Russia he sounds. What happened?

"I know," Lithuania whispers. It may not be true on a physical level – but right now it is. Latvia wants power over him and Lithuania doesn't know how to deny him that without destroying him.

"I can do this," says Latvia, as he pulls Lithuania's shirt open and runs a fingernail over a bad scratch Russia left – Lithuania hisses in pain as the skin breaks and blood seeps out. "I am strong enough to do this. O-only to you, but... small things first?"

Lithuania's stomach revolts, coiling tight – he doesn't want to thing Latvia will do this to someone else someday. If it's just him, he can accept it; that's his right, but if that changes – then morality comes back into it. Although it's not fair to expect them to follow most people's ideas of morality anymore.

"Stop," he whispers, although it's no use – or maybe that's not what he's talking about anymore.

"Shut up," Latvia says. "This isn't about you."

Lithuania knows that. He's always known that. His pants are open and Latvia's small, subtle hand snakes inside, wrapping around the length.

Some of the tension fades as Lithuania resigns himself, as he always does.

"No," he says anyway, because that is what he does.

"Come on," mumbles Latvia as his grip tightens; he strokes sharply and Lithuania's breath hitches. "Get hard, get hard."

His hand is starting to tremble again, as it does when it's not always working. Latvia can rely on things that don't need a physical response – but Lithuania knows he finds a kind of power in that. It makes Lithuania sick, but he allows it to happen. But he'll never help; never try and think of something that would actually make it happen. He can't let himself become that, and – he thinks it would be against the point.

It happens without him anyway; it always does, if Latvia puts his mind to it. Lithuania tries so hard not to think of how Latvia's learned to do this to him; how (him) that could be (Russia).

"Latvia..." he whispers, eyes glazed and fixed on the ceiling. He doesn't want to look at Latvia right now; Raivis is too sweet for what he does.

"Don't do that. Don't call my name. Don't act l-like I-I-I c-care what you think." If Lithuania looked down now, he knows Latvia's lip would be trembling. Because he's Latvia.

"I want to stop," he says coolly, emotionlessly, like the rational adult he's meant to be – Latvia's grip tightens.

"Don't. C-care." And Latvia's other hand holds onto his hip, digging his nails in hard enough to leave crescent marks. "Y-You won't stop me. It's pathetic."

Lithuania's almost panting by now as Latvia's pace increases, stroking him towards the edge. Raivis is right; it is pathetic, and it has to be. Because Lithuania forgot to fight somewhere along the road and maybe, just maybe appeasing this will keep it contained. It seems like a stupid strategy, but he believes it.

"No," he keeps saying, just for the sake of it. And then something that has never happened before happens.

Latvia's arm rises from where he's digging into the skin, and presses on Lithuania's throat.

"Raivis–" he chokes out, but Latvia just stares harshly as he puts his small weight behind his forearm, pushing hard enough to make him feel like he's dying but not enough to kill him. When you put it like that, maybe this happened before.

"You talk a lot," says Latvia. "Must have been Poland. Why can't I control that?"

"S-sorry," Lithuania says through his suffocation, although maybe he takes a little too much glee in defying the implicit order. Latvia pushes down on him harder, but it's hardly surprising.

"Stop," says Latvia, and Lithuania shudders at the thought of his own words – and if, if the positions were reversed. That suspicion he's always had that somewhere they are; someone (Russia) has taught Latvia what to do to him.

But Lithuania stops. His voice dries up and he gasps, loudly, as Latvia twists his wrist and makes Toris come on the sheets. The air smells like sex and Raivis looks almost hurt, and really, Lithuania doesn't know if he can possibly be the victim as much as he (or Latvia, for that matter) thinks, if this is the way things always are.

Latvia pulls his hand out and stands up, leaving Lithuania there in his bed. Raivis's eyes are wide and child-like again, now he's done what he's needed to. "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry. He says that every time. And somehow, that makes it all okay; that makes Toris think of Raivis as a victim again, despite the fact what he does makes Lithuania feel more helpless, confused, broken, dirty than any of Ivan's scars have ever done. It really is pathetic.

But that doesn't mean it's wrong. After all, he knows Russia made Latvia this way – the boy was fragile and he became what he saw. Now, Lithuania just wants to stop the damage spreading too wide.

"It's okay," he says, and he knows he'll mean it soon.

Latvia gives him a stiff nod, and makes his way out, trembling again. Lithuania expects things to go back to normal – Latvia will be even more helpful towards him than normal, they will both cower in fear of Russia together, Latvia might send him some token apologetic gift, like a bouquet, and things will be the way they always are. Toris doesn't know why they act out this script, really, except for the fact they know how to.

He considers getting up to look in the mirror, and see if Latvia pressing against his throat left any marks. He decides against it though. To him, what are a few more bruises?