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Whisper of Stars	By : tamasama Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 6255 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or any of the characters. I make no money from the writing or distrobution of this story. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to the lives of any person, living or dead, is purely conincedental.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER THREE
Pain screamed through every nerve in America’s body when he awoke to the sun shining in through the barred windows of his borrowed room. His eyes slipped open a crack and he looked around in a freshly woken daze. What the hell was all of this pain? Reaching up to scratch his cheek, his startled to feel that it was terribly swollen. With that realization came a flood of shocking and painful memories. Suddenly terrified, he swung his head this way and that, looking everywhere for any sign of the monstrous country. Seeing none, his heart began to slow and a feeling of anger began mingling with his fear, until it was almost entirely rage pumping through his veins.
After a rather feeble attempt to stand, he began trying to think through ways of escape, as well as exact his revenge. If only he could get home, he would be able to tell his boss to send a few nukes to Russia’s house! Tell his boss, and then… Tell his boss? Tell anyone? All of a sudden America’s pride flared up like a chemical fire. Tell anyone what he had let happen? Tell anyone something this shameful? In hell! He needed a way to exact his revenge without anyone knowing what happened. Maybe if he claimed ‘WMD’s? That had proven to be enough of a reason to start a fight in the past, evidence be damned. Maybe he could just send twenty nukes over and say “Hahaha, oops! My hand slipped!”
Groaning in frustration and pain, he laid back down, unsure of what he should do. He needed to think of something fast though, or Russia might show up again before he had a chance to prepare. Turning his attention to his defiled arm, he held it above his face, eyeing the tiny holes in distaste. All those years of D.A.R.E and the war on drugs for this? Turning his eyes to the room around him again, he finally noticed the small tray sitting on the table next to the bed. Slowly reaching out, he grabbed the lid and pulled it away, exposing one single hamburger and a small glass of water. Seeing these things suddenly reminded the American of the hunger and thirst clawing away at his insides. Reaching for them in such haste that he almost knocked them over with shaking hands, he had to bite back a whine of pain as his body protested any and all activity.
At the same time, not too far away in the library, Russia sat in a large brown high-backed chair calmly reading a book. Without taking his eyes from the hardcover, he reached his hand out and picked up the crystal glass and tipped it to his lips, only to realize that it was empty. Scrunching his mouth to the left in distaste, he quietly shut his book and set it on the coffee table. He walked from room to room, giving muted little calls for Lithuania, who was supposed to be on vodka duty.
Turning the corner of one of his many halls, he finally bumped into the weaker nation. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you for a while now.” Russia said, smiling down at the man.
“I- I’m sorry, Mr. Russia. I was on my way back from cleaning the mess I had made while preparing Mr. America’s meal, and Latvia’s out sick…” He stammered, shaking.
“Oh there’s no reason to be alarmed. Just be on your way to get me my refill.”
Nodding vigorously, Lithuania began to rush towards the kitchen when Russia stuck his foot out, tripping him. Hitting the floor with his jaw hard enough to hear a painful clack, he groaned and began picking himself up again, already feeling the blood from his nipped tongue spreading through his mouth.
“You are so clumsy, Toris!” Russia laughed jovially, “I’m going to see our new guest, please bring my drink with some haste.” While he spoke, he stepped on the pained country’s back in his quest to go back the way that he had come. Within a couple minutes he was standing outside of the locked door that housed his prisoner. Pulling the large brass key from one of his many pockets, he quietly slipped it into the lock and turned. With a grind and twist of the tumbler, the lock gave way and he entered the room.
“Alfred! Vy horosho spat*?” He asked, arms held out wide in a gesture of friendliness. He was greeted by the tray the hamburger had come on being flung toward his face. Catching it with ease, he calmly set it aside and proceeded to quickly close the gap between himself and the clearly terrified foreigner.
“Fuck you, Ivan, you sick piece of shit! Let me out of here right now!” America yelled, scuttling towards the furthest end of the blood and cum stained bed. Although still puffy, his face was clearly healing nicely with the speed only a near-immortal governed landmass could afford.
