Days. Countless days. Canada didn't know how many.
It was like he was back to the very beginning of his confinement in the cabin. When he woke up here the first time and was alone and confused and frightened.
The door was only unlocked and food thrown in every few days. Bits of dried out bread and biscuits became his only meals again. Canada was sure even less food was thrown to him now than before.
His face was aching and sore from the wild beating he'd taken. His eyes had both almost bruised shut, and he'd stumbled around the cabin blindly for about four days before they healed enough for him to see properly again. Thank heavens his glasses hadn't been broken. He'd crawled around the cabin floor for about an hour, his hands searching for them, then cried for joy when he found them unscathed in the corner.
It could have been worse, he told himself. So much worse. He was only banged up and bruised.. nothing broken. Nothing more than the inside of his mouth and nose had bled.
He was still alive.
He tried not to think on it, but he couldn't help but wonder... if he had been seriously hurt.. the Russian would have stayed to care for him, right? If bones were broken.. too much blood spilled.. Ivan wouldn't have left.
Right?
But the Russian hadn't come back into the cabin. Nearly a month had passed and still Matthew received nothing more than thrown biscuits and bread. He hurried to the back of the cabin whenever he heard the door opening, but Ivan never came in. There was no response to his choked out 'thank yous'. The door slammed and Matthew was left behind in pure silence.
Canada doubted he would last much longer. He would die of starvation soon.. if not boredom and loneliness. Or maybe absolute hopelessness. Could you die from that?
He stayed curled up on the bed most days, too weak to get up and move around much. Too shaky and full of sorrow to sit and watch out the window. He did his best to stay clean but it was getting colder. Russia's Summer season was ending and the water in the sink was like ice. Matthew didn't know if Russia had a Fall season or if Winter would just come right away with it's snow and bitter cold.
Time passed and still, Ivan did not come in. Matthew was growing desperate. He knew had to do something. Had to get the Russian's attention somehow.. show him how sorry he was. How Canada would never misbehave like that ever again. He had to bring Ivan and his kindness and caring back.. But how?
He mulled over the problem for a long time. Long hours spent laying in his bed, with nothing more to do than think. Eventually.. he came to the solution. The only answer.
Total submission. Unquestioning obedience. Russia would settle for no less and Matthew knew it. The only way to survive this strange, terrifying situation was to do whatever it took to make Ivan happy.
A day later the lock clicked and the door opened.
Matthew was kneeling on the floor before it, bowed low. His forehead was touching the floorboards. His knees and back hurt so badly and he was barely able to hold himself up. He'd been there for a day and a half, waiting and hoping that the Russian would appear and see him there. He was shaking.
The door opened a little wider, brushing against Matthew's hair that was splayed out over the floor.
Ivan stepped in. His boots were so close to Matthew's face.
Canada felt the Russian's violet gaze resting on him. Now was the only chance he had. Now or never. Live or die here alone in a cabin in the middle of Russia, forgotten by everyone else he'd ever known. He crawled forward and put his face between the Russian's feet. His small, shaking hands grasped Ivan's boots.
"I'm so very sorry," he whispered, "Please forgive me."
Silence filled the cabin. Matthew could say no more. He was too afraid, and too weak. HIs shoulders quivered as he waited for Russia's response.
Terrible, frightening, horrible silence.
Matthew thought surely he was going to die. A tear welled in his eye and fell to the Russian's boot, dripping it's way down to the floor, leaving a clean streak in it's wake. His heart clenched with the thought that he wouldn't even have the chance to say goodbye to his polar bear.
He was suddenly scooped up into the Russian's strong arms.
Ivan carried the little Canadian to the bed. He sat down and held Matthew close in his lap. Matthew tied his arms around Ivan's neck and buried his face into the Russian's scarf. Sobs began to wrack his little frame. Relief poured over him in floods of tears.
"Don't leave me again," he cried pitifully, his hands fisting into Ivan's jacket, "Please, please.. don't leave me again.."
"Shh," Ivan whispered, rocking the Canadian back and forth, rubbing his back, "calm down, little one, I will not leave you."
Canada cried out the anguish of weeks being left alone. The terror of the Russian's temper and the pain of so little food. It was too much and Ivan let him cry as long as he needed to. Matthew tried to tell himself that perhaps Ivan felt badly for making him this way. The arms that held him now were tight and possessive and Ivan was making soft, soothing sounds. "It's ok, my Canada," he said, "It's ok. Let it out."
