Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Hetalia - Games

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing
RATING: PG-13 for [minor?] violence and some language
CHARACTERS & PAIRING: Canada/Russia if you squint; America
NOTES: The idea came about when Sora and I were talking and suddenly somehow turned into this. This was all written for her, so, uh, enjoy bb~
PROMPT/REQUEST: Kingdom100 - Prompt 096 - Writer's Choice {Games}

Matthew sighed, flopping down onto his couch. America could be so tiring and, well... even if he didn't like to admit it, he was able to get on his nerves more than anyone else seemed to be able to. He cared for him, of course he did, he was his brother and he loved him and that would never change. But something had to change. He could barely tolerate the boasting anymore, the nagging for oil and that damned superiority complex.

Maybe he was just misdirecting his anger. He hated that everyone thought he was America; he was his own nation! Hell, he was bigger than America even! But no, that perhaps would not have bothered him so much if instead of bragging about how cool he was and how Canada should be honored to be thought of as America he actually sympathized with him over being unrecognized. But he didn't. He never did. And that was what really, truly annoyed him.

He turned to Kumajiro, who oddly seemed to always be nearby at times like this. He almost said something to the bear, but he knew he'd only be asked who he was. Not even Kumajiro could seem to remember him.

Canada got up without thinking, walking in his room and shutting the door a little too hard. He took off his jacket as he walked over to his closet, throwing it on the bed. He pushed back the clothing, reaching in the very back of his closet, pulling out a deep grey suit that looked at if it were new. He laid it carefully, oh so gently, on the bed as he continued to get undressed. He didn't often put that suit on. It wasn't something he did rationally, it was something he did when he got pissed and decided to do something about it.

He put the pants on, making sure to do so carefully, buttoning them and zipping them up, brushing his hands over the few wrinkles. He then put on the stark white shirt, taking his time to button up even the cuffs of it before neatly tucking the bottom of it into his pants and putting on his black leather belt. He picked up the silky red tie, looping it around his neck behind the shirt collar and making sure to tie it evenly for a nice clean look. He then picked up the jacket, easing it onto his arms and shoulders, pulling the shirt cuffs back to his wrist as if it were second nature to him. He buttoned it up, straightening it after, even though it didn't really need it.

He walked back over to the closet, picking up a pair of slick black shoes and slipping them on. He gave himself a once over in the bathroom mirror, and then left without saying a word to Kumijiro; who in all fairness didn't seem to even notice.


Ivan heard the door to his study open. Lithuania knew better, hell, all the Baltics did. Even his sisters dared not barge in on him. Whoever had the nerve to let themselves in like that--

Matthew shut the door behind him with a quiet click, walking briskly over to the Russian sitting at his desk.

Ivan didn't say a word as he got up. He knew what that suit meant. He'd been the one to coax Matthew's more dominating side out, been the one to push him to his breaking point and make him snap in the most delectable kind of way. The kind of way that had made Matthew grab his hair and pull on his scalp, resisting the Russian and doing what he'd damn well pleased to him. It still sent a shiver down Ivan's spine when he thought about it.

He was the one who bought Matthew that suit in the first place.

Matthew sat down in Ivan's chair, not saying a word. Ivan just looked at him, waiting to see what it was this time. He didn't get to see Matthew wear that suit nearly enough, but he managed to stay silent. If there was anything that Russia was, it was in control.

After a moment, Canada leaned back into the chair and began to speak.

"Ivan," he started, sighing lightly, "I've been quite cross, as of late." He shut his eyes, relaxing against the soft back of the chair, the creaking rung out loudly and he pushed back against it.

Matthew knew he was safe. Ivan wouldn't try anything, not now. Never when they were doing... whatever this was, exactly. All Matthew knew was that as long as he had a reason to be there, dressed as he was, neither of them would act out of turn, and he could do as he pleased, within reason. It hadn't taken long for him to learn those limits and boundaries, but they'd come to some sort of unspoken agreement as to what was acceptable.

Ivan stood silently, enjoying the sight of what he'd help make Matthew into.

Matthew paused, but he knew now was not the time for second guessing himself. Ivan was standing before him, silent and ready and bizarrely obedient, and as he opened his eyes, drinking in the sight, he continued on without a hesitation.

"As much as I love him, and I dearly do, I've taken all I can handle." He sat up in the chair, leaning forward on the desk. "Alfred needs to be knocked down a peg or two, I do believe, eh?" He asked, except it wasn't actually a question and Ivan wasn't supposed to answer it.

"Obviously I don't want him severely hurt. So watch yourself." Matthew told him sharply. Ivan nodded once to him, his normal instincts subdued for the time being.

"His ego has grown much too large. I'm confident you can bring him back down to earth, eh?" And that time it was a question.

"Hn, yes, of course." Ivan said happily, a smile gracing his face.

