Chapter 4; Revenge is best served cold
Warnings; Hmm, torture, bondage, Iggy naked... nothing unusual for my mind. And sorry guys, but it is called PWP for a reason, it's just that in this case, there is a slight build up because I have to make Alfred feel better and shit and it's not easy to put all of this in a oneshot...
And Yeah, you read correctly, Ivan worries about something~
And I must say, for my first torture scene seeing as I was limited in what I could do, it's not too bad, but I know I can do better. I wanted to make Arthur bleed, but Alfred wouldn't let me TTATT
Matthew panicked the moment his twin slipped from his grip. His eyes went wide as he watched Alfred's face grow slack, and his expression went peaceful. 'Oh my…' He slipped to the floor with the American, his heart rising in his throat. That was a bad feeling, very, very bad. And then, like a slap to the face, America's memories caught up with him, kind of.
They had been so far away, and damnit! He couldn't get into them properly! Alfred was deliberately hiding something from him! But… Alfred had been in pain, that much was clear.
Growling incoherently, he pressed his forehead to his twin's, hoping to glean more, so he'd know how to put it right, but he ran smack into a brick like wall within Alfred's mind.
It was then that he knew that Alfred, the nation, the superpower, the United States of fucking America, had given up.
'No don't!' he whispered harshly. What would he tell Ivan? Oh he was so dead! 'Don't die,' he breathed into Alfred's ear, 'you can't, you have to come back, comebackcomebackcomeback!' by the end he was screaming, his arms so tight around Alfred that he wasn't really sure how he'd let go, or if he'd ever want to. Maybe if he tried, he could force their bodies together, force Alfred back to life, even if he vanished. No one would really miss him, except Maria maybe.
He was barely aware of Maria when she crouched next to him, and somehow, managed to pick the twins up. 'Come on, you can't stay here.' Trust her to keep her head in a crisis, but then again, it wasn't her brother who just wanted to die.
They must've been put on a bed, because hen Maria let them down, it was all soft and warm. 'I'm going to…' Maria huffed. 'Matthew, get a grip!' Matthew gasped when a stinging blow landed on his cheek. 'Oh, shit…' She muttered, 'sorry! You were being silly and… I didn't mean to hurt you!' Maria wailed, wrapping her arms around Matthew's shoulders, kissing his cheek.
'It's fine.' Matthew nodded, slightly more himself and in control. 'You were right to do that.'
'Anyway, I'm going to make some soup and oh, have you even checked if he's actually alive?' Maria frowned at her boyfriend in a rather stern manner.
'No,' Matthew squeaked, he didn't really need to; he could feel Alfred's life ebbing away inside him. If Mexico were here, she'd be able to feel it as well. But it would make Maria feel better, so he slowly detached himself from Alfred and felt around his neck for a pulse. 'Here,' he murmured. 'He's alive,' Maria didn't leave until she felt satisfied that that was indeed Alfred's pulse, rather than Matthew imagining things. 'Ivan will be here soon.' She added.
Matthew nodded and pressed his forehead back to Alfred's. He had to find out what was wrong, or better, wake Alfred so the stupid idiot could tell them himself!
Matthew was so preoccupied on racking Alfred's brain for information that he completely missed Ivan until the large Russian picked him up and dropped him off the side of the bed.
'The fuck?' Matthew shouted.
'Shut up,' Ivan growled, sitting next to Alfred before pulling his limp form into his arms. 'Alfred?' Ivan's demeanor changed completely. 'Hey, wake up, come on,' Ivan shook the American gently, careful not to hurt him. 'Al?' He shot a furtive look around the room, 'I… I'm worried now Alfred…' He seemed embarrassed to admit this, but at least Alfred wasn't awake to rib him about it.
'That ought to shock you awake, blondie!' Maria exclaimed, arriving with promised bowl of soup. 'Ivan, worried!' She chuckled.
