My Angel [Germany, Russia, Lithuania]

[Germany]

WARNING: Extreme OOCness, Baltic abuse, and a healthy dose of homosexuality dead ahead. Get out your gag-bags before continuing past this line. :3 There will be nothing graphic though.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 17, 1942

1 PM

Ivan's House



Germany gazed longingly at the door.

He would be here any minute now. He had to be — he’d promised. It had been impossible to arrange an exact time of the day for their elopement thanks to demanding schedules and unreasonable bosses, but Russia’s word was better than gold, and if he said he was going to be here, then damnit, he was going to be here. He’d find a way out of Stalingrad same as he had. He’d fight his way past both Germans and Russians if he had to, maiming and killing anyone who stood between them.

A thin smile came to Ludwig’s lips. Ivan always looked so sexy with blood splattered all over his tan coat, smiling that deceptively innocent smile, beautiful violet eyes sparkling like a child’s on Christmas morning right before he raised his favorite lead pipe and bashed in the faces of his foes. It was one of the things that had initially drawn him to the Russian in the heat of battle; whether he was unleashing a stream of hot lead into someone at close range; sniping them from afar when they least expected; beating them to a pulpy, deep scarlet-and-white mess with his pipe; slicing them up with a sickle; strangling them with his bare hands; or any of another thousand-and-one killing methods, Ivan looked good doing it. Blood glistening in his sandy-blonde hair, decorating his boyish face…yes.

Hell, yes.

The mere memories of such encounters were enough to make him shiver with sinful delight. Hopefully Ivan had encountered some minor problems along the way — perhaps a few nosy Russians, or, hell, even a German or two. As much as Ludwig loved his people, it was worth sacrificing a couple of them to see Ivan dressed in gore. He licked his lip just thinking about it, clutching the presents he’d brought tighter.

This is so ironic, he thought, finally ceasing his restless pacing in front of the main door for a moment to stare out the window. Outside heavy rain was spilling down from gray clouds, soaking the earth with life and revitalization. Our bosses would punish us if they knew.

It was true: a massive World War was going on. Millions of people were dying: men, women, and children. Airplanes shed bombs all over the place. Tanks thundered over the land. Bullets flew without mercy. Flamethrowers and gas masks were commonplace. Terror, pain, and misery gripped the land, sea, and sky.

Germany and Russia had started out as bitter enemies. Hitler had pulled the Soviet Union into the war a couple of years ago with Operation Barbarossa, a brutal attack on Soviet land. Back then, Germany had been only too eager to fight — here was his chance to put that expert military strategy of his to the ultimate test, to go up against a powerful rival whom he’d harbored resentment against since the breaking of the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, to reclaim some of the land and glory lost to him in the first World War, to do what he loved best out on the battlefield and within the ranks of his men.

He had won his first few battles with Ivan, bloodying him up and sending him back to Stalin. As pleasurable as it had been to lash out and injure such a fine stallion, to draw his blood, shoot, maim, burn, and crush him until he was mad with fury and spinning out of control with whatever weapons he had, chanting “kill, kill, kill..” as his world danced by in a red haze, Ludwig had always secretly wished he could capture him and get a better look at that handsome male body. Unfortunately, Ivan would sooner ‘die’ than allow himself to be taken prisoner. Thus the dream had remained unrealized.

Then the tide of battle had begun to shift. The Russians turned around and surprised both him and his people with just how ferocious, unrelenting, and competent they could be when faced with the very real threat of permanent defeat and German occupation. That’s when Ludwig’s respect for Ivan really began to climb. Now the attraction went deeper than raw, animal instinct. Ivan’s ability to stand up to him now when he was more powerful than he had ever been before was a huge turn-on.

German casualties were on the rise when the two nations had met on the battlefield that hot, fateful July day. Ludwig had taken a few shots to the chest and his right shoulder in the act of providing cover fire for a few of his men. Then he’d felt a terrible crushing blow to his back, like he’d been struck by a meteor. Whirling as fast as his injuries would allow, he’d come face-to-face with Ivan. Half growling half smiling, his face the blood-stained face of a wicked angel, the larger nation had given him a whack to the stomach with the infamous faucet pipe that sent him hurtling backwards into a brick wall.

Then he’d advanced on him, his eyes glittering.

How surprised Ludwig had been when he lowered the pipe!

Figuring that if he was going to be meeting Hitler again soon he might as well do something enjoyable first, he’d dropped his weapon and seized the moment, ignoring the rolling agony wracking his body to grab the violet-eyed country and pull him into a hot, passionate, lusting kiss. To his ecstatical shock, the Russian hadn’t balked or bashed his skull in, but had surrendered himself fully to him, until they were both kissing and stroking each other, Ivan grinding his body into the wall.

Then feelings were divulged, secrets were shared, and the rest was history.

Ever since they’d been having to go to great lengths to keep their relationship secret, meeting in the dark out in the middle of nowhere, staying only a few minutes, then rushing back to their respective divisions. As enemy generals, they couldn’t ever be seen being civil towards each other, much less having a more tender moment. And it didn’t help at all that most of their people were homophobic, especially in their militaries.

From that point on fights between the two had gotten far less serious. Sometimes they’d have little contests to see who could best protect their own men while killing the most enemies, or who could go longest without “dying” himself. But they rarely inflicted “life-threatening” wounds on each other these days — it was harder to hurt a lover.

Lover. Ludwig still couldn’t believe it: after all these years, he finally knew real love. It was a dream come true; a beautifully sweet, rapturous melody that permeated his heart and soul, filling him with warmth, desire, and hope. Where once he had delighted in sending Ivan back to his tyrant, even — cringe — fantasized truly killing him once and for all, wiping him off the face of the earth, now he would do anything only to please him.

Which was why he was here now, in Ivan’s old house out in the country. Being that he and his men still had the upper hand in the war, it was far easier to arrange a meeting in Russia than inside his own borders. He’d been in such a rush to obtain his presents and get there that he hadn’t taken the time to change out of his green SS uniform, but somehow he doubted Ivan would care.

In one hand he held an ornate silver dagger with a beautiful rose-stem-and-thorns design serving as blood-grooves along the blade. He’d had to custom-order it, and he had had big sunflowers engraved over the original roses on the hilt and filled with gold inlay. It had been expensive, but his boss paid him well enough. His other hand clutched a bottle of the finest vodka to be found anywhere on the planet.

Small gifts, but ones worthy of the love between him and Ivan. Both of them had a pretty red bow tied around them. Red for the general of the Red Army, of course.

Seeing no sign of his violet-eyed lover out the window, Ludwig continued pacing, his expression akin to a child who had to wait to open his Christmas presents. He didn’t know when he would arrive — it could be hours from now — but he was too excited to rest. Damn this rain for making it hard to hear footsteps….

The door flew open.

There he was!

Ludwig stopped and smiled at him. “You made it!” He lifted his gifts up in the air in proud display. “Come see the presents I got you.”

[Russia]

((Sorry this took me so long, I had a hard time getting it cracky enough. I am still sure that I could never do as epic of a job as you, Ludwig, but I tried. Might I add that I really don’t support this pairing, certainly not in this context. Which made it fun to write. XD))

Getting out of Stalingrad had proven to be a more difficult task than Russia had initially envisioned. It was irritating, how fate itself seemed hell bent on getting in the way of his plans. He had spent the better part of the morning with bolt action rifle in hand, sniping off enemies from the rooftops and eagerly waiting for a lull in the battle so that he could slip off and head home. He was of course a fierce fighter, and ecstatic to be in the thick of such a bloody battle, but there had been more important things on his mind than Stalingrad this morning. Or the war itself for that matter. Which was why the first chance he got, he had slipped out of the ruined city and made his way back to his personal abode. His people could hold the city without him present there, and if it turned out they couldn’t, to hell with it. Let the Germans have Stalingrad for all he cared. As devastating of a blow as that would be, it was the least of his personal concerns.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting back to his own cozy, yet ancient house and waiting for the faithful visit from his lover. Ludwig was supposed to drop by today, though the exact hour remained a mystery to Ivan. So hard to plan these things when you were on opposing sides of a war. He could be left waiting hours for Germany to finally show up for all he knew. Maybe Ludwig was having a hard time getting out of the ruined city as well? Maybe Ludwig isn’t going to be able to show up at all… It was a depressing thought but the situation being what it was, it was not out of the picture. He hoped that his fair haired lover had managed to fight his way out as well, and that he would be graced with the other man’s company tonight.