“Such harsh words, I am only here to deliver your medicine, da?” Russia pouted, stopping where he stood to stare at America dejectedly. Reaching into his pocket he produced a couple of small white pills. “Painkillers.”
“Fuck you!”
“I am sure that you cannot feel comfortable, comrade.” Taking a few more steps toward the bed, Russia took the water glass from the end table, produced a flask of vodka from one of his endless pockets, and poured a healthy portion. Turning to America, he smiled and held out the glass.
“Come on now, do not be difficult. Take them, they will help.”
After a long moment of silence, the American seemed to come to a decision. Leaning forward, he reached out for the glass, fingers shaking. Once the glass and medicine were in his hands, he scurried back as far as possible away from Russia. While he looked suspiciously at the medicine, a light knock came from the doorway.
Turning, Russia waved Lithuania in. Steps unsure, he shuffled into the room holding a chilled goblet of the strong alcohol his boss loved so much and two glasses on a medium sized silver serving tray. While the large man took the drinks, America eyed his suspiciously. Unsure of whether or not to actually take the tiny pills in his hand lest they be poison, he twisted Russia’s seemingly friendly and normal attitude over and over in his head. Finally deciding that a little ease of pain wasn’t worth being slowed in his healing and ultimate escape, he stuffed the pills down between the mattress and box spring before his captor turned his attention back to him.
“Two glasses, Toris? I am impressed that you thought ahead like that!” Russia was saying while giving his lackey a little rustle of the hair. “You always were my favorite, you know?”
“Y-yes sir.”
“Leave me and my guest, now. Oh, and lock the door on your way out.”
“Yes sir!” Turning quickly, Lithuania rushed flustered from the room. A little click and locking sound later, his hurried boots could be heard practically running down the hall and as far away as the house would allow.
“Hahahaha, he is so funny sometimes.” The large Russian chuckled, shaking his head and turning back to America. “Alfred, did you take your pills?”
Giving an abrupt nod, he held the half-empty glass out. With a knowing look, Russia took it and much to America’s dismay, proceeded to refill it from the cold pitcher. The Russian handed it back, and although he was smiling it was clear from his violet eyes that he intended for America to drink it willingly or otherwise. Unhappy with the prospect of intoxication in such a dangerous predicament, the USA forced a lopsided smile and softly let the hand holding the glass rest at his side.
Pouring himself a tall glass, the older man tipped his head in a small bowing motion and exclaimed, “To my new country, the United States of America! Pozdravlyayu**!” With a quick movement, he tilted the glass back, finishing the reasonably-sized cup as if it were only a tiny shot.
“Fuck no I’m not!” The offended country snapped, pride at full force once again. “I’d die before I let you take me you piece of commie trash!” To emphasize his point he spat a rather large glob of saliva from the side of his mouth, it slapped the floor with a wet plop.
Grimacing, Russia turned to refill his drink. “It is rude not to toast with your host, Alfred. And from what I remember, I took you with ease last night and you seem very much alive.” Watching him from the corner of his eye, the Russian let a slow and menacing smile spread across his lips. “I believe you and I are very much one.”
White hot shame-filled rage shot through America’s body at the mention of his defilement. Gritting his teeth he gripped the glass in his hand with almost enough force to break it, reconsidered crushing it, and threw it at Russia instead. Although his movements were slowed and weakened by the beating and drugs he had been exposed to, along with a ravenous hunger, he was still able to half-smile in satisfaction when Russia caught it with his gloved hand. Even through the gloves he was able to feel the impact, which was clear from the little wince on his face. Obviously unable to stop the liquid from flying out he stood there, eyes narrow, hair dripping with the pungent alcohol.
