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Sunder	By : tamasama Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 4270 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers: Hetalia. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no profit from the writing of this work of fiction.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note, please read!

Normally, I try not to put my notes at the beginnings of stories because I know a lot of people don’t care enough to read them, but this is a story where I feel a little word of warning is necessary.

This is going to have a surplus of gore and sex, such as: hard-core torture, detailed explanations of violent scenes, shota, and liberal amounts of necrophilia. If these don’t sound like things you want to read about, feel free to read the “clean” version on my FF account under "Tamagoakura." The story will be the same, but without all of the death-porn and sex. You may notice an excess of details on the kills, but keep in mind that as this is snuff, half of the “porn” lies in the killing. Those of weak constitutions have been warned to read the soft version, and to those of you who are interested in the subject matter, enjoy! The kid gloves are coming off in the next chapter or so, so be ready.

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The sun was dipping low behind shadowed woods, casting orange pools across the beautiful post-Victorian style home’s cherry wood floors and eggshell walls. Shadows danced across an elegant cream furniture set and flowing white lace curtains that were now ruined, saturated in the ruby stains of fresh blood. A warm summer breeze slid through the shattered sliding glass door where they had entered, the tiny shards glimmering in the soft light. Marble coffee table overturned, a veritable sea of paperwork, books, and an empty coffee mug strewn across the floor. They had come through the door, the younger knocking politely and requesting to be let inside. She screamed at them to leave, rattled off a thousand rude insults before the older had grinned evilly as he swung his Louisville Slugger and shattered the door into an explosion of a thousand glittering pieces. She had tried to run, only to trip over the expensive table and go sprawling across the floor, leaving her stunned with a twisted ankle.

If she had known, only two years ago, that the table would aid her very demise she would not have been so adamant to get it. She would not have badgered her husband about it, pouting and frowning and begging cutely until it was gifted to her. She would have wrinkled her nose at the sight of its elegant curves and artistic form. She would have smashed it.

A few feet away from the table was a dark pool of red that stretched into a long, smeared trail. The slick prints of where she pressed her hands against the floor in a feeble attempt to drag herself to safety, sneaker prints from where they had stepped as they followed her. Another pool of blood where she had stopped, unable to continue through the burning pain. Dark droplets that had fallen from her corpse led to the stairway, from where they had carried her.

“Darn it, Alfred, stop playing around and help out!” Matthew grumbled, shooting a glare down at his brother. He rearranged her thin legs in his arms, back sore from hefting the majority of her weight as his brother babbled on and on about the woman’s home, character, and physical aspects.

Alfred sighed and put more effort into lifting her, his arms locked beneath her armpits. “Whatever, Mattie, I’m lifting more than you! Stop being so lazy! I‘ll teach you…” He flashed a toothy grin before he dropped her and stepped aside.

Matthew gave a yelp at the sudden weight of her falling to the stairs with a loud thud. He was forced to let her go to stop himself from tumbling down the stairs. She rolled down to the living room floor, and Alfred found this to be uproariously funny. He laughed loudly at the off-kilter way she fell, arms and legs twisting painfully across the stairs until she came to rest face-down on the floor. Alfred grabbed the banister and used it to steady himself as he leapt down the stairs to land over her with a heavy thump, one foot on each side of her shoulders, and squat down. He turned his head to look up at his brother, who was already descending the stairs with an irritated scowl.

“What, you didn’t think that looked funny?”

Matthew grabbed her by the ankles, gritting his teeth. “You need to be more respectful to the dead, Alfred.” Alfred burst into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of what his younger brother had said. Matthew had struck the final blow, after all. He was the one who chose her, and he was the one who had whispered something rather nasty into her ear as he slid the blade of the large hunting knife across her throat.

‘Respect’, his ass.

“Oh you’re such a kill-joy, Mattie.” He took his place at her upper body again and hefted her weight into his arms. They carried her up the stairs without incident to lug her into the master bathroom and dump her in the clean claw-foot tub. As Matthew pulled the large blade from his person, Alfred scuttled up close to her head and put his fingers about her lips.