"Good." Matthew said, smiling back at him even though Ivan's smile made him feel slightly nauseas deep down. He pushed that aside. He was still getting used to this weird and twisted (not game, anything but a game) thing they had going on. But it gave Canada an odd sense of power and Russia seemed to enjoy it for his own reasons, so Matthew ignored the sick feeling he always got just before Ivan left, and just kept going.

"I'll be here when you get back, don't keep me waiting." He told him as he loosened his tie so he didn't feel like he was suddenly choking with the knowledge of what he knew he was sending Ivan out to do. He felt like throwing up, as he sat there, staring at Ivan and keeping eye contact with him until he felt he could talk again.

"You're dismissed." And with that Ivan nodded and left.

With the click of the door shutting Matthew leaned forward, threading his fingers through his hair, feeling the bile rise up in his throat.

The guilt set in as it was already too late.


It took Ivan awhile just to get to America. It took him even more time to find Alfred and set the spur of the moment plan into action. He was in no rush though. Yes, Matthew had told him not to keep him waiting, but he never listened to that. He did this for Matthew, so he at least wanted to enjoy himself all the while.

So when he knew for sure America was alone in his house at the moment, he decided to let himself in. He walked in quietly, not bothering to take his snow and dirt crusted boots off. Carpet stains would be the last of Alfred's worries soon enough.

Ivan walked into Alfred's living room. The blond nation was watching an action film of some sort that Ivan had never seen.

He raised his pipe, ready to strike him with it when he remembered he was supposed to go easy on him. And as much as he hated holding back, he knew Matthew would find out if he didn't listen, and he would then stop wearing the suit and stop visiting him so often, and Ivan did not want that. So instead he took the pipe in both hands, swinging it in front of America and pushing it hard against his throat before he could react, pinning him in place on the couch.

America (quite predictably, Ivan thought as he held his grip on the pipe; not budging) struggled, the popcorn in his lap falling to the ground and spilling all over the floor. Hands came up to his neck, grabbing and pulling on the pipe in an attempt to free himself. Ivan pulled back tighter, pushing the metal into his neck, cutting off his breathing until he stopped fighting and just focused on trying to breath.

After letting him struggle with that for a moment, Ivan leaned down by his head and moved the pipe away, letting him breath freely.

"I've heard you've been exceptionally rude to my dear Matt lately." Ivan whispered in his ear, sickeningly sweetly as Alfred gasped and gulped in as much air as he could fill his lungs with.

Alfred tried to turn and look at the other man, but Ivan's face was too close to his own. All he could see was his light hair at the edge of his vision. He didn't need to see him to know who it was though. The cold metal against his throat was all too telling, and the cheerful voice at his ear only further confirmed it.

"What the hell, Ivan?" Alfred asked calmly once he got his breath back, malice lacing his voice.

Ivan jerked the pipe back quickly, making Alfred feel as though he'd been punched in the throat.

"My my, tactless as always I see?" Ivan practically purred in his ear. "You might want to show a little more respect for the man that holds your live in his very grip." Ivan was bluffing, of course. he hadn't gone there to kill Alfred, not now, and he had no plans to, for today. But it was hard to tell with the Russian. His voice kept that same calm tone, and Alfred wasn't keen on making assumptions in his position.

"Perhaps," Ivan started again when Alfred didn't respond, "you should call me Mr. Braginski." Ivan stood up, looking down at Alfred as he said it. Alfred couldn't see him, but he didn't have to to know that he was smiling even more than he was a moment ago.

"Fuck you, Ivan." Alfred said back through gritted teeth.

Ivan snapped the pipe up against the underside of Alfred's jaw, forcing him to look up at the Russian. Ivan was still smiling, but there was something darker in his eyes. Alfred was glaring as well as he could, ignoring the coppery taste in his mouth from biting his own tongue.

"Oh Alfred. I will never tire of that fighting spirit you have." And the look on his face clearly spoke the rest of his sentence; which will make it all the more enjoyable when I break you.

"What do you want, Ivan?" He always wanted something. If not, there would be no reason for him to be there. Not that Alfred would just give him what he wanted. Oh no. But at least then he might better understand what he was dealing with.

"This isn't about me. It's about you. You need to learn a lesson, and I'm here to teach it to you." Ivan removed the pipe as he spoke, letting Alfred scramble to his feet. He could see a light bruise on his neck already.

Alfred stood there for a second, Ivan standing between him and the door way. He wasn't one to run, but he didn't keep a gun on him when casually sitting around watching movies, and he somehow felt more vulnerable standing there in front of the television then he had under the pressure of Ivan's pipe.

"Now, Alfred. You can be a good student, or you can make this harder on yourself." Ivan said as if he were a mother warning their child.

Alfred sighed, shoulders slumping forward. "Fine." He started walking over to Ivan, crushing stray pieces of popcorn under his feet as he made his way over as slowly as he could.

Ivan just looked like he'd received the birthday gift he'd been asking for. "And here I was thinking you'd need to be beaten into submission." While he certainly wouldn't have minded doing so, it made things so much easier for him.

