I hope by noncon, you mean RAEP, cause that seems to be what wrote itself. I'm not quite sure when this is set, either. Cold war AU, maybe? I need to go write something super fluffy now. I've written way too many rape fics...
Blackness receded from America’s consciousness.
“He’s awa-ake,” Russia crooned softly, the words pounding into his head like a set of daggers.
“No,” replied a broken, whispery voice.
America peeled open his eyes, despite every fibre of his being wanting to drop back down into that comforting darkness. The room wasn’t that much brighter. It seemed to be built out of stone brick, illuminated by several yellowing bare bulbs.
He was strapped to a filthy cot. Fisting his hands, he attempted to break the rope, but it was quite strong. He was, however, able to lift his head.
Russia sat in a chair at the end of the cot, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow propped on the armrest, and his chin resting on the palm of his hand. He almost absently tapped a gun against his cheek. In his other hand he held a fist full of wavy blond hair, holding up the head of a naked and bruised man kneeling on the dirt floor, his hands tied behind his back.
“G-go back to sleep, Al,” Canada told him, trying to sound brave, although his voice trembled. Tears tracked streaks through the grime on his cheeks, but he managed to lift his lips in what was supposed to be an encouraging smile.
“Let him go, Ivan,” America snapped, hiding his fear behind anger. “This isn’t about him. It’s about you and me.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Russia replied with a smile, running the muzzle of the gun underneath Canada’s soft chin. “He built lines against me. Lines. We touch, you know. Just like you two. More lines. Drawn in the sand.”
His violet gaze locked with America’s. “Perhaps I want him to touch me more.” Not taking his gaze away, he forced Canada’s head between his thighs.
America seethed, his muscles burning as he again attempted to escape. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”
Russia pressed the gun barrel to Canada’s temple, and America heard the other man quickly swallow a sob. “You brought him in, America.”
“Al, wait.” Canada raised his eyes to the man above him. “If I do this, will you let him go?”
Russia smiled, his eyes hooded, unreadable. “Depends on how good you are.”
Canada nodded, and using his teeth, began to undo Russia’s belt.
“Matt, no,” America gasped.
Russia merely smirked and sat back, using the barrel of the gun to stroke Canada’s wavy hair as the man slowly undid Russia’s pants with his bruised mouth.
A single tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, but other than that, Canada’s face was blank as he pulled down Russia’s zipper, releasing the man’s semi-flaccid cock, as large and pale as the rest of him. He paused momentarily, then closed his eyes and ran his tongue up the length.
America could only watch in helpless horror as Canada licked the other man’s shaft until it turned hard and almost an angry purple. Russia was back to stroking the gun on his own cheek, his fingers playing almost fondly in Canada’s wavy hair.
Canada knelt a little higher to get a better angle and slid the huge head into his mouth. The only sounds in the room were soft slurps as Canada’s head bobbed between Russia’s thighs while Russia curled the blond strands of Canada's hair around his fingers. Suddenly, he pushed down, so that his cock pushed into the back of Canada’s throat.
Canada made a muffled noise of pain and protest, and as soon as Russia let him go, he collapsed away from him, hacking and coughing noisily, spittle flying from his mouth.
Absolutely beautiful, writer!anon! Canadianon here thinks this is precisely the kind of self-sacrificial attitude she loves and hates in her country. Please, please continue!
Another small non-OP request: a bit more gunplay and more angsty brutality! (not that I don't adore Canada to death, of course)
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Lines [1/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-01-16 10:01 am (UTC)(link)Blackness receded from America’s consciousness.
“He’s awa-ake,” Russia crooned softly, the words pounding into his head like a set of daggers.
“No,” replied a broken, whispery voice.
America peeled open his eyes, despite every fibre of his being wanting to drop back down into that comforting darkness. The room wasn’t that much brighter. It seemed to be built out of stone brick, illuminated by several yellowing bare bulbs.
He was strapped to a filthy cot. Fisting his hands, he attempted to break the rope, but it was quite strong. He was, however, able to lift his head.
Russia sat in a chair at the end of the cot, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow propped on the armrest, and his chin resting on the palm of his hand. He almost absently tapped a gun against his cheek. In his other hand he held a fist full of wavy blond hair, holding up the head of a naked and bruised man kneeling on the dirt floor, his hands tied behind his back.
“G-go back to sleep, Al,” Canada told him, trying to sound brave, although his voice trembled. Tears tracked streaks through the grime on his cheeks, but he managed to lift his lips in what was supposed to be an encouraging smile.
“Let him go, Ivan,” America snapped, hiding his fear behind anger. “This isn’t about him. It’s about you and me.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Russia replied with a smile, running the muzzle of the gun underneath Canada’s soft chin. “He built lines against me. Lines. We touch, you know. Just like you two. More lines. Drawn in the sand.”
His violet gaze locked with America’s. “Perhaps I want him to touch me more.” Not taking his gaze away, he forced Canada’s head between his thighs.
America seethed, his muscles burning as he again attempted to escape. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”
Russia pressed the gun barrel to Canada’s temple, and America heard the other man quickly swallow a sob. “You brought him in, America.”
“Al, wait.” Canada raised his eyes to the man above him. “If I do this, will you let him go?”
Russia smiled, his eyes hooded, unreadable. “Depends on how good you are.”
Canada nodded, and using his teeth, began to undo Russia’s belt.
“Matt, no,” America gasped.
Russia merely smirked and sat back, using the barrel of the gun to stroke Canada’s wavy hair as the man slowly undid Russia’s pants with his bruised mouth.
A single tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, but other than that, Canada’s face was blank as he pulled down Russia’s zipper, releasing the man’s semi-flaccid cock, as large and pale as the rest of him. He paused momentarily, then closed his eyes and ran his tongue up the length.
America could only watch in helpless horror as Canada licked the other man’s shaft until it turned hard and almost an angry purple. Russia was back to stroking the gun on his own cheek, his fingers playing almost fondly in Canada’s wavy hair.
Canada knelt a little higher to get a better angle and slid the huge head into his mouth. The only sounds in the room were soft slurps as Canada’s head bobbed between Russia’s thighs while Russia curled the blond strands of Canada's hair around his fingers. Suddenly, he pushed down, so that his cock pushed into the back of Canada’s throat.
Canada made a muffled noise of pain and protest, and as soon as Russia let him go, he collapsed away from him, hacking and coughing noisily, spittle flying from his mouth.
Re: Lines [1/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-01-18 05:14 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Lines [1/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-01-19 08:19 am (UTC)(link)Another small non-OP request: a bit more gunplay and more angsty brutality! (not that I don't adore Canada to death, of course)
Re: Lines [1/2]
(Anonymous) 2009-01-19 09:42 am (UTC)(link)