Later, Russia brought supplies into the cabin. A large kettle to hang in the hearth filled with warming water over a roaring fire. Towels to soak and bathe Matthew's bruised body. Fresh clothes to keep him warm once he was dry. And food. Plenty of food. More than borscht. He brought stroganov, coulibiac and knish. He didn't force Matthew to eat from the floor. He cradled the boy and brought food to his lips with a spoon, smiling with approval every time Matthew said how good it was – how delicious.
Time passed slowly, but steadily. Canada's bruises healed and disappeared. Russia returned every evening. He brought plenty of wood into the cabin so that Matthew could keep the fire going at all times on his own. He reached up high to light the lamp hanging in the rafters so that the darkness of the cabin was chased away. He brought food. He brought clothing and better bedding.
He brought companionship and a warm body for Matthew to wrap himself up in. When Ivan was with him, Matthew thought less and less of America. The little Canadian could only think of Russia and the rewards he received when the large man was pleased. Everything else was so much less important.
"Tell me again about the Russian ballet?" Matthew asked, snuggled up in Ivan's arms one evening. Snow was softly falling outside the window. Winter had come, but Matthew was warm and fed and comfortable. Ivan was nothing but kindness now, and grew kinder still whenever Matthew expressed interest in his country.
"It is beautiful," Ivan smiled, petting the blond locks out of the little Canadian's eyes. "The music reaches into your soul and the dancers are graceful like swans. Our ballet is the best in the world."
Matthew smiled. He pictured dancers dressed all in white, pirouetteing in sync to beautiful, sorrowful music. Snowflakes would fall around them softly, as if they were in a snowglobe.
"You miss home, da?"
Matthew blinked himself out of his daydream and focused on Ivan's face. He thought about the question. He wanted to say yes, he missed his home terribly, but he was afraid to make Ivan angry again. Tho there was no malice in the violet eyes gazing at him, Matthew dropped his gaze and stared at the black fur of the bearskin rug. He swallowed back a lump that had formed in his throat.
"I like it here with Russia." he said softly. He wasn't sure if he was lying, tho he knew he was saying exactly what Ivan wanted to hear. It didn't matter anyway. As long as Ivan was pleased. He chanced a look at the Russian's face and saw a happy smile.
"I have special gift for Matvey tonight."
Ivan detangled himself from the Canadian and got up. He fished around in the sack he always brought with him now, then pulled out a tiny, oddly shaped glass bottle.
Matthew stared, his eyes widening at the sight of the bottle. It looked so familiar! Was that..? No.. it couldn't be.. could it?
Ivan sat back down crossed-legged on the rug and pulled the Canadian into his lap. He nuzzled Matthew's cheek and held the bottle up for him to see what it was more clearly. Matthew stared in awe.
It was. It really was!
"M...maple.." Matthew barely whispered the word in case it wasn't true. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.
It was a tiny glass bottle of maple syrup. One of those tacky ones you find in all the tourist shops, in the shape of a maple leaf in case you should ever forget what was inside it. It was the most beautiful thing Matthew had ever seen.
He stared open mouthed at the bottle in a daze, then cried out in a happy laugh and threw his arms around Ivan's neck. "I can't believe you brought me maple syrup! Thank you!"
Ivan laughed and twisted the lid from the bottle to get it open. "You are welcome, my little one. You will enjoy it, da?"
"Da!" Sang Matthew, waiting patiently for his first taste after what felt like a lifetime without. He watched happily as Ivan opened the bottle.. then became confused as the Russian poured a small amount of the sweet, sticky syrup onto his index and middle fingers. Ivan set the bottle aside and looked down at Matthew with a smile. He brought his fingers a few inches away from the Canadian's mouth.
"Here you are."
Matthew blinked, watching the thick, amber liquid dripping slowly down Ivan's fingers towards his palm. He lifted his gaze and met the Russian's eyes questioningly. Ivan was watching him closely, interested in his reaction. IHe gave him a little nudge. The smile never left his lips.
"You'd better hurry, Matvey. I do not want this to run down my wrist."
Seriously? Matthew was incredulous. The Russian seriously wanted him to..
He swallowed. There was no choice.