It was the promise of company that had pushed him to leave Stalingrad and make the trip home. Meeting up in the city itself would have been impossible for a friendlier encounter. Ivan’s forces would have not been thrilled with one of their generals taking time out of the battle to make out with an enemy. And he imagined Ludwig’s troops would not have been pleased either. It was best to keep these things hush and avoid any situations where people could possibly see too much. Just the thought of his boss finding out about his recent love affair was enough to send a shiver up his spine. Stalin would not understand and would probably be cross to find out his nation was off playing around with Germany while his namesake city was being destroyed.

Making his way towards his ancient, roomy house, Ivan found himself conflicted. He wanted the war to be over with, so he no longer had to keep fighting with Germany. The desire to tear the other man’s throat out and drag his mutilated corpse across the countryside had vanished since they had began their secret affair. Not to say he didn’t still get off on inflicting pain on Germany from time to time. When they encountered each other on the front lines it was still thrilling to see a look of pain shadow the German’s handsome features. Their relationship had shifted however, and though Ivan was a sadist at heart, he would not want to kill or seriously harm the other nation. All the pain inflicted was now in good fun as far as Ivan was concerned. In conflict to his desire for the war to be over, was the fact that Russia took such delight in the carnage and bloodshed. In some ways, he didn’t want the war to end at all, but to last forever just so that he could remain locked in combat. He only wished that he and Germany could be on the same side, so that they could fight together. If only Hitler had not been so anti-Russian, then maybe he could have convinced his boss to allow him to be an Axis. They could have dominated the world together! But it was wishful thinking. It would never have happened, and not only because they had such vastly different ideals and governments.

Reaching the gate to his garden at last, Russia paused to look over his patch of sunflowers. They were so beautiful even in the downpour, with their bright yellow petals surrounding much darker centers and accompanied by vibrant green stalks and leaves. They were a symbol of adoration and longevity, a very fitting present for a lover. Pulling his scout’s knife out from the inside of his coat, Ivan proceeded to carefully cut a few of the bright, cheery flowers free. Not wanting to kill many of his prized flowers, he was careful to only take three of them to give to Germany. Lover or not, he was not going to murder a ridiculous number of innocent flowers just for Ludwig. Surely the other nation would understand.

The moment Russia entered his house, he was greeted by a welcoming surprise. Germany!Instantly his boyish features lit up with happiness, ignoring the fact that he was cold and soaked to the bone from the rainstorm outside.


“You made it! Come see the presents I got you.”

Presents? He had been so focused on Germany himself- and how good he looked in his stylish Waffen SS uniform- that he had not noticed the gifts that the other man held in his hands. One appeared to be vodka of some sort, and the other looked like a dagger. Both of them had red bows around them. Curiously, Ivan approached the other man to get a better look.

“I was worried you wouldn’t be able to make it, Ludya. And you brought presents as well?” He grabbed his former rival into a bone crushing embrace, ignoring the fact that Ludwig was still holding onto the gifts, and that he himself was still gripping the three sunflowers in his right hand. Overjoyed to have company again, Russia wasted no time in tilting Germany’s chin up slightly and pulling him into passionate kiss, possessively claiming the other man’s mouth as his. He released Germany and shoved the flowers into the other nation’s chest, before accepting his own gifts.

“Nobody could dislike sunflowers, so I figured I could spare a few to give to you as a present.” He turned his eyes back to the gifts Ludwig had given him, examining the fancily carved blade. That would come in handy for slicing the throats of Germans. Knives were always good to have on a battlefront, in case you ran out of bullets. Already, Russia couldn’t wait for the chance to put those ornate blood-grooves to use. The vodka was also well appreciated. It was his opinion that one could never have too much vodka, particularly when in the middle of a war. “These are great, Germany. I can’t wait to put this blade to the test. And we can have the vodka here while you are visiting.”

[Lithuania]

A wild Toris appears...!

Toris chewed his bottom lip anxiously, suppressing a shiver as he hurried as fast as his legs would allow, ignoring the rain which soaked through his shirt, the water from the ground seeping up through the holes that were starting to appear in his worn shoes. His brown hair clung damply to his face as he trudged on through the rain, bright green eyes taking in the familiar sight of Ivan's residence before him. Half walking, half running up the garden path, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

Ever since German forces had begun their occupation of his lands, he had rather unceremoniously exchanged his life as a servant in Ivan's house to one as a servant in Ludwig's. And now he existed in a strange sort of limbo, where he still desperately adored Ivan, but was working earnestly for his worst enemy.

He could never quite shake the desperate, sickening fear that he felt every time Ludwig left for the front line, knowing that he would inevitably meet the Russian on the battlefield. The cold, aloof blonde made no secret of the open hatred he harboured for Ivan, nor of his intentions to show the other no mercy. And at first Toris had tried to concentrate on his own people, who were hardly faring well under Nazi occupation and Hitler's increasing insanity. But he couldn't choke down his anxiety over Ivan for much longer, as the war escalated out of control and casualties piled up on both sides.

His fears for his abusive estranged lover had been escalating to the point where he could no longer even snatch a few hours sleep at night without waking up in a cold sweat with anxiety. With all the German propaganda about how the Soviet forces were being decimated, the worried brunette found himself more and more feverishly afraid for Ivan's wellbeing. And so, although he knew that it was stupid, ineffective and dangerous, he could no longer stay locked up in Ludwig's kitchen worrying himself to death, and so the devoted little Baltic had taken it upon himself to follow the German in the vain hope that he might be able to intervene on Ivan's behalf. Ludwig didn't seem to entirely hate him, and he was stringently logical...perhaps Toris might be able to convince him to listen to some kind of reason. Or at very least, draw their attention long enough to stop the two of them from murdering each other.

And so he found himself, bedraggled and beside himself with worry, slipping through the ajar door to the achingly familiar residence, clenching his fists determinedly and ignoring the little voice in his head which told him that this was suicidal and that he was absolutely mental to even be here.

“I was worried you wouldn’t be able to make it, Ludya...”

Toris froze at the door to Ivan's front room, his hand on the doorknob. Ludya? Was Ivan taunting the other man?

Please don't do anything stupid, Vanya... Unable to contain his worry any longer, he nudged the door open, bracing himself for the sight of an ugly confrontation...

...and promptly froze in confusion and horror.

Ivan...his Ivan...was kissing Germany, tilting his chin upwards in that same possessive gesture that he'd used with Toris so many times in the past. Instantly a wave of confusion and nausea overwhelmed him and he could only stand there, wide eyed with his hands covering his mouth, as Ludwig returned the kiss with an equal passion.

And then Ivan was giving the German flowers...sunflowers, no less...something he had never done for Toris in all the years that they'd known one another. And they seemed to be exchanging gifts and eyeing each other like old lovers. Head spinning, Toris struggled to make sense of it all and failed abysmally. They hated one another. They were on opposing sides of a war, for crying out loud. And Ludwig...he had never seen such an expression of tenderness on the austere man's features, had never seen him look at anyone the way that he was eyeing Ivan. He blinked hard, as though doing so much make it all stop, and he was vaguely aware that there was something painful prickling his eyes and constricting his breathing and that there that there was moisture streaming silently down his cheeks, and that it wasn't rain.

For a few more moments, he continued to stare, shocked and utterly bereft of his ability to speak, to do anything but stand and watch the man that he adored so very, very much gaze at someone else with a look that Toris had never, ever seen on his face before, the kind of look that the brunette had spent devoted centuries wishing and hoping to see from him.

He felt as though he was drowning, choking on his own disbelief and sickened shock, his mind utterly refusing to comprehend the scene before him. And eventually all the air that his lungs were refusing to draw in suddenly came to him in one enormous, painful sob, and then he couldn't stop himself from hyperventilating.

“Oh God...” he blurted out, wrapping his arms about himself and stepping back clumsily, his back colliding with the doorframe. He leaned weakly against the wooden beam for support. “Oh God, Vanya....”