“Oh please, please don’t kill me!” He cried in a high and mocking voice, moving her mouth so off time with the words that it was ridiculous. Matthew rolled his eyes and knelt down before the tub, shaking his head while looking down at her. Alfred saw the tiny ghost of a smile on his lips and grinned triumphantly. Made ya smile, I’m off the hook! He slid his hands softly over her shoulders, watching the airy fabric of her white blouse bunch at the touch, before he slowly slid down to cup her ample breasts.

Matthew slapped his hands away with a glare. “Darn it Alfred, take this seriously! Why don’t you go dig around in the fridge while I get this done, or even start bagging stuff. Just make yourself useful!”

Alfred smiled warmly, scooting across the floor on his knees until he was pressed up against Matthew’s back. He slipped his arms around him as if to embrace him, only to place his hands over the younger man’s flat chest and make squeezing motions. “Why can’t you have fantastic titties like her?” Matthew’s cheeks turned pink and he grumbled quietly.

“If you want breasts, you’re gonna have to look elsewhere, unless you don’t mind me hideously obese.” His voice was a hushed whisper as he tested the blade’s sharpness on his thumb. Like he needed to, he sharpened the thing obsessively and it shined beautifully. He reached and began unbuttoning her blouse before Alfred gently took his wrist and pulled it away from her.

“What?”

The older brother softly pushed the wavy locks out of the way before he nuzzled his face in the crook of Matthew’s neck, smiling softly. “I love you, Mattie.”

“Can’t I cut her up first?”

Alfred pouted into the warm flesh, wrapping his arms around Matthew’s waist tightly. “No, I want you thinking about me. You can rub one out over her later, I don’t care.” Matthew groaned, tilting his head to rest it against his brother’s.

“If we end up having to leave before I get a chance, I’ll skin you instead.”

“Deal.” Alfred ran his hands over the worn red T-shirt his brother wore, the blood that smeared it barely visible against the shade of the fabric, and down to dip just beneath the waist of his loose fitting jeans. His fingers danced over the slight bump of hipbone there as he turned his head to whisper huskily into his ear. “You need to eat more often.”

“And what, get fat like you?”

“I’m not fat!” Alfred grumbled, nipping at the cartilage of Matthew’s ear with his teeth lightly. “I’m healthy.”

“Maybe by 1920’s standards.” He gasped softly when Alfred ran his hand over his clothed erection while he ran his tongue along the edge of his ear.

“Shut up about it, you’re gonna give me a complex or something.” Alfred breathed, rubbing the concealed hardness firmly before swiftly unbuttoning the jeans and pulling the zipper down.

“You look fine the way you are, Alfred.” Matthew murmured, his eyes running up and down the woman lying in the bathtub in interest. She had such soft, smooth skin. He wanted to peel it off so badly it almost hurt. Finally willing himself to tear his gaze away, he pushed Alfred back and spun around and snatched a fistful of his brother’s hair to yank his head back. He lifted the large knife to his throat and pushed lightly, leaning forward to lick the warm skin of his neck.

Alfred’s body went ridged at the sharp feel of the knife. His breaths came out in quick, shallow puffs and he relished in the fear raging through his veins. He knew that there was no guarantee that his brother would not cut him, he had the scars to prove it. Would he do it? How hard, how deeply? He licked his shaky lips and swallowed thickly, feeling himself grow harder as he imagined the blade slashing through his throat and ending him. The pure terror he felt at the thought was delicious.

Matthew dragged the blade of the knife lightly down Alfred’s neck and over his chest. As it slid over his stomach Matthew let go of his hair to undo his pants with one quick movement. Finally the shining silver weapon stopped, the tip aiming directly for Alfred’s manhood. He kept the knife where it was as he lowered himself to sitting on the floor, stretching his legs out between his brother’s. He looked up at Alfred over his glasses with a shy smile as he reached into his jeans and pulled out his own member, making a little nodding motion toward it as if to say ‘you know what to do’.

