Disclaimer: If I didn't own Hetalia last chapter, it probably means I don't own it now. And guess what? I still don't!

I combined chapters two and three. I'm so bad. Anyway, here's what we've all been waiting for: forced sex with a pipe! YAYZLS!


The effect was instantaneous. With a huge shudder and a fit of muffled coughing, America woke up, and, jolted straight into alertness by the chemical, realized his current state, blindly trying to struggle against it. Russia frowned in worry as America barely managed to flop like a fish before settling on hyperventilation. Canada chuckled darkly and ran one hand along America's face, the fingers of the other reaching up to twirl Nantucket. America stiffened at the unfamiliar hand on his face, but Nantucket had the same reaction as ever and calmed America's breathing down, heat lightly flushing on his face.

"What a slut, bowing to anyone," Canada cooed down at his brother, though he knew he couldn't hear him through the ear protectors. It was part of his punishment. He would enjoy Canada, however unwillingly, while Russia watched. "Even with muscle relaxants he's still so willing. But feel his heart race." Canada suddenly flipped America onto his back, exposing the Nation's naked form to view, feeling his chest, where his heart indeed pounded frantically. "He's so frightened... he can't see, he can't hear, he can't talk, he can't really even move... he must be so scared," Canada taunted as he ran his fingers along America's torso, groin, and inner thighs. America stiffened, shivered, and whimpered, but with his druggedly-relaxed muscles could not curl himself away from those invasive hands. Gritting his teeth, Russia tried to force himself up, but found himself almost completely paralyzed.

"I gave you even more muscle relaxant than him," Canada giggled. "And a little surprise, too. You see, both of you need to realize that I would be much better with America than you, so as long as the message gets through, I don't care how it's done."

As Canada spoke, he noticed himself start to feel a little warmer, only enough to be noticeable. But its concentration, in his southern regions, made his stomach twist with horror and despair. Canada was hurting them, punishing them, and Russia seemed to find this arousing, even if in the slightest? He couldn't! He couldn't! He was hating every second of this, so why did his body disagree?

Canada smirked as he noticed Russia's face twist from confusion to a sort of self-hating anguish; the slow-working, not-so-powerful aphrodisiac he injected second must have started working. He didn't give him a lot, nor anything particularly strong, though; he was looking for a placebo effect. Turning away from the larger nation, Canada focused on his brother, lying on his back below him and clearly distressed.

He let his fingers barely graze America's torso, and revelled in the reflexive shiver and attempted recoil. Grinning maniacally, he ran his fingers all up and down his brother's chest, pressing and rubbing in some places as if relaxing his brother with a massage, lightly sweeping his hands along warm skin in other places, occasionally letting a stray breath waft over Nantucket. Through it all, America made some drugged movements, lifting his knees to block Canada's access to his vital regions, twisting away from his grasp, but nothing he tried was very effective or very strong. Russia tried also to move, finding similar success. He could only watch, practically helpless, as Canada crawled onto his twin, directing icy glares with an intense dark aura that Canada in his confidence seemed immune to.

Canada simply straddled his twin to block his legs and more firmly control his upper body's limited range of motion. With a sick smile, he leaned over his brother. One hand devoted itself to America's jaw and removing the gag in order to force it open, while the other assisted by providing Nantucket with unwanted attentions. America stiffened as he closed in, but Canada's fingers suddenly closed around Nantucket and firmly stroked the entire lock of hair, eliciting a shiver and a reflexive gasp, and Canada lunged.

Identical lips locked together and worked, back and forth, into a deep kiss, one pair humming with satisfaction, the other trembling in disbelief. With a little more teasing of Nantucket and working of Canada's mouth, he forced entrance into America's with his tongue, running over the surfaces of his pearly teeth, carving out the surface of his palate, wrapping around America's own tongue. He continued his explorations, ignoring the panicking heart beneath him and the sudden paleness of America's skin, brought on by terror and the need to breathe.

