Disclaimer: I own nothing of Axis Powers Hetalia. This is for entertainment and not profit. However, I do claim rights to the plot of this fanfiction.
I Began publishing this on July 1st because this story involves Canada and this American knows it's Canada's birthday... and no one else I saw today did... and they made fun of me for drawing maple leaves on my face and celebrating our northern brother's independence and how he got it... DAMN YOU, STUPID AMERICANS! DAMN YOU...
I am not new to fanfiction, but this is my first LJ KinkMeme deanon.
The original request can be found here:
ht tp : / hetalia-kink . livejournal . com / ?thread=75539514#t75539514
And reads as follows:
"Two things in the fandom I rather enjoy are Russia fucking America with his pipe against America's will, and Russia and America in a happy lovey sweet couple. The two things don't go together real well. XD So how about RussAme in a fluffy relationship, and another male character (human, nation, OC, doesn't matter) somehow capturing them and fucking America with Russia's pipe while Russia is forced to watch in horror. Nice and descriptive with the pipe penetration would be loved. ^^;"
Without further ado, a randomly-titled M-rated story about said prompt, Vessel.
In preparation of the coming storm, America had turned off all the lights and appliances in his two-story cabin, deep in the woods of the Alaskan tundra. The windows were shut, locked, and even bolted. Once again checking the pantry in the kitchen, he ran through the list of supplies he needed to get through what was forecast to be almost a blizzard. He had canned food, plenty of bottled water, and even stocked up on vitamins and non-perishables in case the storm and the cleanup afterwards lasted longer than expected, which Russia, in his familiarity with such matters, had said was wise to expect.
Speaking of Russia, the large man came in through the front door, allowing a frigid gust of winter air and some snowdrifts inside before he managed to kick it shut, occupied with yet another bundle of firewood. As he walked down the hallway, passing the American headed upstairs for more blankets, he leaned down, perfectly in time with Alfred walking by on his tiptoes, and shared a sweet, chaste kiss, perfected by countless practices.
Russia gathered a day's amount of food from the pantry and some cooking and eating utensils and brought it over to the room where the giant fireplace already hosted a sizable inferno. With another thought, he left for another room off the living room and returned with several of his and America's favorite books and board games. Neither man was fool enough to think that the power would last yet another hour. Russia wouldn't be surprised if it had already gone out and he hadn't noticed, just because they had quit using the lights thirty minutes ago.
An alarmingly large mass of blankets seemed to ooze its downy way to the bottom of the stairs, and Russia's lips twitched upward at the feat Alfred was trying to accomplish. Getting up, he walked over to the landing and caught his tripping lover before relieving him of half his load, receiving a kiss on the cheek and a soft, "Thank you, Vanya" in return. He decided to reply with a kiss of his own, and the faint pink that briefly graced Alfred's cheeks made it even more worth it.
With a mass of giant blankets, a giant pile of firewood lined up against the wall, suitable entertainment, and seemingly endless stores of food amassed in the comfy sitting room, Ivan and Alfred took to the huge armchair in front of the fire, draped a quilt handmade by Ukraine over themselves, curled into each other, and fell asleep.
As Alfred drifted off, he thought winter might not be so bad if it had cocoa, fireplaces, private cabins, and his Vanya.
The fire crackled ceaselessly in the fireplace, warming the two cozy lovers beneath the blankets. Other than the flickers of light dancing throughout the room, nothing moved. For a while, all was still.
Then, from upstairs, came a very wooden creak. It cut off quickly, as if terrified of its discovery, before carrying on in a much muted fashion. Shadows rhythmically began to descend the staircase. As the figure emerged further into the widely open room, the silhouette of a human figure could be made out. Lithe and agile, but featureless in the darkness it hid in, watching the two sleeping innocents with something hateful in sparkling eyes.
