Opening Statements: Uh...what is this I don't know. Um, I wrote this a couple days ago...in an hour. Please understand, I was so incredibly baked when I wrote this. Like, how I actually comprehended even writing anything legible surprises me. I was high off my prescription, if anyone wanted to know. Fixing the dose this weekend so I won't get totally baked in English anymore. Annoying. But yeah, this...uh. No clue. I wrote this super quick, tried an entirely different and kinda weird writing style, but as I fixed up most of the typos when I came down I realized I kinda liked it. The sex isn't too graphic, and I think I like it compared to actually describing the porn. Not that I'm going to stop. I mean, pfft, what the fuck would I do if I wasn't writing porn? Plot? Psh, yeah. Right. *pewf*
EDIT: Sorrysorrysorry noticed some mistakes and stuff and had to fix it sorry sorry sorry *headdesk*
Disclaimer: Don't sue.
WARNING: Angst, rape fetish, dub-con, inappropriate use of a pipe
影ちゃん
He was shaking. His hands were sweaty. He was nervous. Nervous and disgustingly eager.
Hugging himself as he stood in front of the door, Alfred shakily raised a fist to knock...then put it down to catch his breath as he started to breathe hard. The anticipation and the angry, disgusting feeling that pooled in his gut made him almost hyperventilate. He tried to quell his shaking, tried to stay calm and assure himself it was okay, this would be the last time- he was only here to say no and walk back to his hotel room to go to sleep.
Both he and the one dwelling behind the door he was trying to knock on both knew that was bullshit. If he were to say no he wouldn't have even come.
Why was it like this every time?
Every time...every meeting...every night...
It was always like this. Every meeting the Russian would extend a silent invitation to his hotel room...and every time the American would come to tell him no and fail.
Why couldn't he say no?
A shaky fist finally knocked timidly against the door. Hands wringing themselves together in a nervous fit before finally settling on fisting the bomber jacket hugging Alfred's frame, hiding the white shirt that was wet and dripping from when he had poured water over himself to cool off in the hot and humid weather of Kyoto. When he had practically drenched himself like a slut at a wet t-shirt contest to gain his attention.
Waiting...waiting...waiting for the damn door to open silently and reveal a dusky lit room with no one to greet him until he had stepped inside and the door was shut and locked behind him to prevent his escape.
Wrapping his arms around himself again as his wet shirt began to make him tremble from the slight breeze from the air conditioning of the hotel.
Alfred silently begged the door stayed closed...begged no one answered him...begged for five silent minutes in his head as he turned around to leave since the door refused him entry.
He didn't breathe a sigh of relief. He wasn't relieved. Disappointed and disgusted...tired and feeling like he had to cry... But never relief.
As he turned away the door swung open with the slightest creak. Alfred turned back, seeing the dusky room awaiting his arrival with a dim lamp to set the atmosphere in a mood of romanticism. He was shivering now, knowing what would happen. Like it always happened.
Tentative steps forward and safely passing through the threshold of the door until he heard the door shut behind him and the lock click with audible menace and sinister intent. He rubbed his sides to soothe himself, to tell himself it was just to say no. The door would be unlocked soon and he would leave without injury to his pride and dignity for once.
"You came." There was no question, the words mere mockery and amusement at his shaky anxiety. The words were few...but Alfred knew their true meaning- what he was really saying.
You couldn't stay away, I knew you couldn't. I will never let you go.
"No," he breathed, barely above a whisper as he felt big, cold hands sliding up his arms and slowly sliding his coat off of his shoulders to reveal the wet, translucent fabric beneath it. He had said no...but it didn't mean it had impact. Every time he said no. And every time he meant yes and no at the same time.
"You didn't change." Again, no question, more mockery. The words said as if it were something out of a newspaper or on the twenty four hour news channel; dry and offhand. Alfred read the true meaning of the words, what Russia wanted to say to him and only refrained from doing so because it was rude.
Pathetic attention whore.
"No." The fateful word he never meant without the same resolve it held before.
Cold hands peeled away his wet and dripping shirt above his head, leaving him damp and cold, skin raised as he shivered and hugged himself. Left half naked in the middle of the frigid room without the protection of a barrier. Pants were nothing- they would soon be gone as well, a thin veil that refused to protect him from hands made of ice that worked over his skin so carefully to make Alfred almost physically sick.
He wanted to be physically sick. He wanted to be disgusted with Ivan instead of himself. He wanted it to be more than going through the motions. He wanted to say no and mean it. He didn't want it, not like it was. He wanted to not want it. Then he could be disgusted with someone other than himself.
Soft and icy hands stripped away his last shield to leave him bare. He sat on the feathery soft bed, not having to be told to do it at this point. He whispered out a cracked and trembling 'no' as he continued to hug himself to try and make the repulsive, sickening feeling rising from his abdomen stay down, to stifle it and make it disappear so he wouldn't have to ever deal with it again.
He pushed away the cold hand reaching for his vital regions. Only making the Russian angrier with him- the sickly sweet smile spreading wider in irritation and attempt to hide the vexation behind it. "Yes," he mirrored, smile spreading wider still. Alfred translated the words for himself.