All the while Russia watched, face alternately flushing and draining of blood. He had long ago given up trying to intimidate Canada with glares, and now settled for worming, inch by inch, toward his captured lover. He took in every puff of heated breath in the room, every twitch of muscle, every little gasp and groan, from both nations. The sight of his Alfred enjoying his attentions was not a new one to him, and Canada seemed to be doing a fairly good job of forcing pleasure on him. Canada moved perfectly with his brother, reacted like him, and it was almost like seeing double. The thought made him blush, two Alfreds copulating. It was beautiful to imagine, but this was Canada, and this was rape, and whenever he caught himself flushing at the sight of them the horror that he was growing warmer to the sight of his lover's rape made him pale and dizzy.

Eventually, when Canada needed his own air, he released him. America tried to struggle back, but Canada held him by his limp shoulders even as he recovered his breath, face flushed. Suddenly, America spoke, and the unexpectedness of this makes both witnessing nations jump.

"C-Canada..." it was whispered, mewled, and in a voice close to tears, "...Why...?"

Canada only grinned in a very feral manner as he cornered his brother again and forced him into another hot, heavy kiss. This time, Canada spared nothing in making sure that America enjoyed it. Nantucket was teased excessively, tongues dancing, even if one partner stoutly refused. Despite himself, America began to turn red and groan, though never once did he seek to press into the kiss on his own. Russia watched, mouth open, whole being filling with shame as his cock began to react to the sight before him. Though such behavior naturally would be arousing, it was rape - rape! - of his precious America no less! When Canada broke apart for the second time, a thick strand of saliva broke onto America's lips, which Canada licked away. Then he turned to Russia with a triumphant look in his eyes before his hands began working what even Russia had to admit was magic on America's body, making light tracings and deep kneadings alike as the Canadian gloated.

"See, Russia? do you see that?" he nearly cheered. "He knew my touch, he knew my scent, he knew my taste! He can't hear me or see me, but he still knew me as his brother." Russia couldn't see how this was something to gloat over. He worked against the heat slowly building in him as well as the muscle relaxants and made little headway with either as Canada's fingers roamed south.

Alfred's mind moved painfully fast as he hurtled fearfully through the silence and darkness. He had been dragged from merciful sleep only to find himself drugged and bound, attacked by unwelcome hands he couldn't fend off and a scent he unfortunately recognized as familiar and something he loved, relied on, cared for. The denial he tried to hide and console himself in died when his mouth was plugged by another's, one tasting faintly of his brother's maple syrups, trying so hard to make him react, make him surrender. In the darkness and the silence he could take in no cues but the ones that he could feel, smell, or, unfortunately, taste, and when his security in ignorance after the two forceful kisses gave way to touches in places that should not be touched that way by brothers, no, no never, he couldn't take it anymore.

America gasped at the touch, but it sounded more like he was joking back a sob. "N-no, Matt... please stop!" he cried, futilely trying to evade his brother's hands as they circled his inner thighs and rubbed his balls. Canada froze.

For one wild moment, Russia allowed himself to hope that his brother's begging would make Canada come back to his senses, but the hope quickly died as Canada began rubbing America's shaft with a vengeance, sticking two fingers inside his mouth and coating them with spit, coaxing groans and helpless cries from his brother even as he stuck both fingers up his ass and began to move them around. The room, Russia's body, the air, the anger, it was all overheating, and Russia's stomach began to toss and turn, in anticipation and complete disgust, his cock was half-hard by this time and he just didn't know why, the sight of America being forced into this made his vision swim and his head go dizzy, swinging between two extremes of hazy heat and sharp cold horror. The ringing in his ears couldn't balance out the noise America was making however unwillingly.

"Nnngh... ah... Matt... Matthew... stop... Canada, stop... stop!"

Canada took no heed of his brother's pleas as he stroked his brother's cock to complete erection. Only then did he relent on his ministrations and stand up, walking out of view of both nations. The silence filling the house in his absence engulfed them.

"America! America!" Russia called, nearly desperate, to the distressed nation before him, ignoring his bindings, muscles, and own completely hard dick to try once again to move to America's side. "America, I'm sorry, I'm here, I'm so sorry..." A few tears, unbidden, sprang to his eyes as he heard the telltale hitching of breath come from America, followed by the quietest of sobs.

