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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 NINE
America awoke in his bed to see Russia sitting nearby, humming an upbeat tune as he read a novel, reclining lazily. His body ached, he was freezing cold but felt himself sweating, and it was as if he were looking out some other person’s eyes but the sight of the relaxed man filled him with a torrent of relief. Happiness washed over him at Russia’s smile and he tried to lift himself only to find that he was too weak. Licking his dry lips, the blonde forced one shaking hand over to lightly poke the older man’s leg.
He smiled when the Russian turned to look upon him. “Hey.”
“You have fever.” Russia said, slipping a bookmark between frayed pages and setting the novel aside. He turned and grabbed a tall glass of room-temperature water, and handed it to America. When it became clear that he was unable to rise to drink it himself Russia gently rolled him off his belly and lifted him to a comfortable sitting position. As he tipped the glass to America’s lips for him to drink he spoke:
“You have been sick for all day and night, it is good to see you awake.” He brushed his fingers through America’s sweaty hair with a gentle smile.
Swallowing his last sip with some effort due to the sting of his ragged throat, America tried to laugh but only managed to choke out a strangled chuckle. “I feel like shit.”
“And it is of your own doing.”
America nodded, “I know.” And he did. After all of this time of being treated fairly, being fed and kept relatively comfortable, he had tried to run off into the night like an idiot and he had paid for it. If he had just finished his dinner and went to sleep he would not have suffered a fever for an entire day, if he would have just listened to Russia he would have awoken in his warm bed and been able to relax. But of course he did not listen, and of course he thought he had known what was better for him in some foreign land and he had almost frozen to death for it. It was a lesson well learned, at least. Keeping Russia happy kept himself healthy.
Russia set the cup aside to lean over and place a soft kiss onto the American’s lips, enjoying the way the fever-heat flowed from them in waves and warmed his own permanently chilled body. America willingly kissed him back, which was a pleasant change, and he even draped his arms weakly around Russia’s shoulders in a kind of hug. Maybe nearly an hour in the bitter cold was just what the obstinate man needed to learn his place? Russia could smell the scent of illness washing from the smaller man, and there was just something so… arousing about that scent. His hot flesh shook and his eyes were glazed, he could be taken so easily, he was so weak. Russia bowed his head to suck on the burning flesh of America’s neck, enjoying the hot little puffs of air that came from the trembling mouth and slid warmly over his left ear.
Slipping his arm around the sick man and pulling him into a gentle embrace, Russia nuzzled his neck and smiled. He loved America so much, a warm happiness spilled out in his chest to know that the obstinate man was finally coming around to his way of thinking. Yes, he was sure that he would still need to be reminded of the hierarchy at times when he became healthy again but this was amazing progress, and it was happening in a much shorter time than he had expected. Soon he would not need to worry about keeping his doors locked at all times and leaving the house would no longer send him into a fit of worry about what the man would attempt in his absence. Maybe soon the American would come to feel the same way he did, but even if that never happened the man was his property now and he was going to keep him at his house one way or the other, regardless of what it took. He would rather cause the life to flow out of his adorable body with his blood than watch him leave.
America’s breath hitched in pain and Russia noticed that he must have been lost in his thoughts because he found himself grasping the smaller nation’s side in a rather powerful grip. Relaxing it immediately, he smiled brightly and placed a series of soft kisses across America’s clavicle. “Are you hungry, Alfred?”
America nodded and Russia lifted himself to look into his eyes with his usual smile, “I will have Estonia make soup.” America’s smile at the prospect of a hot meal just made Russia melt, his smile was just infectious and it filled him with joy to see it. Flopping his weight over the sunny-haired man to push him easily to his back, Russia captured his lips in a deep kiss as he slid his tongue into the hot mouth without forethought to the possibility of the American biting it. Gladly this did not happen and although a little ridged America accepted his kiss without protest.