How could... how dare that stupid, egotistical "superpower" sleep with that abominable monster of a Russian! Insane, both of them, surely! Who would bed with Russia so willingly, so happily, but that moronic, endearing America? Moronic, sweet, but so painfully stupid America, whose eyesight must surely be failing to only see that madman instead of what was right in front of him, what had always stood beside him, supported him, thanklessly...
It was time to teach both of them a lesson. America not to ignore him, to shun his devotions; Russia to keep his hands off his America.
The intruder noticed that the only form of defense they seemed to have was Russia's pipe, currently held in his spare hand. He sneered in disgust as he tested out the foreign weapon; light and easily malleable to his style of fighting. He knew better than anyone that a weapon's weight did not determine the amount of damage it could deal.
Well, the snow was going to trap them here, all night long, without any way out. And neither would be allowed to leave until he got what he wanted.
Slipping into the kitchen, the intruder cut the phone wires and confiscated the nations' cell phones in the fire. Returning to the living room, he debated the merits of tossing the damn Russian's pipe in the snow, and opted to do that later, using it for self-defense if necessary. In his haste, he had left his own bludgeon of choice at home. He wasn't supposed to know this place existed, much less that Russia and America decided to have a little vacation up here together. NORAD proved invaluable at times.
In any case, he packed only enough to get by, making sure to arrive and hide before the other two, taking only the bare essentials to carry out his plan. Punishment for Russia, punishment for Alfred, and then a reward when his darling learned his lesson and entered the arms of the right man, the one he should have been with all along.
He glanced at his beloved, resting in the arms of that despicable excuse for a man. Reaching for his things, he lightly stood up and made his way over to the two, both flushed pleasantly warm. Well, that would soon change...the "pleasantly" part, at least.
Gripping the corner of the quilt, he slowly peeled it off of the two sleeping nations, both covered in a light sheen of sweat from the combination of their body heat, proximity, blanket, and fire. Working quickly, he took hold of one of America's limp arms and positioned it so he had a clear aim at the antebrachial vein. He pressed into the vein slowly before injecting the contents of the syringe into his arm. The small prick healed almost immediately, and he lapped up the small spot of his victim's blood. Rubbing the American's cheek, his assailant turned to deal with his Russian lover. Lifting a large arm from underneath America, He took out yet another syringe and needle, injecting far more of the same liquid into his arm, and a small amount of a second kind. After he deemed them both to be suitably harmless, he hoisted America carefully out of Russia's lap and placed him on the floor. He then unceremoniously dumped the Russian on the ground, no longer caring about stealth. Still, the man did not wake, and intruder returned to his things. He returned to the Russian's side with a dark look and a length of barbed wire, and set to work immobilizing the larger man.
He couldn't be allowed to interfere.
Ivan had lived through many things throughout his almost two millenniums of Nationhood. The tundra and the taiga had beaten survival and instincts into his core, and as a result he realized immediately that something was wrong.
For one, he was lying on his side, when he fell asleep with his back sinking amidst the cushions of the armchair, and now his was lying on something not nearly as comfortable. In fact, if he had to guess, it felt like...the rug. Yes. It was the rug, he could recognize its thickness and its distinctive scent and he could faintly feel the floor beneath it... But how had he gotten here?
He assumed America had something to do with it, because second of all, he no longer felt the other Nation anywhere near him, and could not hear him either. But then, where was he?
Ivan almost made to get up. But last, and certainly not least, he realized that he couldn't.
He made certain not to move a muscle. Not to flicker open his eyes and alert any possible watcher to his wakefulness. Instead, he let his mind take over, feeling his bonds. Higher up on his arms, tied as tightly as such weak fabric could hope to bind, was his scarf. His precious scarf. America respected his value of the scarf and never even touched it without permission. He would never do this. A whole other set of alarms began to sound in Ivan's head; either the culprit thought this would be funny, to tie someone up so pointlessly with a scarf, or the person was familiar enough with him to know that he would never, ever willingly harm the scarf Ukraine had made for him. Taking into account their currently location, and all its security in its privacy, his stomach dropped as he realized it would probably be the latter.