[Germany]

“I was worried you wouldn’t be able to make it, Ludya. And you brought presents as well?”

Germany nodded as his lover approached, his eyes traveling first to his face, then to the three big sunflowers he held in his hand before settling on the small, rain-washed splatters of blood on the front of his light tan coat, on and below his chest. They were the perfect ornamentation for the soggy Russian: a testament to his warrior’s strength and animal brutality. Bright, red blood that whispered of danger, diluted downward-running streaks of violence past that teased and excited. The handsome nation in front of him could be so ruthless when he wanted to, so wild.

Ivan apparently had missed him just as much as he had missed Ivan. The other man barreled straight into him and enfolded him in a crushing lover’s embrace, the cold, wet fabric of his Soviet uniform all but merging into Ludwig’s slightly drier SS uniform. The German had to throw his arms out to the sides and clutch his presents tightly to keep from dropping them, his lover’s strength enough to temporarily throw off his balance. There was no time to react as the violet-eyed general slid a few fingers under his chin, tilted his head up, and locked him in a deep, passionate kiss.

Mhmmm. The moist, lukewarm lips that worked so hungrily and forcefully against his felt so good, so right. Still holding the gifts, he wrapped his arms around Ivan’s back and surrendered fully to the moment, his eyes closing in pure contentment as he returned the kiss with equal fervor. When Ivan’s lips parted far enough he thrust his tongue in and licked at the inside of his mouth.

Hm. No lingering vodka taste this time. The Russian situation in Stalingrad must truly be miserable.

Well, he has vodka now. I made sure of that.

Feeling like the hero, he nipped affectionately at Ivan’s lower lip as he started to pull away. He was forced to pin the sunflowers that came at him against his chest with an arm until his gifts were taken.

Ludwig didn’t really agree with Ivan’s stance on sunflowers. To him flowers were just plants. They served their purpose in nature and were pretty enough to look at, but they weren’t worth making a fuss over. He would never understand why they meant so much to Ivan — especially big, bright-as-fuck-yellow, overly cheery sunflowers, of all species ( they didn’t even have a nice smell! ) — but they did, and that was the important thing. Ivan cherished his sunflowers: most days he seemed to love them more than his own people. That he had chosen them for Ludwig’s gift spoke volumes about his intent and the depth of his feelings.

Touched, the German general accepted the simple, humble offering with a welcoming smile and an appreciative nod. “Danke. They’re lovely.” He delicately pinched the trio together into a bundle by the middle of their stems and held them close, tilting his hand slightly so that the big, bulky flower heads fell over his right shoulder.

He would have to find a safe place for them back at his house. They may have been ordinary, worthless flowers, but they came from Ivan — were a symbol of Ivan’s love for him — and that made them worth more than their weight in diamonds.

Blue eyes glistened with unselfish glee as he watched his lover study his presents, the latter’s eye’s lighting up as he took in the designs on the dagger and ran his fingers lovingly over the blood grooves, and somewhere in the back of his mind it dawned on him that the door was ajar and a small, weak, Baltic country was standing there watching — had been watching since the kiss.

Toris. What the hell are you doing here?!

Ivan was saying something about trying out the blade and sharing vodka now, but Ludwig was a bit too distracted by his servant’s sudden and unexpected arrival to catch all of it.

A flood of panic hit him as the implications sank in: had Toris followed him? If so, who else might be watching and listening, ready to mercilessly bare their deepest secret to the other nations, or, worse, their bosses?

His blood turned to ice. His boss would be positively furious. And he already knew what his punishment would be. He’ll force me to be on the Einsatzgruppen! The intense fear that overcame him then was greater than any he had ever experienced before. I’ll be forced to do something I hate, and I’ll never get to see Ivan again!

And what of Ivan?

Stalin had already made it painfully clear that he had no love for his own country. He’d probably inflict some nightmarish punishment on him — hell, he was already half starving him.

Toris backed away timidly, his voice coming out in a strangled little sob. “Oh God, Vanya....”

Ludwig dropped his sunflowers and lunged at the Lithuanian, covering the distance between them in two flying steps. His face was deadly serious as he grabbed him by the side of each shoulder and shook him forcefully. “What are you doing here?!” he hissed savagely. He glanced nervously all around the yard, searching for hidden figures.

There didn’t seem to be any, but he knew better than to allow himself to be lulled into a potentially false sense of security. This was war, and these matters were serious. It didn’t matter whether or not his boss or his people knew the true extent of his relationship with Russia: just the fact that he was meeting up with him in secret would be enough to get him labeled as a traitor ( to himself, stupid as that was ). It also didn’t matter that his men couldn’t kill him; Hitler’s punishment would be worse than death.

Still mindful of movement in his peripheral, he turned his steely gaze back on the shivering Baltic he held in his hands. His panic-drenched questions were rapid-fire. “Did anyone follow you? Does anyone know?” A bird moved in the distance, and he almost went for his pistol. His voice dipped into a low growl. “I swear, Toris, if you tell anyone about this, there will be hell to pay. And that's putting it mildly.”

[Russia]

“Danke. They’re lovely.”

Ivan had beamed with contentment at the other man’s appreciative words. He must have been correct in his assumption that Ludwig would love a few of his prized flowers. The German had been so thrilled that he had reverted back to his native tongue to fully express his happiness over the gift. And he appeared to be hugging them close too, which made Ivan even more pleased. Being in the middle of a violent war and having to defend his home from the enemy, Russia did not have many things he could give as far as presents went. Judging by the beautifully ornate dagger, Ludwig at least was getting paid decently, better than him at any rate.

“Oh God...”

It took Ivan a second or two to realize that the voice that spoke up was not Germany’s, despite the fact that the blonde German’s voice was so vastly different. Russia tore his adoring gaze away from Germany and scanned the room for the source, his eyes coming to rest on a familiar, slender form by the doorframe.

“Oh God, Vanya....”

So his naughty Baltic had decided to drop by for a visit. Russia couldn’t help but feel he had chosen a bad time. It became obvious that Ludwig thought it was bad timing as well, as he lunged at the timid Baltic and started to shake him, demanding as to why the other nation was here. Ludwig’s horror and aggression escaped Ivan’s understanding at first. Hadn’t Germany and Lithuania been on good terms? By his insane logic, Lithuania had left him for Ludwig at the beginning of the war. So why was his German lover so anti-Baltic all of a sudden? True, Russia himself was not what you would call “happy” with Lithuania since being abandoned, but some of his animosity and anger had died down since forming a relationship with Ludwig. He had realized that maybe Toris leaving had been a blessing in disguise, after all, now he had and exciting new relationship to explore. That still did not completely extinguish his insatiable desire for revenge however, and Toris had made a foolish mistake by coming home.

Setting the vodka down nearby, Russia made his way closer to Toris and Ludwig, watching their interactions curiously.

“Did anyone follow you? Does anyone know?”

So Ludwig was worried about being caught with Russia. It made sense of course, if their leaders knew about this relationship then they would both be in for some problems. He was not nearly as paranoid as Germany though. Glancing out the door as best as he could, Ivan didn’t see anyone else lurking nearby. His field of vision was obscured, and it could be that he was wrong to assume they were safe. Oh well, if it turned out that they did find someone lurking nearby, it would be a simple matter to kill them before they could bring things up to their bosses. Unless it was another nation. If that were the case, they would have to rely on intimidation and threats to keep their relationship hushed up.

“I swear, Toris, if you tell anyone about this, there will be hell to pay. And that's putting it mildly.”

This time Ivan did give a slight laugh to his lover’s concerns. “Ludwig, it’s just Toris. He knows better than to let things slip, Da?” Moving past the two other nations, Russia shut the door and instinctively locked it. He had his lover and his servant, and he was not ready to let either of them run off for the time being. Lithuania still needed punished for his earlier crime, and now that he wouldn’t have Germany on his side, he would be at Ivan’s mercy.

The only thing more important than revenge right now, was love. “Litva, since you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful and get two rumkas for the vodka Ludwig got me. Ludya, come sit by the fire with me.” Turning, Ivan made his way into the main sitting room and collapsed on the couch, eagerly waiting for Germany to follow his example.

((Rumka= special shotglass used for vodka. I had no idea how to spell it out in English, but since I can't use cyrillic on this computer I had to make due.))