Russia could almost taste the illness mingled with the heat in the weaker man’s mouth as his tongue rolled inside the wet cavern. He tasted good, smelled good… Everything about him made the Russian crazy with desire, as it had for so long. How long had it been, now? Since the 1920’s, he thought, when he and the young nation had butted heads over the sharing of information and Bolshevism. Maybe earlier? Either way he had found the obstinate young upstart nation to be absolutely fascinating in his reckless and often times irritating or rude intrusion into other’s affairs. The rapid rise to becoming one of the world’s leading super-powers, that strange and decidedly brash culture. The two had found themselves in many arguments, ranging from Russia’s aggressive antidemocratic stance some time near the 1940’s to his disregard toward the idea of “human rights”, and his invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. Even the nuclear arms race had them fighting one another, although more with harsh words than anything else, and each time their inability to meet on common grounds made Russia that much more interested in the bullheaded young man.
Pulling back and giving a gentle smile, Russia blushed at seeing the American’s flushed face; he was so beautiful in his broken acceptance. Leaving a cool, soft kiss on his burning forehead, Russia stood and made his way to the door to call for Estonia (who had been instructed to wait near-by). After relaying his orders, the tall man closed the door and returned to the bed, opting to stand next to his captive rather than sit. All at once he felt awkward and embarrassed. Without the American’s usual adamant retorts and obvious fear he did not really feel too terribly persuaded to exercise his sexual needs, and with the man as ill as he was the prospect of doing anything active seemed like a mistake (he was well aware of his own particular… requirements for remaining potent). So, obviously, sex was out of the question at the moment. He could not think of anything to say that did not relate to other nations in some way, and the last thing he wanted was for the young man to recall his free life of only a few weeks ago. That would only set his plan back some steps, and he had not blocked any and all contact with people other than himself for no reason.
The more dependent America was on him, the better.
“Hey Ivan.” Came a rasping little squeak of a voice from beneath the shivering sheets.
“Da?”
“Dude, am I gonna die?”
“Of course not, Alfred. You are of thinking I would let you in the cold for long enough to kill?”
The only reply was a long stretch of silence. Bouncing on his heels a couple of times, Russia looked about the room and contemplated going back to his book while he waited for Estonia to return. He was about halfway through his copy of Lolita, and it was very entertaining. At the same time he felt it would be rude to ignore his ward and just read a book. Maybe he would enjoy being read to? Then again, this was America he was thinking of, so he was unsure of how he would receive the subject matter, regardless of how eloquently it was written. Honestly, he was sure he had never seen the man read anything longer than the title of some fast-food item in all the years he had known him, so he finally tossed that idea entirely. The man was very handsome, and energetic, and challenging, but he was not intelligent in any sense of the word.
“You are shaking.”
“I’ve got a fever.”
“Are you sore?”
“Very.”
Nodding, Russia sat softly next to the American and pulled the blankets back, exposing his sweat-sheened torso. He rolled him over gently and went to work giving him a soothing massage, beginning at the trapezius muscles along his shoulders and working slowly down. At first the sick man stiffened up, as if expecting to be struck, but he quickly relaxed into the gentle-yet-firm feel of the larger man’s fingers kneading his sore muscles. There were many stress-induced knots that Russia took the utmost care to work out as he moved his cool hands further down towards the latissimus dorsi and spoke soothing words about whatever happened to come to his mind in order to further relax the blonde.
America let out a little moan of pleasure into the pillow his face lay in, enjoying the still-strange sensation of Russia’s corpse-like coldness rubbing his sore back. He felt any anxiety he had left seeping away with the disjointed sentences that flowed from the larger man’s mouth in that too-high-for-a-man-that-large voice, some of it in English, some in Russian. He spoke of various Russian holidays, good times he had shared with the Baltic states, delicious foods he had enjoyed throughout his life, colors he enjoyed. It was all very relaxing, the warm sun shining on him from the single window, the soft bed, the chilled massage, the seemingly endless cascade of random thoughts floating through the air in that soft and pleasant voice.
Three soft knocks had Russia stop his gentle ministrations to get up and retrieve a tray from his Estonian, earning a little groan of protest from the American lying prone on the bed. Russia padded over to the bed and set the tray onto the end table. He uncovered it to expose a pitcher of ice water, a carafe of vodka for himself, two chilled glasses, the usual shot, and a steaming bowl of solianka.
