Hello guys! It's me again! Guess what? This is my fourth Fan fiction! Yay! This one is a prequel to From Russia With Love. It just randomly came to me… I hope you enjoy it… Also, I do not own Hetalia nor it's characters. This is strictly fan made!
~Lolima~
Boredom and Paper
The snow was heavy today in Russia. Ivan walked though the snow holding his arms tightly agents himself. He had went on a walk through the town to try and enjoy himself, but General Winter had other plans. Once at his door, the nation quickly pushed it open and slammed it tightly shut. He growled angrily that Winter had messed with his plans again. He sometimes wondered if that old geezer did it for fun. The room was dark and had a chill to it. Flipping the light switch on, the Russian male walked over and began to place wood in the fire place. As the older male began to light the fire, a pile of snow dropped down from the chimney, dampening the wood. Shock painted his face before it melted into utter hatred. Standing Ivan began to rant angrily as loud as he could. "Fuck you too you damn fucking asshole! I hope you suffer from a heat stroke you cold hearted demon!" He screamed to the top of his lungs. Gasping for air from all the oxygen he used from his angry outburst.
Feeling frustrated beyond reason, the Russian decided he needed something to help calm his nerves. What else could to so then a nice… warm… bottle of vodka. Walking into his kitchen, he opened on of his cabinets and pulled out one of the hundreds of vodka bottles he had stashed away. Quickly he removed the top and took a long, heavy swig of it. Pulling the bottle from his lips, he walked out of his kitchen and up the massive set of stairs to his office. The pace was full of papers and books that rested upon a large desk. Filing cabinets and book shelves rested upon his walls. Sighing, he walked over and pulled his rolling hair out, dropping upon it. It slowly rolled around in a circle as he closed his eyes taking another swig of his drink. Having nothing better to do, he began to read though the many documents left for him.
After four hours straight of reading boring subjects over and over and over again, he sat back and finished his bottle off, which was very little at all. Feeling a little upset that his bottle was empty, he threw it viciously across the room and watching it smash into tiny slivers upon his wall. He closed his eyes, listening to the shards smash onto the ground. Oh, what a lovely sound it made. As hey fell he thought of such happy thoughts. Blood splitting upon the ground. Bones breaking. Dieing screams. Moans of pain and lust. Digging his teeth and nails deep within his warm flesh. Shoving his large regions deep inside his sweet, tight, warm entrance. Oh, how blissful. The one person who he saw the most when thinking of these images was non other than his dearest and yet most hated comrade, Alfred Jones. Then he got a wonderful idea to help chase away his boredom.
Looking around frantically, he finally found a blank piece of paper and a pin. "Just to piss of my dear American friend, I'm going to write in Cyrillic." He laughed. He sat there and thought before he wrote. At first it was innocent. Sweet and full of his love for his rival, but as he went on, it began to become darker. Slowly it faded into his more ominous thoughts. He could imagine every word he wrote within his mind. Every motion, sound, and scene. Oh, how he became so lost within his writing, he didn't even notice his growing erection, at least, not till he was finished. Even then he was lost in his lustful movie in his head. Closing his eyes, he unbuttoned his pants and slipped his boxers off his overly large dick. He shivered as he could feel the pre cum running from his tip. Using his mouth to pull off one of his gloves, he reached his bare hand down and tightly gripped his throbbing member. There was no need to take things gentle or slow. He was pumping as quick as he could, holding so tight it hurt. Deep, heavy moans escaped from his slightly parted lips as he imagined Alfred's cried of pain with his every thrust. Oh, how wonderful it sounded. Like a bird singing within it's cage. Every pump was a pound into his tight, wet, hole. This continued till he came inside Alfred, or rather within his hands.
After a little while of resting from his excitement, he grabbed a tissue from a box hidden within the pile of books and cleaned himself up a little before carefully folding the letter and placing it in a small envelope. After filling out what needed to be done, he walked outside. "Hey General, How about you do me one favor and make sure this is delivered to Alfred! It's something I wrote especially for him! If he doesn't get it, You'll pay!" Slowly the snow began to swirl in front of Ivan until there was nothing but white. Then as it stopped there was a form of an old man before him. "How would you do that? You can't do anything to me…" He laughed before taking the letter. "I will deliver this, just to see what events may unfold next…" Then the snow male turned and disappeared.
Hearing that, Ivan grinned with such happiness. "Finally… Alfred will know how I truly feel about him…" Then he turn and walked back into his house to make himself a lovely dinner and drink a bottle of vodka to celebrate his successful day.