[Lithuania]

Toris was staring so intently at Ivan that he barely registered Ludwig closing the distance towards him. His eyes were wide and his expression one of trace-like horror, until abruptly the German seized him by the shoulders and shook him roughly, causing his head to jerk back. In fright, he focused his attention on Ludwig, and the utter panic on the other man's face told Toris everything he needed to know.

If Ludwig was so stricken with fear, then it could only be because this twisted, messed up little encounter that Lithuania had stumbled on must not have been some sick little one-off. Strong fingers dug into his shoulders with enough force to bruise and he winced, both from the discomfort and the hideous conclusion he was drawing from what he'd just witnessed.

Still reeling and utterly shellshocked, not only with hurt but also with the sick implausibility of the whole situation, he stared at Ludwig blankly as the Nazi fired questions at him. He didn't have time or the presence of mind to respond before the other nation began resorting to threats. Toris continued to stare dumbly, unable to find the strength to speak.

And before he could even formulate a sentence, Ivan actually laughed. As if Toris' presence was nothing more than a mere inconvenience. The Russian moved behind them quietly and he tried to turn his head to see what he was doing, but the little Lithuanian was still caught firmly in Ludwig's grasp.

“Wh...what is this...?” he stammered, still incredulous. “I don't understand...” But he understood all too well, and all too quickly. He just wished that he didn't, that there was some conclusion other than the unmistakeable one he'd jumped to.

“Litva, since you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful and get two рюмка for the vodka Ludwig got me. Ludya, come sit by the fire with me.”

At this, something in the brunette snapped a little and he wrenched himself from Ludwig's grip, turning to face Ivan with his green eyes wide and blazing.

“You're not serious!” he exclaimed in a flash of useless anger. “You two are actually...?” He looked wildly from Russia to Germany and back, but Ivan had already wandered off dismissively towards the front room, to the fireplace where Toris had so very often and so very adoringly curled up at his feet. He turned to Ludwig and fixed him with wide, accusing eyes.

“I followed you,” he said, his voice cracking a little, “Because I was scared that you were going to hurt him.”

His head was spinning with anguished confusion and his skin was prickling with heated panic. He suddenly, desperately needed air, needed nothing more than to get the Hell away from both men and find somewhere that he could sit down, curl up, attempt to process the whole horrific state of events and just breathe.

“I'll keep my mouth shut,” he spat, and every word that left his lips was drenched in a bitter hurt. “You don't have to worry about that. But with all due respect...” He stormed past the taller nation and made for the door, “...you can fetch your own fucking shotglasses, Sir.”

With an onslaught of tears blinding his vision, the insubordinate little brunette yanked at the doorhandle, but nothing budged. Somewhere during Ludwig's angry discourse, Ivan must have locked it. Turning back to look at the German, his lips parted in sudden, frightened surprise as he realised that he wasn't going anywhere.

Oh. Shit.

[Germany]

(( Okay, since we're all okay with going this route...here's the next post! Thanks for the permission, Toris, though I feel like a certified Jerk with a PhD in assholeology now. >.< [ Note to others who may be reading: Jinx is mean to her character. XDXD ] ))

_____________________________________

“Ludwig, it’s just Toris. He knows better than to let things slip, да?”

He’d better. Germany wished he could feel as confident as Russia did about the matter. As much as he wanted to be able to trust Toris, he just couldn’t. True, the little Baltic had been faithful to him thus far in all other respects, but those last few insane, hopeless, desperate little dreams that he had always clung to of him and Ivan having any kind of a future together as lovers had just been shattered, and he was probably feeling extremely hateful and bitter right now. Toris may have had his issues with sanity, but he was a smart cookie. It would be suicide for him to try to take out his frustrations on them verbally or physically, and he knew it. However, he could rip them apart and get their bosses to punish them for him by running his mouth the moment he was safely out of range. No way he didn’t see that. No way he wasn’t considering it right now, even as they spoke.

Ludwig’s eyes narrowed. Would fear of severe punishment from both him and Ivan be enough to keep the sometimes-plucky Baltic silent? Or had his fragile little heart been crushed so utterly that he would be willing to do the crazy, stupid thing because it was his only shot at any form of revenge?

He might feel he has nothing to lose. A scary thought, but very plausible.

A shadow of sadness crossed his eyes and flickered briefly over his features as the androgynous little nation snapped out of his deer-in-the-headlights daze and, stammering, tripped over his words, totally unable to come to grips with what he was seeing and hearing. A shame. And here we were so close to being friends.[/i]

But now that he was in love with Ivan — and had Ivan’s love in return — they could never be friends. Toris was Ivan’s former servant/favorite whipping boy, and he had a strong feeling that the green-eyed nation would not be quick to get over being ‘dumped’.

Of course, Russia could not very well dump a man he’d never been involved with romantically in the first place, but Toris was sure to view it that way, because in his insane internal narrative Ivan was and always had been his lover. Even when the Russian was beating him, whipping him, loading him with impossible tasks, totally disregarding his feelings, mocking him, playing vicious mind-games with him, and pretty much abusing him at every turn. Now there was a guy who couldn’t take a hint.

Yes, Toris was definitely not the type who could accept the facts, pick up the pieces, and move on.

Ludwig knew that things would never be the same between them from this point onward.

At some point Russia had moved in behind them and closed the door. Now he was turning towards the adjacent room, looking very content and carefree. “Litva, since you’re here, why don’t you make yourself useful and get two рюмка for the vodka Ludwig got me. Ludya, come sit by the fire with me.”

Ludwig smiled inwardly at the repetition of his new nickname, some of the tension draining from his muscles. Since Ivan had first started calling him that about a month ago, he couldn’t help but to appreciate every time he heard it how sweet it was of his lover to Russian-ify his German name. Russians only called those they cared about by their nicknames. Or at least, so Ivan told him.

And the thought of snuggling with him on the sofa in front of a soothing, crackling fire while they both drank fine vodka and had Toris wait on them hand and foot was beyond tantalizing. After all the stress of battle — hundreds of quick, violent encounters that had resulted in scores of men dead and several painful wounds while all the time his ears had rung with the shockwaves of exploding bombs and gunfire — some time to simply relax and enjoy his lover’s company would be pure Heaven.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed that perhaps he really was just being overly paranoid worrying so much about possible witnesses. Russia’s personal abode was in the middle of nowhere as far as neighbors and militaric interests were concerned. And if it turned out a human or nation did manage to catch a quick glimpse of the two of them together before the door closed, well…the witness would have a hard time proving it, and he was likely to be ridiculed — or worse — for even suggesting it. Still, they would have to be sure to fight each other extra fiercely next battle, just to set off any suspicions.

He must have relaxed his grip a little more than he realized, because suddenly his Baltic was squirming like a freshly-caught wildcat in his grasp and, to his surprise, actually managed to tear free of him.

“You're not serious!” the smaller nation cried out, whirling in the direction Ivan had gone, the shock in his voice raw and unmistakable, “You two are actually...?” He kept looking back and forth between the two far more dominant countries, an insane light burning behind his turbulent green eyes.

Ludwig nodded seriously when his gaze finally settled on him, already a little irked that the Lithuanian seemed to be in no hurry to obey a direct order. Yes, he himself hadn’t given said order, but now that Toris had come to understand the true nature of his and Ivan’s relationship he should damn well understand that an order from Ivan was an order from him.

Apparently he didn’t. In a voice that was as overemotional as he was, Ludwig’s servant proceeded to tell him that he had followed him out of fear that he would hurt Ivan.

Ludwig opened his mouth to tell him that of course he and Russia hurt each other — they were enemy generals in a war, after all — and to ask him just what the hell he had planned to do about that, but he never got the words out.

“I'll keep my mouth shut,”

Ludwig’s eyebrows jerked up with surprise. Toris actually had the nerve to pick this kind of a tone with him?!

“You don't have to worry about that. But with all due respect...”

Too late. The German’s eyes narrowed to cold, dangerous slits as he watched the Baltic huff past him for the door, his frown deepening with anger. He’d already had a particularly stressful — and painful — past few weeks on the battlefield, fate itself seemed intent on keeping him from Ivan, there was the constant anxiety that someone would find out about their secret love affair, and now his own servant was mouthing off to him?

