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Chapter Text

"I win," can be heard in a thick Russian accent from a panting man.

"You just had luck," groans the other one, with a thick German accent, clenching his teeth.

"Yeah, like the last three rounds I got, right?" smirks the Russian down on him, finally getting off the German man beneath him.

"It's not fair!" exclaims the German, standing up after the Russian had let him.

"Eat it Nazi, you lost, I won." smirks the Russian on him, knowing well what deal they made before.

"It's not fair, Soviet!" complains the smaller German man.

"It's your fault for daring me, I told you I'll win. Now stick to the deal."

Now, what is happening with this two men? Third Reich dared USSR on a boxing match, saying whoever first wins 3 rounds, wins - he got 1 and with a dirty trick, not realizing what a big problem Soviet can be. The loser has to do a pole dance on a pole near the ring, in front of the winner.

Naked.

Of course Nazi didn't want to do this. By the words of his female friend, it is really uncomfortable doing this as a female, exposing your skin and is so much more embarrassing for a guy to do this in front of another guy, to whom he just lost, naked.

Even if Nazi hates to admit it, Soviet won fair and square. They agreed on a boxing match just without their shirts and shoes, not wanting to drag on this match.

"Do your part of the deal, Nazi, you're the one who suggested this." smirks the tall Russian man.

"Don't tell me you actually want to see this," spats out Nazi, trying to pull himself out of the mess he made for himself.

"Of course I do," grins back Soviet. No way In hell is he letting an opportunity like this slip away from his reach.

"You faggot," snarls Nazi at Soviet. However, Soviet is unfazed by vocabulary of his enemy.

"You're just trying to pull yourself out of it. Do it alone before I'll force you."

"What?" asks Nazi, not counting on ever losing, much less on a situation like this.

"Undress."

"No!"

"Your choice," shrugs Soviet, as he pulls a handgun out of nowhere, aiming at Nazi's chest. "Undress."

Nazi gulps. "Y-you wouldn't."

"You think I'm bluffing?" asks Soviet with a firm stare, loading the handgun. "Undress, Nazi, before something bad happens to you. I won't kill you, but don't think shooting you anywhere else, where's not vital, won't hurt as hell."

Nazi silently groans in annoyance, trailing his hands over the edge of his sweaty body, before taking off his socks. His hands than return to his pants, unbuttoning them and slowly sliding them off, standing in only his underwear. Before he slid the last thing, saving him from his fate, off, he glanced around the room, spotting a hidden camera.

"You bastard! That was not part of the deal!"

The Russian smirks at him. "You didn't, say I couldn't record this. No way I'd pass an opportunity like this."

"I'm not doing it!"

"Yes you are."

"No!"

Soviet sighs, pointing with his gun at Nazi again. Nazi tightly shuts his eyelids, regretting so much right now.

"Nazi, undress," says Soviet with a warning tone. Nazi turns around from Soviet. He pulls down his underwear, standing like this.

"Turn around."

He slowly does. He turns around with a red face, filled with embarrassment.

Soviet eyes him up and down, taking in the view of his old scars and muscular body. A smirk crawls its way onto his face. "Seems like I win at something else too."

"What?" is confused Nazi.

Soviet tilts his head and eyes Nazi's crotch, making Nazi cover himself and blush even harder, realizing what he meant.

"Du arschloch! No way!"

The Russian chuckles. "Oh, definitely yes way. Your little friend is quite average compared to mine."

"I don't believe you!"

"Don't worry, you will, soon enough," smirks he.

"Was zur höhle is this supposed to mean?!"

"Well, that's for me to know and for you to find out. Now start," says Soviet as he gestures Nazi to move to the dance pole.

Nazi growls and finally goes along with this bet, sooner he'll start, sooner he'll be done. He grabs onto the pole, deciding to ignore everything around him and concentrate on himself. He takes in a deep breath, deciding to might as well try to relax and have fun, so he won't be for such a pleasure to watch from Soviet's point of view.

He has a hard time when he firstly tries, but if he's honest, he knows how to pole dance, at least partly. Soon he falls into his own rhythm, actually forgetting there's Soviet watching him with his piercing, observing look and Soviet's cameras recording him.

He makes some impressive swings and moves, feeling proud for himself.

Soviet watches Nazi with interest, ready to step up his game. The German can be so annoying, so he wants to see him beg, be incapable of thinking straight, agreeing his dominance, making Nazi submit. He gets closer to the man, on which Nazi snaps out of his rhythm, remembering he's not alone.

Soviet has his hands in his pockets, inspecting the German again.

"See, I did it, now let me go," says Nazi while glaring at Soviet, not wanting to be near the man any longer.

"Tsk, seems like you forgot your own deal," smirks the later, bringing his face closer to the smaller man. "Whoever loses has to do a pole dance naked and, do whatever the other one wants them to do."

Nazi groans. Why does Soviet have to remember this? "Fine, bring it on, what do you want me to do?" growls he, wanting to be done with this.

"Oh, don't think you're getting out so easily. I wanna see how capable are you of handling your posture, when you have a vibrator shown up your ass," says he with an evil smirk and a glow in his eyes.

It takes a moment for Nazi to process and then immediately freak out. "N-nein, what the hell!? No way! You faggot!" shrieks he, wanting to basically run away, but the Russian male grabs him, and as he proved before, he is stronger than the German, when it comes to physical power.

"Oh yes, you're doing it, it just depends on you, whether you'll do it willingly or I'll have to force you," says Soviet. Nazi struggles to get out of Soviet's grip and doesn't want to give up. Soviet is getting annoyed by this point, so he grabs him with one hand and grabs his handgun with the other, pulling it from its rightful place, pressing it on German's shoulder.

"Nazi," growls he out. "Listen to me, or I'll make you listen, one way or another."

Nazi gulps as he's reminded why he agreed on doing a pole dance in the first place. He whimpers and let's Soviet position him however he wants.

"Grab the pole," demands Soviet, as he stores the gun back into holster and presses his hand on Nazi's back, bending him over, giving himself access to Nazi's backside. He wets two fingers of his right hand and gathers the spit, spitting it on Nazi's ass and rubbing it around his hole.

"W-was are you doing!?" says Nazi with surprise and embarrassment.

"Unless you want your ass to hurt as hell, or possibly even bleed, than you'll let me stretch you."

Nazi shivers at Soviet's warm touch. He is cold, which is understandable since he's completely naked, while Soviet has his long warm coat on, even if he's still shirtless underneath it. He feels disgusted, but at the same time, curious too. He turns his head enough, to catch Soviet's look and just in time when the first finger is pushed inside him, making Nazi gasp in surprise.

"Aah, what the-" starts he, but gets cut of by Soviet curling his finger, sending a painful feeling up his abdomen.

"Shut up."

Soviet thrusts the finger and pushes in another one. Since Nazi is unprepared, he almost lets out a pained whimper, but instead his breath just hitches. He can feel the fingers moving inside him, in and out and soon he feels them stretching him even more, as Soviet begins to scissor them. Soviet searches for a spot of nerves, so he'll know how far to push the vibrator. As he finds it, Nazi softly gasps again, signaling him his success.

"Okay, that's enough," says Soviet, as he pulls out his fingers and quickly reaches one of his pockets, pulling out a smaller round vibrator, working on a controller. He presses it to Nazi's butt and pushes it in, remembering how far to go. After he does that, he quickly reaches for his pocket again, taking out a butt plug and pushing it inside Nazi's ass too, as he doesn't want to have Nazi's muscles push the vibrator out.

"E-eh, what's that?" asks Nazi. He feels… Full.

"Doesn't matter," says Soviet as he lets Nazi to stand up and gives him enough space for the pole dance, moving in front of the pole-dancing stage. "Start dancing."

Nazi looks at his backside with disbelief. "B-butt plug?" He blushes even more, feeling so humiliated.

"Start," says Soviet again and gestures to the pole. Nazi hesitates, so Soviet just reaches into his pocket, pressing the first power button of the three the controller has.

Suddenly, Nazi feels something start moving. Something in his ass. Pleasure immediately shoots throughout his abdomen, alongside with pain because of his virgin ass. A gasp slips outside of his mouth, as he grabs himself onto the pole, pressing his forehead on it, not at all prepared for such a feeling.

This bastard turned the vibrator on.

His legs shake a little, giving out his total inexperience in such actions. He already feels overstimulated and he wants to touch himself, his dick growing rock-hard already.

Soviet clicks with his tongue. "Tch, do your deal properly. Seems like you can't handle your posture. Start dancing."
Nazi grabs onto the pole and brings himself into dancing. He tries the swings, feeling so embarrassed and weird. With every move, he moves the vibrator inside him, making him whimper and gasp, feeling the pleasure he never experienced before. And right as he gets somehow used to the vibrations, he feels the vibrations suddenly getting stronger, hitting him at a new angle, almost making him let go of the pole and fall on the floor.

"Ahhh~, you- hhh, you bastard!" exclaims he, knowing well Soviet made the vibrations stronger. The later smirks at him, knowing well, what he’s causing for the German and what a pleasure it is to watch.

Nazi’s member starts throbbing, begging for attention, as he feels a hot knot building up inside him. He makes such an erotic expression, making Soviet’s blood rush into his member. He wants to break this demanding tone of his. Seems like Soviet is on a good path, as Nazi grabs the pole with one hand, stretching his other hand to stroke his member.

"Ah ah ah, I never said you could touch yourself. Beg and I’ll make you cum," says he, as he rushes to Nazi and pulls Nazis hands away from his own dick.

Nazi groans and tries to pull away from Soviet, getting reminded by the vibrator, why he needs to cum. He gasps again, clenching his legs together in a fruitless attempt to provide his member with more friction, his dick begged for.

"Soviet, please," finally whimpers he out, having enough of the painful feeling of dissatisfaction.

"Use master."

"Master, please, make me cum," chokes he out, as Soviet presses the highest option. He grabs Nazi's hands and gets them around the pole, handcuffing him and making him stuck on the pole. Just mere seconds after Soviet does turn on the highest option, Nazi is sent over the edge, without having anyone touch his cock. He has a hard time taking in surroundings, as the vibrator still works inside him at his fullest potential, sending intense waves of pain and pleasure throughout his sensitive body.

"Ahh, ugh, s-stop-!" screams he out loud, feeling overstimulated. His legs give up on him, as he is holding himself up more with his hands grabbing the pole, than his legs supporting his weight.

"Not unless you allow me to fuck you," smirks Soviet down on the German, grabbing his hips and pressing himself on Nazi, whispering in Nazi's ear: "Then I'll take it out and help you."

This sneaky bastard!

Nazi gasps as soviet slides his hands over his nipples and leaves a ghost touch on his dick, making him whimper for Soviet's touch.

"Aaah, Fine! You c-can- aah, f-fuck me!"

Soviet smirks and presses the controller, stopping the device. He goes behind Nazi's back and pulls the butt plug out of Nazi. "Push the vibrator out," commands he.

Nazi feels relieved after the strong vibrations stop, but his dick is rock-hard and begging for Soviet's touch that he already gave him a taste of. And he has no idea how to push out the vibrator. "H-how?" asks he ashamed.

"Push it out with your muscles. Same thing as when you need to shit."

"How the- how the hell do you even know this?"

Soviet rolls his eyes. "You never had an anal sex with someone before? It's the same thing with males and females, it's just more pleasurable when the one receiving anal is a male."

Nazi's face heats up. "Not true!"

"Uh-huh, talk all you want."
Nazi pushes out the vibrator with his muscles, making the little thing fall onto Soviet's prepared hand. Nazi feels weirdly empty.

"Good. Now be a good boy, and spread your legs," says Soviet, pushing his own leg in between Nazi's, making sure Nazi will get them apart. "Step back a bit. I need you to bend over." Nazi obeys. He hears the sound of a zipper, as Soviet halfway pulls down his formal, but easy-to-move-in-pants. He spits on his hand, giving few strokes to his member, making himself harder, before he slams himself into Nazi's hole, making the smaller German man cry in pain. Soviet wasn’t joking, when he said Nazi’s dick is pretty average, compared to his.

"Ahhh, slow down! Das tut weh! It hurts! Hurts!"

Soviet doesn't listen to Nazi's cries, purposely starting to move and slamming himself inside the German, wanting to teach him a lesson. You never dare a Russian to drinking or fighting competition. A big mistake. Also, Nazi's gang is getting on Soviet's nerves lately, causing some annoying incidents or damage.

Nazi's vision suddenly blacks out for a second, as a gasp escapes him and he arches his back, feeling a wave of pleasure traveling throughout his whole body.

Soviet hit his prostate.

God, it felt thousands of times better than the vibrator did.

Soviet successfully brakes Nazi into a moaning mess, hearing his name slip out from Nazi's lips time to time.

"Aaah- Soviet, m-mehr, schneller, Bitte!" Soviet grins, understanding what the German wants, even without any German knowledge.

"You look way better when you beg, you know? And your muscles are so tight around me."

They both let out a lot of different sounds, with Nazi being louder than Soviet, since he's more sensitive to this kind of actions.

Soviet grabs Nazi’s dick and strokes it, earning some German curses. He can feel himself being close. He, harshly tugs at the German's dick, providing him with friction, that soon sends Nazi over. He hurries his own work, as his thrusts turn sloppy and not long after does he shoot up his load inside the German.

Nazi pants, feeling exhausted, his legs trembling and on the verge of giving up on him, at any given moment. As soon as Soviet pulls out of his asshole and let's go of him, his legs rate him out, making him collapse in the floor.

"I have told you, that I’ll win against you."

"O-oh, shut up!"

Soviet quickly pulls his pants back up, taking care of himself, while living Nazi in a mess. He grabs after the vibrator again, pushing it back into Nazis ass.

Nazi jolts at the sudden touch. "Hey, what do you think you are doing!?"

"Oh, nothing special. I’m leaving you a gift, since it seems you enjoyed it," smirks he at Nazi, pushing the butt plug back in the place right after. "Have fun getting yourself out of this mess," says he, as he presses the highest option on the vibrator, letting controller fall on the floor, being close to Nazi, yet so far away from his reach. The only way he could grab it, is by crawling around the pole and bringing it close to his hands with his legs, which at the moment he was physically incapable.

Nazi cries out again. He sees Soviet dropping the keys of his handcuffs near the controller too and then sees him walk away.

"H-hey, where are you going?!"

Soviets flashes a smirk at the German, grabbing his shirt and the visible camera, pressing the stop button. It’s not like he won’t get a full clip, he has hidden cameras around the room too.

"Hey come back!"

Soviet ignores Nazi, walking away.

"You bastard!"

He smirks to himself, making a hand gesture similar to saluting, as he opens the doors of the place and closes them behind him.

“I am so fucked up,” groans Nazi to himself, letting the lust consume him.

It took him two hours to finally free himself and as he did, he felt so tired, he just collapsed in the pool of his own cum and piss, blacking out.