Ivan ignored her, 'Alfred, come on, Vanya's worried now. Just… wake up.' He bent down, so he was nose to nose with the American. If Alfred's eyes were open, he'd be staring straight into those beautiful sapphires, but instead he sadly watched as Alfred's eyes flickered underneath his eyelids.
The moment he collapsed into Matthew's arms, Alfred gave up hold on the world. He gratefully pitched into welcoming numbing oblivion. He didn't have to think, didn't have to move, or talk, or deal with anything.
He could feel Matthew's mind pressed up against his own, in that bond that no one could explain. He pushed Matthew away, concentrating on the blackness. If he didn't think, he wouldn't feel and the nation known as America would go into stasis. It wouldn't crash, but it wouldn't flourish either.
Nothing penetrated his hazy unconsciousness for a while, he wondered how long he had been out for. Did people miss him? Was anyone worrying?
At that thought, a voice got through.
'… worried now…' the blackness seemed to become less… numbing. He knew that voice, Ivan was worried. Of course he would be.
'Alfred…' he struggled through the marsh that was once his sanctum, now his prison, towards the voice. He'd go anywhere for that voice. 'Vanya's worried now.'
Alfred snapped his eyes open, sitting up so quickly that Ivan didn't have time to move out of the way, and Alfred's lips crashed into his.
Ivan was all too enthusiastic, and pushed Alfred back into his lap, curling his torso to deepen the kiss further. Nipping at Alfred's lip, Ivan slid his tongue behind Alfred's teeth, coaxing more than mere consciousness. Alfred whimpered openly, slipping his arms around the back of the Russian's neck.
Ivan detached Alfred and sat up. 'You're a first class idiot, next to Feliciano, of course.' Ivan clipped Alfred upside the head before pulling the blonde into a hug. He paused. Something was wrong. 'Why are you crying, Alfred?'
Alfred lifted his eyes and met Ivan's fiery purple gaze. 'I… I…' Like a movie actress, Alfred's tears doubled, and Ivan listened in horror as Alfred told him everything.
Whilst Alfred's memories bought out that sadistic side of him that he had thought was long gone and buried, he just wanted Alfred to stop talking so that he wouldn't have a reason to completely mutilate Arthur's body as well as just kill him.
'Enough!' He finally growled, Alfred had only mentioned a handful of instances where Arthur had raped, beaten or otherwise humiliated the far younger American. No wonder Alfred had always shied away from him, from anyone.
At the sound of Ivan's voice, Alfred shut up, as if snapped out of a trance, and then, just as quickly, he began talking again. 'I'm so sorry! I shouldn't've gone to talk to him today!'
'What?' Ivan clamped his hand over Alfred's mouth. He turned to Matthew and Maria, who were sitting on the floor, Maria's head on the Canadian's shoulder. 'Did you know about this?' Matthew opened his eyes and swore that his heart stopped when he saw that pure murder radiating from Ivan.
'Which p-part?' Matthew squeaked.
'Any of it!' Ivan roared. All other occupants of the room winced at the force of his shout.
'M-Maria and I knew it all. From the start.'
'Ivan, we were kids.' Maria was firmer, unfazed by her brother's bloodlust seeing as it wasn't directed at her. If it was, he wouldn't be holding it in check and they'd all be crushed. 'We could do nothing. He was so much stronger than us.' She spoke a few more words in what seemed like Russian, and Ivan scowled.
'Fine.' Ivan forced himself to speak in English. It made him focus on happy things, like sunflowers and vodka. 'I will go to that… that ublyudok,' he had to resort to his own language for the insult, 'and I will… talk with him.'
'Don't hurt him!' Alfred cried. 'He was always drunk, he…'
'It's is okay. I won't hurt him.' Ivan said, stroking Alfred's hair once before standing. He wasn't going to hurt England… much.
'Vanya!' Alfred grabbed Ivan's sleeve. 'Promise.' Ivan looked down, into Alfred's sapphire eyes, and found himself unable to say no.
'I promise, lyubov, I will not hurt him.'
