I'm so glad I'm not a Christian, or I'd be going to Hell for everything I've written. O.O This is one of them. Non-con, because consent with Russia never goes over well for some reason. No one likes him...? ;-; It's okay, Ivan, I love you~! 3 We'll find you someone who wants you! D:
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Seriously. I'm not even going to come up with a witty thing to say for this. I don't own anything but my mind... and something I don't even want that. *shudder*
I stroke the length of pipe affectionately and as that wretched American is thrashing around, I can hear him bumping against the table. What a fool. He's only going to hurt himself and add to the bruises.
"Let me go!" he cries. I guess he has loosened the gag. What a pity. I was hoping to avoid that voice. "Damnit, Commie!" I bring my pipe down on his writhing form, and he cries out loudly. I think I might have broken his ribs, but I'll find out in a minute so I don't dwell on that thought.
"Comrade, do not struggle so much, and I will not hurt you." I bring the frosted glass bottle to my lips and drink down a burning mouthful of liquor. "I can be quite kind when you do not interfere with my desires." He whimpers again but does not argue.
The so-called liquid courage does not affect me. I do not need the encouragement. While he writhes and whimpers, I pull him by his bindings up into my arms.
"I will take good care of you, comrade," I croon, and he looks at me with those fierce blue eyes. Instead of broken, he is stronger. I thought for certain that he was submitting. I was wrong.
He lands on the bed with a grunt, and watches me as I search for something to bind his wrists. There are handcuffs generously given to me when the Germans took me into prison, so I jerk the American's arms from the ropes and cuff them over his head, to the headboard. He glares up at me, electric ocean eyes full of hate. I smile; he is so adorable like this.
"Bastard…" he hisses. I merely continue smiling. He is unfazed. How unique. Usually, my victims are terrified. Yet he is utterly unafraid.
I tear open the ropes and discard them.
"You'll regret everything if you touch me," he hisses. I shake my head.
"I do not believe you." I unbutton my coat slowly. My pipe is still in my hand, but I set it on the bed so I may remove my coat. Next is my scarf, and I fold it and set it on the nightstand affectionately. I can never disrespect my sister by putting on the floor.
"What are you going to do to me?" he hisses. I kneel on the bed, beside my pipe.
"I am going to break you," I said, stroking icy metal. He narrows hypnotic eyes.
"Never," he replies coldly.
I creep forward, leaning over his body. I can see rope burn on his skin, but it is good for him. It will make him strong.
"I desire a kiss. And I shall get it," I breathe, against his lips and he shivers, "Whether by force or willingness. I have no preference, American."
"Go to hell," he snarls, and I slap him so hard that his face instantly turns crimson. I can see the beginnings of swelling under his eye along his cheekbone.
"Do not speak back to me." I lean down, ghosting my lips against his, and in defiance, he rushes up and bites my lip hard enough to draw blood. I pull away, tasting the crimson liquid. For a second, vicious, cruel anger is bubbling up in me. Then I compose myself and turn to spit blood onto the floor.
"Your defiance shall get you punished, comrade." He stares up at me, blood on his lips and his teeth that he bares in boldness. I can feel my blood running down my chin wetly, dripping onto the American's white dress shirt.
I slip my gloves from my fingers and toss them aside.
"I shall give you one more chance. I really do not want to hurt you too badly, comrade."
"Then let me go, fucking commie bitch." I strike him again, but he does not make a sound. The side of his face is red and slightly swollen, and his lips are covered in blood. He looks beautiful.
I lean down for another, brief kiss, and when he tries to bite me, I grab him by his throat and he freezes. My smile widens.
"Do not think I will not, comrade. I have no issues with ending your life because of your insubordination." I kiss him again, longer, feeling the slickness of my blood on his lips, my hand never moving from his throat until I lean away again.
"Will you behave?" I ask. In response, he spits my blood aside.
"Fuck you." I smile and run my finger down his throat.
"Foolish, foolish American…" I press down, every so slightly, on his windpipe, tracing the ridges playfully, and he tenses up. "I just need to play with you more." I reach behind me and retrieve my pipe. He looks at it carefully, studying it.
