1825
America, as he is now called, was thrown back to his room, naked, beaten and bloody. His eyes and mouth were covered with cloth. His hands and feet were held together with chain for the novelty of it all. It wasn't like he couldn't break the chains. Alfred had the physical strength to have snapped them like string.
"There you go, min liebe." Prussia dragged the other's bloody body. He was nude as well, battle-scarred and broadly muscled just as the American with his thicker length still hard from the hour he spent with him in the kitchen.
What Prussia wanted to see was the beautiful young man vulnerable and marked by him and him alone, unable to fight his authority not because of his sexual needs but to fulfill Gilbert's.
"Remember, this stays between us, liebe." The man tried to haul the bigger American to his bed with some struggles from the heavy chains weighing him down.
Luckily, the child wasn't as stupid. He was smart enough to know not to fight and not to tell or else—
"I wouldn't want something to happen between our nations." He snickered, caressing Alfred's tear-wetted cheek. He took off the mouth gag, seeing the others teeth turn pink with blood.
It would mean humiliation. It would mean that he got to kill some random person and Prussia knew that that will never settle well with him. It would mean disappointment, outrage, and conflict within his family, his superiors, their superiors and Gilbert knew other ways to make things not pretty. He could stage murders and point the blame at his own men or Alfred's then start a war and that would mean even more chaotic that would mean America had no other choice but to—
"Y-yes." Alfred answered.
—agree.
There was something twisted in the red-eyes man's mind, something so twisted that Alfred has seen the darkness in his eyes. As the man hastily put on his clothes, he heard the other's sniffles. His eyes trailed the scarred body that lied on the soft bed.
Most of them had gone dry and crusty but some were still pouring which looked very enticing, like he wanted to make them all bigger and fresher.
He did him a favor, adding more black bruises to his already marked skin.
He did him a favor with his hot wax.
He did him a favor with his whip.
Prussia couldn't help but explore the bruised body one more time. He couldn't stop going up and down the marvelous torso, his fingers literally cruising above each defined ridge. His pale fingers, lightly played with his beautiful torso, going for the softened nub and squeezing it trailing up the triceps that bulged and quivered. He then took the other's sizable cock, even if it was soft, and gave it a tug. The other laughed, registering his scream as a moan of pleasure instead.
America took a sharp breath.
"That's it."
He wanted to see those young muscles tense, forcing not to break the metal and get out. He liked seeing the sweat and blood cover his toned body, the body he trained. What delight it was to have trained Alfred, honing his body for his own pleasure. The young American's body has filled out perfectly. Seeing the once slim child grow into a young man with a warrior's body, starting to surpass him, was arousing.
He laced up his boots and did not bother to button his shirt, only tossing his jacket over his body. He crouched over the body, undoing the chains and cloth over his eyes.
His gloved hands undid the cloth over his eyes last. His brilliant rubies lusted to look at the rich ceruleans the boy had.
"Now stop crying, liebe..." Prussia chuckled, rubbing the other's cheek. "It is our anniversary after all...didn't you think my present was great?"
This has been going on and off since the end of the American Revolution.
America was still crying, feeling pressure on his wounds. He took his head away, not wanting to lay his eyes upon the monster his friend had become.
"Well, did you!?" Gilbert asked angrily, his hands on the other's throat. He forgot that he could snap his pale neck with not much effort. He forgot that he had experienced physical pain far worse than he could ever give but fear has taken over all his senses.
The German let go, smiling. "Ich liebe du." He said softly, kissing the lips that dare not fight back anymore.
"I l-love you too..." The American forced a reply, watching the man exit his room and close the door.
Once the door was closed and he heard the other's feet walk away, he curled into a small ball, hiding under his blanket.
He didn't love him... Of course he didn't, what the hell? Even after half a century, he would never ever love Prussia...and love wasn't something that he would ever get from somebody else, it was an impossibility to find love for someone like him, someone that was weak.
Lightning flashed.
His lips were cut and bruised. Saliva with a faint mix of blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth.
Thunder roared.
He left forearm was broken, his right wrist was sprained. Arms were filled with patches of purple and even black.
Rain poured.
He bit his lips, feeling where the whip tore through his skin and the wax stung his wounds. The memory of every single administration flooded him all at once.
Winds howled.
Sharp, ornate, connected diamonds started to spiral out circularly, components growing larger as they spiraled farther from the small golden point they came from. More points erupted and bloomed, creating a collection of suns along his arm then his chest, his legs, his face. His whole body has become a garden of golden rays. His marks started to close up remarkably fast and his bones started to reconnect painfully.
He didn't want to fight anymore. He could bare all if it meant his 'lover' would keep his mouth shut. Of course, he knew that he would have supporters if he told everyone but would they all be safe with the monstrous man? What assurance did he have that this won't just make things worse?
Gilbert could go for his friends—his family. He couldn't have that. He just couldn't. Sacrifices had to made and this was his.
Alfred gripped on the hem of his covers tightly, crying himself until he dozed off to painless, subtle sleep.
What happened? How could this—
Prussia stopped in the middle of the sidewalk in the middle of the starless night. He could still see the blood on his hands though, the sweat on his body, the remnants of his release.
His eyes were wide in horror, mouth quivering as he gave out shaky, sounded breaths like a twitching mental patient.
—have happened again?