In the end, Soviet saved him from humiliation infront of Nazi’s co-workers, taking Nazi with him after he blacked out and ordering some lower rank work class people to clean the mess and get rid of the evidence.

He was satisfied with the results. He got some nice videos on the German, had a great time fucking him and most importantly, he made Nazi submit.

Chapter Text

Serbia hardly talks to him anymore.

He and Serbia have been roommates for a while now, as Serbia wanted some peace and he was kind enough to offer Serbia his place, even though they tend to argue a lot.

But they hardly talk to each other anymore, aside from constant arguing that's getting on nerves of everyone, the rest of balkan wondering why Serbia hasn't already decided to move out or why he hasn't kicked him out already.

But Croatia is sad. He doesn't want the Serb to leave. He doesn't want to pick constant fights with him, only so they could talk and Serbia even says something to him. He doesn't want Serbia to just go and leave him behind.

Croatia hears doors open and shut in a harsh manner, making him flinch.

"Hey! Don't shut the door like that, you'll break them!"

"Shut up, Hrvatska," growls Serbia, getting rid of his shoes and sliding his bag of his shoulder.

"Don't ‘shut up’ me, I'm the one who has to pay for this place, ti debil!" (you imbecile)

"I don't care."

"You are paying for everything you destroy," hisses the Croat, getting back in a comfortable position on his bed.

"Da da, što god," (whatever) mumbles he as he enters the room. He groans and flops himself on his own bed, digging through his pockets to finally find a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, taking them out. He gets one cigarette out of the pack, puts it in his mouth and stores the rest back in his pocket, but before he can light the already prepared cigarete, a hand snatches his lighter away. Serbia groans and looks up at the standing Croat, before standing up himself and growling: "Give it back."

"What have I told you about smoking inside?" asks Croatia, narrowing his eyes at the taller Serbian male.

"I don't care," retorts he back, not feeling like dealing with any shit Croatia bombs him with.

"I do! I don't want it to smell like a fucking fire broke out here for a week, just because you were too lazy to get up and out, so you could smoke one!"

"You are so fucking annoying!" exclaims Serbia, clenching his hands into fists. "All you do is complain! You agreed on me staying here, yet you are complaining so much!"

"You wanted to stay here, yet the only time you are actually around is when you are pissy and in a bad mood and all you do is either ignore me or yell at me!" Croatia can feel tears pick at the edge of his eyes, but he holds them back.

"Why do you think I avoid you?! All you do is pick fights with me! I have enough of your shit!"

"Then fucking leave," says Croatia with a low voice, breaking apart on the inside. He rather never gets to see the Serb again, as all he feels is his heart being torn apart by his own selfish desires and Serbia proving him exactly opposite from them: hatred.

"Then get your shit together and leave. I don't need you here when you never even talk to me, if it isn't for me yelling at you," says Croatia, his voice cracking at the end, his eyes threatening to let his tears fall.

"That so? You want me to get my stuff together and leave?"

"Da!"

"Fine then," half heartedly says the Serb, bending over a little and getting Croatia by surprise, as Serbia wraps his arm around his torso, lifting him up much like he's weightless and throws him over his shoulders, like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey, what are you doing!" exclaims the Croat in surprise and embarrassment, trying to catch his balance by trying to grab onto Serbia's shoulders, lighter falling on the floor out of his hand.

"Obviously, carrying what's mine."

Croatia blushes at Serbia's words. "I'm not yours!"

"But you want to be. Ne laži," (Don't lie) says he, dropping the wiggling Croat on his bed, making him squeak in surprise and fall on his back.

Croatia looks away from Serbia, as he covers his face with his hands, hiding his runaway tears, growling: "Why would you even care?"

Serbia sighs and bends over, seeking support on Croatia’s bed, as he holds a part of his weight up with his hands directly above him, his cigarette now abandoned at the edge of the bed.

"If I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t have been bothered avoiding you, because I didn’t want us constantly fighting," answers he honestly, waiting for Croatia to look up at him at his own tempo.

Croatia is still covering his eyes, feeling vulnerable. He doesn’t want the Serb to see his face. "You could have told me something. It’s not like I wanted to argue with you, but this was the only time you even said anything to me," agrees he, slowly letting out his feelings for Serbia to hear.

Serbia chuckles softly as he gently strokes the Croat over his head, saying, "It looks like someone wanted my attention."

Croatia is surprised by Serbia’s touch and embarrassed by his words. He pulls his hands lower, exposing his teary eyes, as he is greeted by Serbia’s kind and caring smile, something he’s not used seeing at all, making his cheeks grow hot. "I- I- That’s not- … the truth…"

"But we know it is." smirks Serbia. Then he climbs on the bed, grabbing Croatia and pulling him on top of himself, sitting with his back against the wall, while having the smaller male facing him in his lap.

"As stupid as it sounds, you are my best friend, you know? I didn’t want to lose this with you. To lose you,” says Croatia quietly, nervously fiddling with his fingers, looking down at his hands.

"Hey, Hrvatska," says Serbia getting his attention. "I have a question for you. Do you want us to be best friends? Or do you want us to be something more?" asks he the Croat, clearly he already read his feelings, taking Croatia by surprise again.

"Eh? N-no, why? I mean-"

"Be honest."

"I am!"

Serbia tsks at him, wrapps his arms around his back and says: "Don’t underestimate my ability of reading you. My question was what do you want us to be, not what do you think is my answer to whatever is going on inside your head." He is dangerously close to the Croat, their bodies pressed together almost completely.

"Eh, uh, no," squeaks out Croatia, not liking the lack of personal space, as Serbia manages to lower his guard.

"'No' what?"

"Y-you are too close! Go away!" exclaims he nervously, wanting to get away from the Serb.

"Hrvatska."

"What?"

"Give me a kiss."

Croatia's face immediately heats up, not knowing if Serbia is joking or not. "Š-što!?" (what!?)

Serbia rolls his eyes and leans in, pressing their lips together. He is painfully aware of Croatia's feelings, as the boy opened up to him more than ever, unknowingly giving himself away.

Croatia's eyes widen, not expecting for Serbia to demand a kiss from him, much less taking it himself. But he still kisses back, the sensation pulling him along before any other doubts and thoughts can slip in his mind.

Serbia mashs Croatia's lips, before Croatia pulls away, very red faced and embarrassed. He looks up at the Serb, seeing his smug smirk. Croatia never acts like this. It's hard to get him embarrassed. That's why his personality clashes with the Serb, they can both be very tsundere. But they attract each other because of the same reason.

"Don’t be ashamed of telling me your true feelings. Now, you still haven’t answered my question from before, what do you want us to be?"

Croatia regains his composure before he opens his mouth again. "I… I want us to be… more," says he, still hesitant and unsure.

"Wish granted," simply says Serbia and locks their lips again, this time demanding a deeper kiss. Croatia grunts and returns the kiss, before opening his mouth, after Serbia bits his bottom lip, fighting for dominance with him. Serbia sucks on his tongue, letting him explore his mouth, before Serbia pushes his own tongue inside his mouth, switching their role.

He suddenly feels Serbia's slightly cold hands on his hips, traveling under his Adidas sweater first and then under his shirt, all the way up to his shoulders and back down, exploring every centimeter of his skin. He shivers and brakes the kiss, panting and arching his back a little, wanting more of this.

"Look who's eager," teases Serbia, while he's the one who wants to fuck the smaller Croatian boy in front of him badly.

"Umukni I nastavi," (shut up and continue) groans Croatia, wanting more of this friction. He slides his own hands under Serbia's Adidas sweater and shirt underneath, exploring his body too. The latter gets his hands under the Croat's shirt, pulling him in a quick kiss again, before saying: "Get your shirt down."

"We're going all the way?" asks Croatia before retreating his hands to get rid of the sweater and then his shirt.

"All the way," says Serbia in anticipation, pushing Croatia down on the bed, after he exposes his chest. He immediately attacks his neck, wanting to leave a hickey, sucking and biting Croatia's neck, making him moan.

When he's satisfied with his work, he moves onto Croatia's chest, circling his niple with his tongue, making Croatia flinch because of tickling feeling, before he takes it in his mouth, sucking on it. Croatia gasps, as sensitivity of his niple increases.

Serbia manages to slide his hands under Croatia's pants as he leaves his chest, tugging them down, exposing Croatia's boxers and his hardening cock, raising up in its prison of cloth.

"Your friend wants some attention," smirks he at the Croat.

"Not fair," hisses Croatia out. "Why am I the one that's almost fully naked and you the one fully dressed?"

Serbia grins at him, before answering: "Because when I'm done with you, you won't be able to move for awhile and someone has to take care of the mess."

Before Croatia opposes him yet again, he starts rubbing his member through the last peace of cloth left on him, making him gasp in surprise.

At this point, Croatia is fully hard, his precum leaking. He gasps and clenches his bedsheets, wanting more and wishing for Serbia to stop teasing him. He feels hands retract from his cock, making him whine in disagreement, as Serb's touch is quite welcoming to him.

"Suck."

Croatia is faced with Serbia's demand, Serbia's fingers in front of him.

"This is the only lubricant you'll get, you know," says Serbia as a statement, pushing three of his fingers inside Croatia's mouth after he opens them up for him.

Croatia swirls his tongue around them, making them as wet as possible to make this less painful for himself, even though he has no experience whatsoever in this kind of thing. Having sex with a guy. Especially him being a bottom.

"Remind me, why am I the bottom again?" mumbles he out, after Serbia pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

Serbia pulls Croatia’s boxers down, before answering: "Because sometimes it seems like you really need something up your ass to stay quiet."

Before Croatia could object, Serbia spreads and lifts his legs up, pushing a finger inside his butthole, making him wince at the sudden unpleasant feeling and unpleasant, yet different kind of pain.

Serbia starts moving his finger, lacking experience in this kind of thing himself, but having the knowledge of how to do so. He’s quick at making Croatia’s body relax, as he inserts another finger, spreading more pain through Croatia’s body, but at the same time delivering pleasure as well. He starts scissoring his fingers, stretching Croatia’s butthole weider and pushing them deeper in, brushing his prostate at some point, making Croatia let out a shaky pleasurable moan. When Croatia processes what a sound he let himself escape, he quickly covers his mouth with his hand, his face heating up.

Serbia inserts his third finger, thrusting some more, before deciding it’s about time to use his own member. He pulls out all of his fingers and turns Croatia over on his stomach, exposing his ass in front of him, before freeing his own erection, spitting on it and suddenly forcefully pushing it into the smaller male under him.

Croatia whimpers at the sudden pain, letting out a pained moan along the way. He feels so full. He feels throbbing of Serbia's dick as Serbia decides to wait for him to adjust a bit. He feels his own tight muscles clenching around Serbia's cock.

"You okay?" asks Serbia, making Croatia turn his face towards him and nodding.

"You can move."

Serbia doesn't need to be told this twice. He starts thrusting at a slow tempo, picking up, his peace and getting deeper inside the Croat with every thrust, making him feel unbearable waves of pleasure jolting all over his body.

Soon Serbia picks up his speed, hitting Croatia’s prostate, this time with his own dick and god, it felt so much better than just a finger brushing against it. Croatia arches his back in pleasure, his body moving his hips on it’s own, like a second mind, to match Serbia’s thrusts. Then he feels another thing. Serbia wraps his hand around his dick, stroking him. The Croat couldn’t hold being stimulated at two different places at the same time, which lead into him heavily cumming, letting more strangled and pleasurable sounds escape him, as Serbia still pounded at him with mercyless speed, now almost slamming the smaller body against his own, creating harsh sounds of skin slapping against skin.

At first, Croatia feels little to nothing, as he comes down from his high, but then another wave of pleasure hits him, this time way stronger, as his already abused prostate feels overstimulation, resulting in his body shaking and his legs threatening to give up on him, even though he’s on his knees, causing him to cry out loudly in the sheets bellow to muffle his voice and hide his tears.

He doesn’t know if he can bear such pleasure.

This time, Serbia finally feels close. His thrusts turn sloppy, as he holds the Croat’s hips harshly, surely letting a mark on them and slamming at his full animalistic speed to finish off, his desperation for release as big as Croatia’s. Then the knot in his stomach finally unties, resulting in him releasing in the boy underneath him, making said boy moan out his name and cum once again.

He pulls out of the boy as he feels his dick softening. The moment he lets go of Croatia and pulls out of him, Croatia collapses completely on the bed, feeling exhausted.

Serbia gets himself together and goes to grab some napkins and at least tries to clean a mess they made, wiping himself off first, before going back to Croatia, the exhausted boy laying on his side, barely keeping up with Serbia, as he cleans the cum off his stomach and out of his asshole as much as possible. Then he throws them in a nerbay bin and pics Croatia up in somehow bridal style.

"Wow, what are you doing?" asks Croatia, trying to keep up with everything before he actually loses concussion.

"Moving you to my bed because we dirtied yours." With that said, Serbia lays him in his own bed, tucking him in and using a manner of ruffling his hair, even though he isn’t in his human form, the Croat being simply too tired to protest. He is out almost immediately.

"Now I know you really may not be able to sit or walk properly for a while," mumbles Serbia to himself.

What is important though, is him and Croatia finally cleaning things out a little.

Chapter Text

"Shut up!"

That's all America hears before he gets a strong punch aimed at his stomach, making him see black for a moment and feel nothing, until the horrible pain hits him all at once, resulting in collapse of his body.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" hisses he out at Russia, barely capable of speaking. He is grabbing his stomach, trying to ease the pain, but it doesn't work. The fact his vision is blurry, doesn't help at all.

Russia is so angry. So angry at America and his non stop provocation. So angry, he feels tears collecting in his eyes, just waiting when they'll be capable to fall.

Wordlessly, he turns around and runs away, his tears falling from his eyes, America's hurtful words reopening his old wounds.

America doesn't see how deeply he actually hurt Russia's feelings. All he is capable of sensing is unbearable pain, Russia somehow managing to hit exactly the spot he didn't want anyone to know about.

An old wound, source of his insecurity and pain he usually wakes up with.

"Well, well, well. Congratulations, US of A."

America snaps his head in the direction of a familiar voice, spotting China leaning on a wall and glaring at him. "You fucked up."

America groans and looks away from China, now facing the same direction Russia fled in. "What the hell do you want?"

China goes closer to America, stopping right in front of him and making America's heart beat faster, a bit of fear eating away his courage, before he speaks up: "That's the way you talk to the only person willing and capable of helping you?"

"I don't need your help," says he, glaring up at the Chinese in front of him.

"Like you can even stand up," smirks China down on him.

"I rather rot in hell, then let you help me."

"Fine by me," half heartedly says China, turning away from the American and starting to walk in the same direction Russia run of to, leaving America alone in the dark alleyway.

"Fuck, wait!" yells America, stumbling on his feet, barely capable of standing up. He knows he can't come home safely alone, not even if he calls someone to pick him up. In such place, he's more likely to get molested before anyone else, willing to help, will come stumbling around.

