Prussia's Captivity

Ivan (Russia) and Gilbert (Prussia)

I

Gil

Gil lay on the spacious bed in Russia's room, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. 'Why go anywhere else?' He asked himself glumly, 'This seems to be the only place that damn Russia ever wants me' Gil sighed as his thoughts wondered. How long had he really been here? It was surprising how a few years could feel like an eternity. At least he was better off now than he was in the beginning…at least there were no more chains; no more starvation and beatings. After he had been broken, Russia had lost the need for them; Gil still tried to fight, of course, but only as much as would satisfy his pride, for the ending was never to change. Russia would get what he wanted; threats and force served the bastard well. Although, Gil had to admit, his owner had been mellowing out lately. The creepy smile below evil eyes still petrified Gil when they were directed at him, but Russia did not seem as aggressive to his helpless pet anymore. He even began conversing with Gil as he would a normal person instead of simply walking into the room, taking what he wanted, and leaving without another word; like he used to. Gil shivered to remember those dark, first months, but did not suffer them long, for a figure walking through the doorway pulled him out of his torturous past and back into the present. Gil looked over long enough to see that it was Russia, then closed his eyes and laid his head back on the pillow. With a tone that desperately tried to hide his fear, the young man stated in the angry-sounding voice that was his norm,

"What do you want, Russia? Should I get out, or are you here 'cause you want to fu-Oof! What the hell, man?!" Without warning or provocation, Russia had marched across the room and attacked Gil, throwing a kneecap into the unsuspecting man's chest, pinning him to the bed. Gil struggled with all his might against his assailant, but, like every time before, he was no match against the bigger country.

"Russia, you prick! Get the hell off of me! What do you-UUH!" Just like those first days in this freezing hell, Russia had slammed a fist into Gil's face to shut him up and he felt his lip split open as his head was thrown forcefully to the side. The familiar pain was shocking to Gil, and he looked up at Russia with astonished eyes, expecting to find that same creepily-innocent smile on that loathsome face. What he saw instead was more terrifying to Gil than any expression his governing country had made before. Where there had always been a smile; there was now a taunt line, stressed and angry. His eyes, usually full of a sarcastic deviance and malice, were now clouded, the feeling behind them unreadable; though Gil knew that the emotion must be a huge monster lurking just below the surface. Gil's eyes widened even more as he realized what Russia was doing. While he had been distracted by the pain of the punch, large hands had encased his wrists and hauled them above Gil's head. Russia was now busying himself with the restraints that were kept tied to the headboard; though he had not used them for quite some time. The memories the thick Velcro straps unearthed in Gil's mind sent him into a frenzy of kicking and bucking, throwing his head back and forth as he struggled. The fear could now be heard very clearly in his tone.

"Russia! Russia; stop! Y-You don't need those anymore….DON'T! Ivan, p-please!" At the sound of his personal name, Russia's eyes snapped from where his hands were working on tightening the straps, and he stared into Gil's face. The emotionless mask vanished for an instant, and what Gil saw there was extreme anger, along with an underlying hurt. As Gil looked frantically into those sorrowful eyes, searching for any kind of sympathy or kindness, Russia replaced his emotional wall, sending his features into a mask void of feeling once more. Finishing with Gil's bonds, he bent over the terrified country, their faces mere inches apart. Almost inaudibly, even from their close proximity, he whispered,

"They're gone, Prussia, every last one of them. But you can't leave, of that I will make sure." ''Every last one of them?' He can't mean all the people that were living in his house, there were so many of them.' Gil's mind raced, and he figured that if he got Russia talking, then maybe he could stall his unwarranted punishment; or perhaps even calm Russia down enough to keep himself from harm altogether. Gil fought against the pressure Russia was inducing on his lungs and forced himself into speech.

"Wait, Russia. The Baltics? Belarus? *wheeze* Who is 'everyone'?" These strangled questions, however, Russia ignored, sitting up once again to tower over his cornered captive. Hoisting himself off of Gil's chest, Russia backed down the bed so he sat at the other country's feet. Reaching up, he took hold of Gil's boxers and yanked without mercy, despite the protests directed at him from the head of the bed, until Gil was left only in his button-up long-sleeved shirt. Russia then positioned himself at Gil's entrance without another word, spreading Gil's legs as far as they would go; the look on his face making it clear that he was not going to be gentle. Gil panicked, realizing that Russia had no intention of loosening him up or putting anything on to make insertion more smooth; the pain, he knew was going to be unbearable. He immediately began fighting even harder against the thick, nylon straps binding him to the bed; looking up he noticed they were caked with dried blood from his past encounters with them, and thought grimly that he was bound to cover them with a fresh coat before this excursion was over. The pain running down his arms along with the suspense of the unnecessarily large organ caused Gil to cry out in one last attempt to assuage his ruler's temper.

"You can't just come in like that! You're gonna tear something, Russia! Please, you-you can't do thi-" Gil was cut off by an earsplitting scream that echoed around the room, and only after a few seconds of scrambled confusion did he realize that the agonized wail had been of his own making.