"You can't beat me into submission."
"I wasn't planning on it," I reply, smiling. Just as he begins to speak again, I slip the end into his mouth, pressing his tongue back toward his throat. He makes an angry noise, but I smile and slid it in more.
"I choose instead to put your filthy mouth to better use." He glares at me for a bit, and I twist the length of it against his tongue. "Do you enjoy the taste of lead?" His expression quickly changes to panic and I feel him push against the end of the pipe with his tongue. I understand his panic, not that I sympathize. It has been a while since his country has made pipes of pure lead.
"I can be kind and take it out," I say as his eyes widen and he begins to thrash, "But of course you must promise total obedience." He shakes his head, and I push the pipe in deeper. He gags and shakes his head again.
I smile. "Eventually, you must breathe." He shakes his head, but there are tears in his eyes. I lean down and leave crimson kisses on the corner of his eyes.
"It does not have to be so hard, my little sunflower," I whisper, "I can be gentle if you want. You must just submit…" He makes a choked sound, and out of pity, I withdraw the pipe. He gasps in air, squeezing his eyes shut, and I kiss him.
"Nyet," I whisper, and I kiss him again. He whimpers.
"Stop…" I lap some of the blood from his lips. My fingers find purchase on his clothes, and I slowly tear his shirt open, popping the buttons. The others have not lied to me; beneath his clothing, the American is solid muscle and golden expanses of skin. He is beautiful, and I cannot help it when I lean down and taste him. His skin is soft and tastes rich and nutty. He makes an upset sound and tries to push me away. But he only brings his body closer to me. I begin to sample each inch of him, starting at his throat.
"Why me…" he whispers softly, so softly that I hardly hear. I glance up from his collarbone.
"Because I hate you," I whisper, nipping his collar. He tries to push me away again.
"Let me go, fucking Red!" he suddenly roars, and he thrashes beneath me like a man possessed. I straddle his legs and pin them, and he stares at me, electric saucers locked on my eyes.
"Fucking bastard…" he snarls. I smile warmly and lean down to return to what I was doing prior to his outburst. His skin is delicious to the tongue and I crave more and more as I continue down his chest.
His nipples get hard as I suck on them, but he whines like someone is beating him. I do not understand him. Maybe he is only pretending to hate it? I do not care. This is not for him. If he enjoys it, then he gets something from this as well.
"Ngh… stop it, damnit…" I smile and press feathery kisses to his stomach. The rough material of his pants rubs against my skin, but I disregard it until I am lavishing affection along the trail of hair that starts at his navel.
I am gentle with him as I carefully unbutton his pants. I unzip them slowly, and just as carefully as before, I remove them. He cannot deny how I have made him feel any longer. His flush darkens and my grin widens as I note the pulsing need hidden within his shorts. I palm it and watch his expression as he whimpers.
"You seem to be enjoying this," I reply, pressing down a little harder to create more friction. He cries out.
"No! No!" but he arches in my touch, and I can feel the dot of precum soaking into his shorts.
I pull them away, leaving him bare, and he pulls against the handcuffs furiously.
"No!" I smile and admire his twitching arousal for a moment.
"You are beautiful, sunflower."
"Don't look at me like that," he cries out, trying to squirm away.
"Fucking commie! Let me go!" He doesn't answer my question. Is it because he has no reason? That he refuses because he is embarrassed that he enjoys it? I do not care.
I lean over him and reach for the bottle of lotion. Though this meeting is not for him, I do not want to hurt him and draw attention to this.
"Why aren't you listening to me?" he whines softly.
"Because you are denying me the thing I crave," I reply, and I set the small bottle down to finish undressing. My shirt is tossed onto the floor with my jacket, and later, my pants and underclothes join them. I smile and pick up the bottle again.
"I am not cruel, comrade."
"O-oh really?" he pulls at his handcuffs again, grunting.
"You are not going to get out of those. Why do you try?" I notice tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Tears of upset? Hurt? Frustration? I lean down and kiss the corner of his eyes gently.
"You do not need to fear. I promise to take care of you."
