A Mad Russian's Christmas
239
Here is the latest Christmas story, but it's macabre, dark, angst filled and bloody. Blame it on Russia's history and the fact that this story wouldn't stop pestering me to be written. So if you don't like the mention of violence and abuse and blood, don't read it.
On a brighter side, I have two fluff filled Christmas story ideas left, so we'll get to Christmas on a happy note.
This idea came to me when I was looking for a title for my PolandxLithuania story and came across this title from Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
That being said, I'll shut up now. Rated M because I want to be on the safe side. Oh and it's five different Christmases from different times.
A Mad Russian's Christmas
I. Decadent
Once upon a time, Ivan remembered holding a young girl's hand in his and dancing with her in an elegant ballroom. Her dress would spin around and her voice would resonate around the great room and the crystal chandeliers. Russia would twirl little Anastasia in time with the music as the great tsar and his wife looked at them dance.
Russia loved Christmas with the Romanovs. They held elegant balls and everyone dressed up in their finest clothing. The greatest part of the evening was seeing little Anya's face light up with joy when she would open her first Christmas present. She would run over to the tall nation and show off her new trinket to him.
How wonderful it had been to see that little happy face, to feel that little hand in his much larger one. How joyous it had been for Russia to twirl the little girl as they danced. How simple it had been to watch her frilly dress swoosh left and right. How easily it had all changed.
II. Despair
Quickly things had changed and long gone were the days of the decadence of the elite class. There was something different about the Russian air and it no longer smelled the same.
Ivan sat at his kitchen table alone on this Christmas Eve with vodka as his only friend. At first, he had been quite happy to be able to spend the holiday alone after all the chaos of the revolution, but as he polished off yet another bottle of vodka, his thoughts started changing in his mind. They became darker as he remembered the number of unhappy holidays he had spent. Why was it that it always seemed as though he was in a conflict with someone?
Russia took another swig directly out of the bottle. What was the use of using a glass if he would only empty out the bottle anyway? He closed his eyes and sighed as he saw little Anya twirl in her new green dress, blood sprayed across her face, the perfect colours of Christmas.
III. Thrones
Russia had learned at a young age not to cry over spilt milk. So the Romanovs had been killed and a new age had come to his land, he should be happy. Ivan was pleased to see that so many people were here for Christmas this year. He smiled at an unsuspecting boy in front of him who quickly took fright and went about his business. Russia smirked; being powerful sure was mighty satisfying.
From his throne like chair, Ivan could supervise all of the activities that were taking place in his house. He felt powerful and elated. He liked to see them squirm under his gaze and flinch at his touch. It felt satisfying.
Everyone was busy making the food that he had asked they make for the holiday meal. Russia could almost taste their fear on his tongue. It tasted wonderful. It aroused him.
A woman he barely knew that had started living with him and his other guest walked up to him with his evening wear in hand. Ivan nodded to her and she proceeded to undress him. The others spared a glance at them and Russia liked to think that they were envious of her job and that they all wanted to feel his body under their filthy hands.
Once he was fully dressed, the woman took Ivan's discarded clothes and bowed before leaving. Russia watched as another insignificant nation walked up to him and hand-fed him the food his three favourite Baltic nations had made for him. He would have to properly thank them later for such a wonderful Christmas meal.
The meal done, Russia sat back drinking from his fourth bottle of vodka and observed the nations he ruled over, the vermin that mingled with his own kind, the filth that he had come to tolerate, the ones he loved to torment. And as he sat there all high and mighty on his throne like chair, he felt like the great ruler enjoying a private Christmas feast.
IV. Lust and Obedience
Russia staggered towards the second floor of his vast house. He had had a fair amount of vodka and those thirteen stairs seemed to shift every now and then. He wasn't too sure whether he was going straight to bed or if he wanted to pay a little visit to one of the many inhabitants of his house.
Ivan walked down the corridor and paused in front of one door. He smirked to himself. He had almost forgotten that this young nation had failed to get him a proper Christmas present. He would have to show the wrongdoer that Russia was a forgiving man… that is, if the man begged for it as Ivan would punish him.
Russia walked inside the room and paused by the bed. He felt elated as he watched the bed's occupant sleep almost peacefully, but not for long. Ivan took out the rope that he had left in his pocket from last time and proceeded with his business. When he came to pull the covers away in order to bind the young man's feet, two green eyes opened in shock.
The unsuspecting nation had failed to get him a proper Christmas gift. The larger man told him so and the other replied that he had spent weeks preparing him a special festive meal. It didn't work that way, Ivan reminded him. The young man tried kicking his assailant in the back, but Russia simply took the foot and tied it to the bed post.
Russia let his hand caress the smooth cream coloured skin and watched as the other man's eyes widened with shock, but at the same time, he shivered with pleasure at the touch, wanting more. Well, at least, his body did. Ivan loved this. He loved the way the younger man's body reacted to his every touch and the way it tormented the man's soul.
Russia let his hand travel upwards until it found the waistband of the other's sleep gear. His hand paused there for a moment before it plunged into the briefs and stroked the smaller man's privates. He watched with sadistic pleasure as the other nation tried to move away, but at the same time, arched into the hand and moaned as the Russian's hand did those sweet things to him.
Ivan took his whip out. The green eyed man knew what was coming. Russia called it "just retribution". Everyone else who had gone through this knew that it was anything but that. Russia whipped the man once and watched as his companion let out a scream. It excited him to see that pale skin be flushed with pleasure and pain. His hand continued with the ministrations for a bit more and listened to the moan that escaped the other man's lips before he used the whip again.
When the skin was a nice raw red and when it was bleeding, he put aside his tools of torture, undressed himself and without giving a warning; he entered that small tight entrance he loved to fill. He teased and tormented the man as he was brought to a climactic pleasure over and over again, not caring that his companion broke inside.
Russia only stopped when his companion's green eyes were dull and void of life. He pulled out and admired the other's body that was flushed red with blood. The perfect Christmas present for him and the perfect punishment for the younger man.
V. Colours
Russia washed his hands over and over again. He could still smell the copper liquid on his fingers, under his fingernails. It made his stomach churn, but part of him liked it, lusted for it. He blinked a few times and looked at himself in the mirror. There were flecks of blood on his face as well. He didn't even know who the blood had belonged to anymore.
He brought his hands up and looked at them. There was still blood, so much blood. He hated the fact that he loved it.
Just after he had finished with his victim, he had licked at his fingers, put his hands through the poor man's wounds and observed the bits of flesh and blood on his hands. Then he had passed his bloodied hands through his face and hair. He had loved the feel of blood on his face. It tingled at all of his senses.
But right now, he wanted the blood gone. He felt green with sickness as he looked at his blood soaked hands. He was the perfect representation of the Christmas colours. He must be really going mad.
OWARI
That was… strange, but somehow, I liked it. I don't know… well, if any of you read this, please let me know what you thought. Somehow, my mind likes the crazy sadistic version of Russia…
Oh, the shy boy and the girl who dressed him and the person who fed him are supposed to be countries that were in the USSR.
Next up, a happier Christmas story!
Started writing: December 20th 2009, 10:59pm
Finished writing: December 21st 2009, 8:26pm
Started typing: December 21st 2009, 8:27pm
Finished typing: December 21st 2009, 9:26pm