China stops and slowly turns around, facing the barely standing American, 15 meters (49 feet) away from him, clutching his stomach. "Oh? What's that? Did the little princess change her mind?" asks he scornfully.

"Fuck you," hisses he out, trying to walk towards China and nearly collapsing again at his first step, his stomach sending him another wave of pain, this time alongside with nauseating feeling.

"If it comes to fucking, I think I'll fuck you. And stop moving, idiot." China goes to America with quick and elegant movement, stopping right in front of him and quickly examining his state.

America is half absent. He feels growing nausea and aching pain, he feels his sweat dripping down his chin, as he spares only a glance towards the Chinese.

China grumbles. There seriously is no other option, but to cary the American. So he tries to pick him up and carry him over his shoulder, but he sees America’s expression darkening and america gaging, so he carys him bridal style instead. America is too out of it to even protest. He just tries to keep his nausea under control, not wanting to puke.

He doesn’t know when his eyes close and his mind fails him.
China, on the other hand, is worried. Nothing like this should happen only from a punch in the stomach, even if it was from his protege. He knows he should be worrying more about Russia and caring less about the annoying American, that doesn’t know when to shut up, but he knows Russia likes to be alone when something like this happens. And he isn’t a monster, that’s why he’s helping him.

He goes over to his car, only a few meters away and opens up the door, getting America in. He is glad he came alone. He starts the car, driving towards his place.

What was probably a 45 minutes ride at most, felt like hours for China, he himself not liking to drive in the middle of the night and having to worry if America will suddenly wake up and puke his guts out. In his car.

When he's finally at one of his places close to the Russian border, he decides it'll have to do for tonight, going over to America and pulling him out, waking him up.

"W-what the… Where am I?" asks America, his mind clearing up, his nausea and pain disappearing completely. Well, as completely as the pain he feels on daily basis lets him.

"At one of my places. Follow me in and do not touch my stuff without my permission," warns China, locking his car and ensuring it'll be safe, before heading towards the front door of this little mansion and letting them both in.

"And I thought I was a pushover," mumbles America to himself, eyeing all the stuff China has in the 'little mansion'.

"I have a guest bedroom with clothes, that should be just fine for tonight. Don't get to comfortable, I'm never offering you to stay at my place again, if you won't respect my rules."

"Like I'd ever want to stay in the same house as you," says America, rolling his eyes.

"I can still kick you out, you know" warns China, narrowing his eyes at the American, while later glares back at him.

"Fine. I'm going to wash myself. Where do you have a bathroom?" asks America, rolling his eyes and putting his hands on his hips, waiting for China to answer.

"Ugh, just follow me," groans China, already full of America's attitude. He firstly goes in the guest room, stepping to the closet and searching for some suitable clothes, working well enough as pyjamas, while saying: "You will stay in this room. After you come out of the bathroom, go back in the hall, so I'll show you where you can eat. There are no servants around currently, which means you make your own food," says China, throwing clothes at America, before continuing towards the bathroom. "You have permission to use this bathroom, guestroom, kitchen and living room, leave everything else alone. I'll show you where I am, if you will need me, but if you decide to wake me up for something stupid, you are going to regret it."

"Yeah, sure," rolls America his eyes again, closing bathroom doors in China's face and locking them behind himself.

China sighs and rubs his forehead. He knows America is a troublemaker and he already managed to nibble on his patience. God, if one night spending with him is already such a nuisance, then he's happy he is no way related to that prick. It's at moments like this, he is jealous of Canada's patience.

***

"Yo! China! Where ya at?!" yells America, heading towards the living room.

China growls, regretting to ever take America in. "Stop yelling."

The sound came from another direction, America already learning that's China's bedroom. "Oooh, here you are! What is this?" asks he with a smirk, holding up his hand, with something in it.

A sex toy.

China finally has it enough. USA is the only country, that can eat all his patience in a span of one evening. He stands up, grabbing America by the collar of his a little baggy shirt, pushing him into a wall, making him whine and drop the toy, he himself slamming the doors behind America, leaving them alone - not like anyone else was here to begin with - in his room. "What. Have. I. Told. You?" growls he at the American.

America only grins, seemingly not affected at all. "What have you?" asks he innocently, playing with fire.

China's expression darkness. "Oh, you are asking for it," growls he again, grabbing America and almost throwing him on the bed, taking him by surprise, getting on top of him and restraining him.

America only sees a chance, as he seductively says: "What are you gonna do about it, daddy?"

China stares at him with surprise. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Last time I checked, lots of things," says America like he's thinking, making China even more furious.

China then has a sudden change of personality, deciding to use this to his advantage "It seems like you want to be fucked," smirks China, leaning closer to America's face, taking him by surprise, as he never expected China had enough guts to take this any further. Then again, he isn't the one to waste the opportunity.

America rolls his eyes, sarcastically saying: "No, really? What gave you that idea?"

"Remember, it's your fault if you will be incapable to sit."

"Bold of you to assume I'm still at the point of being sore after some fuck."

China smirks. "Oh, but I won't go easy on you. It's time for you to pay me for all the patience I lost because of you."

"Just get it on," groans America, wishing for less talk and more fuck.

China releases America's hands, letting him lay there, grabbing America's pants and pulling them off, revealing his lower body with pale white skin, some red stripes and lots of old wound marks, alongside with his average member, America seemingly never bothering to put some underwear on.

That's where he stops with undressing him. He doesn't need to go further. He looks up at America's face, seeing a smug smirk.

"Enjoying the view?" asks he, wiggling his eyebrows.

China rolls his eyes, pushing his fingers in front of America's face, the other man already opening his mouth and starting to suck on his fingers, while he spreads America legs, exposing his private parts more.

"You know, I don't think I actually need preparation," says America after China pulls his fingers out, laying there and letting China do the work.

China pushes one finger inside America's hole quite easily, that's why he pushes in another one, achieving a tad bit more tightness. "I can see why," murmurs he an answer to America, adding a third finger soon after, this time feeling tightness of America's muscle ring around them.

China is quick with stretching him as well as finding America's prostate, forcing a first cry out of the American.

"Ah~ just fuck me," pants he, grabbing the sheets, his dick rising up in arousal, his precum starting to leak.

China obeys, pulling his fingers out and sliding his own underwear and pants down enough, to expose his own arousal. He then grabs America's arms, pulling him on his lap, before noticing another old wound on America's stomach, pretty nasty looking, as well as bluish skin around the same place, definitely because of Russia's punch. "America, did Russia manage to hit an old vital wound?"

America groans. "And what if he did? Does it matter now? Stop hesitating."

China rolls his eyes, as America spits on his own hand and reaches behind him, grabbing and rubbing China's member, before aligning it with his butthole and slamming himself down on it, quietly moaning in pain.

"You are quite big for a Chinese," mumbles he, taking some time for himself.

China only hums, before he grabs America's hips, lifts him up and slams him back down, catching America of guard and forcing another moan out of him, this time because he managed to brush against his prostate.

"Aah~! Oh g-God, wait!" cries he out, his body not ready for China's dick to be ramming inside him so soon.

"Remember, my house, my rules," says China, slamming America against himself, making the bottom cum awfully quick, especially considering how long America can usually last, before cumming.

China stops for a moment. "That was quick," mocks China, earning a glare from America.

"S-shut up," whines he, riding his orgasm out completely as China starts moving again.

"This time you'll cum when I'll allow you to."

China pushes America on his back, landing on the bed, as he aligns himself better with USA, before slamming in him again.

America let's out a cry and searches for something more than sheets to hold onto. China intervenes hands with him and bends lower, deciding to kiss America. America's lips are soft, an unexpected trait for a man. They have a sugarish taste, but a bitter taste of America's smoke is lingering on his lips the most.

America moans again, opening his mouth and letting China to open his as well, each of them exploring others oral entrance.

America feels a knot inside his stomach tightening. He pulls away from the kiss. "Ngh- I'm close!"

"Not yet," groans China, freeing one of his hands and grabbing America's member, pressing a finger on top of America's dick, while moving his mouth on America's neck, deciding to leave a hickey.

"Ah~ please!" cries out America, covering his eyes with his free hand as his tears start falling over, because of stimulation China puts him through. "Daddy, please!"

China feels close himself, so he makes sure he marks America properly, before saying "Hold it just a bit more." he then let's go of America's erection, grabbing his hips, slamming in him at his full power, his thrusts turning sloppy.

"I can't!" America kinda squeaks out, cumming.

China tsks, before he himself slams in the boy a few more times, he himself cumming. America heavily breaths as China rides his high out, finally stopping his movement and pulling out of the American.

"Oi, USA, don't you dare fall asleep, we are nowhere near done yet," smirks China down at America, the later uncovering his face and looking up with surprise.

"What?"

"I told you I won't get easy on you, I plan being true to my words."

"You gotta be kidding me."

***

"Bastard, you really meant it when you said I won't be capable of walking," groans America, finally waking up and badly failing when trying to stand up from China's bed, the Chinese already nowhere to be seen, before he heard America's swearing and came to look with amusement.

"I always mean what I say."

"That's it. I'm staying here for two more days," frowns America "There's no way I'm capable of moving and just you know, this is your fault, I'll annoy the hell out of you," says he, satisfied with his plan of a revenge.

"Is that so?" asks China.

"Yes."

"Then be ready for more sleepless nights," smirks he at the American, making his eyes widen.

"Dude! Not even I am that horny!"

"Whatever it takes, to make you behave."

You can bet America was sore for a whole week after he came back home, China doing a very good job at making his words come true.

Chapter Text

It is one of this days, when Slovakia comes over to Slovenia for their monthly exchange of miss send letters, bills, boxes and stuff, because people just can't get it right, that Slovenia and Slovakia are two different countries. This time it is Slovakia's turn to come over to Slovenia, bring him his stuff and take from Slovenia what was meant for him.

They are nearly done with exchange, Slovakia taking his stuff back in his vehicle, Slovenia taking care of his own boxes, letters and items, placing them in his own post vehicle, to deliver it.

Slovakia pauses for a moment, stopping midway with a box in his hands. He calls out to Slovenia: "Hey, Slovinsko!"

Slovenia just places a box down and then turns towards Slovakia. "What is it, Slovaška?"

Slovakia just places his last box in his vehicle himself, before going towards Slovenia. "I'm sorry if this may be a bit invasive question for you, but I have never seen or heard of you being in a relationship. With anyone. Are you even interested in dating? Or sex?"

Slovenia's cheeks adopt a bit rosy colour, while he scratches the back of his head, looking at Slovakia directly in front of him, before answering him: "Well, I am not really experienced in neither and, I don't really, you know, like sex? I mean, dating sure! But… Even in dating I'm not really good."

"You know, you don't need to be good at dating to enjoy or be experienced in sex. What I get is, you don't do one night stands," says Slovakia, he himself being a little confused as to why does it seem like Slovenia knows even less about the whole love, dating and getting laid stuff, then he firstly thought. He knows Slovenia isn't a type of guy, to do things carelessly. He is very cute too. I mean, he wouldn't oppose if he would be offered a one night stand with him, that's why it confuses him to no avail why is he always single.

"I… that's really something I am not experienced at. Neither."

"Why though?" asks Slovakia, sitting on a table, deciding this might take some time and patting a space besides him, signaling Slovenia to sit on it, too. He hesitantly does.

"Well, when I tried dating some of my people, regular humans, I usually wasn't what they expected. But I don't know what they expected. I don't know what they wanted from me. And if they did tell, it was usually so out of my character, something I am not. I couldn't live up to their expectations," answers he, looking ahead of him, not wanting to look at Slovakia.

"And why are you so inexperienced at sex?" asks Slovakia, genuinely curious and noticing Slovenia has some troubles opening up about this topic.

Slovenia doesn't feel very comfortable talking about this. He counts Slovakia as his friend, but no one ever actually paid so much attention to Slovenia's love life and no one ever asked him to talk about it. "Well, I just don't like it."

"You don't like sex?" asks Slovakia, not believing Slovenia's words much, as he raises a brow.

"Can we not talk about it?" interrupts him Slovenia, turning towards Slovakia, somehow scared and shaken light brown eyes, meeting his light greyish blue ones.

Slovakia is taken by surprise. Fear and sadness is something he is not used seeing on Slovenia, the boy always trying to stay positive and having a smile plastered on his face at most desperate times, encouraging others that nothing is lost. But that's when he realises, he doesn't know Slovenia as much as he thought he does. Not even close. Whenever you look at him, he is always kind, encouraging you, smiling at you, trying to support you, but he never shows his feelings out. His doubts. Fears. Traumas. Nightmares. Always hiding them.

Slovenia turns his head away from Slovakia, wanting to stand up and leave, as rude as this would be of him, but a hand on his own stops him. He turns his head back towards the Slovak, seeing concern in his eyes, taking him by surprise.

"Slovinsko, is there a particular reason you are afraid of sex?"

"I-I am not afraid of sex!" exclaims he, his cheeks adapting reddish hue.

Slovakia gets off the table, stepping in front of Slovenia. He puts his hands besides Slovenia's hips, looking him dead in the eyes. Slovenia leans backwards a little, not knowing what Slovakia wants from him.

"You know, it may be late to take a notice of this, but why do you never talk about your personal problems?"

Slovenia smiles again, but instead of his usual, positive smile, he manages only a nervous one. "There's nothing much to talk about. You all already know my history and life. It's nothing interesting anyways."

"Then why are you afraid?" asks Slovakia, determined to find out what's going on and try to help for once.

He is greeted only with silence and Slovenia averting his gaze. "Are you ashamed because you think your dick is small?"

Slovenia's eyes widen in surprise, he's head shooting up, staring at Slovakia with wide eyes. "What? No!" exclaims he, blushing.

Slovakia growls, feeling annoyed by this constant circle of their words, not realising how much personal did this talk become. "Then what is it? Your looks?"

Slovenia shuts his eyes, shaking his head.

"Wealth?"

He shakes his head again.

'Should I tell him? Will he care at all?'

"Shyness?"

'Will he only shrug and say "Get over it."?'

"It's because," says he quietly, hiding his face in his hands. "Because my memories are not… pleasant," whispers he.

Slovakia barely manages to hear him. "What do you mean 'not pleasant'? Memories of what?"

He quietly answers in his hands: "I am afraid of having sex, because the only time I experienced it was painful and against my will." Slovenia is prepared to be gritted by laughing, or Slovakia telling him that's a stupid reason to be so shaken about, or maybe a lecture how he's making this all over dramatic.

A silent pause follows, Slovakia pressing his lips in thin line, not liking the idea of someone taking the Sloven against his will. "You were raped?"

Slovenia doesn't like the way Slovakia phrased it. It sounds too real. Like he can't shut his eyes anymore, pretending it's only a sick dream or his imagination. "Y-yes," says he, admitting it out loud, making himself flinch and just want to hide, shameful feeling, just like it's his fault he ever got raped, covering him.