You want it. You know you want it. You aren't even convincing yourself anymore.
Alfred's gut twisted, mouth going dry. He was silent as Ivan pushed him down with such care and control. His hands were soft and gentle as they caressed him, forced him to arousal and stroked his cheek as he whispered graces in his mother tongue to soothe and calm him for what was to come.
Blue eyes fluttered closed, unable to meet an amethyst gaze searching for his own as he gave a quiet, high pitched 'oh' as he felt something uncomfortably cold rubbing against him. It wasn't Ivan. He was cold but not cold like this. He shook his head, his refusal silent this time as a single tear slid down his cheek.
"Shhh," Ivan hushed him, his voice coming out hissed and hurried. Alfred blinked away more tears before they returned to escape him. Even with something like a shush he never said what he meant. Alfred always knew what he meant, even with just a shush.
I know it doesn't hurt you anymore. So disappointing you are crying this soon.
He shook his head again, weaker once more as the cold rod pressed into him. But Ivan was right. It didn't hurt- it never hurt anymore.
The pipe was cold and unyielding. Stiff and too thin, got too deep to be pleasurable. A poor substitute for the real thing. But, Alfred realized with a grimace, it was better than being forced to take the real thing without it. It was uncomfortable without preparation for the pipe. It was excruciating without preparation for the Russian.
Soft by the time Ivan grew bored of the pipe, he relaxed as it left him and stayed limp and pliant. Legs spread forcefully he mouthed out a silent 'no' before the feeling of something warmer and thicker pressing against him. A silent cry left him as he held his arms over his chest, clawing at his own skin to distract from the pain.
"Yes." More tears escaped him as he looked up into violet orbs, smile small and caring as his cheeks was stroked gently and softly. He shook his head again, a broken sob leaving him, shudder racking through him as he translated the one daunting word to himself.
You are a hero, da? Heroes tell the truth. Heroes do not cry.
Shaking his head once more in denial he closed his eyes to stop the tears, legs spreading widely- voluntarily. Arousal returning, he refused to meet the Russian's taunting, lying gaze.
It wasn't him who lied...he wasn't lying...it wasn't him...was it?
Another broken sob left him as he shook his head again, a different answer, denying the unspoken words. He managed to croak out another no before covering his face so avoid seeing his reflection in the unyielding, soft violet eyes staring back down at him.
Hands were slowly and carefully pried away, forcing him to look back with tears sliding down his cheeks as the bed began creaking with raucous motion. He didn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything other than how warm it was. Not humid and unbearable like during the day. Too pleasant and soft. Like the atmosphere was softening his fall and caressing his broken body.
Lips silencing his barely audible cries forced him to swallow his own noise. Had he been making too much noise again? He didn't know at this point. He couldn't hear anything above Ivan's heartbeat anymore.
The cheap orgasm was fleeting and unsatisfying as his body was given no time to recover, used until he was aching and crying even harder- but silent. He continued to mouth 'no' over and over, knowing the Russian saw and ignored it. Knowing he was telling himself no now. Knowing Ivan wasn't glancing at him because there was guilt behind his innocent façade.
But the guilt would fade after it ended. The guilt would disappear to be replaced by smug accomplishment as he whispered filthy Russian words into his sensitive ear. He would stroke his hair and smooth over his cowlick so delicately to make him tremble every time and play it off as an accident.
"Ya tebya lyublyu." Whispered words with hidden intent that made Alfred's stomach churn. His Russian was limited but he knew what those sick words meant. Translating them to English was harder than translating than to what he knew Ivan really meant...
Until tomorrow, you weak, pathetic pig.
To which Alfred would return the words in English in a whisper before pulling up his fabric barriers and escaping to cry in his hotel room and scrub away the shame.
He wanted it to be rape. He wanted it to be something he could say he didn't want. To an extent he didn't want it. He wanted to not want it. So his sleep would be fitful for once without the anxiety and sick anticipation that came along with it.
All day the next day he would think about that night- think about how he would tell Ivan no and walk away. He would think about all the nasty names he would call him and not turn into the wispy shadow of a whore when he goes to his door to tell him off.
After the meeting, after hours of contemplating, so long of gathering up courage he walked up to the door.
He was shaking. Hands sweaty. Nervous. Nervous and disgustingly eager.
Hugging himself after raising a hand to knock before losing nerve and trying to catch his breath to assure himself the vicious cycle would stop there.
The door opened without him knocking, creaking just barely, the room was dusky and hardly lit as if to mock a romantic setting. He would step inside, taking a deep breath as he heard the words of mockery before translating them in his head. "You are early."
And repeat.
影ちゃん
Translation:
Ya tebya lyublyu - I love you (used kind of ironically here as you can probably tell)
Shadow-chan's Final Thoughts/Rants: So um...not too much fail? I write angsty stuff when I'm baked, shit... Oh well, that's why I shouldn't ever get high. I hate getting high. I never get anything productive done. I write shit like this, and my big main projects get ignored. Anyway, uh...I'm sorry. I'll stop writing random shit and write LiS. *sulk*
Um...reviews? *is a whore* So yeah, thanks for reading the musings of a fangirl who should be doing other things with her lack of a life. *bow*