America couldn't hear him. Trapped in the darkness by the blindfold and the silence by the pair of ear protectors, left with a painfully hard erection courtesy of his twin brother, he could only cry at his helplessness and at his lack of understanding. Why would Canada ever do something like this to him? They had their arguments, and didn't always see eye to eye, but Canada didn't hate him. So... why?

His despairing inner thoughts ended as he noticed a cold, terrifying tension suddenly fill the room. If his senses hadn't been blocked, he would have seen Russia hyperventilating and dry heaving, staring at Canada with more fear than he'd ever shown Belarus.

For in his hand, fresh from the blizzard snows, was his omnipresent metallic pipe.

Russia froze up as he saw Canada smoothly handling the light but durable metal pipe in his hand, completely frozen from the subzero temperatures outside. "What are you planning to do with that?" Russia croaked.

Canada turned to him, and in the firelight, something mad glinted in his purple eyes. "I'm simply going to punish you both with this," he said, smiling as he held up his weapon of choice. Russia couldn't care less about the irony of the situation, or of the pain he was about to suffer. He only cared about America, quietly crying on the ground behind his brother.

"You hated my brother, Russia," Canada hissed, glaring down at the addressed Nation with complete hatred in his eyes. "You hardly made that a secret. We all know how much you wanted him dead and burning of atomic radiation. We all know how much you wanted to see his greed and capitalism cause him to crumble from the inside out and leave you the last man standing. And even if everyone else refuses to believe," his eyes narrowed, "that in the darkest corners of your mind, you secretly wanted my little brother bathed in red, garbed in red, saluting to you, bearing a hammer and sickle, I know that you secretly wanted that. I know. You wanted America bound before you like he is now, at your mercy, crying for you, subservient to you. You wanted to break him, make him bleed, force-feed him your ideals until he followed you like yet another pup. You wanted to cut him, snap him in half, whip him, burn him, electrocute him, rape him."

Canada's quietly enraged tirade sped up, firing off accusations in a salvo rapid as gunfire. Then, abruptly, he stopped. He turned back to Russia, having faced away from him while he paced, and stared at him with a manic smile. "Well, now you have what you always wanted. America getting punished, violated, just the way you wished." He held up the glinting silver and lapped up the way Russia's eyes widened and pupils constricted, breath choking off as he tried to breathe. "I daresay he almost deserves it, coming to you when all along he had me," Canada said conversationally, pulling out lubrication and slicking up the still-cold metal while Russia struggled to breathe. "This will be a lesson to him and you! He should have known better than to go to you, and you should have known better than to think you could ever be good enough for him." He walked over to America, lying defenseless and unaware, and Canada stared straight at Russia as he lowered himself but never touched America's limp legs. He began lining up the pipe with America's entrance, and finally, Russia emptied what little contents were in his stomach.

"Stop! Just stop!" begged, outright begged, ignoring the vile taste in his mouth and the way tears ran down his face. "Please! I'll do anything, Canada, just don't do this to him!"

Canada seemed to gain amusement from Russia's crying. "Ah-ah-ah," he said, as a parent might to a child. "If I let you both off, you wouldn't learn anything, right? America has to know why you're such a disgusting Nation to sleep with, and you have to learn that you could never be worthy of his affections, his kindness, his love. He is a pure person, full of light, whereas you are generally regarded as a menace. So no, I can't go easy on you. But rest assured," Canada brightened. "You'll both be sure to learn your lesson right the first time, and then I won't need to do it again!" And on that happy note, he lined up the pipe with America's entrance and pressed the tip to his skin.


America shivered at the tension in the room tears still leaking down his face. His heart began to pound in the following stuffy silence as he waiting whatever unknown came next in total terror. His heart almost stopped and his blood almost froze as a freezing, metallic, slippery circle pressed itself against his entrance. From the amount of time he had seen... he could guess what it was.

No. Oh, no.

That split second pause lasted forever, and then the pain began.