Slovakia notices Slovenia's body language and knows that boy enough by now, to tell he wants to take the blame for something that was no way his fault. He raises his hand and gently grabs Slovenia's wrist, wanting to pull his hands away from his face, making Slovenia jolt in surprise and shoot his head up, looking at Slovakia with fear.

Slovakia sighs and gently grabs both of his hands holding them and forcing Slovenia to look him directly in the eyes. "Listen, Slovinsko. Don't you dare blame yourself for something you are not responsible for. And don't just hold things like this in, telling no one. You are going to completely destroy yourself. Now, tell me, who raped you?"

"Don't worry Slovaška, it was long ago, please. I- I don't need any reminders," says Slovenia, squeezing Slovakia's hands lightly.

Slovakia groans, but decides to let that slide. He doesn't want to force more trauma on the south slav by forcing him to talk. "Slovinsko, just know that you can always talk with me, no matter what bothers you or how stupid you think it is, get it?"

Slovenia just nods. He closes his eyes, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against Slovakia's, his heart beating fast, not knowing whether Slovakia will refuse this small gesture or accept it.

Slovakia is taken by surprise, of course, but he guesses Slovenia needs it, so he slowly wraps his arms around Slovenia’s torso, pulling him closer.

Slovenia opens his eyes back up, feeling himself being pulled forward and his lower part of body pressing against Slovakia’s. His eyes meet Slovak’s. He doesn’t know what happens in that moment. Slovakia’s eyes just- mesmerize him. He does something he never thought he could do first. It just happens. In the brief moment, he presses his lips against Slovakia’s. Someone might mistake it for an accident, as it was more like a light touch, but Slovakia definitely knows it was intentional, even if Slovenia pulled away almost immediately.

Slovakia runs his fingers through Slovenia’s hair, pulling him in for a closer ‘kiss’ version, Slovenia accepting, but not knowing what to do. He holds the edge of the desk, letting Slovakia gently mash his lips. Slovakia’s lips are a bit rough and he can't really pinpoint the taste of them, but he does enjoy it, a lot more than he thought he would.

Slovakia pulls away, chuckling lightly. “Have you never kissed before, or did you forget how to do this?”

Slovenia's cheeks flush once again. He averts his gaze, mumbling: "I was never fond of physical contact. That's why no one wanted to date me and my relationships didn't last long."

"Well, did you ever tell them the real reason why?"

"Yes. I did. To three of them. The first reaction I got, was disgust. The woman I dated dumped me immediately, after realizing I was raped. By a male. The other two were just saying I was being over dramatic and should have moved on, not avoiding touch and sex like a plague."

Slovakia blinks a few times. Slovenia's behavior makes so much more sense now. If he couldn't even trust his own people, the ones he dated and are supposed to be closer to him than anyone else, supposed to be his family, how could he trust a country? Someone that can use his weaknesses against him - again - and make fun of him or rub it in his face for another millenia?

Slovakia sighs. "You know, your Balkan family really doesn't give an impression of, you know, welcoming people, but people like me, prisoners of wars, people looked down on, we wouldn't just brush it off or blame you. I wouldn't," says he, making sure Slovenia is looking at him and seeing he's completely serious about it.

Slovenia believes him. He wants to. He needs to believe someone cares. Someone wants him to know, it’s not his fault. That he isn’t the one being a drama queen. He needs to. After so many years of him just trying to be the supportive friend, watching out to not trouble others, trying to stay positive, while sometimes crying himself to sleep, when he is sure no one is around, he really appreciates Slovakia’s efforts of trying to understand and support him. He wants to cross just one more border. One more.

“I,” starts he nervously. “I’d like to ask a favor of you. But only if you want to, of course!”

“What do you want?” asks Slovakia, slightly tilting his head.

“Could you, um,” say he nervously fiddling with his fingers. He averts his gaze, before continuing his request: “Could you have sex with me?”

“Say what?” asks Slovakia confused, not knowing if his brain is messing with him or something like this really just came out of the Slovene’s mouth.

“I- I want to get over my anxiety. And, since you know about it, I’d appreciate if you would have sex with me,” mumbles Slovenia, glancing at the Slovak to try and figure out his answer.

“Waitwaitwaitwait, hold your horses, bud. You want to have sex with me because you want to get over your anxiety?”

“Well, yes,” says Slovenia. He doesn’t dare to ask the Slovak for more. Even if he’d get only a one night stand out of it, maybe having a tighter control over his fear of deeper touch, he would be very grateful.

“What if I have a condition?”

“Well, I’ll try to carry it out, if possible.”

“And what if I tell you my request after we fuck?” asks Slovakia, grabbing Slovenia’s hips and leaning forward, causing Slovenia to slightly lean backwards.

“No promises I’ll be capable of doing it,” nervously says Slovenia, holding himself to the table, feeling the change of atmosphere.

“Don’t worry. It’s a question,” responds Slovakia, leaning over the Sloven boy while pushing him to lay on the table. “You don’t have any lube with you by chance?”

“No.”

“Then saliva will make do,” hums he. “You are fine with being a bottom, right?”

Slovenia nods. He spreads his legs as Slovakia supports their weight with his hands, leaning forward and pressing his lips on the Slovene’s softer and sweeter ones. He runs his fingers over Slovenia’s hips, making sure to treat the boy carefully, as his rhitem forces Slovenia to cooperate and kiss back.

Slovakia’s hands move higher under the Slovene’s shirt, brushing his nipples and making Slovenia quietly moan in surprise, giving Slovakia the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in and french kiss him.

Slovenia lets Slovakia to have control. He moves his tongue as well, the familiar taste of Slovakia’s mouth finally ringing a bell. He pulls away, small pants escaping him and asking: “Did you drink Slivovko?”

Slovakia laughs. “Yeah, I did. Didn’t think you’d recognize the taste.”

Slovenia chuckles, too. “Are you kidding me? That’s one of the favourite types of alcohol on my land.”

“I know,” says Slovakia, smiling at him, before he moves his hands to Slovenia’s pants. “You know, it’s time to get rid of those.” He pulls the Sloven over the table enough to pull his pants down over his hips, before getting rid of Slovenia’s shoes to pull his pants down completely. Slovenia shivers as the cold air of the warehouse, they were left alone in, hits him.

Slovakia spits on his hand and slips it into Slovenia’s boxers, rubbing his member. He arouses the boy, but Slovenia doesn’t let any sounds escape him. He might be controlling his voice, but that doesn’t prevent his body language to be clear to the Slovak, he himself feeling arousal building up inside his body, as he sees what his gestures are doing to Slovenia.

Slovenia can’t believe someone else’s hand on his member can feel so good. How someone else can brush all the right angels and places. It isn’t long till his precum starts leaking and Slovakia fastens his peace, making Slovenia release soft and quiet whines of pleasure.

Slovenia feels he isn't gonna last long. He tries to warn Slovakia: "I'm going-!" He cuts himself off with a moan, as he arches his back from pleasure, his cum spurting mainly into Slovakia's hand.

Slovenia is panting, his chest rising up and down, as Slovakia pulls his boxers down with his clean hand. Slovenia is kind of embarrassed because of this whole situation, but he feels good. Too good to stop because of his shyness. There's still one thing he needs to clarify though.

"Slovaška, will it hurt?" says he looking at Slovak’s eyes as they meet his.

"Well, it's going to hurt at the start, but I'll prepare you, so it will be easier for us both," responds he, spreading Slovenia's ass cheeks and pressing his fingers, wet from Slovenia's cum, against his butthole. "I'll try to make this as painless and enjoyable as possible."

Slovakia slides one of his fingers in, Slovenia squirming at uncomfortable and a little painful feeling. He tries to grab the edge of the desk with his fingers, as Slovakia works on stretching him out.

When Slovakia slides second finger in, Slovenia already gets used to the feeling, starting to enjoy it. Slovakia scissors his fingers and then pushes them as deep as possible, brushing against something in him, making a loud moan escape him.

His face heats up. Such a lewd sound escaped him and he can't believe it. But it felt really good.

Slovakia soon proceeds to push a third finger in for good measure, to make sure he won't accidentally hurt country beneath him or cause him unbearable pain. He brushes Slovenia's prostate again and then pulls his fingers out, right after he forces another moan out of Slovenia's throat.

Slovenia isn't happy by removal of Slovak’s fingers, but he knows what Slovakia will do next. That doesn't make his doubts disappear completely.

Slovakia pulls his own pants and boxers down enough to expose his erection. He spits on his own hand, mixing his spit with leftover cum and stroking himself, before aligning his dick with Slovenia's hole and gently pressing against it.

"I'm going to put it in," warns he Slovenia, grabbing his hips and slowly sliding inside the boy, Slovenia moaning out in pain. But even though it is painful, it's nowhere as painful as it was back then, when it was forced on him.

Slovakia bends over and kisses Slovenia, as he slowly starts moving his hips, thrusting in him.

Slovenia gasps at Slovakia's sudden movement, trying to kiss back and wrapping his hands around Slovakia, holding onto him.

Slovakia starts picking up his peace, as he breaks the kiss and pulls Slovenia in half sitting position, as Slovenia is clinging onto him.

Change of positions causes Slovakia to thrust at different angle, hitting Slovenia's prostate, getting the boy unprepared. Slovenia throws his head back, letting out a loud cry, tears of pleasure rolling down his cheeks.

Slovakia kisses Slovenia's cheeks, as he keeps thrusting, getting himself closer and closer to his release.

Slovenia's dick is throbbing, begging for attention. "Please, aah~ touch my dick," beggs, Slovenia, surprising himself and Slovakia for saying dick, not anything less vulgar. However, Slovakia obeys and starts stroking Slovenia's dick with one hand and keeping their balance with another, as he thrusts over and over again, abusing Slovenia's prostate, the Sloven's muscles clenching around his cock every time he makes a wave of pleasure wash throughout Slovenia's body.

Moans echo throughout the half empty warehouse, harh slapping of skin against skin accompanying them.

"Slovinsko, I'm close," groans Slovakia out before moaning again.

"Me too," pants Slovenia, closing his eyes, his body trembling all over as he cums and lets out a cry, Slovakia following him soon after and emptying himself inside him.

Both boys wait to ride out their high completely, before Slovakia pulls out of Slovenia.

For a moment they just stare into each other's eyes, half dazed and breathless, before Slovenia just clings onto Slovakia, pressing himself against him, the Slovak grunting in surprise and grabbing Slovenia's ass to stand up fully.

"You are quite heavy, you know," grumbles he, before letting Slovenia slide out of his arms back on the desk.

"Well, we have same height and weight," chuckles Slovenia.

"Remember my condition from before?" asks him Slovakia.

"Oh, yes, what was your question?" asks Slovenia, hoping it wouldn't be something, that would prove to him Slovakia was just using him.

"Will you be my boyfriend?"

A silent pause follows. To be honest, the question took Slovenia by surprise. But he already knows the answer.

"Yes," says he, smiling.

Chapter Text

Britain knew his and France's relationship was crumbling. He knew she wasn't happy with him anymore, that she grew distant from him, especially after EEC (European economic community) was established.

He knew it.

Yet it didn't help him to feel any better, when he caught her cheating.

Cheating on him with west Germany.

Son of his worst enemy, of the country that had France locked, under control, tortured.

And what hurt even more, he helped her and saved her from Nazi, he helped her get better after the second world war. He let her have half of control over - now west Germany's land.

He really loved her. He really loves her. Too much. But it’s just- Her love faded. France doesn't love him anymore.

He feels like shit, curled up in his own bed. He didn't even muster the courage to go talk with France and break up with her, saving himself more pain and making her happier. All he feels like doing is curling up in a ball and cry his heart out, share his pain with someone.

Or just simply die on the spot.

He is a total mess and his current state is proving it, his always neat black suit disposed on the ground, while big baggy dark blue pants and shirt would hang off of him, if he wouldn't be laying already.

His monocle and beloved black hat are sloppily resting on top of his light brown wooden nightstand. His - and France's - beautiful light brown and blue bedroom seems so gloomy with curtains drawn and depressed aura surrounding the Brit.

He is quietly weeping in his bed, muffling his sound with his ocean-blue covers, creating little wet splotches on them.

What kicks him out of his state, is a fake, deep cough, and a light knock somewhere on the other side of the room, where doors are.

His whimpers stop immediately, as he knows there's no way that voice would belong to a woman, much less France. He is embarrassed even when France sees him cry.

He just lays there, trying to give off the vibe that he's asleep, not knowing if the person that entered his home means any harm to him.

"Britain, are you… alright?" hears he a concerned heavy Russian accented voice, immediately recognizing it.

"S-Soviet?" asks he quietly with surprise, his shaking voice rating out his state to the man at the door, as he turns over his head and meets Soviet's worried eyes.

"Can I come in?"

Britain would laugh at the irony as Soviet basically invited himself in his house and was asking for a permission to enter his room, but he doesn't have enough willpower left to do so.

"Yeah," mumbles he, just laying there, drained of energy, as Soviet approaches him.

Soviet sighs and sits down on his bed, besides him, his semi-formal brown long coat crumpling. Thanks God his dark brown shoes aren't dirty or Britain would have definitely give him a harsh lecture if he'd dirty his floor.

Britain tries to recollect himself, as he sits up, wrapping himself in his blanket. “What are you doing here?” asks he, taking a hold of his emotions, deciding he’ll have time to feel sorry for himself when Soviet will leave.

“I came here for work reasons, something about your son again, but I don’t think now it’s the best time to talk about this,” responds he, facing the Brit.

Britain rubs his eyes, as he questions the russian: "Why didn't you call me on my phone first?"

"I did, but you never responded to my calls."

Britain blinks and then turns over to another nightstand on the other side of his king-sized bed, where his phone is resting. He grabs it and true, Soviet did leave him 6 calls. France leaved him a text.

His blood freezes. France.

"Is something wrong?" asks Soviet worried, dead silence and sudden lack of movement from Britain concerning him.

Britain opens the text he got. His eyes glaze over the surface of his phone, as his expression just darkness again. He can't act anymore. He just falls back on the bed, clenching his phone in his hands as silent tears start streaming down his face.

He feels his phone being pulled out of his hand, but he doesn't care anymore.

Soviet reads the text to himself. It simply says 'Honey, I won't come home today, love you!' and he doesn't know why that would upset Britain in the slightest. However, before he can even ask UK for explanation, he already quietly mumbles it.

"I saw her cheat on me. She has probably been cheating for years. And she still wants to pretend she loves me."

Britain clenches the sheets to release some of his frustration. Why can't she just say it to his face and tell him she's done? Why does she have to hide it?