“Can you sit for me, Alfred?”
Nodding, America forced himself to an upright position with some effort. Russia sat next to him and requested the usual arm, which was given willfully. He uncapped the syringe with his teeth and spat it to the side, then quickly located a vein after which he leaned forward and caught America’s lips in a tender kiss as he slipped the needle into the flesh softly, slowly depressing the plunger. Removing the needle and ending the kiss at the same time, he smiled gently and bowed his head to kiss away the little droplet of blood that slipped from the fresh wound. He knew that the heroine would no longer give him the orgasmic jolt of high it had done the first time around, but that was alright. As long as some form of comfort was associated with the drug and the dependency lead back to him, that was all that mattered. He slipped his tongue from his mouth and lapped up the little trail of blood whose flow was slowing, savoring in the man’s flavor. It reminded him of their first time together, of how self-conscious he had been, so embarrassed and flustered inside.
He let out a little giggle when he swallowed the delicious fluid and sat up straight. He loved that glazed look America always got right after his shot, his eyes were so lost and empty. It made him wonder how alluring he would appear after his last breathes slipped from his body and all life was gone. He pictured blood around him like a halo, some crimson testament to his absolute beauty. He was sure it would be splendid but he wanted him alive for now, at least. Warm and breathing, although the idea of the supreme domination of killing the man thrilled him, to push the smooth black barrel of a gun between trembling lips and force it slowly into that warm mouth. Pushing it deeper and deeper until it tapped the back of his throat, watch his eyes grow oh so wide in terror and the tears stream down his cheeks like shining crystals. Once slow squeeze and-
Shaking the thoughts out of his mind Russia dipped the spoon into the soup and blew it gently before offering it to America, his hand beneath the little mouthful so that it would not spill onto the sheets. He spoke of more random and calming subjects as America tentatively accepted the food. He slowly fed him, maybe one or two spoonfuls followed by a few minutes to let it settle, and in between mouthfuls he poured beverages for them both. America tried to gulp his down but Russia would not allow it. The sudden cold would only work to upset his stomach and maybe even exacerbate his fever. Russia sipped on his vodka as he allowed a multitude of compliments flow out to America, mixed with subtle little warnings about the ramifications of another escape attempt.
Soon the bowl was empty and the American was sated and sleepy. Russia downed the last of his glass of clear, biting vodka and snuggled into the bed next to the drowsy man, curling his arm around him possessively as he slipped into a light slumber.
* * * * * * * *
About an hour later, Russia sat up groggily blinking the sleep from his eyes. Had he actually fallen asleep? His heart skipped a beat and he felt a stab of anger when he noticed that the American was not in the bed beside him where he belonged. He looked throughout the room in a still sleep-filled state of panic before he noticed that America had only somehow managed to migrate to lay with his head down by the foot of the bed, precariously close to falling. With a relieved sigh he grabbed the man by the bad wrist and tugged him back up to where he belonged, and America woke with a little yelp of pain that Russia found to be so alluring.
“Did you sleep well?” He twisted the limb lightly and savored the little whimpers the blonde was making, watching his quivering lips and pain-narrowed eyes in pleasant interest.
“Y-yeah.”
“You are no longer of fever.” It sounded a little disappointed. America nodded, unsure of what to say. Slackening the twist he was giving the healing wrist Russia pulled the man closer to him so that they were sitting face to face and he smiled disarmingly, “Does it hurt?”
America nodded, fighting with his natural reaction to yank his arm away, which would only serve to make the discomfort worse. “That is good, Alfred, lyubov' yest' bol' i bol' lyubvi*.” Russia said, his voice almost a whisper as his brilliant violet eyes bore into watery blue ones. Dropping the abused appendage his smile brightened and he turned to get up.
“You would like bath, da?”
As he tenderly held this throbbing wrist to his chest America smiled, “Yeah, that’d be awesome!”