But suddenly Ivan was being pushed against the door frame, his back hitting it harshly as Alfred ran past him. Ivan shook his head and without thinking raised his arm, throwing his pipe as hard as he could at Alfred's legs, making him stumble as Ivan gained on him. Alfred turned to pick up the pipe; if he could take his weapon away from him he could have the upped hand! But as he turned he caught sight of a gloved hand already grasping it, and the next thing he knew hard metal was colliding with his head and he hit the kitchen floor with a sickening thud, his glasses tumbling off his face and skittering across the linoleum.

Before Alfred could even think of lifting his throbbing head he felt the end of Ivan's pipe pressing down on his temple, daring him to try to move.

"I really had hoped you could work with me for just once." Ivan said tersely, if not a little dramatically. "But unfortunately it seems that you just can't play by anyone else's rules, can you?" He asked, twisting the metal against his skin as he spoke. Alfred bit down on the inside of his mouth, he refused to let out the whimper of pain that was on the tip of his tongue.

Ivan withdrew his pipe, walking around the small kitchen. "I don't mind making you listen. But it would be just dreadful if Matthew found out about this, wouldn't it?" He said more than asked, walking around the kitchen table.

America didn't say anything. His head was pounding too much for him to recognize what Ivan had said right away. Just as it sunk in, Ivan came back into the corner of Alfred's line of sight. Everything was blurry, and he couldn't tell what Ivan was about to do, if anything. That alone sent a chill down his spine.

"Because you see, if he finds out, he'll get mad at me, and then he wont be my friend anymore. And if he's not my friend anymore, then I really have no use for him, dah?" He asked, swiftly bringing the curve of his pipe down on Alfred's stomach.

Alfred's eyes snapped shut as he curled into himself from the unexpected blow. The quick movement made his head scream in protest, and he dully noted the moan of pain that managed to slip past his lips.

"So I think it's safe to assume you wont say a word, hm?" And even though it was a question he didn't expect or even wait for an answer.

There was only one right answer anyway.

Ivan used his pipe to turn Alfred's face so he could see him. Alfred opened his eyes and squinted, trying to see better without his glasses. "Your pained expression looks as nice as I was hoping it would." Ivan said, and it almost sounded like he was taking to himself. And if he were Alfred wouldn't care in the least; it's not like he was listening anyway. With the buzzing pain in his head and his mind trying to think of what to do next he just didn't have time to listen to Ivan prattle on.

He was drawn from his thoughts at the sight of some sort of movement to the side of his vision. Before he could identify what it was his body felt the hard swing of Ivan's pipe crashing into his side. A cry of pain escaped him; it was almost pointless to hold the cries back by this point, and before he could even take another breath, the nozzle of the pipe was brought down hard on his stomach.

Dry sobs wracked his body; Alfred pushed back the stinging sensation prickling behind his eyes and focused on readying for the next blow. He would not break down and cry. He was America, the hero! He would not let Russia break him.

Ivan would try his best though.

And he kept hitting and hitting and hitting him with his pipe, until Alfred was sure he would throw up any moment, there was no way his chest and his stomach and his sides and his body could take it before something happened and--

He didn't know how much time had passed, and he was too overwhelmed with the pain to try to figure it out. He didn't even care how long it'd been because Ivan stopped hitting him and the pain could start to numb out and fade away now that there wasn't a pipe to keep everything feeling fresh and raw.

"Ah, I suppose I really should be on my way." Ivan said after a moment, as if he had somewhere else to be and something else to do, and had to make himself stop. Alfred heard shuffling, and then he heard Ivan's voice a few inches away from his face.

"You be good, dah?" He asked, his breath every so slightly tinted with the smell of vodka and his voice sounding as though he hadn't a care in the world. Alfred could only manage to squint his eyes open, seeing Ivan's face all too well even without his glasses. Without thinking and without giving the Russian time to move, he jerked his head up, spitting in Ivan's face. Breathing hurt too much as it was; he didn't know if he had the energy in him to add any words to his answer.

Ivan promptly stood and wiped the blood tinted spit away; making a disgusted sound that would have made Alfred grin to himself, if he wasn't suddenly struck with Ivan's metal pipe against his head once more. The room was spinning as he watched Ivan leave out of the corner of his eyes, watching him until he left; watching him until he knew he was gone and it was safe to start putting himself back together.


As Ivan walked back home, he couldn't help but to really, sincerely hope Alfred didn't talk to Matthew. He couldn't help but think he'd gotten just a little carried away, and he'd hate for Matthew to get mad at him. Ivan had very few friends as it was, and he'd hate to have to get rid of Matthew if he didn't want to be his friend anymore.

He sighed.

He supposed, that if push come to shove, some things just could not be helped.

A/N: Goddd, I felt so bad for Alfred while writing this! I sort of skipped past the violence because of it. OTL I probably missed a few minor errors; I read and reread this thing SO many times while trying to finish it that it's almost tiring to read now. xD;