Soviet sighs. He doesn't want to leave Britain like this, so he gets rid of his boots, coat and fluffy brown ushanka he always wears and lets coat and ushanka rest on the nightstand, besides UK's hat and monocle, while he leaves his shoes on the floor, revealing his white button up shirt and brown pants on belt.

He then sits back on the bed. He honestly doesn't know what to do, so awkward silence surrounds them.

He hesitantly opens his mouth and closes them again, before he finally decides to ask the Brit: "Britain, do you want to talk about it?"

Britain nods. He wants to tell someone and Soviet seems genuinely concerned about him, so he sits back up and wraps himself in his blanket again. He doesn’t bother to suppress his tears though.

“So, what exactly happened?” asks him Soviet, putting his hand on Britain’s. He stares at it surprised, but then starts talking.

“I saw France with west Germany. And I know she has been spending a lot of her time with him, which I understood, because they are best friends and politically close and have to work together. But then I saw them bloody kissing this morning. Passionately. And friends don’t do that out of blue. She spends less and less time with me as well. I… I don’t think she loves me anymore, Soviet, not in the slightest,” tells he, starting to feel another wave of sadness wash over him, as he feels fresh tears leaving his already red and puffy eyes again.

Soviet reaches his hand out and holds Britain's in comforting manner. He doesn't know what to really say. He isn't good when he has to deal with emotions.

"Do you… you still love her, right?"

"Yeah… I do," mumbles Britain. Soviet knows UK is really upset, because he always - and when he says always, he means always - speaks formally, even in his family's presence.

"Common, comrade, maybe you two can talk it out," tries to comfort him Soviet, putting his arm around Britain's shoulders in a manly type of hug.

Britain smiles bitterly. “There’s nothing to talk about, Soviet. I can just feel it. There’s nothing talk can save anymore. We are done.”

Soviet feels Britain’s disappointment and sadness. He himself had divorced a woman he deeply loved, after all. “What would make you feel better?”

Britain huffs in annoyance over himself and responds with: “Bloody rant, which I already did.”

“Please, If that’s a rant, Russia has monologues as long as every single monday after heavy drinking session, or as you’d say it, after you’re ‘legless’ so hard you act ‘out of your tree’,” snorts he, attempting to pronounce this in British slang and failing completely.

“Did you just try to make a fool of yourself?” asks Britain, looking up at Soviet.

"Kinda," responds he smirking. His gaze wanders all over Britain's body. He takes in all little details, how he’s stressed to the point his ocean-blue pupils and his short, messy, almost curly hair in same colour and pattern as his flag is showing, or how does his big blue shirt hang off him and exposes parts of his dark blue skin and nice muscular body, where he doesn't have blanked wrapped around himself, or how pretty and well taken care off is actually Britain's face and all of his skin, for that matter, or how he seems younger, considering Britain is quite an old country, or the fact he really dislikes, even hates seeing Britain so broken like he’s now.

‘Well, blyat.’

Soviet doesn’t know what to think of himself at the moment. He wants the Brit in physical way, which is very controversial considering all his beliefs and propaganda against anything that would evolve or just point on a gay relationship, be it from holding hands to having sex. He definitely thinks of Britain like this at the moment only because he looks as pitiful as a woman. That’s the only reason. No way is he actually gay in any way, no matter what his past relationships tell about him. He isn’t gay if he fucks a guy, It’s just very enjoyable feeling tightness butt provides, these are natural instincts.

Nothing gay from his side here.

But still, Britain has to allow it.

Soviet slowly moves his hands on Britain’s shoulders, turning his attention completely on himself. He stares at Britain’s eyes, older male’s face developing a hue. He then proceeds to gently rub his shoulders.He feels Britain relax in his arms and avert his gaze a little.

He then starts moving lover with hands, from his shoulders on Britain’s arms. He rubs arms too, before his hands finally travel to Britain’s hips. He feels Britain stiffen again and stare at him surprised and very red-faced. That’s why he slides his hands under the baggy shirt and on his back, pulling them closer together and starting to rub Britain’s back as well.

Britain gasps in surprise but let’s Soviets hands wander around his back. "Soviet, what the bloody hell are you doing?" squeaks he out though, feeling embarrassed. He likes it. And he’s horrified because this whole thing is turning him on and his body language is too obvious.

Soviet of course takes notice of Britain’s body language and immediately takes actions for it. “What if we booth get our minds off things a little?” asks he, definitely seductively, lovering his head to Britain’s ear, as he withdraws his hands and takes the Brit’s hands in his own, letting his hot breath tickle him.

Britain shivers. He doesn’t know what the bloody hell is happening to him, why can’t he just simply brush off this inappropriate and kind of perverted offer like he would always do in his right state of mind. But maybe the responsibility is actually taken by this; he is too emotional and too much has happened to him in the span of less than 12 hours. “N-No, that’s culturally inappropriate!”

“But you want to,” says Soviet back, lovering his head to his neck and licking it, making Britain jolt in surprise.

“Not to mention that would be just wrong, I’m not a cheater!” tries to reason Britain, even though he himself enjoys the feeling, no matter how much he lies to himself.

Soviet growls and turns his head to look directly into Britain’s eyes. “She cheated on you! You yourself said you two are done. Therefore, that’s no excuse,” responds he with a harsh and commanding tone.

Britain squirms in Soviet’s hands. He knows Soviet is right. But he feels like he’s being judged even when he’s only thinking of this, let alone actually having intercourse or any romantic or sexual behavior with a man.

“Listen, Britain. No one will know this. This stays between us. But do you want it? you?” asks him Soviet, forcing him to exchange a glance with him. “Remember, it stays between us.”

Britain's thin will against it finally breaks. Does it matter anymore? Let’s consider it his revenge on France. He just hopes it won't be filled with pain for him, as it’s obvious he’ll be the bottom. He slowly nods and hesitatingly let's Soviet continue what he was up to.

"Come on comrade, it'll help both of us feel better," whispers Soviet in his ear, heavy and thick Russian accent practically melting Britain from inside out.

He doesn't know what he finds so hot about Soviet's voice.

Soviet so hastily slides his hands under Britain's shirt again, but he occupies his hands with Britain's chest instead. He also presses his own chapped and rough from cold and vodka flavored lips on the Brits still a bit rough but softer lips with strong tea like flavor and faint taste of whiskey.

Soviet forces Britain to follow his heated rhitem, as his hands move to Britain's niples, pressing on them, before starting to massage them, surprising the Brit. He opens his mouth to pull away and protest, but Soviet waited for an opportunity, to slide his tongue in, which he definitely uses and forces unprepared Britain to rather quick submission.

Britain somehow likes this overwhelming feeling. He likes how he gets such unfamiliar pleasure from Soviets hands, how hot he feels, how unused is he to being dominated so strongly, to have a faint smell of another man’s sweat slowly rubbing onto his clothes and this enticing smell saturated with hormones surrounding them. He likes all of that and it makes him drunken, it makes him feel like his head is light and full of hot air.

He can’t really recall it, all he knows is that they broke the kiss at some point and got him naked completely, laying on his back pushed far up on the bed, as well as they got Soviet naked and on all fours towering above him. What he can recall though, is this sweet feeling of Soviet caressing his body, taking care of it even when he was rough.

He recalls Soviets hot lips leaving traces all over his body, from the nape of his neck, to his thighs, where he worked on turning him on.

It’s true, soviet isn’t master in blowjobs, he rarely gave one if we say so, but he does know what to do. So he snaps Britain out of his drunken trace by creating another, even stronger one, with swirling his tongue around the tip of Britain’s member and then getting a bit lower. Bit by bit driving him crazy.

Britain is panting like crazy. He’s finger search for every available surface to grab and twist, while Soviet works his way on his groin. Britain is incapable of warning Soviet from his orgasm hitting him like a train, so he accidentally cums in his mouth, which make Soviet gag a little at sudden liquid pushed down his throat. He already swallows majority before he pulls off, coughing. He licks his lips.

Bitter. Yet it still tastes like Britain.

“You have any lube?” finally asks Soviet after a long blissful moment of them just enjoying body pleasures and keeping words on pretty short leash.

“I-In the drawer,” breaths Britain out, still panting.

Soviet reaches for the nightstand, looking in the lowest drawer and finding both lube and condoms at the bottom of it. He takes only lube and leaves condoms be.

“You are clean, right?” asks he, already putting lube on his fingers to stretch Britain out before he would push his dick inside his sweet, tight hole.

“Of course.”

Not wasting any time Soviet manages to slowly but surely push a finger in. He is eager and such are his actions. That’s why he hardly notices Britain’s squirming because of this weird, painful yet somehow appealing feeling.

He twists and curls his fingers at all angles, just to stretch Britain out enough to push his cock inside him, brushing Britain’s prostate a few times along the way.

After successfully ramming Britain's insides with four fingers and forcing out Britain’s moans, making him get another hard on, he pulls his fingers out and lubes his member, before he aligns himself with the english man and slightly presses at his entrance.

“Give me your hands,” commands he, intervening their hands together, before trying to slide his huge dick inside the warm and tight hole.

Britain would be lying if he’d say he isn’t scared of Soviet’s length, because he really is. Sharp pain of something so big stretching his asshole doesn’t make him feel any better. He lets out whines and as silent cries as possible, grabbing Soviet’s hands so hard Soviet isn’t able to pull away, even if he wants to. He gives him reassuring kisses as kind of an apology for pain, before he’s finally fully in. Britain thought it will never stop.

He gives Britain a moment or two, just to wait for him to steady his breathing and voice, before he starts moving again.

“Wait, no-!” tries to stop him Britain, not thinking himself capable to move just yet, but is cut off by mixture of sharp pain and pleasure, greater than his voice and mind.

Soviet starts rocking his hips back and forth in slow tempo and speeding up little by little, picking up his peace. He feels Britain’s tight muscles around his cock, feeling great pleasure he has really missed now.

Britain starts feeling more and more pleasure and less and less pain. That is until Soviet shifts and slams directly into his prostate. He nearly screams out from pleasure, begging for Soviet to hit it again.

Soviet follows up his pleading, removing his hands from Britain’s grasp and grabbing his hips instead, using them to slam Britain’s body against his own, over and over again.

Britain feels so hot. He feels like a puddle in the middle of summer. He has never ever felt anything even close to this physical feelings Soviet forced out of him.

They need no words, as they both know when they are about to burst. And so, Soviet comes inside the Brit with a loud moan, Britain's muscles clenching around his member and milking him, while Britain himself is in ecstasy, dirting his own stomach.

They both need a moment to recollect themselves, as Soviet finally pulls out of Britain, letting cum slowly dribble down Britain’s, from sweet shiny, skin.

Britain slowly sits up and flinches, when sharp pain shoots through his lover abdomen, Soviet’s cock destroying him completely. He is gratefully Soviet didn’t rip his asshole, even though the Russian cumming inside him is quite unpleasant for him. He doesn’t like this sticky and dirty feeling.

“I think we need to wash you,” comments Soviet as he stands up, fully naked and in front of Britain, making a blush creep on Britain’s face.

“Just… Promise me something first, Soviet,” quietly mumbles Britain, averting his gaze and suddenly finding this old scratch on wood very interesting.

“What?” asks Soviet, tilting his head a little.

“Please, never leave me without a reason, no matter who you become in my life. Promise me you’ll always be there at least so I can talk with you,” pleads Britain with desperation in his voice, starting to fiddle with his fingers.

Soviet sighs and scoops up Britain’s cheeks. “I promise you.”

Britain lets out a breath, he didn’t know he was holding, in relief.

But Soviet wasn’t capable of keeping his promise

Chapter Text

"Ugh, this stupid bitches!" loudly growls out North Korea. "They can't do anything right!"

Scared and pretty quiet mumbling voice can be heard from the other side of the line, trying to explain the situation to loud and almost always angry woman.

"I don't care what the hell happened to Vietnam! We have America on our tail to worry about already, why should I care what happened to this pipsqueak!?"

North Korea is furrowing her brows as she's listening to what her co-speaker has to say. "My country is none of your concern," growls she out. "And I don't care if Vietnam is considered to be my 'allie' or 'friend', he could be an alien for all I care at the moment. He's probably just hiding again. We are done. Fuck you," says she sharply, ending the call and cutting out a river of words still falling from the other side of the line.

She starts angrily mumbling to herself in Korean, letting out lots of colorful Korean words.

Her angry rant about every single person that ever existed in the universe except she herself is 'a dumass' and 'an idiot' and 'they should all be nuked' is interrupted by a loud thud outside her basement office.

She falls quiet and listens for a moment. Silence. But she still heard something, so she might as well check it out.

"I swear, if that's another stupid mother fucking prank or random box falling, I'm going to bomb someone," growls she in anger, exiting her office and looking around the maze-like hall.

She hears squeaking near some of the boxes, so she heads over there.

A trapped and loud rat awaits her, thrashing around in the trap, probably the cause of boxes and items around it falling over. She bends so she could grab this pitiful thing and relieve her anger on it, but it proves it was a big mistake. Right before she can grab it she feels something crawling around her hips and then something pressing against her mouth with force in quick motion.

She recognizes the smell immediately. White wet cloth soaked with chloroform, that immediately overflows her nostrils, the enticing smell starting to intoxicate her, as she tries to pry the hand away from her, not even bothering to fight off an arm around her waist.

She holds her breath for as long as possible, fighting with every fiber of her muscles, but the grip on her is too strong.

Her body finally relaxes and the last thing she sees is familiar red hand finally letting go of her mouth.

***

When she's awake, she feels lack of her clothes on her skin and the cold air surrounding her, making her shiver. The only thing she can see is darkness. She tries to move her hands but she's handcuffed. Her legs are tied to something too and judging by the position she's in, her legs spread apart, she's most likely tied to a chair in a half lying position.

Great. She has been kidnaped, is naked, blindfolded and tied up, which almost always leads to this.

Rape.

She tries to move her arms around and test the shackles, rattling with them.

She also tries to pull her legs either out of the rope or try to break it, but to no avail. The rope is well tied and too strong.

She is too busy trying to escape, to sense another presence in the room.

"Look what we've got there," hears she a familiar male voice, that startles her and makes her stop abruptly.

"You!"

North Korea clenches her teeth in rage. Her muscles are all tense as she's pulling on handcuffs and ropes, that are keeping her in place, wiggling with her whole body to get out of this goddamn position and attack the kidnapper.

Her kidnapper just chuckles at her fruitless attempts. That's all she is capable of hearing. But she knows damn well who is this.

All she can sense is some rustling a few meters away. She tries to scream at him to let her go, but before she even switches her attention to screaming instead of trashing a hand is pressed against her mouth again, to muffle her. That doesn't stop her from biting though.

"他妈的!" (fuck!) spats the kidnaper out in her so familiar Chinese, while retreating his hand. Unknown to her, she managed to rip his skin enough for blood to start slowly and lazyly dripping out of the bite mark.

“China, what the hell do you think you are doing!” she basically screams in the direction she thinks his face is at, when some kind of an object is pushed inside her mouth to silence her.