Setting the glass onto the table next to his own, Russia wordless gave his head a shake, splashing vodka left and right. Walking to the door, he quietly unlocked it, left, and locked it again. A few moments passed, silent except for America’s quick, harsh breathes. The more time passed, the more fear was building inside of him. Minutes ticked on, on, on. Nothing. Finally beginning to feel the man was not coming back, the US let out a shaky sigh. Maybe he had gone to shower, which would grant him more time to figure out a way to escape. If he could only get a couple more hours, he was sure that his strength would have returned enough to at least tear one of the bars from the window and use it as a weapon.
Rising into an unsteady stand, he began to survey the room he was in a little harder. The king sized bed sat in the middle of the room, still disheveled from what had taken place. To the right was a medium sized window barred shut by thick grey rails. The door appeared to be wooden, but upon closer inspection he tapped it to hear a surprisingly metallic clang. End table welded to the hardwood floor, an empty and shallow closet on the far wall, empty desk with no chair under the window. It was like the entire room had been prepared before had had even shown up, with the exception of the window bars which were not there when he had first arrived.
Heavy footsteps approached, sending a shiver of fear running down America’s body. Limping to the other end of the room, he stood with his back pressed firmly to the wall, resigned to fight with his tormentor if need be. That need would probably come soon, since he highly doubted he was going to be set free after everything that had happened to him.
Pushing the door open and walking inside, Russia noticed that America had moved over to the wall. With a toothy smile, he noticed how much like a terrified and trapped animal the man appeared. Having shed his wet coat and scarf, he now stood in only his black undershirt, dark green pants, boots, and gloves. His hair still glistened with water, but most of the vodka smell was gone. Pivoting his body to face the terrified man, he slammed the door shut with enough force to shake the walls and elect a shocked jolt from the American.
After the door was locked Russia walked swiftly over to the writing desk, there he took the time to leisurely peel off his gloves and set them down, his violet eyes never leaving the other’s blue ones. Flexing his right hand, the bandages that wrapped his bruised knuckles tightened and relaxed with the movements. After removing his gloves, he dug into his pocket and withdrew another vial of the addictive substance he seemed so partial to and dropped it onto the desk.
“Look, Ivan,” America began, trying to hide the shaking in his voice, “let’s think about this rationally, dude. There’s no way you can keep me cooped up in here forever, my boss’ll get weird about it eventually, ya know?”
While he was talking, Russia wordlessly proceeded to walk towards him, eyes like daggers of ice.
“…And hey, I’m sure we can still have some kind of political relations, right man? I mean, do you really think this will work? Ivan, can you really look me in the eyes and say you’re sure that this is cool? I don’t know about you, bu-” His arm lashing out far faster than the weakened US was able to react to, Russia backhanded him hard enough to knock him to the floor. Giving his hand a little pained shake, he stood over the hurting man. Eyes narrowing to slits, he dropped heavily to his knees and wrapped his large hands around America’s neck and squeezed.
Letting out a pitiful wheeze, the USA attempted to unclasp the strong hands wrapped around his throat, his anxiety levels shooting into overdrive. Without the drugs to dull the pain, he could feel everything; the hard floor, Russia’s fingers clenching down and the terrible pain in his throat and head, his stinging cheek. The powerlessness was unbearable as he fought to escape, thrashing and kicking about madly, his mouth working like a fish out of water. Through the pain and the fear, one of his strongest feelings was the yearning for the drug. That magic syringe could make this bearable, it would make his body numb and take him to some faraway place where nothing would matter.
After one more extra-hard squeeze, Russia finally released him and stood. Breaths coming out in angry little puffs, he watched America laboriously drag new air into his lungs with a pained wheeze. He instantly brought hands to his injured throat, rolling over and curling up in a fetal position to cough and spit.
“I do not tolerate rebellion, da?” Russia said, delivering a swift kick into America’s shaking back. Clenching and opening his hands in and out of fists, he began to feel a stress headache coming on. Giving the rebellious country one more kick for good measure, he went to the end table and picked up the pitcher of vodka. Once he was back to America, he kicked the man over onto his back and dropped down, burying his knee into his unprotected pelvis.