Alfred moved a little ways back from the knife before he dropped down onto all fours and ran his tongue over the hot flesh, his eyes never leaving his brother’s face. He pulled his glasses off and set them gently on the chilly black and white tile floor before running his flat tongue from base to tip, then over the sensitive head before swallowing it into the hot cavern of his mouth. The soft purr that floated from Matthew’s throat urged him to put his best efforts into his performance; He closed his lips tightly around the length and created some suction as he bobbed his head up and down, his tongue swirling circles about the sensitive tip with every pass. He knew that his jaw was going to start hurting soon but he pushed on as his right hand snaked around to palm his own still-clothed hardness.

Matthew ran his fingers through Alfred’s soft blonde hair, gasping quietly at the feeling of his brother’s most valiant efforts to take him into his throat. Well, it did not work as well as Alfred would have liked and he gagged a couple of times, but it still felt good. He wondered momentarily how his brother still managed to have a gag reflex, considering all of the garbage food he jammed into his mouth all the time, but the thought quickly departed his mind when Alfred took a moment to lavish extra attention on the tip of his member. All of the while his mind struggled to turn back to the woman lying there, just begging to have her beautiful skin slipped off like an elegant dinner jacket. He wanted to, needed to, but he knew Alfred would not allow it until he was finished.

Alfred reached into his own jeans to pull out his member and stroked it slowly, his mind filled with thoughts of his little brother, the torrents of blood that had splashed out onto the floor when that woman’s throat had been cut, the satisfyingly squishy crack that rang out when his bat had connected with her ribs, and the fabulous fear that had shown in her eyes when she pleaded for her life between ragged sobs.

Fear, any fear, had always been what had done it for him. Those minute little expressions someone made when the reality of their mortality dawned on them, the rigidity of their frame, the tremulous quake of their lips, the words they vomited up as they begged for their lives without any sense of pride or ego. His own fear of immanent capture, of being put to death. The cascading compilation of terror that climaxed the moment before he beat the life out of them was beyond erotic; it was the rush of falling from a high place, it was the painful slam of one’s heart when caught in a life-or-death lie, it was the high experienced after surviving certain death by the skin of one’s teeth. It was nirvana in its purest form.

He felt Matthew tense and took it as a cue to redouble his efforts, sucking harder as he took him as deeply into his throat as his body would allow. His brother gasped, almost inaudibly, as his hot seed flowed out into Alfred’s mouth to coat his tongue and dribble down his throat. Alfred lifted his head and smiled while he swallowed the bitter liquid. Job well done, and now for himself…

Matthew buttoned his pants and pushed himself back up to his knees, pointing at the door. “Thank you. Now go do something useful, please.”

Alfred’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “What the hell, Mattie? What about me?” He motioned to his own unresolved lust. The other man had already turned away from him and was busying himself with the woman’s shirt, a look of hardened concentration in his eyes.

“You know it’s less fun when they’re cold, Al! I’ll get you back later or something.”

“You want me to help?” Alfred tucked himself back into his pants and scooted up behind Matthew to peek over his shoulder.

He shook his head, “No, I know you don’t like doing it. Go bag up the valuables, okay?”

Alfred snatched up his glasses and put them in their place on his nose, “Fine, whatever! They’re no fun when they’re all dead and stuff anyway!” He stood and stomped out of the room, slamming the door shut for good measure. “God damn it Mattie, you asshole.”

He grumbled quietly to himself as he walked down the stairs, careful to not slip and go tumbling to his death on the smatterings of blood that decorated the wooden steps like little vengeful landmines. ‘How dare you kill our vessel?!’ They seemed to scream up at him through the darkness of the quiet house. “How dare your stupid body steal my brother?” He snapped at the large pool of blood before the stairs, poking it with the toe of his sneaker as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. There was no use getting angry, Matthew had always been like that. Skinning people really was his thing, always had been. Alfred just could not find the fun in it, but what could be done?