Another set of binds restrained his wrists and ankles. He felt them; they were metal, and in some areas, surprisingly sharp. Taking a risk, he shifted his feet and flexed his fingers; both received painful pricks. Russia had to restrain a hiss. If those had broken skin, he would probably have been infected. He knew what it was. Barbed wire.
Despite being strong restraints, the consequences of breaking them deterred Russia from escaping them only unless necessary. Whoever was doing this was clever, and certainly had planned in advance.
The crackling of the fire almost obscured the nearly-mute sounds of a moving body close by; the rustling of fabric over skin, even breathing, indiscernible whispers, shifting muscles, miscellanies sliding and swishing. Having discovered all he could through touch and hearing, Ivan finally settled for sight.
His eyesight was bleary and unfocused from sleep, even the soft firelight blinding to newly awakened eyes. Keeping as still and silent as he could, Ivan let his eyes adjust and focus, forcing himself to be patient as they did. When he finally regained his full vision, he took in a deep breath through his nose and looked for the source of the sound. His heart skipped several beats.
His lover, his America, was lying, completely naked, on his stomach, unconscious, while he too was bound. Not with scarves or barbed wire, but with handcuffs, two pairs of them for reinforcement. Even amid his internal turmoil Ivan forced himself to scoff and pray that the person behind this underestimated even Alfred's superhuman strength. Even as he did so, Ivan noticed that his lover wore a blindfold and a sturdy-looking cloth gag, along with what appeared to be a compact set of ear protectors. Noticing movement further along Alfred's body, his eyes swept down the body before taking in a sight that almost made his heart stop.
Hands the same size and shape as Alfred's expertly worked thick, rough ropes around and around Alfred's ankles, slightly longer hair of a slightly darker shade waving in time with the rocking of his body. Though Ivan usually overlooked him, the weight of just who he was, and why in the world he would possibly want to do such a thing to America, of all people, made it impossible for him to forget the culprit. His horrified, hitched breath made eyes an identical shade of violet lock with his own, and a cold gaze, one so frigid only the True North could wield it, examined him critically.
"...Canada?"
Canada eyed him coolly for a moment longer before his face warped into a smirk, and Ivan almost welcomed the change in expression but for the sudden malice the new one held. "Oh, how nice, you remembered me," Canada whispered, hollowly like Belarus. "Unfortunately, it doesn't really mean anything, since America is right here," he gently rested his hand on America's spine, "and it's easy to see I'm not a clone. Tell me, Braginski," he spat out the name like a curse, "How different am I from my little brother?"
Canada's claim to elder twin vaguely surprised Russia. Neither twin had ever been that definitive on who came first, and in general it was assumed that rambunctious America came before introverted Canada. To learn that the elder stood in the shadows of the younger-
Evidently the question had not been rhetorical, for Canada strode over and kicked Russia in the face out of sudden anger. Russia grunted at the pain, and Canada hissed, "Answer the question. How different am I from my little brother?"
Recoiling from Canada's range of attack, Russia curled in on himself, forcing himself to ignore the sore and surprisingly sharp pain where his nose felt like it had been bludgeoned flat. Staring straight into Canada's scowling face, he glowered and retorted. "Alfred is much more friendly and outgoing than you, and willing to go to greater lengths for them than you would. He is certainly much kinder than you. And apparently," his eyes narrowed, "more mentally stable."
Canada's face contorted into fury, and for one wild second Russia's heart leaped in panic before the usually-placid Nation schooled his features into a more tame anger. Then he grinned sickeningly. "I see. He's kind. Oh, it's true. He may single-handedly pave the road to hell with all his good intentions, but his heart's in the right place." He said this bitterly. "So kind. So naively, stupidly kind. Stupid enough to want to befriend you, stupid enough to submit to you, stupid enough not to realize that I loved him, I deserve him, I've always been destined to have him, I've always stood behind him, so near! But he can't see what's in front of his stupid, beautiful, kind face..."