“...you can fetch your own fucking shotglasses, Sir.”

This was too much.

Overcome with rage, the blonde-haired-blue-eyed Nazi at once sprung on Toris — right as the latter discovered the door was locked. The insolent Lithuanian spun around, and in the last split-second horror manifested on his face as he realized he had made a monumental mistake.

Too late.

Ludwig struck him once in the cheek with his right fist, letting as much of his true strength in as he dared with his desire to keep him conscious and coherent. His left hand flew up and grabbed a generous handful of brown hair as its counterpart pulled back from the swing and latched on to an arm with bone-crunching force. His grip secured, he yanked his victim halfway off his feet an instant before savagely thrusting him at the ground.

“Who the hell do you think you are to be pulling an attitude with me?!” he roared, blue eyes blazing with fury, his mouth twisted into a snarl. He gave Toris a sharp little kick to kick to the side — not enough to seriously injure him, but enough to further punctuate his point. “You would do well to mind your place, servant. Do as Ivan has commanded. Now. Minus the lip. Give us anymore trouble and I’m sure he’ll help me beat the defiance out of you.”

Harsh.

A twinge of guilt shot through him, partially because it had felt so good doing that, and on more than one level. But he didn’t have a chance to fully acknowledge the feeling before it was suppressed by cold logic. He deserved it. He knew better than to act like that around me, he just decided to ignore his better judgment and do it anyway. Perhaps I really have been too kind to him if he’s going to go around openly defying and disrespecting his betters.

He turned towards his love, and all traces of anger fell away. “You were right, Vanya,” he said in a far softer, infinitely more affectionate tone, using the Russian’s own nickname-of-endearment “they do need kept in check.”

He bent down to pick up the fallen sunflowers. The action elicited a sharp pang of complaint from his right shoulder, in the place where a bullet had struck him last week, and he instinctively winced. Damn Russian snipers.

[Russia]

Drenched from being out in the downpour, Russia removed his soggy coat and gloves and relaxed by the comfortable blaze. Rarely was September weather decent in this part of his homeland, and his ornate fireplace always seemed to be working overtime. Such a shame that Ludwig had to visit in this kind of bleak, frigid weather. It would have been so much better if they could have arranged to meet up somewhere much warmer with lots of sunshine. Maybe somewhere closer to the equator, where freezing rain was unheard of.

“You're not serious! You two are actually...?”

Lithuania’s words from the other room snapped him out of pleasant thoughts of him and Ludwig relaxing together in a tropical environment. What was Toris implying that he and Ludwig weren’t serious about? He thought it would be obvious now that they were very serious about their new relationship. How could Toris even begin to question that? Joking and kidding around were two things that Russia did not do. When he said or did something- no matter how mild and lighthearted his voice and actions were- he was dead serious. If he was suddenly showing affections for Germany, then it was safe to assume that he was not just playing around. Toris had lived with him before, he should have known that. The fact that there was any questioning in the other man’s words was puzzling.

Figuring that Germany would deal with his confused little servant before joining him by the fire, Ivan simply relaxed, leaning back into the sofa cushions and letting his mind wander back to thoughts of warm summery weather and Germany. He was only half-way listening to what the other two nations in the foyer were saying, but he did catch pieces. Toris seemed to be talking about hurting someone, which was curious since he couldn’t imagine Lithuania as being capable of hurting anyone at all. The strength that the other nation had once possessed simply slipped his mind, as did all other memories of a non-Russian dominated Lithuania.

“...you can fetch your own fucking shotglasses, Sir.”

That sentence and the voice tone with which it was spoken caught Russia completely off guard. Germany must not have been properly keeping Toris in line after he had re-claimed him at the beginning of the war. Ivan was so sure that under his rule the green-eyed nation would not have dared make such a bold statement. He would have known better. As much as he loved Ludwig, he couldn’t help but feel the other must have been a terrible master.

His thoughts were altered however when Germany immediately started to verbally reprimand the naughty Baltic; his voice echoing throughout the old house. From his position in the other room, he didn’t see the physical assault, but from the sounds of the scuffle, Germany had done more than shout at Toris. Of course he silently agreed that yes, he would be more than happy to help discipline Lithuania if he needed it. The unhinged Russian’s eyes lit up at the happy thought of Ludwig and him punishing Lithuania together. They could bond over restoring order!

“You were right, Vanya, they do need kept in check.”

“Of course I was right. I told you as much, Ludwig. I would never beat my subordinates if they did not deserve it. When they get out of line though, what more can you do with them? Pain is the best teacher.” He confirmed, once Ludwig had wandered back into his line of sight. A brief look of surprise sprung up on Russia’s features as Ludwig winced in pain. Maybe he had hurt the other too much last time they had met on the battlefield. It was a saddening thought, but what else could they do but fight when they were on enemy sides? He might have to go easier on Ludwig next time they were engaged in combat. Perhaps give him a few less smacks with the pipe than usual.

“You don’t look well at all. It looks like you need some good vodka about now. I can have Toris get some bandages too, if you want.” Ivan figured himself very good with medicine; after all, he had fixed Toris up after his punishments many times in the past. It was only sad that Toris had never seemed that grateful of his help. It was probably just proof that people didn’t often know what was good for them.

Giving Ludwig a concerned look briefly, he patted the sofa besides himself as an invite for the Nazi nation to come closer. Even if Ludwig didn‘t need any bandages, Russia was more than willing to help make him forget about his aches and pains. When nations were at war, these aches tended to spring up, but the key was to take the mind off the physical pains. Ludwig would just need to focus on something else. Like him.

“Toris, be quick with those shot glasses, my German love here needs some vodka to help ease his war complaints.”

[Lithuania]

The next thing Toris knew, Ludwig's fist collided with his face and he stumbled back against the wall with a dazed groan. Just as the initial numbness of shock wore off and his cheekbone began to ache with the tightness of a blossoming bruise, the other man had grabbed him by the hair and pushed him to the ground. Sprawling on the floor, he let out a pained little whimper, closing his eyes tightly for a moment and seeing stars.

“Who the hell do you think you are to be pulling an attitude with me?!” The other man's boot collided with his ribcage and Toris coughed, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. “You would do well to mind your place, servant. Do as Ivan has commanded. Now. Minus the lip. Give us anymore trouble and I’m sure he’ll help me beat the defiance out of you.”

And in that moment, Toris felt as though he'd never hated anyone more in the world than he hated his German master. Choking and blinking back tears, he pulled himself onto his knees and glared uselessly at the blonde, looking up from the floor while the two of them discussed him as though he were little more than a dog. Cheeks burning with anger and shame, he clambered to his feet in a determined effort to hold onto some of his dignity.

Desperately, he turned in Ivan's direction as his voice carried from the living room and the other man's lilting tones made his chest ache, even as the words stung more than any whiplash. How could he let this happen? Wasn't Ivan supposed to care for him?

“Toris, be quick with those shot glasses, my German love here needs some vodka to help ease his war complaints.”

Lithuania shot Ivan's "German love" an accusing look that was nothing short of murderous, his bottom lip jutting out slightly in an unwittingly feminine pout even as he tried to square his shoulders to appear more masculine. Slowly, his teeth clenched firmly together, he turned and made his way to the kitchen to retrieve the glasses. With a sullen expression and mechanical movements, he returned with them in hand and set them down on the small coffee table alongside the vodka bottle. Keeping his eyes lowered, refusing to make eye contact with either man, he picked up one glass and poured it to the rim.

Slowly, he held it out for a moment in front of the Nazi, his eyes blazing with hurt and anger. And then in one very deliberate, albeit sucidal gesture, he threw the entire contents of the glass in Ludwig's face.

His eyes flickered to Ivan for a brief moment, and he ignored the sharp tug of fear he felt, and resisted the urge to throw his arms around the larger man and bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and beg him to take him back and make the whole sordid mess go away. But no, still burning with desperate hurt and humilliation, he kept his chin tilted high and the defiant, scornful little pout on his face as he dropped the expensive glass to the floor with a slight shrug as he carelessly let it shatter.

"I thought I told you," he informed the German flatly. "That you could fetch your own fucking glass."