He sighed again as he walked to the fantastically modern fireplace to retrieve their video camera. There was a lot of money to be made in the videos they normally shot, so there was no way he would forgive himself (or Matthew would let him live it down, for that matter) if he forgot it. Sadly, there was no money to be made off this particular little excursion, since Alfred had forgotten to charge the camera the night before. After he was sure that the less-than helpful camera was in their duffel bag where it belonged, he went about stuffing the woman’s valuables in a large sack. Some fancy decorative eggs, silver cutlery, two videogame systems. A pile of money that was closed inside of a music box went into his pocket with a muffled little crinkle. Well Matthew could just take that! Let him worry about selling the stuff, he was taking the cash.

While Alfred busied himself packing away anything portable and worth stealing, Matthew had finally managed to strip the woman naked. Disrobing an unresponsive person was more work than one would think, and even after having done it more times than he could count he still found it surprising that it was so difficult. His violet eyes traveled the length of her body and he had to admit that Alfred was right, she had a fantastic form. He let his fingertips lightly ghost along the soft skin of her pale and lukewarm cheek before trailing his touch down her neck and across the gentle slope of one perfect breast. His voice slipped out like a gentle gust of spring wind, “So smooth.”

His fingers danced across her nipple, it was still erect from the adrenaline that had been coursing through her body just before she died. It was a soft pink color, plump and beautiful. He leaned over the lip of the bathtub to poke his tongue out and tentatively lap at the swollen bud. He looked at her slack face for a moment, as if expecting her to awaken and go into a fit of rage, before he ran his tongue in a circle around her nipple slowly before sucking it into his mouth. He let his right hand cup the side of her breast, relishing in how soft and smooth it was. He pulled away from her with an audible ‘pop’ and let his hand explore further, across her flat stomach and down to tap lightly against her smoothly shaven mound. That was good, hair had always been unattractive to him. It sullied the smooth, soft beauty that was the flesh.

His middle finger slipped down her slit, moist with the post-death urine that had escaped from her at some point when Alfred had been so adamant about distracting him. He sighed in relief; apparently she had not eaten anything solid in some time. Death had a way of being disgusting, but it was something he had come to deal with, if not begrudgingly. Matthew wriggled a finger into her and noted that it was slick with her juices. What had she been doing before they had shone up? As he probed about inside of her he took up his knife with his left hand and placed the point at the top of her sternum, just between her clavicle. With a slight application of pressure he dragged the sharp weapon down her chest slowly, staring in interest as the dark blood slowly oozed from the growing wound. He cut all the way down, stopping just above her pelvic bone, and extracted his finger from her cooling tightness. He cut another long ‘u’ shaped line from her hip, up across her navel, and down to the opposite side.

Working his large blade like a filet knife, he sliced between her luscious skin and lightly toned muscle, separating them like the peel off of an orange. The lines of muscle, pinkish-white of bloodied cartilage, the mashed and bruised right vertebrosternal ribs where Alfred’s bat had connected; these things shyly presented themselves before him like blushing brides. Beautiful, untouched, nearly unattainable. He felt a stirring in his jeans as he yanked the flesh back to expose the globular yellow and red of breast tissue. The colors danced in his vision like the most beautiful and exotic women, enticing and demanding of lustful attention. He pushed the two large strips of loosened skin aside to take in the beauty of her form as his fingertips slid lazily across her moist musculature. She was perfection with her blue eyes half-lidded and staring, mouth slack, deep gash across her doe-like throat dark and clotted in murky half-dried blood. Her inner build put on display and most sensitive places exposed and without shame.

“Maple, you were a good choice.” Matthew breathed, sinking his index finger slowly into her wet and pliable flesh. Sticky blood clung stubbornly to his digit when he pulled it from her, watching quietly as the small indentation he had created remained without any life left in the body to fix the small wound. He lowered himself to sitting on the floor, eyeing the slick fluid that stained his hands with growing excitement. He stayed there a moment before he lifted himself to standing and swiftly undid his jeans. He pushed her up into a sitting position in the tub before pulling his pants and underwear off and setting them on the clean white toilet seat cover, then climbed in with her to set himself between her smooth thighs. It felt wonderful. He licked his lips slowly, shakily, as he leaned over her to look deeply into her eyes.

