Russia woke up with a groan, his head throbbing like a sporadic drumbeat. His whole body ached, and he couldn't see a thing. Had he been drinking? Usually he held his vodka quite well, never blacking out. He couldn't remember any details of the night before, though he was sure he had been at some kind of party... Well that would explain the headache. But it didn't explain why he couldn't see, or move for that matter. Where was he? The party had not been in his country, no it was someplace else. Where was it? Russia racked his brain, trying to remember. This was frustrating!

He wriggled a bit, when his stomach dropped and he broke into a cold sweat. He really could not move. Literally. He tried to move his arms, his legs, his head even. But he was met with restraint. That's when it hit him. He was tied down.

'Okay, do not panic. Whoever did this to you doesn't want you dead, or else they would have tried to kill you already. They want information.'

That was the thought running through his head as he lay there, trying to calm his speeding heartbeat. He felt very claustrophobic suddenly, wanting desperately to be able to move. Though what happened next, he was not ready for. The sound of a slamming door was heard not ten feet away. His eyes darted around in the blackness, until a blinding white light suddenly burned into his eyes. He squeezed them shut, as the light caused them to water.

"Babe, you're awake!"

No. No, no, no, no NO!

"Aww, don't look so pissed baby, it's okay. That was some crazy party last night, right?"

Russia tried to speak, tried to form words, but his mouth felt like sandpaper. His lips cracked as they tried to put together a single word.

America bounded over, joyful at the serene view in front of him. Russia lay bound to a white cot, which was bolted into the floor. His hair was a mess, his violet eyes blinking rapidly against the light, as he lay completely naked on the cot. He ran a hand through the Russian's hair, causing the big man to flinch. America giggled and trailed his finger across Russia's cheek, whispering comforting words. Russia finally met the man's eyes, forming a full sentence.

"Is this some kind of fucking joke?" he croaked out.

America's expression turned dark, and his hand cracked loudly against Russia's face, with enough force to send his head in the other direction. Russia felt dizzy from the painful blow, adjusting his vision to look at America in utter shock.

"How dare you call our relationship a joke! You slut, you dirty whore, I should rip your dick off for suggesting it!" America screamed, his eyes becoming bright with rage.

Russia swallowed. Clearly, something here was very wrong. America was a lunatic!

"I am s-sorry. Please, why are you doing this?" Russia asked as calmly as he could.

America suddenly smiled lustfully.

"Don't you remember? That party last night was insane, wasn't it," America said dreamily.

Russia raised an eyebrow.

"I don't remember what happened..." he said, hoping America would explain. Though, maybe he didn't want to know.

"That's right, you were pretty fucked up. Well, first you got drunk as shit, then I got drunk, then I roofied your vodka, dragged your unconscious ass to my place, then we fucked all night long! It was great. Oh, and England chopped off his finger so he wouldn't lose a bet to France. I got pics, it was awesome!"

Russia's blood ran cold. He stuttered, feeling weak and quite helpless.

"Y-you r-r-raped me?"

America laughed, patting the top of Russia's head.

"Don't be silly, it's not rape when you're drunk! You were awesome, by the way."

It was official. Russia's life was over. Even if America did release him, he would never be able to live it down. America had taken advantage of him, of Mother Russia! It didn't seem possible. It wasn't possible. Yet, here he was, tied to a cot while America nuzzled against him, admitting that he had raped him. He was forever cursed.

"That... cannot be true. Please, just let me go America," Russia said, his eyes pleading.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Russia was a cold, hard bastard, he shouldn't be in this position! If anything, America should be the one strapped to this table, Russia should be the one standing over him, a sadistic smile playing on his lips as he beat him with his faucet pipe...

"Russia, you don't seem to understand. You are my property now. I can do anything I want to you, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me. I could walk you to the grocery store naked and tied to a leash, I could strap you to the top of my car and speed down the wrong side of the highway, or I could cut your tongue out so I don't have to hear you bitch at me. Your life is changing Russia, and you can't stop it." America said coldly, his eyes losing their color, replaced with a bleak grey.

Russia visibly shivered as his eyes caught the glint of something metal gripped in America's right hand. As he moved into the light, Russia saw his familiar pipe, held strong by his enemy. His eyes darted up to America's face, seeing that he was smiling.

"And just to make sure you don't try anything..."

He raised the pipe above his head and swung down with full force. Russia's eyes widened in pain and shock as a sickening crunch rang out. America had smashed the pipe directly into his right knee, shattering the bone beyond repair. By the grimace on America's face, and the spatter of blood on his face, he had forced the bone through the skin. Russia's mouth gaped open as the pain became nearly unbearable, until a small choking noise escaped.

"Hold still babe, just one to go," America said, grinning weakly.

Russia did not respond, just staring at the ceiling with his mouth agape. The second blow was nearly as bad as the first.

A/n: Let's see how fast the moderators close me down. YOU HEAR THAT FANFICTION? I'M A SICK BASTARD! Haha, well I hope you all enjoyed it anyways. I just love this idea, it's always RusAme, how about some AmeRus?

p.s. for the record, there will be sex later. noncon for the win!