[Germany]

“You don’t look well at all. It looks like you need some good vodka about now. I can have Toris get some bandages too, if you want.”

Ivan was right: some high-quality vodka did sound awfully appealing right now. Actually, just about any kind of alcoholic beverage did. Nothing hit the spot better after a painful, stressful, all-around frustrating week of killing Russians, getting shot, dealing with subordinates, making tough decisions, having to fight Ivan when he would rather be getting more intimate with him, and general battlefield drama. Even here in the peaceful solitude of Ivan’s private home Ludwig’s ears still occasionally rang with explosions and gunfire, and even though he knew it was just the three of them there part of him was still on edge watching for the hidden sniper, or the grenade that would fly out of nowhere and land in front of him at any moment. Vodka would help calm his nerves. While he wasn’t a big fan of hard liquor in general — he preferred beer — he didn’t mind it, and he could handle it as well as any Russian.

The stinging sensation in his shoulder subsided a little. Regaining his dignified, unflinching composure, he continued towards his Russian love, the cheery bouquet of sunflowers in-hand. “Yes, thank you. Some vodka would be nice.” His mouth twitched up in a fragile smile at the concern manifested upon Russia’s face. He’s worried about me. How sweet. “I won’t be needing any bandages though. This bullet-wound is a few days old. It acts up every now and then when I pull the wrong muscles, but you already know that I’ve been through much worse.” Passing by the coffee-table stationed alongside the armrest at one end of the sofa, he dropped the sunflowers on the polished wooden surface before crossing in front of Ivan and waving his hand dismissively for emphasis. “It’s nothing.” He collapsed comfortably into the spot the other man’s hand had patted moments before and wrapped his right arm about his lover’s neck and shoulders as the Russian called for the stupidly defiant Baltic to hurry with the shotglasses. “Some bastard sniper got lucky is all.” His smile strengthened. He pulled the enemy general closer, ignoring the annoying complaint from his injury. “But then, not too lucky, I suppose, because I got him later on.” he paused, briefly reliving that satisfying encounter in his mind, a wistful sigh escaping his lips. “He looked kind of like your boss, actually. A shame he wasn’t.” Another pause. Blinking innocently, he met Ivan’s gaze. “Vanya, what does kchairtoo* mean? He yelled that right before he died.”

A sore Lithuania returned with their shotglasses just then and set them down on the table next to the bottle of vodka. Without a word he picked the first on up and began filling it generously, his eyes downcast.

Grudgingly releasing his hold on the sexy male sitting next to him, Germany scooted over towards the Baltic nation and leaned over eagerly to watch and snatch the glass away for Vanya the moment it was full.

Toris didn’t stop until the expensive-looking glass was almost overflowing. Ludwig stared through its translucent-white walls. The vodka looked so smooth and clear, like the purest mountain water. The familiar scent of the burning liquid reached his nose and tickled his sensory; he could already taste it. In a few seconds he and Ivan would be enjoying it together, and it combined with the cozy warmth of the fire and a lover would be enough to warm both of them up in every sense of the word.

As for Toris…they could send him off to go play, or do tricks, or something. Ludwig really didn’t care what he did so long as he didn’t interfere with their quality time and kept his mouth shut about this whole affair.

With the speed of a sick tortoise, the cheeky little country began to hold the beverage out towards him.

Annoyed, Ludwig reached out to seize the glass from him. It was at that precise moment when, without warning, in a move so shockingly suicidal and stupid that Ludwig would have never in a million years seen it coming, Toris thrust the glass forward and soaked his face.

The German jerked back at once and began wiping at his face with his hands in a wild frenzy, a little howl of pain and surprise tearing out of his throat.

His eyes! It felt like they were floating in a sea of liquid fire!

"I thought I told you that you could fetch your own fucking glass."

At that moment the very last thread of self-control the Nazi had been clinging to snapped. Cinnabar lightning streaked across the blackness against the back of his eyelids. Still mostly-blind, he flew off the couch in a fury, relying on memory and Toris’s own voice to guide him. His hands closed around the smaller nation’s throat and he began throttling him. “YOU’LL DIE FOR THIS!” he roared, his murderous voice crashing like thunder throughout the house, his watering eyes squeezing tightly shut, “YOU HEAR ME?! I’m going to KILL you, you insolent…” he proceeded to describe the Baltic with a slew of swearwords and adjectives that would make a sailor blush with shame, picking the choicest ones from every language he knew, his short fingernails digging deeply into tender flesh and drawing blood. The whole while he was yelling he shook the Lithuanian as he choked him, and he intended to end his outburst by snapping his damned neck, but he never made it that far.

The stinging agony in his eyes too great to bear, he threw the treacherous, vile brunette into the coffee table and raced off into the kitchen, smacking painfully into first a wall and then a corner along the way.

Let Russia deal with his odious servant. Right now all he could think of was a sink with cold, running water.

____________________________________________________________________

* kchairtoo — written as К черту in Russian, but spelled out phonetically here to represent the fact that Ludwig isn’t pronouncing it quite right. Means “Go to hell”.

[Russia]

Relaxing slightly as Ludwig’s arm wrapped around his broad shoulders, he listened intently to the other man’s complaint about the Russian sniper who had shot him. On one hand, it was good to hear that his men where doing their jobs. On the other, the fact that they had hurt his lover was less good. But the sniper had apparently met his end already, so all was well and Ludwig would heal in no time.

At the remark about the sniper having looked like his boss, Ivan found himself partially wishing the man had been as well. Sad as it was, Stalin was already not turning out to be quite the leader Russia had hoped for. Some of his ideas worked well enough, but Ivan still had not forgotten the purges, which had turned out to be a really bad idea after all. Most of his people were completely ignorant or in denial of their leader's less than pleasant ideals, but Ivan himself knew Stalin well enough to feel disenchantment with him. Best to keep these things hush though. Let his boss do whatever he wanted and maybe things would eventually take a turn for the better. Who was a country to criticize or speak up against their dictator anyways?

“Vanya, what does kchairtoo mean? He yelled that right before he died.”

Ludwig’s question drew his mind away from bosses again. Kchairtoo…? He pondered the word for a moment before guessing as to what Germany meant. “ You mean, к черту?” It would be a very typical and appropriate to say to an enemy before dying. Ivan would have wondered more if one of his snipers had wished Ludwig well before being killed. “It means that was a very unhappy comrade. He was telling you to go to Hell.”

Ivan’s eyes shifted to Toris, who had returned and was filling one of his shot glasses with vodka. Studying the submissive looking brunette, he considered what they would do with Toris when he was done waiting on them. Since he was back at Russia’s house- and Ludwig didn’t seem like he would care if Ivan started barking orders-maybe he would have Toris start cleaning. It seemed a healthy and productive activity for his old servant. He figured that Lithuania probably secretly missed cleaning the old house anyways; since he had been bold enough to follow Ludwig on over. He must have been hoping to be caught and forced back to work while Ludwig and Ivan caught up on things and enjoyed each other’s company.

In a quick movement that Ivan had not seen coming at all, Toris decided to pull and attitude and toss the vodka that he had just poured, into Ludwig’s face. Russia’s eyes widened in surprise as the Baltic then came to the conclusion that he should talk back to his German superior. Shooting Ivan a look full of defiance, the Baltic nation then did the unthinkable and let Russia’s old and expensive shot glass shatter on the floor. It was painfully clear that Ludwig simply did not know how to handle servants back at his place. It was made even more clear by how Ludwig flew into a rage and grabbed Toris by the throat. Granted, had Ivan himself been the one to get the alcohol in his eyes, he probably would have been throttling Toris as well. Thanks to his ability to keep his servants in line, the pale Russian was confident that Lithuania would never have had the nerve to do such a thing to him.

“YOU’LL DIE FOR THIS!”

His lover’s words echoed through the old house, causing Ivan to instinctively reach up and cover his ears with his hands to block some of it out. He wanted to tell Ludwig to calm down and they could simply punish the defiant Baltic in a much more sensible and fun manner, but he doubted the furious blonde German would be able to hear him over his own yelling. As Germany threw Toris into the coffee table and ran off, Russia rose to his feet. Making his way around the broken coffee table, he knelt down and collected the shards of his shot glass in his hand; studying them with a look of disbelief. How dare, Lithuania purposefully break something of his! They didn’t just give shot glasses like these away. He had had those glasses for a long time now, and there was no way he could replace even one of them. Squeezing the glass shards in his bare hand tightly, Russia turned his eyes onto the guilty culprit who had broken his precious glass.