His hands trembled, trying to close. Fisting them only intensified the feeling, palms and finger pads becoming hypersensitive to the crusty blood on them.
"A-Alfred?" Knees felt like they were gonna give. "I-Ich—"
Gilbert turned around, lifting one lead feet in front of the other. The more he trekked back, the stronger the winds were and the more rain picked up.
He remained unfazed, fighting the storm until a strong gust knocked him off. It threw him well across the wide road. He was skidded down the pavement, exactly at the middle of the wet road.
He looked up but the rain was so thick that it was a only a few feet when a light emerged. It rammed him, he felt hooves dig down his chest and wheels crush his wrists. The strong thunder masked his screams, the old driver who got knocked off and the startles heights of the two black horses that had trampled him.
He coughed out blood, splurging when the second set of wheels pushed down on his organs. His blood red eyes could now only faintly see the light being blocked by the carriage's behind, still only illuminating less than five feet around it as it slowly delved into the darkness once again.
"A-Al—" His snapped neck and the strong, tall currents of water were drowning him. His blood tainted the muddy water, flowing violently against the crashing tides going down the storm drain as life exited the Prussian. With his life come out a bubbling stream of black through his mouth, screaming as the water pushed it away from its host and to its demise.
"Entschuldigung..."
There was still a small drizzle left, the sun has yet to shine. The cold body of Gilbert was turning blue around the lips, the eyes, and the ears. His neck was broken, seeing as it wasn't really straight and instead obliquely crooked. His red eyes turned milky and his white hair was swaying around in the thinning clear waters like a halo against the black street.
Then—
The corpse sat up, sucking in the air, raspy and needy. The milky fluids that coated his eyes slid down his eyes with his reflexive tears. He gave his head a strong push to the side, snapping his neck back to the way it's supposed to be, helping his body's regeneration process. After taking in air all he could do was cough and convulse. Living warmth crept into his skin, letting the deathly cold escape his body before feeling the cold breeze against his warming skin.
He pushed himself up, trying to keep his balance. His whole upper body was bent low, hands open to make sure he doesn't fall with his stiff legs trying to stumble around like a newly born foal.
He didn't expect that to happen—again but he was thankful for a perk like this. He rubbed the crook of his neck and around his nape comfortingly. The bones were healing faster than expected.
There was a small smile on him, it was soft and grateful. He stopped hearing them, the voices, the ones that took hold of his actions. He felt ease, he felt himself. He was sure of it, the demons that have plagued him were gone.
He looked up, the sky was still a little dark but you could see the world in blue, small droplets meeting his face. He saw them. He saw the woman who bore him and the man who betrothed her. He hasn't seen them in a long time and he hasn't ever seen them when he died before. Only now.
His red eyes started to stream with tears, going down his flushed cheeks.
He took it as his fault that he had done wrong to a friend even if he had no control of his actions. He didn't even know if 'wrong' was the appropriate word for it. He still had to make things right. It was his fault for being weak. It was the only thing that was going through his head. But he knows Alfred isn't going to forgive him right away, he wasn't even sure if he'd ever forgive him. He had to try nonetheless.
'But not now...' He dug his hands in his pockets, walking hastily to the sidewalk just in case another carriage decides to kill him.
He had to go back home to Germany. He had to make things right with his little brother first.
America was snoring loudly, curled to a ball and snuggled against a pillow. His wings were twitching, long feathers gradually sprouting out to complete his plucked wings. Line by line, the strong flickering interlocking crystalline webs started to fade, all grouping and contracting together towards his chest.
They lit up one last time like a golden chain mail cuirass. The nation was rolling to his back when a surge exploded from inside him like blowing a gasket.
"OOF!" The reflex forced the air out of him, eyes popping open and mouth pursing out.
It didn't hurt really. It was more like getting surprise-tackled and stuff. But then it gets better.
Alfred moaned contently, stretching out as the nourishing energy flowed in his veins. It went through them, making them look like white flickering rivers, connecting and diverging, at the mercy of his blood vessels' contours.
The light was his Godsend. It was his therapy, the consolidation he needed to wake up chipper the next day. But of course, he still liked to further awash himself with going to the local church—knowing by the pious Francis that God's always there for everyone.
Alfred tossed his body to lie on his back, hands resting under his head. His smile was soft but a little loopy as he watched his ceiling, contemplating.
The key to this process was extreme self-loathing followed by self-reflection then there was forgiveness—no, he hasn't really forgiven him, only a little, only a tad, a smidge maybe—and sleep, all wrapped up in a huge storm of rage.
Any of the evidence of last night's horror really healing to almost nothing. Almost. They were still there but they were probably enough to not be noticed by most.
Just like his scars, his feelings towards the Prussian were the same. His anger had left considerably, being barely there, but his fears were still lingering under his skin, subtly reminding him of the horrible nights of the past. What was worst was that it was all conglomerated with all his other fears, his scars, the things that wake him up at night when he was alone. It made him always look behind his back, made him more paranoid than he ever was ever since his mother died. But it was that same fear that made him stronger, smarter, more human.
Alfred knew that this was his life now for better or for worse. It's life after all and he had to brave the journey but as long as he had his loved ones, he'd fight for another day.
He would do that all for them.
"Damn, I'm still tired." He yawned out, cracking his neck until comfortable. More sleep meant faster recovery that's what mom taught them.
He then wiggled around his bed until he found just the right spot for him to drift back to slumber.