It’s a muzzle, but she can’t quite guess that just from its shape, neither does she care. She feels a hand going behind her head, tightly tying this object, while she trashes with her whole body and furiously shakes her head.

Suddenly she feels a sharp pain on her scalp, the drugs China probably used with chloroform forcing her hair to be present, as China pulls them back. “Stop doing this or I’ll hurt you,” growls he with low and raspy voice, finally getting her to calm down.

‘Stop!’ tries she to command, but forgets she can’t speak, so it comes out only as a muffled voice with a commanding tone.

China doesn’t bother with her. She is just left in darkness, silently waiting for China’s next move. She suddenly feels cold fingers pressed against her lower region, sudden jolt traveling through her from the cold liquid on them.

‘No!’
Her breathing quickens and she tries to go back on his hand. She can feel panic rising in her, yet she can’t stop it.

However, neither cold fingers nor their owner happen to stop in action. She feels two wet fingers slide inside her and she starts panicking even more, as they stretch her painfully. In pure panic she blocks out her hearing and all she hears is ringing in her ears.

China however notices North Korea is close to a panic attack, so he slowly works his way inside her with two fingers as he gently strokes her face with the other hand and starts to whisper quiet orders in her ear. “Breath. It’ll feel good, I promise.”

No matter how harsh the Chinese was from the start his soothing voice gets to her and she slowly calms down her breathing, trying to push down her panic and tears, that wetted the blindfold. Her chest hurts from how much she tries to suppress overwhelming instinct.

Much to her horror and true to China’s words, painful feeling of fingers and panic is soon replaced by a distant warming and enjoyable feeling, that takes over more and more of her every single moment the Chinese man fingers her and speeds up his rhitem, turning this into a pleasurable feeling. He even pushes in a third finger and lowers his own mouth to her clit, hot air hitting her vagina, making her shiver.

She is moaning in the muzzle and the moment her kidnapper lowers his lips and catches her clit, starting to play with it, she lets out a loud cry even her muzzle isn’t capable to suppress much.

China doesn’t need to do much to make her come.

The moment he sees she’s in ecstasy, he pulls his fingers out and stands straight up, unbuckling his pants and freeing his erect member from it’s prison of cloth. He uses same cold lube to lubricate his cock.

First few seconds all North Korea can remember is pain. She can feel hands on her hips and steady rhythm of the Chinese’s thrusts, going deeper and deeper in her. Than this pain starts turning around, changing in pleasure.

She can’t help her animalistic instincts, their presence older as the human race. She feels his dick sliding in and out of her, pulling her into rocking her hips, moaning, panting, groaning and grunting. She is in pure bliss and she wishes her arms would be free to grab the Chinese and hold onto him. Than her muscles clench as she releases.

China felt and knew she came. He is pleased with himself, as he starts thrusting at higher speed while pressing small kisses over her body. He feels the body under himself get turned on again, so he moves on North Korea’s more or less flat chest, getting her nipples in his mouth. He sucks on her niples, feeling and seeing her arch her back.

Soon he himself feels close, so he leaves her chest alone and starts slamming in her at his full speed, wanting nothing more but the sweet release. He lets out a fairly loud moan, as he comes inside North, sending her over the edge yet again and making her scream in pure bliss.

He then slips his cock out, cum slowly dripping out of her vagina.

First thing he does is pull off the blindfold and take off the muzzle, seeing her confused expression, as she still hasn’t come to all terms she should, just because of sex. He unties her hands as well and quickly walks off to the other side of this basement room, grabbing an oversized dark green t-shirt in which even he looks like he put on an empty sack on.

“Stretch your arms,” commands he. North listens and stretches her arms out, as he pulls the t-shirt over her head and on her. than he unties her legs as well and forces her to stand up on her shaky legs.

“W-what do you want with me now?” spats North out, as she slowly regains her senses, but the Chinese isn’t bothered by it. Instead, he just grabs her by her elbow and starts dragging her into another direction.

China turns his head towards her, an awful smirk splitting his face. “Same as I do with Vietnam,”

North’s blood freezes. China kidnaped Vietnam? She sharply glares at China. “What the hell did you do with him?!” shouts she out, before China pushes her in a cell she hasn’t even noticed and lands on the floor with a thud. The doors made of iron cells, just like in some prison, close with a loud bang and a faint click is heard, as they automatically lock themselves.

“Why don’t you find out?” grins he kindly, just like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He then leaves her alone. She stands up and wants to bang on the doors while shouting after this bastard, but than her attention is caught by a movement.

In the corner of the room there’s a person in a green oversized shirt, just like her, crouching in the darkness. She immediately recognizes the country, his bright red flag with a golden star sitting in the middle of face so familiar.

“Vietnam,” is all she musters in a whisper, before collapsing on the floor. Now she wishes she would have cared more when they told her Vietnam is missing. That she would have tried finding him.

She is certain, no one will search for her and now, they are both trapped in the paws of a man she thought she could have trusted the most.

Chapter Text

"Ugh, this stupid bitches!" loudly growls out North Korea. "They can't do anything right!"

Scared and pretty quiet mumbling voice can be heard from the other side of the line, trying to explain the situation to loud and almost always angry man.

"I don't care what the hell happened to Vietnam! We have America on our tail to worry about already, why should I care what happened to this pipsqueak!?"

North Korea is furrowing his brows as he's listening to what his co-speaker has to say. "My country is none of your concern," growls he out. "And I don't care if Vietnam is considered to be my 'allie' or 'friend', She could be an alien for all I care at the moment. She's probably just hiding again. We are done. Fuck you," says he sharply, ending the call and cutting out a river of words still falling from the other side of the line.

He starts angrily mumbling to himself in Korean, letting out lots of colorful Korean words.

His angry rant about every single person that ever existed in the universe except he himself is 'a dumass' and 'an idiot' and 'they should all be nuked' is interrupted by a loud thud outside his basement office.

He falls quiet and listens for a moment. Silence. But He still heard something, so He might as well check it out.

"I swear, if that's another stupid mother fucking prank or random box falling, I'm going to bomb someone," growls he in anger, exiting his office and looking around the maze-like hall.

He hears squeaking near some of the boxes, so he heads over there.

A trapped and loud rat awaits him, thrashing around in the trap, probably the cause of boxes and items around it falling over. He bends so he could grab this pitiful thing and relieve his anger on it, but it proves it was a big mistake. Right before he can grab it he feels something crawling around his hips and then something pressing against his mouth with force in quick motion.

He recognizes the smell immediately. White wet cloth soaked with chloroform, that immediately overflows his nostrils, the enticing smell starting to intoxicate him, as he tries to pry the hand away from him, not even bothering to fight off an arm around his waist.
He holds his breath for as long as possible, fighting with every fiber of his muscles, but the grip on him is too strong.
His body finally relaxes and the last thing he sees is familiar red hand finally letting go of his mouth.
***
When he's awake, he feels lack of his clothes on his skin and the cold air surrounding him, making him shiver. The only thing he can see is darkness. He tries to move his hands but he's handcuffed. His legs are tied to something too and judging by the position he's in, his legs spread apart, he's most likely tied to a chair in a half lying position.
Great. He has been kidnaped, is naked, blindfolded and tied up, which almost always leads to this.

Rape.

He tries to move his arms around and test the shackles, rattling with them.

He also tries to pull his legs either out of the rope or try to break it, but to no avail. The rope is well tied and too strong.

He is too busy trying to escape, to sense another presence in the room.

"Look what we've got there," hears he a familiar male voice, that startles him and makes him stop abruptly.

"You!"

North Korea clenches his teeth in rage. His muscles are all tense as he's pulling on handcuffs and ropes, that are keeping him in place, wiggling with his whole body to get out of this goddamn position and attack the kidnapper.

His kidnapper just chuckles at his fruitless attempts. That's all he is capable of hearing. But he knows damn well who is this.

All he can sense is some rustling a few meters away. He tries to scream at him to let him go, but before he even switches his attention to screaming instead of trashing, a hand is pressed against his mouth again, to muffle him. That doesn't stop him from biting though.

"他妈的!" (fuck!) spats the kidnaper out in him so familiar Chinese, while retreating his hand. Unknown to him, he managed to rip his skin enough for blood to start slowly and lazyly dripping out of the bite mark.

“China, what the hell do you think you are doing!” he basically screams in the direction he thinks his face is at, when some kind of an object is pushed inside his mouth to silence him.

It’s a muzzle, but he can’t quite guess that just from its shape, neither does he care. He feels a hand going behind his head, tightly tying this object, while he trashes with his whole body and furiously shakes his head.

Suddenly he feels a sharp pain on his scalp, the drugs China probably used with chloroform forcing his hair to be present, as China pulls them back. “Stop doing this or I’ll hurt you,” growls he with low and raspy voice, finally getting him to calm down.

‘Stop!’ tries he to command, but forgets he can’t speak, so it comes out only as a muffled voice with a commanding tone.

China doesn’t bother with him. He is just left in darkness, silently waiting for China’s next move. He suddenly feels cold fingers pressed against his lower region, sudden jolt traveling through him from the cold liquid on them.

‘No!’

His breathing quickens and he tries to go back on his hand. He can feel panic rising in him, yet he can’t stop it.

However, neither cold fingers nor their owner happen to stop in action. He feels one wet fingers slide inside him and he starts panicking even more, as it stretches him painfully. In pure panic he blocks out his hearing and all he hears is ringing in his ears.

China however notices North Korea is close to a panic attack, so he slowly works his way inside him with his finger, as he gently strokes his face with the other hand and starts to whisper quiet orders in his ear. “Breath. It’ll feel good, I promise.”

No matter how harsh the Chinese was from the start, his soothing voice gets to him and he slowly calms down his breathing, trying to push down his panic and tears, that wetted the blindfold. His chest hurts from how much he tries to suppress overwhelming instinct.

Much to his horror and true to China’s words, painful feeling of fingers and panic is soon replaced by a distant warming and enjoyable feeling, that takes over more and more of him every single moment the Chinese man fingers him and speeds up his rhitem, turning this into a pleasurable feeling. He even pushes in a third finger and lowers his own mouth to his cock, hot air hitting his member, making him shiver.

He is moaning in the muzzle and the moment his kidnapper lowers his lips and catches his tip, starting to play with it, he lets out a loud cry even his muzzle isn’t capable to suppress much.

China doesn’t need to do much to make him come.

The moment he sees he’s in ecstasy, he pulls his fingers out and stands straight up, unbuckling his pants and freeing his erect member from it’s prison of cloth. He uses same cold lube to lubricate his cock.

First few seconds all North Korea can remember is pain. He can feel hands on his hips and steady rhythm of the Chinese’s thrusts, going deeper and deeper in him. Than this pain starts turning around, changing in pleasure.

He can’t help his animalistic instincts, their presence older as the human race. He feels China’s dick sliding in and out of him, pulling him into rocking his hips, moaning, panting, groaning and grunting. He is in pure bliss and he wishes his arms would be free to grab the Chinese and hold onto him. Than his muscles clench as he releases.

China felt and knew he came. He is pleased with himself, as he starts thrusting at higher speed while pressing small kisses over North’s body. He feels the body under himself get turned on again, so he moves on North Korea’s flat chest, getting his nipples in his mouth. He sucks on his niples, feeling and seeing him arch his back.

Soon he himself feels close, so he leaves his chest alone and starts slamming in him at his full speed, wanting nothing more but the sweet release. He lets out a fairly loud moan, as he comes inside North, sending him over the edge yet again and making him scream in pure bliss.

He then slips his cock out, cum slowly dripping out of his asshole.

First thing he does is pull off the blindfold and take off the muzzle, seeing his confused expression, as he still hasn’t come to all terms he should, just because of sex. He unties his hands as well and quickly walks off to the other side of this basement room, grabbing an oversized dark green t-shirt in which even he looks like he put on an empty sack on.

“Stretch your arms,” commands he. North listens and stretches his arms out, as he pulls the t-shirt over his head and on him. Than he unties his legs as well and forces him to stand up on his shaky legs.

“W-what do you want with me now?” spats North out, as he slowly regains his senses, but the Chinese isn’t bothered by it. Instead, he just grabs him by his elbow and starts dragging him into another direction.

China turns his head towards him, an awful smirk splitting his face. “Same as I do with Vietnam,”

North’s blood freezes. China kidnaped Vietnam? He sharply glares at China. “What the hell did you do with him?!” shouts he out, before China pushes him in a cell he hasn’t even noticed and lands on the floor with a thud. The doors made of iron cells, just like in some prison, close with a loud bang and a faint click is heard, as they automatically lock themselves.

“Why don’t you find out?” grins he kindly, just like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He then leaves him alone. He stands up and wants to bang on the doors while shouting after this bastard, but than his attention is caught by a movement.

In the corner of the room there’s a person in a green oversized shirt, just like his, crouching in the darkness. He immediately recognizes the country, her bright red flag with a golden star sitting in the middle of face so familiar.

“Vietnam,” is all he musters in a whisper, before collapsing on the floor. Now he wishes she would have cared more, when they told him Vietnam is missing. That he would have tried finding her.

He is certain, no one will search for him and now, they are both trapped in the paws of a man he thought he could have trusted the most.

Chapter Text

Russia is alone in the house. His father has been gone for a few hours now, definitely drinking. All of his siblings, blood related and adopted ones, are either at their friend’s house or with assigned nanny they have, because it’s hard to look after 15 kids when you have to take care of your own country and you like to drink. Therefore, Russia is the one stuck at home with their two big friendly dogs, currently happily enjoying their life in the backyard.

He is rarely alone at home. There are usually at least servants or housekeepers, but the mansion like house is completely empty.

It makes him feel… lonely.

But it gives him time to think.

He wanders in his own room, lost in his thoughts and accidentally bumping into his desk, causing an old photo, he forgot to store back, to slide through the air and land on the floor.

He snaps out of his thoughts and squats down to pick up the photo. The photo landed with a blank backside turned towards him, so he turns it over and blushes the moment he sees it. It was taken when he was 16, but the photo is already 20 years old.

On the photo is his dad, nothing wrong nor unusual. What bothers the young Russian though, is the fact his old man is only in his briefs while smiling with a charming smile towards the camera. The photo, while black and white, is so vivid to Russia. He can hear splashes of water as his siblings played in a pool they own and Soviet took them to visit it, one of the rare times they were all having fun together. He remembers his dad kindly suggesting him to take pictures of everyone, as it was rare to see genuine smiles on whole family’s faces.

Of course he obeyed his dad, he adored him too much not to.

He remembers ussr’s wet and shiny red skin and his smile full of hope, honesty and kindness. His laughter Russia loves, but rarely hears.

Especially since world war two.

He doesn’t know how his dad didn’t notice his raising boner, when Russia snapped a picture of him.

Russia hates to admit it, but he has come down to terms, that he loves his dad in the way a son shouldn’t.