His cheeks burning hot and flushed, Matthew leaned forward and tentatively licked at the Russian's fingers. The humiliation was terrible. Matthew felt what little pride he had left breaking down inside him. But the flavour of the maple.. especially this being his first taste after such a long time.. was wonderous. It was good. It was so good. The best maple syrup he could remember ever having.
He lapped at the Russian's fingers, up and down, aiming to catch all of the drips. His tongue darted out, carefully lapping between the 'v' to remove all of the stickiness. He closed his eyes and took each digit into his mouth one by one, sucking the sweetness from them.
"Is good?" Ivan asked, his voice low and husky sounding. Matthew hummed out a pleasured response. It was better than anything.
Ivan picked up the bottle and poured more syrup over his fingers, and Matthew didn't hesitate at all this time to lick and suck at them. His shame was forgotten. Another feeling took it's place, especially when he felt a hardness growing beneath him in the Russian's lap. He gripped the Russian's hand and sucked both fingers together into his mouth. He shifted so that his bottom rubbed against the bulge in Ivan's pants. He was rewarded with a faint groan.
Matthew would later recount this as one of the most erotic things to have ever happened to him. His eyes were hazy and his thoughts were sluggish, his whole being concentrated on the flavour of the moment and the hot flashes of desire that were making his heart beat like mad. He felt like he would melt away, and if it were not for the hand at his back that steadied him, held him in place, he surely would have.
He watched as Ivan took the bottle and produced more syrup over his fingers. He held Matthew's gaze as he spread the liquid over his own bottom lip. Matthew swallowed hard, blushing as the Russian watched him intensely. Violet eyes were unwavering, expectant and commanding all at once.
Matthew lifted his face and kissed the Russian. He drew his tongue along Ivan's lip, drawing it lightly into his mouth to suck, washing away the syrup. The hand at his back was now behind his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair. Ivan tilted his head and ground his mouth into the little Canadian's, drawing out a squeak of surprise. Matthew opened himself to the Russian as his tongue plundered his mouth. He kissed back feverishly, winding his arms around Ivan's neck. Their kiss was broken only momentarily as Ivan shifted them, lowering Matthew to the bearskin rug. He settled between the little Canadian's legs, hovering over him. A hand pillowed Matthew's head and the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt.
Matthew wrapped his legs around Ivan's hips, longing for friction. Ivan obliged him and ground his hips down against him, rocking him down into the floor. Matthew moaned into the Russian's mouth and arched his back when the larger man found a pert little nipple and pinched lightly.
"Ah-!"
His breath hitched, and the Russian pushed his shirt up, allowing access to the Canadian's chest. Fingers were replaced with lips and teeth that nibbled lightly and Matthew responded by pushing at Ivan's jacket, wanting him to take it off. His fingers began to unravel the Russian's scarf.
Without warning Ivan pulled away, breaking the fevered spell. He adjusted his scarf and jacket back into place.
Matthew, left sprawled on the floor, blinked up at him, confused. The sudden rejection hurt and shame quickly took it's rightful place back in the middle of his heart. Had he done something wrong?
The Russian held out his hand and when Matthew took it he was pulled up to stand. Ivan tilted the Canadian's disappointed face up and kissed him softly on the lips.
"Not yet, Matvey. When we are ready. Da?" He said, and Matthew started to shake his head in protest. He was quite sure Russia was ready NOW, judging by the way the front of his pants jutted out towards him. He was quieted by a finger against his lips. It was still a little sticky from the syrup. Matthew licked it and drew it into his mouth, his eyes catching the Russian's and holding them. There was a flush to Ivan's cheeks, and an unreadable expression in his eyes.
Ivan freed his finger from Matthew's mouth and bent to kiss his forehead.
"Goodnight, my little Canada." He smiled, then moved to the door. Matthew's arms wrapped around himself as he watched the Russian leave. He listened as the lock clicked, trapping him inside the cabin and he was alone once more. Footsteps faded away and Matthew went to throw himself on the bed.
The silence and the solitude quickly cooled his desire. The shame that had returned grew greater and his chest hurt. He was embarrassed and felt so very foolish. Russia must think he was whorish, the way he'd spread his legs and practically begged for it. Canada buried his face in his hands. He WAS whorish, wasn't he? It had been the same with his brother. Always chasing Alfred for any attention he could get. America never denied him, tho Matthew always felt worse afterwards.
HIs eyes filled with tears. He understood his situation even less now than he did before. He felt so lost and confused. What was going to happen to him?
What did Ivan want with him?
