This is what I write when I'm panicking about my senior year of high school starting in less than a week and trying to put off writing for my ongoing fills in the Hetalia Kink Meme…
xXx
It wasn't always like this; Russia would have once given America the world if he could have. And he did give him some small part, Alaska. But he hadn't exactly given him that for free.
Now though, it was something else. Something dark.
Russia sat alone in his room; the lights were off except for a fire place roaring, giving off all the light and heat the lone country needed. He fingered through a packet of photos, taken with a high quality camera from a hidden location where he could not be seen by his target.
His target was America. He was Russia and it was dead in the heart of the Cold War, so spying on America was one of his top priorities. But he went to special lengths for this.
He carefully pulled the photos out of the envelope; they were black and white but clear and that's what mattered. He focused on the first picture; it was of America in his home, taken through a window without the curtain closed. He stared for a long moment before looking at the next one. It was much like the first but in a different room, the bathroom to be specific. The next few pictures were of America in various sates of undress. Russia bit his lip as he looked at these, fighting back the sudden surge of possessive want.
Russia then turned to the last photo, one of America completely naked and about to slide into the shower. He stopped on this one; the camera had been just right along with America's position to capture a full body image of him. His body was lean and muscular and this time Russia didn't fight down the possessive surge of want. He let it coil in the pit of his stomach as he stared intently at the photo, taking in every detail of America's form.
America would be his someday. Dressed in red, maybe even tied to his bed… now that was a good image, Russia thought, America tied to his bed, but naked, on blood red silk sheets. He'd put up a struggle of course, being America, but it would be nothing compared to the strength of the Soviet Union and he would be at his mercy.
That was a very good thought Russia decided as his hand started to undo his belt and unbutton his trousers. America would still put up a fight, even tied to the bed but it would be nothing. Russia would easily hold down his struggling form and start with a knife.
He had a wicked blade that made people bleed such a beautiful shade of red and America really did look good in red. Shallow cuts at first, on his torso, just to make him bleed red. He'd cry for Russia to stop but it would fall on deaf ears. America would be his, his alone to do with as he pleased and he would take advantage of that.
Russia's hand was freeing his stiff erection from the confines of his underwear. Stroking himself as he gazed possessively at the nude photo of the object of his desires.
After the knife America would be crying, begging him to stop and Russia would lean down to kiss away his tears, because he really did love him. But America would still have one more trick up his sleeve and Russia wouldn't have it any other way. America would head butt him, and Russia would reel back. A new string of curses would fly from the defiant nation and Russia would silence him by wrapping his hands around the other's neck.
Russia continued to stroke himself to this fantasy, of all the ways he would break America, make him become one. When he was done he carefully put the photos back into the envelope which he tucked away under a floorboard in his closet along with all his other secret items.
xXx
Russia was suddenly brought out of his memories back to the present; he was at a table eating the complementary breakfast from the hotel he and other nations were currently staying at. He shook his head to clear his head of those thoughts from earlier; he hadn't been thinking and his mind just wondered off again back to those darker times.
Those darker times…
Russia was still eternally grateful that he had never acted on those twisted, perverse feelings he had for America back during the Cold War. If he had acted on them back then he would never be able to have a chance with America now.
Speaking of America now, he was finished with his own breakfast, about to leave with England. Before leaving the cafeteria, America waved politely to Russia who nodded back, just as politely. Russia could make a move, ask him out or just flirt with him but maybe it was too soon; there was always tomorrow.
xXx
A/N: I might make this more than a one shot because of that last part, with Russia wanting to genuinely get with Ameirca and I have been really wanting to write a fic about a non-douche bag Russia trying to court America. But I don't know if I'll have time.