He slides the picture under some books on his desk and collapses onto his bed.

The last time he remembers seeing his dad completely naked, while he was naked as well, was when he was still twelve. They always had a tradition. At the end of the week, they would all go to bath together in a huge bathroom they had, purely because more than half of his siblings hate showering and Soviet didn’t allow them to just get away with being dirty and since he lacked time, he made sure everyone was cleaned at the same time.

Soviet included.

He bathed with his children because they caused such a ruckus, he was never capable to stay dry, so he instead just joined them and took care of younger children and made sure the rest cleaned themselves properly. But since his dad knew he was hitting his teenage years and because everyone was a teenager once, he gave Russia an option. He didn’t have to bath with the rest anymore and he gladly accepted it.

It wasn’t the last time he remembers his dad seeing him naked.

When Russia was 15, his growth started kicking in and his whole body drastically changed in the span of two months, so his bones and muscles randomly hurt as hell and his private parts started to change as well. That’s when his dad told him he’ll either visit a doctor or he, himself, will check out whether he’s growing well, because he knew Russia was in pain. Of course Russia decided that his father should check him out, he was to scared to even think about being naked in front of a stranger that’s a doctor on top of that. His dad asked him to strip himself and Russia shily did. He was not used to anyone seeing him fully naked anymore.

He faintly remembers his dad ordering him to turn this way and that way, his hands pressed against his back to bend him over and test any pain his son might feel. But what is stuck in his mind like a broken CD, repeating over and over again in his head, is when his papa told him he’ll have to check his… penis as well. He felt like if his face was on fire and his dad well knew how embarrassing this situation was for him. His dad so ordered him to sit on his bed and open up his legs, as he literally kneeled in front of his son and quickly checked Russia junior. Russia felt like he was going to explode from embarrassment.

If his father noticed stiffness of Russia’s cock, he hadn’t said anything. He just told him he’s going to be fine and smiled reassuringly at him, before giving his shoulder a squeeze and leaving him alone.

Russia hates to admit it, but he had to jerk off after this encounter.

But the last time he saw his own father naked, is on a whole new level.

He was 16 years old and just dealing with his siblings - Ukraine wouldn’t give him a rest, so he wanted to fetch his dad from his office. He was grumpy as he stomped down the hallway and abruptly stopped in front of Soviet’s door, where he wanted to knock and than basically march into the room. He heard something and paused. He thought he heard grouting coming from the other side of the door and he had no clue what the hell was happening.

So he peeked.

He feels like it was one of the worst things he has ever done, but at the same time there’s this hot fire of want kindling in him, waiting to get fuel and burn to its full potential.

He saw Soviet’s frowning face and closed eyes, all kinds of soft, but at the same time rough sounds escaping him, while he clenched his armchair with one of his hands and worked his way with his organ, with the other.

Russia stared frozen through the slight crevice he created, when he opened the door, before quietly closing them behind himself the moment, he saw his father’s head slightly turn towards his direction, whole purpose of being here forgotten.

After that incident, he tried to erase the image out of his head. He stole porn from his dad’s office. He tried masturbating while looking at black and white photos of ‘hot women’. He even got into a strip club, paying to see real life porn as it was easy for him to pretend to be over 21 years old - I mean, he is a country, technically he’s well over 21 years old -, but no mather the effort, he was not capable of getting his dad out of his head. Hell, he even tried to look at naked males and tried thinking about them, but nothing helped him.

This was the moment he realised something is wrong with him. That he longs for his father. Even after he thought he was touch starved because he hasn’t lost his virginity, sleeping with women didn’t help him in slightest.

Russia sighs and covers his eyes with one hand. Imaging his father jerking off again made this bubbly feeling inside him rise. He felt nervous and anticipating twisting in his guts.

Perhaps he could.

No one is at home, dad will most likely come back around midnight if not even later, near morning and all of his siblings are staying elsewhere.

He sits on his bed and nervously gulps, glancing around his room as if to make sure he’s alone. He sighs and looks down at his pants. He sees a slight bulge the cloth covers, before he slides his hand in his undergarments and pulls his member out. His dick is impressive, thick and long, so he can’t quite cower as much surface with his hand as normal people could, so he licks his currently free hand and helps the other, starting to rub his member.

He throws his head back, as this familiar feeling of pleasure he hasn’t felt for too long, erupts his whole body. He dares to let his imagination wide, as in between quiet moans and whines he breathes out “Papa,” his voice only allowing it to come out faintly as a whisper, as he imagines his dad’s hand on his wiener, gently touching all the right angles.

The man Russia has been thinking so much about in the past hour or so, is unexpectedly back. He wanted to go drink, but his worry over letting Russia stay at such a big home alone, for so long, made him rethink his decision, even though Russia is 18 and very well capable taking care of himself. He also had to get up early the next morning, to pick up kids and get his work done sooner, so he could spend an evening with them. Therefore, he drank an amount of alcohol that can make him slightly tipsy at best.

So, he is surprisingly at home sooner than Russia has planed. He enters the house end calls out: “Rossiya?!”, as he takes off his boots and coat, placing them on their rightful place.

He gets no response, so he guesses his son might be upstairs, in his room.

The man climbs the stairs, heading towards his firstborn’s bedroom. He reaches the door and grabs the handle, opening them only halfway and freezing in place.

In all the time Soviet needed to come from their driveway to his room, Russia grew louder. Not too loud, but still louder. He stands up from his bed, his back facing the door.

“Papa,” Moans out Russia, hunching forward. His eyes are tightly shut, as he feels he’s going to cum any moment now. He still isn’t aware of another presence in his room.

Soviet stares wide eyed, as he hears the word leave Russia’s mouth as a moan, in such sinful way. He doesn’t believe his ears and he feels as sober as never before. Is what’s happening in front of him real?

“P-papa!” hears he another whine of his title leave Russia’s mouth, this time louder and stuttery. He feels his boner starting to rise.

‘Oh no.’

He nervously swallows. He hears pleased moans his son is giving off and occasional papa slipped in between. He slowly steps in the room and quietly closes the door behind himself. Than he moves behind Russia. He doesn’t know whether he should proceed or flee the room. But as much as he knows how wrong all of this is, his ears aren’t deceiving him. Russia wants it.

Russia just comes in his own hands, his eyelids tightly shut, letting a fairly loud moan escape him, accompanied with papa again. He sighs after he rides out his high, but than he feels another presence pressing against his body and a hand travel under his shirt, while the other one grabs his hands. He immediately snaps his eyes open, as he sees familiar, from cold rough, red hands and familiar smell, mixture of Vodka, smoke and just genuinely Soviet’s smell surrounding him.

“Papa?!” asks he in panic, turning his head around and indeed seeing his father from the corner of his eye, his eyes radiating fear.

“Shh, Rossiya,” huskily whispers Soviet in his offspring’s ear. With that one hand, he slid under the younger Russian’s shirt, he travels all the way to Russia’s chin, holding it and turning his son’s head in his direction, to face him.

Soviet observes his son, as Russia is frozen on the spot in shock. He hesitantly presses his lips on Russia's, tasting his young and delicate taste, his still mildly soft lips feeling refreshing on his old, chapped ones. Than he retreats his lips on mere centimeters distance.

Russia stares, slowly lifting his clean from cum hand, as the older Russian released his hands somewhere along the way, touching his oh so sweet and inviting lips. The whole situation hits him, as he stumbles, backing away from Soviet and almost falling when hitting his bed frame. "P-papa! What are you doing!?" asks Russia frustrated, his face almost as red as Soviet's skin, while staring at his old man with wide eyes, full of mixed feelings.

"Tell me, Russia, what were you doing?" asks Soviet, gesturing with his hand towards Russia's groin, his member still outside of its pants, hanging there forgotten by its owner.

Russia's eyes widen, as his face re-heats. He quickly pushes it inside his underwear again, realising he should wash his hands, as cum is basically dripping down his right hand. "It’s- It’s not what you think!" exclaims he, averting his gaze from his father. He wants to wipe his hand just against his clothes, but both of his hands are grabbed before he can proceed to do so.

"Really, Rossiya? Really? Lying to my face? To your papa?"

“Nyet! You- you don’t get it!” cries out Russia, turning his face away from his papa in shame. He stares at his cum stained hand, his own jizz already drying on it. The Soviet man suddenly pushes him backwards, startling Russia, as his son thinks he’ll fall on the floor, but hits warm and soft mattress of his own bed instead. He looks up, his dad standing in front of him.

"Really? Even Ukraine doesn't lie to me. I thought you were better than your brother," tactically pressures Soviet the Russian boy, knowing full well two siblings 'despise' each other.

"I- I am better!" exclaims Russia, looking up in his dad's eyes with hurt.

The Soviet man leans forward and let's one of his hands cup his son's face, softening his look as he sees Russia is threatening to let his tears spill over. "Then, sin, what did you really do?" asks he softly, gently tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear.

“I- You saw me anyways, why are you even asking?” quietly answers he, not daring to look his father in the eyes.

Soviet sighs. “Russia. Look at me,” demands he. Russia hesitates for a moment before he slowly turns his head towards his dad. Soviet groans. "Listen, Rossiya. I know what I saw and heard, but I don't want to do anything to you without your consent. So this is why I'm asking."

Russia hides his face into his hands. "But- this is all wrong! I shouldn't feel like this! Never!" exclaims he louder than intended, wincing at the tone of his own voice, sounding so weak.

"And yet you do, sin."

Russia looks up, as his father moves closer, pressing their lips together again. His movements are soft, something Russia always dreamed of. He shily kisses back, tasting vodka his father indeed drank. Soviet bits his lower lip gently, so he opens his mouth, allowing his dad to French kiss him.

Soviet soon enough breaks the kiss and stands up to his full height, grabbing Russia's hips. He almost rips off Russia's pants with a brief motion, leaving Russia's crotch in boxers, while making Russia squeak in surprise.

"Papa, what-!"

"Shhh, Rossiya, let me take you," interrupts him Soviet, bending over to whisper this in his offspring’s ear. He gets rid of Russia's boxers as well, exposing his son's member to his eyes and the cold air yet again.

"Do you have any lube?"

Russia nods and points towards his desk. "In third drawer."

The Soviet man hums in approval. "Take of your shirt, sin," commands he, as he turns around to get the lube.

Russia moves higher on his king sized bed, crossing his legs and slipping his shirt off, while his father is still busy searching for lube. He is nervous. Very nervous.

The Soviet man finally finds a bottle of half used lube. He takes it and gets back to the bed, throwing the lube for Russia to catch. He then takes off his ushanka, putting it on Russia’s desk where he sees his son’s ushanka as well, so nothing would happen to it. Than he takes of his shirt, allowing his ripped chest to be shown and coldness of the room to hit him. He doesn’t hesitate, as he takes off everything else left on him.

Russia takes the moment his papa is preoccupied with clothes to observe his body. Lower region included. His dad hasn't really changed. Still as muscular as ever, with hot and inviting body, luring him towards his papa. And his length… Oh god, his dick is so big, bigger than his own and girls sometimes even have problems riding him, how can Soviet even enter him? He nervously swallows, his throat feeling dry.

"Sin, you don't have to worry so much. I know what to do and I'll make sure to go easy on you," assures him Soviet, seeking support for his body on the bed and leaning towards Russia, before whispering in his ear with a smirk: "At least easy enough, so you won't be strapped to bed for a week."

Russia blushes at his father's lewd words. He opens his mouth to respond but nothing comes out of it. His dad really took away all of his usually so present confidence. He than feels hands on his shoulders, as he's suddenly pushed down on his back, Soviet literally pinning him against his bed. Older Russian leans towards his son's face and captures his lips in a kiss again, making it last a tad bit longer, while his hand sneaks down towards Russia's cock. He grabs the semi-soft organ and feels the way it suddenly twitches in his palm. He breaks the kiss and smirks at his son, before moving lower.

"Papa, what are you doing?"

Instead of answering Russia, Soviet opens his mouth and sucks Russia's tip inside, swirling his tongue over the head and feeling the hardness build up. He makes his son moan in surprise of sudden pleasure his unexpected action delivers.

"Ahhh, blyat, keep going,"(fuck) moans Russia, trying to control his voice. His dad knows how and what to do.

Soviet continues sucking off Russia for as long as he feels it's needed, so till the younger Russian is fully hard and his precum is leaking. Than he removes his warm and wet mouth from Russia's crotch, taking the lube instead and coating his fingers with it.

"Papa, why did you stop?" asks the Russian confused, regaining his focus. His dad is already prepared to put a finger up his ass.

"Finishing off alone again, while we haven't even started yet, would be rude, don't you think?" smirks he, making his son embarrassed again. He so presses his cold finger against Russia's entrance and spreads the lube around it.

Russia flinches at the coldness of lube. "Well, how was I supposed to know this'll happen!" barks he out embarrassed, turning his head away from his dad in shame.

"You weren't. But that's not the point," teases him Soviet again, before without a warning pushing one finger inside his son's ass. Russia hisses in pain, as the finger doesn't really slide in with the biggest ease.

"Russia, open up your legs more, it'll be easier. And try to relax as well," commands the Soviet man, his son listening to him.

Russia carefully opens up his legs, exposing every inch of his skin on his private parts. Embarrassment aside, he does feel Soviet's finger a little differently, like it's less forcefully inside and more like it's belonging there, which is weird as hell and in all honesty, creeps him out for a moment.

"Be a good boy and loosen up a bit, will you," purrs Soviet, wiggling his finger inside his son and leaning over to press gentle kisses on Russia's skin for the starters. He'll be rougher later.

Russia sighs and let's his muscles relax. He lies down completely on his bed, refusing to look at his dad or his groin. He feels a finger proceeding inside him, going up his ass and retreating. It feels so… strange.

"Come on, Rossiya, aren't you curious on how preparation is properly done? You should watch," remarks Soviet. He wants his son to see every moment of what his own father can do to him.

Russia is really embarrassed but his curiosity is stronger. He lifts himself up on his elbows, as his respectful parent smiles at him. He sees a finger going up his ass and a second one soon joining it, pressing against his entrance before they both slowly slide in. The boy flinches, as he feels more stretched out than before.

Soviet starts thrusting with his fingers without waiting for Russia's consent, growing impatient. He wants to have his massive cock inside his son's pretty body. So even if he hears his son giving out a weak 'no' at the start, he doesn't stop.

The Russian boy is suddenly faced with something completely different than the slow pace of his papa's finger. The Soviet man became rougher and even though he weakly protested at the start, he weirdly likes the roughness. He watched the fast pace of Soviet's two fingers and suddenly felt them going… apart.

"Papa, w-what are you doing?" asks he a little breathless. His dad smirks at him as he sees him turning his hand and feeling fingers inside of him grazing his inner walls. A sudden fairly loud moan escapes him, as a jolt of pleasure interrupts him without a warning.