Russia leered as Canada trailed off. "'Always stood behind him'? 1812, Canada?"
"Cold War, Ivan?" Canada retorted easily. "No... 1812 was a misunderstanding... that's all. He couldn't see. He didn't realize," Canada stated with conviction, "that he is not the one to take me, that I should be the one taking him. He may be the 'leader' among the two of us, but I am the one he relies on.
"You wouldn't know this, Braginski," Canada suddenly switched tacks, "but long, long ago, before the Old World ever even dreamed of the faint idea that there might be a New World to discover, the American countries all shared the American continents and wandered freely over the land that wasn't split by Nation borders. Mexico -she was Maya back then, kept her name as a legacy - often took us down through the Amazon territory to visit Inca, and Aztec taught us some of our most important survival skills, along with how to build a city on the water. That idea never did take with our natives... But we would travel together most often, just the two of us, in what would become our lands. Alfred showed me which of his plants were poisonous, which animals to avoid, and in the winter, when we went up to my tundra, I would keep him warm." Fondness crossed over Canada's features at the memory. "Alfred never did feel truly at home up there... so I kept him warm, I kept him safe. I would curl up with him and wrap my arms around him and keep my little brother comfortable by my side...And I knew, with absolute certainty, that he was my little brother, only mine," he snarled, and Russia realized that Canada hates England for an entirely different reason than his separation from France, "and anyone who takes him from me will suffer."
Disregarding the obvious danger he was in, Russia stared Canada in the eye. "What are you go-"
"Of course, Alfie is not completely blameless, either," Canada nearly coos, and Russia wants to heave. "Even if Einstein says so, it's just not possible for one single person to be so stupid as to willingly be fucked by someone who wanted him dead for forty years and completely miss someone so much better who's so much closer to him. Does it kill you, Ivan," he whispered. "No matter how close you are across that stupid Bering Straight, I'll always be closer~"
"That doesn't matter," Ivan growled. "He loves me, not y-"
A boot connected with his face and sent him reeling back.
"Oh, he will love me," came the animalistic growl, solid footsteps advancing on the downed man. "I will make him love me, I will teach him to love me, I will teach him not to love you. You just wait and see." Canada crouched down to the disoriented Russian, and, while still gathering his thoughts, binds his mouth shut with an impossibly long gag. He dragged the front end of his body so that he has a perfect view of his naked lover, and then Canada attended to a bag. He went through it before finding what he wanted; a cloth and a bottle of something. Ivan caught a whiff of the stuff, and reeled, knowing that it would wake America up in an instant. Canada wet the cloth and strode over to his sleeping brother, taking a moment to caress his sleeping face. Then Canada lifted his face by the forehead and held the cloth under his nose.
Headcanon states that Canada is older. Not only did the Vikings land in Canada before anyone reached America's future lands, but, in leaving Russia by the land bridge across Berengia (now the Bering Straight between Russia and Alaska), the future Native Americans would have occupied Canada before any other land. I go by the first line of reasoning to explain Canada's age, but the second is an interesting observation as well.
So, if you don't know what barbed wire looks like, you're dumb. Not really, but other than that, it's really painful to be stuck on. I know from second-hand experience. Some moron once tried to climb the fence at my community's swimming pool, and failed, as his entire stomach got impaled with barbed wire. And his entire stomach area was a black and green infected mess for weeks afterwards. Not fun, glad it wasn't me.
Ear protectors are like hard plastic earmuffs specifically made to protect your ears from loud noises, like lawn mowers or airplanes. They are usually big and bulky, so I cheated and made them compact.
Call this the warning chapter. I don't know why anybody would still be reading this if they didn't like what they knew was going to happen, but heads up everyone, it only gets hotter and heavier from here on out.