" 'M not fucking scared," he hisses, "and I thought you hated me five minutes ago." He has called my bluff. I am slightly angry at being figured out, but more so, I refuse to show any emotion that he will take as weakness.
"I do hate you. But I also do not want to be guilty of war crimes." I pop open the cap of the bottle and begin to spread the white liquid on my fingers.
"This is a treat to you. If you decide you are going to fight me, I can always forgo this." I spread his thighs and eye the small pucker. He whines and wriggles slightly.
"Ngh…" he tenses up as I press my finger to the small hole. I slowly slip in, and he is abusing his lip with his teeth as I enter him. "Anh…" I wriggle my finger to get it deeper, and he keeps clenching around it.
"Do not tense up. It hurts more." He hisses profanity at me, and I add another finger at that moment. His anger is cut off by a strangled gasp. More tears prick the corners of his eyes. I lean down and kiss his abused lips as I ease my fingers in deeper. He whimpers and growls more vulgarity. I spread my fingers, ignoring his anger, and he cries out in pain.
"This is for you, comrade. Do not be upset with me when I am trying to help you." My annoyance is beginning to surface.
"If you weren't a monster, you wouldn't have to help me in the first place." Though his sentence is broken by whimpers and grunts, I understand his vicious tone. I never considered that what I am doing is wrong, and when he calls me a monster, I become enraged. I jerk my fingers from him and force his legs wider, positioning my hips between them. He suddenly seems terrified, and he tries to close his legs around my hips. My smile has fallen away, and he pulls at the handcuff again, desperately.
"W-wait, no, please!" I refuse to speak to him, and with a sharp thrust of my hips, I bury myself in his tight heat. This hurts less because I had stretched and lubricated him slightly. Yet he still screams in pain, and the tears come.
If he believes that I am a monster, I will behave as he wishes. I pull back and slam into him again, and he is biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, to hold in the cries of pain. A crimson river runs down his chin, staining his throat with thick drops. I do not give him time. He deserves no pity any longer.
He is tight and constricting, clenching around me every time I push into him. He is pulling at the handcuffs, crying out, begging me to stop, stop. It hurts, he screams, but I pay him no heed. If this is what he wants, he shall not be denied. I grip his hips and position them so I can thrust deeper and deeper. He is trying to get away even though he knows it is futile. I grunt; I shall not last very long. He keeps tightening around me like this and it feels fantastic.
I growl out my desires in my native tongue, believing that he does not understand.
"Hurry up please!" he sobs in my language, "Please… please…!" I am surprised, but to hear my motherland's beautiful language from him sets me over the edge. I climax with a deep moan, flooding his inner walls with semen. He lets out a choked sound, like a sob, and I slump over him. I am panting, entirely exhausted, but I pull my softening member from inside of him. Coming with it, a flood of white and red liquid soaks into the bed sheets. He is crying quietly now, blood and tears streaked down his face. His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat.
He is adorable right now. My rage has dissipated, and tenderly, I lean down and place a kiss on his forehead.
"Don't touch me…" he whimpers. He has stopped trying to free himself and just lies still beneath me.
"I did not mean to become upset, dorogoy. I did not mean to hurt you." He turns his head away, silent. I have hurt him worse than I had wanted. Now, guilt is setting in, and I hang my head.
I unlock the handcuffs and his bruised, bloodied wrists fall to the bed. I get to my feet and pick him up tenderly. I will wash away the blood and dress his wounds. Then he is free to do whatever he chooses.
He closes his eyes, and more tears run down his face. He will not speak to me any longer. Before, he hated me. Now, as I wind linen bandages around his bleeding wrists, I realize that he will never forgive me.
I was writing a collection of USxanyone, and ma cherie who terrifies me (descendant of Belarus...?) suggested that the Russia and US story should be noncon, and there should be a revenge one following. I love to jump the gun, but noncon isn't my strong point. So I wanted public opinion before I sequel-a-nized it, thus I need reviews for this one. Also, if you want me to do something, tell me! I like suggestions! They make me happy! I write stories for people who leave suggestions! I even mention you in my AN! Suggesters are special to me! R&R, mes chers lisants, but I'm not begging~! Love, ta tante favori~! :D