When dealing with a hung over Russia, you give him water and aspirin and hide. It only took Canada one black eye to learn this. Thus the day after America's visit was spent as far from the cranky nation as possible. The day after that, however, something amazing happened.
Russia gave him a coat. A fluffy red coat, not unlike the one he had at home, lined with white fur. There were even boots to match. The level of awe on his face as he stared at them was almost embarrassing, but it was so unexpected.
"Put them on quickly, da? It is cold out," Russia said in his typical sing-songy voice. Out? They were going out? Where?
Canada turned to ask him just that when, like a mind reader, Russia smiled and waved a finger in his face, "Uh-uh, it is a secret." The blonde responded to this with an annoyed look, but quickly pulled the cold weather gear on anyways. Russia was more than pleased on how complacent the boy had become, not even seeming to consider trying to make a break for it as he was brought to the mystery destination.
The mix of confusion and suppressed excitement on Canada's face was adorable when he realized what the building they arrived at was. He actually had to put effort into stopping a small flair of happiness that sparked up in his chest as the Russian lead him inside.
An ice rink! Russia had brought him to an ice rink! There was a familiar chill in the air that teasingly nipped at his cheeks, quite different from the harsh cold outside. Aside from the two nations and a snoozing custodian, the place was empty—Russia had made sure of it. He watched as the wide violet eyes of the boy danced between taking in the large room and looking back at his keeper as if for affirmation, which was given in the form of a small smile.
"Come," Russia ordered after a moment, leading his pet towards the locker room, "I have gear waiting for us."
Canada tried not to care about how small he felt beneath the layer of hockey padding that used to be his size, it didn't matter. It also didn't matter that the skates he wore were uncomfortably broken into feet other than his own. What mattered was what Russia had whispered oh-so-sweetly into his ear as the two skated out onto the ice.
"I do not expect you to hold back. Neither will I." That was all the encouragement the typically meek Canadian needed. He almost smiled.
By the end Russia had a broken nose and a black eye to match the one he had given Canada the day before. As for the Canuck, he most definitely would be finding a large bruise on his side as soon as he took the padding off, but Russia had made care to keep his face from any further injury.
How long had they played? It must have been hours, the sky outside was starting to be tinted with orange glow. Even in his weakened state he still had above-human endurance, especially when the longer he held out the more opportunities for violence he got. Hockey was such a good stress relief, really, maybe if America played it more instead of baseball he wouldn't need to be so aggressive elsewhere.
By the time they were back in the locker room the blonde was completely exhausted (not to mention in pain from the large portion of his abdomen that was bruising brown). It was a pleasant exhaustion, though, an athletic high. When was the last time he had felt like that? During his time in captivity he had lost track of time, but even before he hadn't played hockey with Russia in a long while. It was too bad, he had enjoyed the occasional session, mainly because the two had no qualms with playing rough with each other.
But that was all in the past. Any semblance to that time was ruined when Russia decided to feel him up in the shower. Canada couldn't be bothered to feel violated, he was just annoyed. Couldn't the giant tell how tired he was? Well, maybe, since he actually stopped himself from fucking him then and there and settled for groping the thin body of his pet for a little while. It still sapped the last of said pet's energy, though. His limbs protested more and more as he dressed, hands becoming shaking and useless as he fought with his coat's zipper.
It really shouldn't be this hard, his people had invented the damn thing. Yet here he was fumbling like a fat fingered child. He could literally feel the amusement emanating from the Russian watching him.
"Need some help, маленький детеныш?" The blonde used all the energy he could muster to furiously shake his head in the negative, but Russian had already coaxed his hands out of the way and had the puffy red coat zipped up to his chin before he could protest. "There now," he said in that soft voice that almost made it sound like he cared about more than how long he had to let the Canadian nap before he could bed him that night, "Let's go home."
The smaller of the violet eyed men gave a tired nod and leaned against the larger as they exited the rink, leaving the lone custodian to clean up the scratches and blood on the ice.
Apparently, just because Russia had not expected the Canadian to hold back, didn't mean he wouldn't be punished for not doing so.
"You broke my nose," the creamy colored haired man stated plainly, dodging a book thrown at that same injured appendage. Usually he would find this small rebellion amusing, but he had already used that pass up with the hockey match the day before. Russia growled at his pet warningly, alerting him that maybe throwing things at this man was a bad idea. "Do it, or your new lover is my pipe."
Canada shuddered. He had been threatened with the Russian's favorite weapon before but had never been struck. But it was a fine line with a man such as Russia. A fine line like the one on his wall where the steel had hit before, a crack in the plaster about level with his head.
After a long moment, the blonde finally nodded. He had no choice, really. He held out his hand and felt his punishment deposited there.
With all that he had gone through, it was almost odd to expect the poor boy to have any pride left, but he did. Or he had, because he was currently suffering the most humiliating experience of his life. His whole body must have been bright red as he changed in front of the Russian who had refused to leave.
Russia had finally gotten him into that stupid maid outfit, along with all its accessories. A frilly white headdress and frilly white wrist cuffs and a frilly white apron, not to mention the frilly white petticoat underneath! Then everything else was black, the dress that barely covered what was necessary, the choker around his neck, the shoes…And just to make sure there was no chance of salvageable dignity even after being denied underwear, the grinning Russian was quite happy to add thigh-high fishnet stockings.
"Look at you! My little French maid!" he cooed, leaning close to make sure everything was in order, "Your father would be proud, da?" The smile already present on his face widened at how the boy's trembling increased at the mention of family. He could tell what his pet was thinking, how he wished he would just hurry up, push him on the bed and tear the stupid costume off. Oh, but Russia had waited too long for this, he wanted to enjoy it.
"Well, now that you're dressed for the part, why don't you go do some cleaning?" Canada looked up at him, disbelief evident in his eyes before a firm pat on the rump made him scurry off.
Russia contented himself with watching his pet try to work and keep the tiny skirt over his vital regions at the same time. And here he had been worried about the boy's lankiness, when the long limbs only made the outfit seem more wonderfully skimpy. No, his body was perfect for this, just the right amount of femininity in his shape.
The show was over when the poor Canadian dropped something and it rolled beneath a bookshelf. He had no choice but to get down on his hands and knees to reach it, skirt lifting just right to show just enough, and the Russian was done playing spectator. Now came the interactive portion.
Canada shuddered as the large and familiar hard pushed up the skirts that did such a poor job of covering him. What was to happen next was obvious. He tried to curl in on himself, but his hips were held firmly in place. The blonde focused on the floorboards as a belt unbuckled and pants unzipped behind him.
Tears did not come until after, when the Russian refused to let him take off the humiliating outfit. He was forced to remain in it all day until Russia removed it himself that night, the fishnets last to go.
маленький детеныш – little cub
Hello again~ Sorry this chapter took so long, had a bit of writer's block. I chopped it up a bit more too.
Ah, Russia is so wonderfully inconsistent, but that's just his personality, you know? And Canada is changing the more time he spends with him.
As for the story as a whole, there should be about…six-ish more chapters? Maybe less. I have a very tiny outline written down somewhere. Then there'll be the sequel!
Please keep the reviews coming. They make me more motivated. I probably wouldn't have gotten past the first few chapters without you all!