Standing once more, he grabbed Lithuania by the upper arm and hoisted him to his feet. “Look at what you’ve done to one of my favorite shot glasses, Toris.” He held the slightly bloodied pieces of glass in front of the other man’s face to allow him to see. The combination of Toris ruining his property and hurting his German lover could only mean one thing; some little Baltic nation was in for a severe punishment. Dragging the other man with him and over to the fire place, Ivan tossed the pieces of glass into the flames to get rid of them for the time being. Once his hand was free, he turned on Toris and slapped the other man across the face.

“You know the rules of my house, Litva. And you know what happens when you break those rules.” A thought came to him, and a look of malicious glee suddenly over took his soft features. He had thought of a perfect way to punish Lithuania, one that Ludwig would probably approve of as well. “Come along, my naughty little Baltic.” Pulling the already injured man along after him, he proceeded through the halls and towards Toris’ old bedroom. “Back in a few, Ludya. I’ll deal with this silly little servant for you.” He called into the kitchen as he passed by.
______________________________

(( I know, not as much epic ooc-ness as I could have managed. It is harder to make it completely ooc with Lithuania though. ^^; And of course, many thanks to you Liet, for permission to slap Toris around. ))

[Lithuania]

In all honesty, Toris had not been expecting such a vehement reaction from Ludwig. His gesture had been intended to cause him insult, rather than physical harm, and he'd utterly overlooked the effect that straight vodka would have when it collided with his eyes. But in the split second before the German lunged for his throat, the defiant Lithuanian felt something almos akin to satisfaction at the sight of the other man squirming in agony. Then a sudden rush of guilt...and then not much of anything as his breathing was abruptly cut off by the other man's hand closing about his windpipe.

He could hear the other man screaming insults and obscenities at him, registering the sound of his voice from a daze of oxygen deprivation as the Nazi throttled him with murderous intent. It was like listening to the tirade from under water, as the room grew heavy and murky and his eyes began to roll back in his head. 

But before he could lose consciousness, he found himself thrown like a rag doll onto the coffee table with such force that the wood split on impact. Coughing and choking, he put his hand to his bruised and blood-smeared throat and let out a tiny, pained little whimper as the full magnitude of just how much trouble he was in began to hit him.

Still dazed, he began to form the vague notion that he really should start apologising, when Ivan hauled him up by one arm and pulled him towards the fire, showing him bloody shards of broken glass and lamenting the loss of his priceless shotglass. He blinked hard several times, still recovering from Ludwig's vicious assault. 

He opened his mouth to say something...anything that might placate the Russian, but was cut short with a short, sharp crack across his face. A thin little sliver of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he looked up at Ivan, lips parted and eyes wide and tearful. But there was a certain irrational hope in his chest over the fact that Ivan had only
mentioned the shotglass, and not the half-blinded German in his kitchen. The slap was painful for the already-injured brunette, but there was something so achingly familiar about the gesture that it made his stomach tighten with a sick kind of longing and, for a split second he was looking up at his former master with that same fearful adoration that he always had, and for a split second Ludwig didn't exist anymore.

“Come along, my naughty little Baltic.” 

Instinctively, he dug his heels into the floor as panic set in again, but Ivan dragged him out of the living room as though he weighed nothing at all. As the blonde called out to the German, using that hideous pet name again, Toris winced, his breath hitching in his chest. 

It was only when they were halfway down the corridor to his old bedroom that he dared to speak, too anguished to even wonder why Ivan was bringing him here of all places.

"Why...?"  he blurted out desperately, his voice echoing much too loudly in the empty, dusty corridor. "Why, Vanya?!" 

Struggling wildly, he caught Ivan by the front of his coat and looked up at the violet eyed man imploringly. His brown hair fell in disarray in front of his pale, bruised face as he fixed the other man with a gaze that was half pleading, half accusing.

"With him?"  he choked out. "You're at war...it won't ever work out...you two can't..."  The last of his defiance crumbled as he dissolved into sobs and threw his arm around the Russian's waist, burying his face in Ivan's broad chest and clinging on for dear life.

"Please, Vanya..."  he begged as he wept, thin shoulders trembling. "Please tell me you're not really..."  He held on tighter to the Soviet nation, his smaller frame shaking tearfully.

Pulling back abruptly, Lithuania fixed him with wide eyes that glistened with salt water and desperation. "I love you, Ivan. More than anyone...more than he ever could."  Half-speaking, half sobbing, he hung his head. "I can't bear it. I can't bear to watch you with him and...and you can do what you want to me, Vanya, but please...don't make me have to see this..." 

Grabbing Ivan's free hand, he pressed it to his bloodied lips before holding it to his cheek. "Ты очень нужна мне..." he whispered desperately, tears streaming down his face, over the violet bruise already blossoming from Ludwig's handiwork as his heartbroken declaration spilled from crimson smeared lips. "Я тебя люблю..."

----

 ((Oh dear...push that drama button Toryshka... XD Posting from my phone so apologies for any formatting errors.

Russian translates to "I really need you. I love you." In case it wasn't obvious. XD))[/color] 

[Germany]

Ludwig’s mind whirled in a crimson haze of anger and pain. As if burning vodka in his eyes wasn’t bad enough, the collision with the wall had left his nose in a state of agony and the brutal encounter with a corner that had followed seconds later had struck fresh anguish into the right half of his face, mostly in the region directly above his right eye. Forcing himself to open his eyes for half-second-long pulses of blurry images, and holding his hands out in front of him to cushion the impact of any more walls that might be lurking dangerously just beyond his perception, he burst into the kitchen with a marked lack of grace. Through red, watery, stinging eyes he saw the familiar shape of a faucet above the kitchen sink. He lost no time in turning the handles over full blast, cupping his hands, and rinsing his eyes.

Cool, wet relief.

Well, not as cool as he’d like: the water started heating up on him, and he growled a little curse when turning one handle all the way back resulted in even hotter water. But the situation was easy enough to fix, and after a few moments he was drowning his eyes in nice, pain-alleviating bliss again.

As he stood there rinsing the alcohol out of his eyes, coherent thoughts begin to once again form in his mind, and his focus shifted away from his lessening pain and back to the heinously disobedient, disrespectful, and suicidal green-eyed nation in the other room. He still couldn’t believe what had just happened. How dare he do that to me? How DARE he! And after all I’ve done for him, that ungrateful, vile little worm! I rescued him from Russia. I took him in. I let him heal and didn’t work him so hard — I was even friendly towards him! And this is how he chooses to repay me? With disobedience, disrespect, and treachery?! His mind boiled over with rage. I should have left him to rot in that kitchen. Sniveling man-bitch deserves every horrible thing Ivan’s ever done to him.

Flashes of him torturing Toris — shooting him, maiming him, brutally breaking every bone in his body — went through his mind. He hadn’t really thought so before, but now he seriously considered the possibility that maybe all of his boss’s plans for Lithuania were for the best. Hitler wanted to destroy Lithuania’s own government and culture to make room for his own, either kill or deport most native Lithuanians, and make the whole territory part of Germany. If that happened, Toris would die once and for all. Few countries could survive losing their nationhood for any length of time, and those who could tended to be stronger nations with deeply entrenched, resilient cultures who retained enough of their government/leaders ( and also, in the best cases, land ) to have a prayer of returning to nation status within no more than a few years.

But those nations were rare — usually losing official nation status meant death. They were immortal only in the senses that age alone couldn’t kill them, and that mankind may remember them for millennia after they were gone.

He continued splashing water in his eyes and face.

Germany! What are you thinking? the small yet powerful voice at the back of his mind chided, rising through his thoughts like a thermal of warm, calming air, Yes, Toris should be punished for his treachery, but don’t you think you’re overreacting? Do you really want him to die…forever?

Ludwig turned the water off and searched around the sink for a towel, frowning the whole time.