Relishing in the pained protests the American was giving him, Russia snagged his blond hair in one hand, wrenching his head back. With the other hand he proceeded to slowly dump the biting liquid into his wide open mouth. When America just coughed it out and breathed through his nose, Russia stopped pouring for a moment to slam the younger man’s head down onto the hard floor.
“Drink.” He growled, yanking America’s head back by the hair again and pouring. Although much was wasted through gurgles and coughs, the clear liquid finally began to slide down the struggling throat. After about a quarter of the bottle was all over the floor and inside the American, Russia tipped it up and finished the shining liquor and three large gulps. That headache was not going to last for long.
Gagging and laboring against the bite of the vodka, America’s eyes widened as he saw the Russian stand, already preparing himself for another blow or savage kick. An insane smile slid over Russia’s lips as he looked down at his fearful captive. Already hard from the excitement of strangulation, he moved to grab the syringe, then repositioned himself in front of the wounded man. With a quick yank he unzipped his pants and pulled out his thick cock and poked America in the face with it, sliding a slick little trail of precum across the slightly pink and swollen cheek.
“If you bite, I’ll knock your teeth out Alfred.” Waiting for a few moments to only have America look up at him with a stupid look on his face, he quickly ran out of patience. Snatching his jaw and yanking it open, he just jammed his dick in as far as he could, and was welcomed by a choked sound as the head slammed into the back of the man’s throat. Of course, only a little less than half could fit, but Russia just smiled and ran the fingers of his bandaged hand through soft blond locks and savored the feeling of the man choking and gagging on his member. Gripping the hair tightly, he pulled and pushed the US’s head forward and back.
“Perehodim sebya, suka.***”
Disgusted by the shockingly cold feel of the huge dick in his mouth, America squeezed his eyes shut and slowly began to move his head. Quivering at the sound of a pleasured purr, he jumped when Russia’s icy hands grabbed each side of his head and held it still. As if having changed his mind, he began fucking America’s mouth with all of the gusto he had the day before. While he continued to thrust harshly into the warm mouth he pulled the cap from the syringe.
“Show me your arm.” Coming from a voice thick with lust, it was not a question.
Tensing, America looked up at Russia with wide, wet eyes. If he did not do it, he was surely in store for more punishment, while just surrendering to the brown liquid’s sweet embrace felt so much easier. Filled with shame he raised his arm up, exposing the crook of his elbow.
Sliding the needle slowly into the waiting arm and pushing the plunger, Russia licked his lips when tears began to roll down America’s cheeks. Tossing the needle aside when it was empty, he gave three more strong thrusts into the hot, wet cavern and came. Choking on the sudden rush of fluids, America snorted and hacked, gagging as some of the cum was pushed by his throat up and out his nose.
Spilling the last of his seed onto the man’s reddened face, Russia held America there by his hair for a moment while his penis softened. After about a minute he slid his semi-erect dick into the American’s slack mouth and pissed. Clearly within the hold of the drug, America barely seemed to notice as the cool liquid slid over his tongue and down his throat, some pooling up in his mouth and spilling over onto the floor.
*Did you sleep well.

**Congratulations.

***Now move yourself, bitch.

A/N: Translations are google, I wouldn’t quote any of this to a real Russian speaking person if I were you. I decided to write this because (honestly) I only recently got around to watching Hetalia on Netflix (tried watching subs online, but they were so poorly timed that I soon gave up) and I instantly fell in love with Alfred and Ivan equally. After a long binge of USA stuff and reading through the manga, I decided to look and see what I could find for Russia. The problem was, everything I could find was far too vanilla! Even the death porn seemed half-hearted, so I took it upon myself to bring some “proper” pain into Ivan’s world. Hahaha.
I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it! Also, suggestions for new tortures are totally welcome. There’s no real plot to be had here, so I could probably throw a lot of stuff in before I’m done (or Alfred runs out of blood, hahaha)!
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Whisper of Stars