“I wanted to know more about you first. I’m sorry, I-” he turned his head away from her and stared at the sloping wall of the bloodied bathtub with cheeks bright pink, “You’re not just a one night stand or anything! I s-swear, I’m not like that.” He used one hand to move her hips into a better position, angling her hole as close to himself as he could in the confines of the tub. He arched his back and ran his tongue over her exposed flesh as he pushed into her with a quiet shudder. She was delicious on his tongue and around his cock, so sweet and tight and beautiful.

The room was silent but for his shaky breaths and slight squeaking of his knee sliding across the bloody porcelain with every thrust. He would probably have to throw his shirt away after this, it was getting horribly stained, but he would worry about that when the time came. The present was what mattered, the slick sensation of her blood-soaked muscles, the look of her skin so expertly separated from her body, those dull eyes endlessly staring, her cooling cunt squeezing his dick so greedily. The sensation, the experience, was absolute bliss. It was perfection in every sense of the word. He felt the tell-tale pressure building at his base and intensified his pace, tiny moans escaping his reddened lips every so often as he hugged her close and squinted his eyes in concentration. He wanted to know her name. He came with a small cry, squeezing her hips as he slammed his seed as deeply into her as he could.

He pulled from her slowly and chuckled softly, “It was pretty funny when Al dropped you, but don’t tell him that okay?”

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Alfred and Matthew walked into their home some four hours later, breathing heavily and sweating. “We really need to get a fucking car, man!” Alfred yelled back at his younger brother, turning a corner to rummage through their storage room to retrieve their old and nearly broken fan. The sun had climbed over the horizon some twenty minutes into their long trek home from the secluded house, immediately burning down on them like an enraged tyrant. Once they had entered the city and left the shade of the trees the walk became a stifling and angry affair, filled with insults and a few blows.

Matthew dropped the heavy sack of stolen treasures onto the floor as he kicked his leg back to slam the front door shut. “And who’s fault is it that we can’t afford it? Your‘s!” He called after him weakly, referring to the loss of Alfred’s eighth job in a row. Flipping burgers at Wendy’s under the alias ‘Robert Galpherson’, someone made a rude comment in relation to Matthew’s sexuality, Alfred got mad. End of story. End of gruesome, bloody story. The kind of story where Alfred slams the guy’s head flat onto the fryer and grins down at him crazily. Where he says something like:

“Excuse me? I’m not sure if I heard you right~!” As he pushes the slightly older man’s face harder against the searing heat, licking his lips at the stench of frying flesh and the music of crackling skin. That’s the kind of story that is definitely over; no way anyone would dwell over something like that, right? Right.

Alfred set the fan in the living room, which consisted of an old and broken futon in perpetual sofa-mode, a tiny cheap TV decorated by a twisted pair of wire bunny ears, and a pile of rubbish about covering every inch of dirty blue carpeting. He flipped it to ‘high’ before he peeled his wet shirt from his body with a disgusted grimace. He flung it to the floor off to his right and began to wonder if they had gone Twinkie shopping lately, so he kicked off his shoes as he hurried to the kitchen to scout for the moist little cakes of filling heaven. The walls were riddled with holes and graffiti, Alfred was sure that a pack of drug-addicted squatters had inhabited the condemned house before them.

He could hear his younger brother rummaging around in the bag as he pulled the refrigerator door open and looked around. Three eggs, a quarter of a cup of milk sloshing pathetically in the bottom of the plastic carton, and half of a block of mummified cheese. He slammed the door shut and checked the freezer to find it devoid of even ice. Bare cupboards added to his growing sense of woe, mocking him with their demonic foodless-ness. He shuffled to peek from the doorway at his brother. “Let’s go sell that new vid so we can run to Wal-Mart and pick up some chow.”

“We have food. Help me clean up.” Matthew was walking across the room with an armful of dirty laundry, intent on depositing them in the hamper.

“Bullshit we have food! I just looked, it’s totally bare! And would you quit with that cleaning shit?” He followed behind Matthew as he spoke, “You always do that after we get someone, what the hell is that shit about?”