Russia cringed through his tears as Canada forced the frigid pipe into America. The resulting howl of pain tore at the the sides of America's throat, so violent was the air rushing through his passageway. It hurt, it was numbed by the cold but the cold only made it hurt more, and the unnatural stiffness and wrongness of the pipe scraped at the sides of his rectum and the pipe came out bloody but still it pushed back in, scraping more, freezing more, burning more, hurting more. America's ass began to sting and throb.

"Canada!" he sobbed. "Canada, stop!" he screamed, air grating his throat. He couldn't see his brother, couldn't hear anything, not even himself, but still, he cried on and on. Sometimes, Canada managed to hit his prostate, but all that would get from America was a heartbreaking sob or a particularly hysteric scream to let him go, to stop, why, Matt, what did I ever do you you, why are you doing this?

As Canada's cruel love went on, the pipe began to warm from America's own body heat, but never did he get used to it. His blindfold was now completely soaked with sweat and tears as his whole body shuddered with heat from the unwanted intrusion. "Please! Canada! No more! What did I d-do to you? Why are you do-ing this?" America cried. As he expected he could not hear any answer Canada might have seen fit to give. "Ivan...Ivan! Help me... Please! Stop!" he screamed, bordering on hysteria. "IVAN!"

Russia, for his part, couldn't bring himself to look away. He watched Canada force the pipe into America countless times, bringing a squirt of blood out with each retraction, and sometimes – he noticed sickly – some flesh. His stomach squeeze and he dry-heaved, but there was nothing left to expel. With despair, he felt wetness between his legs and realized his still-hard cock had begun to leak precum. It couldn't be from the sight before him. It couldn't be. He didn't enjoy watching America scream and cry for Ivan to help him and for his older brother to stop hurting him, doing this to him, watching Canada grin like some deranged criminal as he pushed his pipe in and out of America, occasionally helping his erection along with a stroke or two.

"Canada! P...P-please! Stop! Just stop!"

How could he be such a monster that he got hard over this?

"Aaahhhhhhh! Cana...Canada! No! W-why?"

What was wrong with him?

"STOP!"

Russia felt the heavy weight of hopelessness fall on his shoulders, and with it, complete fatigue. He could only watch, silently, through thickly falling tears, and Canada pounded America again and again, not intent on stopping until his little brother reached orgasm. It seemed forever until Canada finally deciphered what America's louder cries meant and aimed consistently at the spot, despite his brother's continuing but subsiding sobs, screams, and pleas to stop. His face was red both from exhaustion and from the pressure building up in his throbbing cock, and by the time he ejaculated, he could barely manage to croak. Russia watched America's body relax into the afterglow, covered in sweat, tears, and semen, and was horrified to notice his own cum on himself as well.

He...he couldn't... have gotten off... to America... being raped... by his own brother... with his own pipe... He couldn't have...

As Canada methodically cleaned off the soiled pipe, Russia felt something within him break. In complete anguish and self-hatred, he broke down and began to cry in earnest as Canada made his way over to his brother, cut the ropes around his ankles, and walked out the door.


Yeah, for my first time with non-con, that kind of sucked. Ah, well. Grounds for improvement. And I'm not really sorry if you don't like Nantucket as an erogenous zone, because I do. Whee.

Fun fact: in ancient times, incest was considered a privilege reserved for royal families because it preserved their bloodlines. It also entitled them to a monopoly on horrendous genetic defects. Take example A: King Tut of ancient Egypt, the product of three or four generations of almost completely immediate-family incest. Examinations of his skeleton now reveal that it was unlikely he was ever able to walk. And, of course, he died in his late teens. Incest is awesome!

One more chapter, just because that's just such a shitty ending to a story.

Palates... in case you didn't know, that's the technical term for "roof of the mouth", and surprisingly, for once a medical term is less wordy than the everyday. But yeah. Palates are obnoxious when learning to roll your Rs... as an American-English speaking individual, I can't help but wonder if those who fluently (or natively) speak a romance language, or any language requiring a rolled R, find the English R as obnoxious as English-speakers find their various Rs.