As he walked out the front door, he slipped his lead pipe underneath his coat.
'What is it?' Ivan heard Arthur grumble. 'The day of let's all visit England?' The door swung open and Arthur tried to slam the door shut when he saw, or rather felt, Ivan's presence.
'You and I have something to talk about, da?' Ivan forced the door back open and caught Arthur by the collar, lifting him up to Ivan's height with ease.
Arthur spluttered something unintelligible, and Ivan leant close to him, soaking up the fear in Arthur's eyes. 'I will break you for breaking Alfred.' He promised, throwing Arthur over his shoulder. 'How nice!' Ivan crowed upon entering the Englishman's kitchen. 'Your table is perfect!' He dumped Arthur on his back on the middle of the table before removing his coat. 'If you move, you will regret it.' Russia folded his coat up and placed it on the bench, his scarf following it. Lastly, he tapped the faucet of his pipe on Arthur's stomach twice, his smile growing when Arthur tried shuffling away, only to freeze when he ran out of table. Ivan placed the pipe too, on the bench.
'I will be back. For your safety, stay there.' Ivan ducked out of the room and ran down the steps to Arthur's basement. In the overly organised garage, he found a coil of rope, some rags and duct tape. Perfect. 'Look what I found!' He held his spoils up for Arthur to see when he got back into the well-lit kitchen.
Pulling a knife from the knife block, Ivan began cutting lengths of rope, laying them across Arthur's stomach. 'Now,' Ivan gathered the ropes into one hand, 'before I begin, I would like to give you the opportunity to remove your clothes, or I shall do it for you.' Ivan smiled again, and Arthur's eyes widened.
'No.' He refused bluntly.
'I gave you a chance, at least.' Ivan sighed, picking the knife up again. He grabbed Arthur's collar and bought the knife up to Arthur's throat, gently sliding the blade across his racing pulse. Grinning, he sliced through each button, pausing to hear them clatter to the floor, one by one. When each button was gone, Ivan ripped the shirt off the Brit's back before motioning to Arthur's pants. Seeing that Ivan was serious, Arthur shakily undid his pants and kicked them off.
'Thank you, England.' Ivan smiled childishly, placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder. 'Or should I call you Arthur?' His grin widened as he shoved Arthur backwards, so he was lying down again. 'Be a good boy and hold still.' Ivan picked up one of the ropes and wrapped it around Arthur's leg a few times, before tying it to one of the table's legs. Each of Arthur's limbs received a similar treatment. 'That doesn't hurt, does it?' Ivan asked. He wasn't about to break his promise to Alfred, even if he did want to. Too scared to say otherwise, Arthur shook his head. 'Good.' Ivan reached into his pocket, withdrawing the oily rags he'd found. 'Because you won't be able to complain about it again.'
Arthur twisted his head away to avoid ending up with a mouthful of rag, and then clenched his teeth shut. Ivan wrapped his hand around Arthur's head and pressed his thumb into the Englishman's cheek, forcing his mouth open. 'You did that to Alfred, didn't you?' Ivan's eyes glinted, and Arthur gagged on the cloth. 'Breathe through your nose. I'll bet you never told Alfred to do that.' He grabbed Arthur by the hair, forcing him to bare his throat. 'I wonder how many times you raped him. Could I cut you for each time you did it? Or would you die from blood loss first?' Ivan raised the knife and Arthur struggled against his bindings, but because he was spread-eagled, he could do nothing.
Ivan fished around for another of the rags, and lifted Arthur's head, blindfolding him carefully. Arthur whimpered past the gag when he lost his sight. 'How does it feel to be helpless?' Ivan whispered. He let out a giggle. Oh he loved to have such power! Arthur flinched when Ivan giggled manically. He fetched the duct tape and cut off a strip to put over Arthur's mouth, to ensure that he couldn't spit the rag out, and then two more pieces to cover Arthur's ears with. He would still hear things, but they would be muted, heightening the effect of isolation.