“I do not, and kindly shut up. Help me find Kumaroji, he’s lost somewhere in this pigsty.” Matthew dug around here and there in the mess, taking care to step over sharp objects and old food that his brother had left lying around. He was searching for the plush polar bear he had bought of his favorite cartoon character. Alfred had always wondered how he could claim the animal to be his favorite anything when he could not even remember KUMAJIROU’s name from one moment to the next.

“Forget about it, we’ll find him when we get home! C’mon dude, I’m starving here.” He tugged feebly on Matthew’s shirt, trying to interest him in the front door and the promise of food. After a few moments to think about it, Matthew sighed heavily and nodded his head in agreement. His stomach was growling dangerously, so it seemed his beloved bear would need to wait. He went to a randomly placed mini-dresser in the corner of the room and pulled a DVD from the top drawer. He hurried out into the beating sun after Alfred, calling for him to wait.

Their destination was a small sex shop some six blocks away, with windows that were spray-painted black and bars lining every opening. Not the classiest establishment, but one of extreme rarity. They stepped inside and were greeted both by the tinkling silver bell above the door and a rather intimidating man of German descent manning the counter. Alfred’s shoulder bumped a tall man in a black T-shirt and baggy dark jeans. Violet flashed in the sterile light as an apology was uttered in a voice that was soft and innocent. Alfred nodded in acknowledgement and turned to grin at the shop owner, Ludwig.

“Luddy, what’s up!” He belted out loudly, bouncing a little and waving.

“Alfred.” The hailing was a clipped, almost commanding bark that issued from his lips without the slightest change of expression. He took up a rag and began to dust the counter for the umpteenth time that day, “Matthew.”

“Good morning, Ludwig.” He smiled warmly as he walked up to the counter.

The tall stranger stood in the doorway, his legs frozen in place. His hand gripped the brown paper bag he held tightly, he knew those voices. It was them, it was actually them. The ‘Skin Brothers’, as the reporters chose to dub them. He thought the name had sounded hackneyed, but it had stuck. He swallowed thickly and rushed from the shop, his mind reeling. Had it really been them? The infamous Skin Brothers, wanted on seemingly endless counts of murder. The same siblings that had murdered their own father at the ages of fourteen and thirteen and had been on the run ever since? The police knew who they were, but no one knew what they looked like. The last pictures they had left behind were of them as young boys, standing together in a sunny meadow, dirtied and grinning with the purity of youth. He weighed the chances as he rounded the corner and came upon his apartment building. It was old and weathered, its foundation sagging and paint peeling away. It was ugly, but it was home.

He all but ran up the three flights of stairs to his apartment, a tiny one room ordeal with sub-par heating and cooling. Thick black construction paper was plastered heavily over the windows and blocked all sunlight from entering the sweltering space. The walls were papered in pictures of corpses that he had found on the internet. His bed, an old mattress strewn haphazardly on the floor, was layered in books about murders, murderers, and freak accidents. Psychology books, more printouts of grisly scenes, and detailed anatomical drawings dotted the pile here and there. The only light in the room was cast by the flashing 12:00 of his microwave’s clock and the soft glow of his computer monitor. He tossed himself before it and threw in the DVD, almost giddy to watch it. It was $250.00 well spent.

As the story unfolded on the screen before wide eyes and the screams grew louder, the excitement higher, and the colors progressively redder, a soft smile crossed his lips. His fingers lifted unhurriedly to touch the cool screen and glide slowly down, and his words came out as inflected air. “How beautiful.”

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God, I hate to do the “author note sandwich” thing with a passion, but I didn’t want my opening to be too long.

I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, Louisville baseball bats, Wendy’s, Twinkies, DVDs, or Wal-Mart. This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to the lives of any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. I make no money from the writing of this fan-made product.

Special thanks to my betas:

Kurogi - You’re my most trusted advisor, thanks for investing time from your busy life to help out on this, I am eternally grateful.

XxBlackChaosxX

Bringer of Eternal Darkness

Death-Scimitar

A little shout-out is due to the master of guro, Uziga Waita, and all of gurochan, for inspiring me to do this. And of course a thanks is due to you readers for offering me an audience to strive to entertain.
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