[ Очи чёрные | Dark Eyes ]

"Eyes of ecstasy, always haunting me,

Always taunting me with your mystery;

Tell me tenderly, you belong to me for eternity."

I lost count of how many times the whip came cruelly crashing down against my bare back, splitting open sores that hadn't entirely healed from last time and carving brand new ones over them. My whole body felt like it was on fire, throat raw from screams that wouldn't stop coming despite my efforts to keep quiet for the sake of my brothers just down the hall, and through the incredible pain I was vaguely aware that I was soaked with my own tears and blood. Every time I managed to gather enough oxygen to speak, I used those words, not to proudly defy him as I so wished I could, but to beg him to please stop, stop or just finish it off entirely. The latter was no more than wishful thinking, of course; it is much harder to destroy a nation than an ordinary human, although somehow I felt Russia would be up to the task, if he desired to do so.

Soon, I heard him laugh, a sad kind of halfhearted chuckle. I would have snarled if I had the courage, but perhaps it was good that I did not, because miraculously, he did stop at last, setting the whip aside, pulling me up, and for a while just tracing his thick, calloused fingers over the bleeding and stinging wounds he had just inflicted. I grimaced and drew a sharp, shuddering breath, but nothing more, for fear he would decide he wasn't finished after all.

"Toris, Toris," my name rolled off his tongue, followed by a sigh. "You should know better by now." I stared blankly straight ahead, hot tears still falling freely from my eyes, but my body was no longer shuddering with sobs. I knew he was right; he always was, because nobody dared to tell him otherwise. But even if I could have, I wouldn't have argued with him on that particular point. I should know better than to fight him. Even the slightest resistance or hesitation was enough to upset Russia. He wanted complete trust and devotion, which isn't a bad thing in itself, if it is earned, but he forced it, twisting it into simply a matter of control. Who has the power to make choices and who doesn't. I should know by now that I'm the one without power in this situation, and any attempt to regain even a scrap of my former dignity would end up just like this.

"I have to punish you when you step out of line, da?" He lowered his head to rest on my shoulder, hands moving to wrap around my front and gently pull me back against that broad chest, seemingly unfazed by the blood that was surely getting all over him as well. I clenched my teeth and let out a hiss as the contact aggravated the sores, but I let him hold me and there was almost a sense of relief somewhere in me. As wrong as it felt, these embraces from the man who caused so much of my pain were the closest thing to comfort I had here.

"If I don't teach you, how will you ever learn your place, my stubborn lyubimyi?" I flinched inwardly at the term of endearment, how it clashed with my pained and throbbing back, and what he was really saying. "I treat my Toris so nicely, providing for him and the other little ones, but Toris is so mean in return." I almost felt guilty as he said this with such a sorrowful tone, like a confused child that just doesn't understand. Was it possible he really didn't understand? It seemed silly to think that, but yet... somehow it felt right.

He raised his head up slightly so his warm breath, such a contrast from the chill of the room, tingled against my ear as he continued quietly, still talking about me like I wasn't even in the room, even though his impossibly strong arms still wrapped around me in what felt more like smothering than a show of affection. "I don't think my Litva believes me when I tell him this is for his own good," he stated, and I could tell without even turning to look at his face that he was frowning with worry now. "I don't like to hurt you, lyubimyi," he nearly whispered, stroking my hair. There it was again, that sad, broken, childish tone that never failed to wrench at my heart. No matter what he did to me, I couldn't stand hearing him like that, and I cursed my own kindness. That's all it was, wasn't it? I was too soft, Russia consistently took advantage of it, and I still couldn't help but worry about him when he sounded so confused and vulnerable, even as my blood still slowly trickled onto his bedspread (which I would surely have to wash later, though I suspected it was scarlet for the sole purpose of camouflaging such stains that refused to come out).

"I am not so cruel..." I found myself almost believing him. For whatever reasons in his mind, he felt like he had to do this. I gathered the courage to turn and face him, and when I saw the expression, frightened and hurt, in his eyes, I knew I was right. Russia was afraid of me, of all of us. Not physically, of course, but he was afraid that if we had anywhere else to turn to but him, if we had the power to do so, we would leave him all alone. And to him, I think that thought was far worse than the pain he inflicted to remind me that I don't make the choices around here. As I realized this, it also occurred to me that even if I did have a choice, I don't think I would want to go, even if only because my conscience would never let me walk away from this seeing anything but those beautiful amethyst eyes looking at me like that, begging and pleading me to stay in a way his voice was far too proud to.

"Not as cruel as you are, with your silence." The hand that was running through my hair fell to my cheek, and I realized then that I hadn't verbally responded to anything he'd said to me since before my punishment, but I didn't have any idea what to say to him. I wanted to see him smile, but I didn't want to lie and just tell him what he wanted to hear. I didn't want to completely give up my freedom and submit to my fate of being claimed as his... but with my thoughts so centered on him like this, caring about him through all of this mess, I feared I already had. Was it so bad, then, belonging to Russia? "When Toris is quiet, I can't tell what he's thinking..." he lamented, and I knew I had to say something.

"I'm thinking... too much," I admit, averting my eyes. "I'm sorry, sir." He gave a small smile at that, tilting my face back up so I could no longer look away. I swallowed, still nervous after what had just happened.