Ivan picked up his pipe, and placed it by Arthur's side with a lough clang. He would have use for that later, but for now… He picked the knife up again and reached for Arthur's knife-sharpener. Peeling one of the pieces of duct-tape from Arthur's ears, he started sharpening the knife he was borrowing. Ivan watched with satisfaction when Arthur squirmed at the sound. It was never nice to know that someone had a very sharp knife bare inches from your skin. Ivan knew this from experience.
Placing the knife to Arthur's skin, he lightly drew lazy circles on his stomach. 'Did you ever cut Alfred?' Ivan asked, bringing the knife to a halt on England's left shoulder, the tip of the blade pressed down, denting into Arthur's skin.
Hesitantly, Arthur nodded.
'How many times?' Ivan pressed the knife harder. Ivan ripped the gag off Arthur's mouth before yanking the oily rags form his mouth. Arthur's brow scrunched up under the blindfold as he counted in his mind how many times he had cut Alfred.
'Seventy-three.' Arthur whispered.
'How unfortunate.' Ivan breathed into Arthur's ear. 'I wonder what you wrote on him.' Russia dug the knife into Arthur's skin; just enough to well up a drop of blood. Russia caught it on his finger and licked it off his leather glove. 'You have been drinking.' Russia stated. He paused and stuffed the rags back into the Englishman's mouth.
Gently, so as not to hurt Arthur, Russia traced lines with the tip of the knife. Enough to scratch the skin, but not enough to draw any more blood. When he finished the word, he leant back and looked at it. Педофил. He traced the word with a single finger. He really ought to check if what England cut into Alfred had scarred.
'Do you have a parker?' Russia asked, dragging his fingers through Arthur's hair. 'Actually, I have one.' Following the lines he made with the knife, he marked them out with a permanent marker. 'This marker is different,' Russia said as he wrote words across England's lands. 'It does not wash off until your skin grows out.'
'I ought to mark your face also.' Russia pulled one of the chairs from under the table, allowing it to drag across the floor. Arthur jumped at the sound. He straddled the chair so he could lean his arms on the back of it. 'Something pretty, da?' He held the knife to Arthur's cheek, delighted at how England squirmed pitifully against his bonds. 'How about "monarchal pig"? Nyet, too crude.' He tapped the flat of the blade against England's cheekbone before rising and scooping his pipe up.
He pushed himself up onto the table so he was sitting with one knee on each side of Arthur's body. 'You fear me, don't you?' Ivan waited until Arthur nodded before moving again. He licked his lips and pressed the length of pipe against Arthur's throat, so that when he leant forwards, Arthur's windpipe would be forced shut. 'Now, I don't know what you did to Alfred today, but you had better pray to your God that I never find out, otherwise I shall not keep my promise to Alfred that you remain unharmed. You understand, da?'
Arthur nodded quickly, and Russia put pressure on the pipe to make him freeze. 'Also, if you touch Alfred again, you will not be feeling the flat side of my pipe.' Releasing the pipe, Russia leant forwards and wrote 'monarchal pig' on Arthur's left cheek before getting up and collecting his clothes. 'Do not forget what it is like to be that powerless.' Russia threatened, before leaving Arthur prone on the table to be found by Francis, naked and bound, much to the Frenchman's delight, the next morning.
Notes;
Let's see, Lyubov means love in Russia, and the other one earlier? I forget, but the one that I left in Cyrillic text means pedophile in English.
Arthur wrote 'PROPERTY OF ARTHUR KIRKLAND' on on Alfred's skin somewhere, I haven't decided yet, but that's the seventy-three cuts.
Now, Review! or you don't get the next chapter, and it's the chapter that everyone's really reading this story for... Yup! Rus/Ame PWP~ So... let's see, if I get ten reviews, I'll post it. I'm currently on 23 reviews in total, so when I get to 33, you get your chapter~ Sorry to be mean, but you review for Kumakichi-san, won't you? (... or was it Kumajiro?=])
Love ya guys, Lispet OUT! *Flies off with cape*