Sane

Sane
Hetaria Fanfic
L DragonCross
Pairing: Russia x Lithuania

Inspired by YoukoFujimi of Tegaki, whose artwork makes my heart hurt, in a good way, and who once mentioned that Russia wasn't so much psychotic as he was driven mad by lonliness and violence, and something about Lithuania having Stockholm Syndrome. :3

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There was no warning on this occasion, as the doors slammed open and boney knuckles connected with my cheekbone. As I tripped backward, my head cracked painfully against the polished wooden baseboard, with a sharp ringing noise, and I saw flashes of light and darkness. There was no time to think on this, for Russia was already kissing my lips hard enough to leave bruises. It was only as he tilted my head back to draw my shirt off that I realized he has already relieved the both of us of our clothing.

Head throbbing with bursts of pain and seconds of blackness, I could do little more than whimper as he bit at my inner thighs, leaving deep, bloody hickeys. When he pressed the head of his erection to my anus, I gritted my teeth. A lack of lubricant was not something one ever grew used to, and Russia was very large.

For a moment, he paused, and I relaxed minutely as the sound came to me of his palm, and in turn his member, being lubricated with saliva from his slightly blood coated tongue.

Without further hesitation, he drove into me, and I automatically bit back a cry. He didn't like that noise, as I had long ago learned. It made him... Upset, and a Russia even more upset than his usual mind frame was only that much more dangerous. Without pausing to allow me time to adjust, he fucked me, hard and deep and fast, but with a frantic urgency unfamiliar with these sessions. As his hands gripped my shoulders; thank goodness not the neck, in a bruising death lock, something wet and hot dropped onto my closed eyelids, just below where he was grinding his forehead against my own. As it ran a course down the clamped cracks, I opened them slowly, frightened, and a deep sorrow jolted suddenly into my stomach.

His eyes, staring back at me, were full of emotions, battling to be foremost acknowledged; fear, loss, loneliness, horror... All trying to explain his actions to me, begging me to understand. And they were wet with tears.

I wrapped my far too frail arms around his broad shoulders and, pressing his face gently to my neck, allowed him to weep until his completion. He came with the familiar heavy jerks, but with none of the heavy panting usual to his climax. It was as if he were afraid to allow too much sound; too much emotion had expressed itself already. He withdrew noiselessly and left me with sharp, throbbing pains of every sort, but none worse than that in my soul.

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Aha! I woke up with that in my mind this morning. How is it, for a short written by a guy who hasn't done anything more than a couple book reports in the past four years?