"That's what I was trying to achieve," purrs out Soviet. His son's face develops a reddish hue, red almost as much as his flag. This whole situation was humiliating for the young Russian, to say the least.

Soviet pushes his fingers in as deep as possible, before adding a third finger. Even if he is impatient and he likes rough sex, he doesn’t want to tear his son’s insides, that’s why he’s careful. But now, once all the three fingers are in nicely, he stretches his offspring’s insides in all possible directions, really showing his son what it means to be caught off guard and see the heavens in a momentary bliss.

"Look who's hard as rock again," teases the Soviet man.

"You- Ah, blyat, you keep doing s-something to me," blurts out Russia, grabbing his sheets. "a-and it's too much-!" cries he out the last part.

Soviet removes his fingers. He grabs Russia and rolls him over on his stomach. He leans over, closer to Russia's ear. "If that was already too much for you, than you'll completely fall apart when I do actually fuck you," whispers he with his husky voice, his breath hitting the nape of Russia's neck. "Now, sin, get on your knees. I assume you know what doggy style is."

The Russian boy did as his father told him. When the Soviet man gives him some space, he lifts his body on his knees and hands, swallowing down what feels like a lump. He is nervous and scared as well. His papa is big.

And so is his dick.

"Relax, my sin," hears he his dad behind himself. His words are soft and calming. He feels a hand rest on his hips and he turns his head towards his papa, carefully observing. his dad squeezes out lube on his member, stroking it to get it wet properly.

He's already hard though, so no worries on this part.

"Rossiya, as much as I like the idea of you watching, in a position like this it'll be better for you to face forward, you know," mentions Soviet. he gently runs his hand, he left resting on Russia's hip before, up and down his son's back, to make sure Russia relaxes his muscles as much as possible.

Russia turns his head around, facing forward again. He feels something poking at his entrance. It feels so... strange. Then strong hands grab his hips and in a plain second, he swears he sees his whole life flash in front of his eyes. The pain is unbearable, so there's no way he can suppress a cry.

Soviet connected their hips so soon on purpose. It's better to get it done quick then hesitate for ten minutes, even though he can feel how stiff his son is underneath him. He is also very impatient, as he used most of his patience while preparing his inexperienced boy. He leans over to Russia's ear, telling him some sweet words, as he slowly starts moving his hips, even though Russia is far from ready.

"Ahh- It still hurts-!" whines out Russia, as he feels slow rocking of his hips, his papa's huge dick slowly sliding in and out of him, leaving there a burning sensation. But the stinging is somehow... enjoyable? What the hell is this?

"Don't worry, sin, your mind will soon be too full to even notice if anything is hurting."

Soviet doesn't wait for any more words. He starts going faster, feeling how tight Russia's muscles are and how they clench around him. It is definitely painful for his boy, but the Soviet man is experienced and knows how to read body language. Apparently, Russia seems to like it rough.

Or at least his body does.

The younger Russian lets out a squeak, as his father increases his thrusting speed. He buries his face into a pillow nerbay, unknowingly giving the Soviet man even better access to his backside, then when he was supporting his weight on his hands as well. The gripp on his hips is harsh and the thrusting, finally turning pleasurable, still brings pain with it, but this pain feels good. Weirdly good.

He suddenly feels a harsh slap, as his father's hand connects with his backside, making him moan out in surprise and the unknown pleasure it brings with it. "P-papa!" moans he out the next moment this action repeats and oh does he feel his dad go even harder than before.

"So you like this, huh?" groans out the Soviet man, repeating his action over and over again. He feels his son's muscles clench around his dick every single time he brings his hand down, sucking him in.

"Y-yes, papa!" cries out the Russian boy, feeling burning sensation on his abused skin, while his insides feel filled with each trust his papa delivers. He shifts from fucking and suddenly his dad hits something in him, breaking him completely and making him nut instantly, letting out a loud moaning cry, spurting his sperm onto his bed sheets and possibly some on himself as well.

All he sees for a moment is white. He can barely feel anything from ecstasy and if his dad said anything to him, he couldn't hear him even if he tried. If he thought what he just experienced brought him impossible amount of sensation, then this is a literal hell. His poor overstimulated body can't keep up with him nor his surroundings anymore. His shaking legs barely hold him up anymore, as his ass burns from previously delivered slaps and his insides feel like if they're burning from inside out.

"P-papa," cries he out, grasping the pillow, as he feels the pain in his guts when his papa is still pushing against his prostate, even though he just came. He feels completely ruined, torn to pieces, but this numbing pain starts to turn him on again.

He is such a masochist.

"Rossiya," moans out the Soviet man, grabbing his son's hips and concentrating on fucking the living hell out of his son. He feels the squirming boy under his grasp, he feels his shaking body, barely supporting any of his weight anymore, he feels his muscles trying to push the invader (his cock) out because of pain, but instead squeezing around him so nicely to have him want nothing more but to bury himself deep inside his son again.

The Soviet man thrusts and thrusts into the crying Russian boy, shaking the whole bed and ravishing his son’s beautiful body from inside out. He loves the way his dick creates a bulge on his son's stomach every time he pushes inside.

Well, everything has to come to an end and the older Russian feels near. So he concentrates his raw power on fucking his son properly, making sure to sink deep into his muscle mass and abuse his prostate constantly.

Russia can't hold himself together at all. His gasps, whines, moans, cries and pleads are barely hushed by a pillow he so desperately clenches, as his cock throbs again and his body rocks on its own, nearing the orgasm again.

"P-papa," comes out of his mouth in a broken whine, when his dad hits his prostate again and he feels close to being pushed over the edge.

"Sin," hisses out his papa in reply, grunting in pleasure. He leans forward and with a seductive tone huskily whispers into his offspring’s ear: "Cum. For me."

Russia's body shakes all over, as his papa's words leave his mouth and his big cock hits his prostate again, making him cum instantly once more. His body just gives up on him, as a few more harsh trusts are lead by the Soviet man before he feels a hot liquid shoot up inside him, his father's cock throbbing while emptying itself, filling his insides with hot, white and sticky cum.

Russia is panting like crazy. His lower part of the body is still held up by his father, otherwise he'd be laying flat on his stomach already, right on his cum stained bed.

Great. He'll have to change sheets but he can barely keep his concussion in check.

Soviet is panting as well as his son. He catches his breath, before he pulls out of his son, making the boy wince and finally collapse completely onto the bed. He than rolls his son back on his back, as his cum lazily and slowly starts sliding out of Russia. There's a slight bulge on his stomach still, but this time from the amount of sperm the Soviet man released into his son, rather than his dick, that isn't present inside the boy anymore.

"Ew," mumbles out the Russian boy, feeling all sticky, exhausted and ravished. He can't care less that he's completely naked, covered in cum and looking vulnerable all in front of his papa, because his mind and body are both too exhausted to let his embarrassment kick in again.

The Soviet man straightens up and stretches out, popping some of his joints. "We'll have to wash you, sin. Come," says he the moment after, stretching his hand for Russia to grab.

Russia weakly grabs onto his father's hand, shakily sitting up with his help. He winces at the uncomfortable pain aftermath brings him. "Ow. I think I need a little help," mumbles he out, trying to stand up on his own, but his legs keep disobeying him.

"Of course you do, I didn't really hold back on you, so I'd be more surprised if you'd be capable to walk normally," grins the Russian man. He so turns around and squats down, so his son could climb on him. "Climb on my back. This is the easiest way to get us both to the bathroom."

Russia understands what his dad wants him to do now, so he wraps his hands around his father's neck and his shaky legs around his torso as best as he can. Than Soviet carefully stands up, making a sudden sharp pain shoot through Russia's abdomen, which forces a whine out of his throat.

"Sorry," apologetically says Soviet, holding his son's legs tightly to keep his son and himself stable. "Hold onto me, my boy," says he, before he start to move and slowly walks towards the bathroom Ukraine, Russia and Kazakhstan usually use on this part of the floor. The bathroom has a nice bathtub, so it's perfect for the situation two Russians are in at the moment.

"You want me to take care of you, Rossiya?" asks Soviet as they enter the bathroom.

"Da," replies the Russian boy, as he's put back down on the floor. His father keeps an arm around him to hold him up, as he opens the faucet and starts filling the tub with water. Soon there are thin streams of steam rising from the hot water.

"Alright, we'll get you in now," say Soviet. He helps his boy to get into the tub properly, before he follows him into the same tub, being face to face with his son. He still lets water flow, as there isn't enough water yet. Than he takes the soap and turns towards Russia. "Do you want me to wash your whole body?"

The tired Russian hums, sliding closer to his dad. He lets his father take the soap and start gently rubbing it against his skin, his chest first. The movements are very nice and he finally feels less dirty. The hands slide to his stomach, his hips, his shoulders, his arms, covering him in soap and it all feels refreshing.

He forgot how nice it is when someone else takes care of you and washes your body.

"Rossiya, turn around and I'll wash your back," commands the Soviet man. His son slowly turns around with the help of the bathtub, leaving him his back to clean. Soviet gets to work and massages his sons back, while covering it in soap. He repeats the slow massage for a few minutes, feeling muscles under him slowly relaxing and hearing his son let out a pleased sigh. Than he washes the soap away and stands up.

"Come. Stand up, so I can properly clean your backside," orders soviet, grabbing Russia with one hand under his armpit and helping him stand up and stand there. With the free hand he goes over to Russia's backside, cleaning his private parts to the best of his abilities. Than his legs are all that's left to him, so he washes them as well.

"I just have to wash myself as well, but do you want to stay in the bath for a while longer?"

"D-da, A little while longer would be nice," replies Russia. Bathing in hot water has always been enjoyable to him and now, when he can do it with his father again (but this time alone with no other siblings to look over), he finds it even more inviting.

The Soviet man lowers Russia back in the water, before grabbing soap again and starting to wash his body with quick motions, wanting to be done with it as soon as possible. In the meantime, Russia is facing forward again, observing his dad.

A small smile sits on Russia's face. He still has this shiny and special look in water like he had years ago.

Soviet lowers himself back in the water, turning the pipe off, as the water is quite high by this point. He leans on the bathtub, as Russia practically lays down on top of him, snuggling to him in bath.

"You feeling okay?" asks Soviet, putting a hand around his son and pulling him closer to himself.

"Mhm. Better than before, though I'm quite tired."

"I don't doubt it," giggles Soviet. "You are barely awake, aren't you?"

Russia huffs. "Well, yeah! It's not my fault though," says he, fake glaring at his father but failing at it.

The Soviet man smirks. "You weren't complaining about it when you were moaning so loud. Maybe even the dogs heard you," teases he his boy.

Russia's face flushes in embarrassment. "Oh, shut up!" commands he frustrated, hiding his face into Soviet's chest.

"You're lucky the servants have a day off."

"I said stop!" pouts the Russian boy, glaring at his dad for real.

Soviet laughs. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. You're just fun to mess with," replies he with a smirk, before patting his son’s head.

"Should I wash your hair as well?" questions he, upon taking a lock of Russia's hair in his hand. They were a little wet at the tips already.

"No need."

"Fine than." The Soviet man presses a kiss against his son's forehead. "Are you ready to leave the bath?"

Russia smiles at his father's action. He somehow feels like a little kid again. "Nyet," states he firmly. "I don't want to clean the mess."

Soviet chuckles. "You don’t need to, my boy. You can sleep with me tonight and servants will clean up your room tomorrow."

Russia's face flushes. "B-but- wouldn't that- they would- ugh, you- you know what!" rambles he, not knowing how to put into words that the servants will be capable to tell he was fucked.

The Soviet man snorts at his son's reaction. "Don't worry so much, Rossiya. They are paid to work, not to ask questions. And as much as I allow them, they know where their boundaries are laid. Because if someone even dares to go against my rules, they are not coming out alive," ends he with a dark and sadistic tone, knowing well what happened to few of their servants or housekeepers that pushed their nose too much where it didn't belong.

Russia blinks. Holly shit does he love the dominance his father is radiating. And this sadism. Oh fuck, oh god. Hot.

Soviet clears his throat and gets rid of his thoughts about torture, looking back down into his son's eyes. "Well, you ready to go out now? I think you need some sleep and I have to pick up your siblings relatively early tomorrow. I want to spend my day off with all of you."

Russia huffs like a little child. "Okay, fine," pouts he, as he'd probably stay in the bath for another hour if he just wouldn't feel so tired.

Soviet ruffles his son's hair, before gently pushing him off himself so he can stand up. the cold air hits his wet skin, so he steps out of the bath quickly, going over to the towel and wiping himself with it, drying his skin. Than he puts the wet towel aside, returning to the bathtub and letting the water free, before taking another fresh and dry towel for Russia.

"Okay, my boy, time to get out. No objections," orders he, knowing how much Russia loves baths, not like some other little brats, that don't even want to hear of water and shall remain unnamed.

"Da, da," responds Russia in a bored tone, leaning his body against the bathtub, so he can even stand up properly.

Soviet rolls his eyes, as he wraps the towel around his son and helps him out of the bathtub, while his son feels embarrassed that he himself can't walk or even move properly, which makes him feel like a young boy again, depending on his papa so much.

"Hey, uh, papa... Do you usually sleep naked?" awkwardly asks Russia, his face flushing and his gaze wondering anywhere but on the Soviet man, while he's drying his skin with the towel.

"Da. I hope it doesn't bother you," replies the man, smiling at his son's awkwardness. His little boy is so sweet even when grown up.

"No, it doesn't," quickly responds Russia, dumping his wet towel on the sink.

"Why? You're afraid you'll get another erection?" teasingly smirks the Soviet man, as his son glares at him.

"Nyet!"

"But I wouldn't mind, you know?" seductively smirks the Soviet man and than exits the bathroom, leaving there a frustrated Russian boy.

"Papa, you're a pervert!" exclaims Russia in shame, trailing behind him, still having problems to walk normally.

"I know. But so are you, my boy." smirks Soviet and grabs his son's hand, kissing it. "But I think I have teased you enough for one day, so let's get some rest."

They than walk all the way downstairs and to Soviet's room, Russia having to deal with his sore, protesting body. He really felt tired by this point and slightly cold, as he and his father are both very much naked with nothing to keep their body heat in. So he is grateful when he can flop himself onto Soviet's big, soft and cozy kingsized bed, immediately snuggling into the only blanket Soviet has on his bed.

"Make some space for me as well, will you?" chuckles Soviet, turning off the remaining light and leaving only the bedside one still on.

Russia scoots over, creating space for Soviet as well. The older Russian lays down, pulling the same blanket over himself and wrapping his arm around his son, while turning off the bedside light with his free one. Than he pulls his son towards himself, letting Russia snuggle against him.

"Good night papa," breathes the tired Russian boy out, sucking Soviet's body heat in.

"Good night, sin," replies Soviet with a soft smile on his lips, even though Russia can't see it. He presses another kiss against his son's forehead. "Sweet dreams."