"Nyet, do not be sorry. I want you to think, moy Litva. That means you have learned something, da?" I respond with a simple "Yes, sir," and he chuckles. "That's a good boy," I felt myself blushing in embarrassment as he patted my head, like a dog, and it only got worse when he suddenly let go of me only to lay down, resting his head on my lap with a happy sigh, looking up at me with a grin when he notices. "But you can think later. Right now, I want to hear your voice. Sing something to me, moy lyubimyi," he orders, and he looks so sweet and innocent lying there that, though my back still aches and stings with reminders of how untrue it is, I could believe it for the moment.

"Ochi chyornye, ochi strastnye," I oblige and start off softly with the first song that comes into my mind, and I think it surprised him that I chose a Russian song, rather than something from my own homeland. "Ochi zhguchie y prekrasnye," I had heard some of Russia's people, his children as he called them, singing this song during the time I've been here. As I grew to understand the language more, some parts of the song reminded me of Russia himself; while of course his eyes weren't dark, but a curious light purple, there did at times seem to be a terrible darkness reflected in them that haunted both of us just the same. "Kak lyublyu ya vas, kak boyus' ya vas," my voice faltered slightly on this line, how true it was, and I think he noticed because something in his expression changed; I couldn't tell what, but I just took a breath and continued, "Znat' uvidel vas ya ne v dobryi chas..." He leaned up into a sitting position once more, studying me, and my voice trailed off at his stare.

"You mispronounced some of the words already," he commented bluntly. I bit my lip and stammered an apology, but that only made him laugh. "Is fine, is fine. It would be worth hearing my beautiful language butchered ten times over to also hear my Toris say he loves me," and he smiled that knowing smile of his and leaned closer and closer until, before I could even register what was going on over the pounding of my heart, his lips were on mine. My eyes fell closed and I found myself kissing back, despite how bad of an idea this probably was. It would surely be a worse idea to resist, and I don't think I even wanted to, which scared me more than the whip still sitting on the edge of the bed. Too soon, he pulled apart, with a small frown. I blinked in confusion when I saw that reaction; was I that bad of a kisser?

"Toris also sang that he was afraid. Is it love or fear that makes you kiss me back, Litva?" He sounded so serious that I couldn't help but laugh, which only made his frown deepen.

"Which one was it that made you kiss me?" I answer with a smile and a question of my own, half-expecting him to strike me for such insolence, but to my relief all he does is look at me, slightly dumbfounded. I don't think I was supposed to know just how afraid he was, and the fact that I did seemed to shock him speechless. Before I can think of a good reason not to, I lean in to kiss him again, just a brief touch of lips, surprised by my own boldness. "Which do you think it is?"

A wide smile spreads across those warm lips that just a moment ago were connected to my own, and he immediately pushes me down, none too gently. I wince at the impact on my sore back, but in a second he's hovering over me, licking his lips, and I'm blushing at my lack of a shirt as his eyes travel down my body. Then he leans down and kisses me, rougher and more forcefully than the first time, and I make a soft noise of surprise but I return it, my arms wrapping around him. Soon, I feel his tongue, silky and wet, run across my lips, and suddenly I'm not so sure if I'm ready for any of this, but they open up of their own accord and I can't help but moan as he slips inside, one hand rubbing up and down my side. Eventually, we need to break to breathe and I stare up at him. He looks thoughtful for a moment, then says, "Litva, you know... I'm going to have to punish you again later for that cheek."

"I know," I respond simply. I didn't expect that to change. Russia wanted love but he enjoyed control too much to trade one for the other. I don't think I'll ever stop fearing this man, our scars run too deep for that, but I can't deny how much I inexplicably care about him either. Ours is a relationship that is doomed from the start to never have a storybook happy ending, but it's these fleeting moments of comfort and what I can only fathom as love that make all the pain worthwhile.

"But those are unhappy things, da? We have all the time in the world for that, because you will always belong to me," he states, and I know that he's right; even if there comes a time Lithuania no longer belongs to Russia, a part of Toris will always belong to Ivan. "Right now, moy lyubov, I want to show you that these hands can make you feel things better than pain."

Translations:

Assuming my sources were correct, of course, since my Russian is still very poor. I apologize then, for any mistakes.

Moy lyubimyi – My darling/beloved

Moy Litva – My Lithuania

Ochi chyornye, ochi strastnye – Dark eyes, passionate eyes
Ochi zhguchie y prekrasnye – Eyes burning and beautiful
Kak lyublyu ya vas, kak boyus' ya vas – I love you, as I fear you
Znat' uvidel vas ya ne v dobryi chas – I saw you at a sinister hour

Moy lyubov – My love

Author's Note:

First Hetalia fic, as well as the first fic of anything I've written in at least two years, so I'm pretty rusty. Sorry for the lack of actual historic events, just random RusLiet, pretty much, because I love these two a lot. If you can't tell, this takes place during the time of the great big happy Soviet family living together.

If you're interested, the song Toris sings is "Очи чёрные (Dark Eyes)", a well-known gypsy folk song in Russia (though technically, I think it originated in Ukraine? Not entirely sure about that though). A very lovely, not overly dramatic version (and the one I listened to on repeat for a good while as I wrote this) can be found here: youtube .com/watch?v=HaUjgOHiVBk