Some time later, through the combined efforts of Russia and his two available Baltic states (Estonia and Latvia), America found himself standing before Russia’s massive personal bath. The water-heater was faulty, so the use of many boiling pots of water and whatever the heater could squeeze out had filled the massive reservoir. It was steaming and warm, but not as hot as it could have been as to not aggravate the American’s recently dissipated fever.
Russia watched from a few steps back as the blonde slowly stripped his night-clothes off of himself, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He enjoyed the way his young lover’s lissome muscles flexed beneath the pallid skin of his back as he slid the soft night-shirt from his frame and let it fall to the floor with a muffled whisper of fabric. The trembling fingers that hooked the elastic waist of his pants made the russkii want to pounce on him and playfully make him quake in that erotic display of fear he always did, but he controlled himself and just enjoyed the show. Russia reconfirmed what he had already known, the blue-eyed nation was quite attractive. The way his asymmetrically parted golden locks tickled along the edge of his cheek as he moved and spoke, how his azure eyes shone behind the flattering glasses that perched so nicely atop his nose. The mostly healed oval of a bite mark on his shoulder, a dabbling of bruises from being kicked in the back, the line of teeth marks just below his bottom lip, the last murmurs of faded bruises on his arms and side; they only helped to make him more enthralling.
As the American slipped into the warm water with a sigh of contentment Russia disrobed to join him, coming into the bath to his right and sinking into the warm and scented water up to his jaw with a contented little puff of air from his nostrils. America jumped, not having expected Russia to be joining him, and scooted a little ways away. Russia just smiled at him and grabbed his arm to pull him closer and onto his lap.
Feeling a mixture of gnawing fear, a strange and deep-seeded comfort, and awkwardness, America cleared his throat loudly into his fist and looked everywhere but the pale man who was holding him a little too tightly.
“So… I haven’t seen Toris lately.”
“I gave him the task of caring for you while I was away, and we both know how that turned out. I reminded him of who he is in this house and now he is… how do you say? Of very much injured so he cannot work.” While he spoke Russia let his hands explore America’s body gently.
“Oh, uh… Do you… to them… like me?” The blonde asked, flitting his clear blue eyes to watch the larger man intently, something like jealousy edging his voice and his cheeks flushing. Russia had taken a palm full of water to splash his own face and upon hearing the inquiry his snorted laughter made the clear liquid fly out and hit America in the face.
“I am sorry,” he apologized through chuckles, using the back of his fingers to wipe the water from America’s cheek, “you are very funny, Alfred. Toris became dull years ago, Eduard is too stuffy, and Raivis? What do you think I am, a pedofil**?”
America let out a little puff of air from his slightly parted lips as he smiled, the gnawing jealously dissipating almost entirely. So he was not some throw-away whore for Russia to play with (or at least it seemed) and the man was loyal, it was good but the implication that he had some type of relationship with Lithuania bothered the USA a little. He remembered the time the brown-haired nation had come to live in his house and how he had been taken; Russia had mentioned something about Lithuania being his “ex”, now that he put some thought into it. He relaxed when Russia pulled him closer and placed a soft kiss on his lips, enjoying the comfortable feel of the tender act and warm water. As he returned the kiss he thought about what Russia had said about love. Maybe he was right? How the hell would America know what it was supposed to feel like, he was still in all honestly quite young and had never experienced anything like it outside of the love he had for his family and hamburgers. The movies he made had a lot of pain/love scenarios, so for all he knew it was damn true.
And honestly, he thought as the Russian’s wet fingers trailed through his hair, that was totally alright.
*love is pain and pain is love

**Exactly what you would think, “pedophile”
A/N: Thanks for reviewing, Xavier! It’s good to have a little reminder here and there that people are actually reading this rather than popping in, taking a peek, and moving on. Honestly I feel bad for Alfred as well with some of the things that have happened to him, but it’s just so much fun to write, what can I do? I hope you liked this chapter, it was made to really cement the whole relationship so I’m hoping it came out smoothly.
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Whisper of Stars