He didn’t like that question. Contrary to what some people — and nations — liked to think, yes, he did have a conscience after all. And even though he was incredibly pissed at Toris at the moment, in truth, if he was being honest with himself, no, he did not want to him to die a permanent death, or even suffer too greatly for too long.

He does need whipped back into line though, he thought, his rage beginning to subside a little. He found a vaguely-white, kind of dusty towel laying on a messy heap on top of a pile of others beneath the sink and wiped his face with it. It came away streaked with blood — his nose was bleeding. But he was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed.

How to punish Toris? Ivan was good in that department — perhaps he should leave it to him.

Yes!

That was perfect!

Ludwig smiled inwardly. What better way to punish Toris than to have the very man he imagined was his lover think up and help administer the punishment? More, he and Ivan could bond over the affair, and it would cement the fact that Russia and Germany were the lovers here, and that was all there was to it.

That thought happily in mind, the German tossed the towel into the sink and started with hurried steps back towards the fireplace. He hardly looked his best — a nice red-hued mark had formed over his right eye, his nose was as red as his bloodshot eyes, and the blonde bangs framing his forehead and face hung in wet disarray — and his injuries still smarted ( particularly his nose ), but Ivan had already seen him in worse conditions, and not all the pain in Hell was going to keep him from his lover.

Reentering the living room, his hand dove into the inner pocket of his trenchcoat. Fair fingers twisted around cool metal. Ludwig licked some of the blood that had dripped from his nose on to his lip, enjoying the coppery tang, his mind traveling to kinky and sadistic places. I always wanted to play with you, Toris,[/i] he thought with a low mental purr, I was saving these for Ivan, but you’ll work just as well. Better, even.

Just thinking about it sent a shiver of excitement through him. This is going to be fun!

His eyes panned over the broken table and glasses, the splintered coffee table, and, embarrassingly, it took him a moment to realize that Ivan and Toris were gone.

Once he did a sharp, irrational fear gripped him: had Toris and Ivan really been lovers after all, and Toris had somehow convinced Ivan to take him back? What if the two had run off together?!

Panicked, he let go of the pleasure-enhancing love equipment in his pocket and rushed over to the couch. “Ivan? Ivan, where are you?!” he called, a tinge of dread to his voice, his anxious eyes scanning the room for any sign of his one and only, his breath coming a little faster, “My love?” He dashed for the front door and found it still locked-tight from the inside.

They hadn’t left the house through this exit. That was good.

But where were they?

______________________________________

A/N: Ivaaaan! I needs to be by you so I can has crackier thoughts.

[Russia]

"Why...?"

The simple little question caught Russia off guard as he pulled his prisoner along through the hallway. Why what? If Toris was asking him why he was being punished, Ivan figured that would be obvious. He had broken Russia’s shot glass, insulting and harming his new lover in the process. It only stood to reason that the less than merciful Russian would feel the need to inflict pain and humiliation for such an act of disobedience. Toris was a very smart nation; he should have known this. Especially after living with Ivan for many years.

The other man’s sudden onslaught of wild struggles loosened the larger nation’s grip somewhat, and suddenly found Toris holding onto his coat and starring up at him in the strangest fashion. To Ivan, the smaller country looked as pathetic as a lost little puppy. A puppy that needed some serious discipline.

"With him? You're at war...it won't ever work out...you two can't..."

It became very clear to him that Toris was referring to Germany and his’ relationship. It was a bit upsetting that the other man thought something as insignificant as war could get in the way of lovers. Wars came and wars went, but love could last forever. Being a nation spirit he represented his people and culture, but he was not just a reflection of them. He had his own personality-as messed up as it was- and that was what mattered. That was how he could love Germany even though they were in the middle of a gruesome war. Really, the battles going on around them only made their relationship more exciting and seductive. Their was an unmistakable allure to having such relations with a powerful and formidable enemy. Every time he had to fight with Ludwig on the battlefield, sporting all those wounds and killing Russians, it sent a chill of excitement down his spine.

Then Toris was crying into his chest and begging the tall Russian to lie to him. Why he wanted lied to when that wouldn’t change anything was completely beyond Russia, who had frozen in the hallway the moment Toris had pulled partially free from his grasp. Silent as a statue, he looked curiously at the teary-eyed man in front of him.

"I love you, Ivan. More than anyone...more than he ever could."

How did Toris know how much Ludwig loved Ivan? As far as he could tell, nobody could possibly love him more than his beloved Ludya. After all, Germany was willing to ignore the fact that they were supposed to be enemies just for the sake of being with him. Plus, nobody could fight back like Germany could. All those times the German had injured or defeated him in battle could only point to the fact that he loved Russia. You could never love someone so passionately unless you could hurt them, was his illogical reasoning.

It was almost tragic the way that Toris was so desperate to spill his heart out like that, and in Ivan’s native tongue too. Yet the desperation in Toris’ words and actions did nothing to dampen Russia’s serene smile.

“Toris, you are far too emotional about these things.” Pulling his hand away from Toris’ cheek and tightening his grip on the nation’s wrist once more, Russia hauled Lithuania along after him and towards the end of the hallway. “Why would the war get in the way of our relationship? Having a lover on the opposite side just makes it more fun and exciting! Think of it, Toris, any moment and we could be forced to face off in some epic battle.” He gave the green-eyed man an ecstatic smile at the thought, completely ignoring the pain and horror written on Toris’ face. “Germany is an amazing fighter you know.” he mentioned the last fact more as an afterthought rather than an answer to any of Toris’ still unanswered questions.

“Let us not forget my little Baltic, that you welcomed Germany with open arms at the start of this war. You left me, Да? That makes you the ex in this little scenario.” He squeezed Toris’ wrist harder as he said it, pausing in front of the bedroom door. Releasing the other nation momentarily, Ivan opened the door and shoved Toris inside, stepping into the dark room behind him and flicking the light switch.

“I have something for you. Something that I found a bit ago and decided would make for a lovely and fitting present. One of the maids that used to take care of the house left it here.” He explained jovially, pulling a box out of the closet and shoving it at Toris.

“It would be so nice if you would wear it and meet Ludwig and I downstairs by the fireplace again. If you don’t, I can’t guarantee that Ludwig and I won’t get bored and just decide to go play with your people instead. I am sure we could both use the target practice.” He gave Toris a cold glare that made his once serene smile suddenly look very unsettling. Confident that all would go to plan, the blonde turned without a second thought and headed back downstairs to find Ludwig. This was supposed to be their time together and he didn’t want to leave poor Ludya all alone in his ancient house for too long.

“Ivan? Ivan, where are you?!”

Sure enough, his guest was already missing his presence from the sound of Ludwig’s echoing yell. He had told his rival general that he would be right back. Apparently the other man missed him so much that he couldn’t bear to wait any longer. Bounding into the main room again, Ivan was greeted with the sight of a disappointed looking German. “Да товарищ? I just had to show Toris part of his punishment.” He approached Ludwig, looking at the other man’s injured nose and bloodshot eyes with fascination. His German lover looked so much better with sexy injuries. He really was an indescribably gorgeous nation; so handsome and well toned. Not nearly as gender androgynous as Lithuania. When he had started to find more toned physiques as appealing, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he was all too pleased with Germany’s appearance. Bloody nose and all.

[Lithuania]

“Let us not forget my little Baltic, that you welcomed Germany with open arms at the start of this war. You left me, Да? That makes you the ex in this little scenario.”

At this, Toris let out a tiny howl of pain, partly from Ivan's cruel grip on his wrist, and partly from the horrible reality of the situation. The fond, excited way that the Russian spoke of Ludwig, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about Germany's fighting prowess...all of it made him feel sick. Ludwig was everything that Toris wasn't. Tall, strapping, masculine, dominant and militant...probably the opposite of the pacifist Lithuanian in every possible way. And that was what Ivan apparently wanted.

He tripped over his feet as he stumbled into his old room and looked around in confusion. Maybe Ivan intended to lock him in there, so that he could have some time alone with his lover. The thought made him nauseous.

“I have something for you...”

Ivan thrust a box into his arms with a smile so gleeful that it could only mean something utterly hideous was inside. He wondered with a rising panic if Russia had purchased a new whip.

“It would be so nice if you would wear it and meet Ludwig and I downstairs by the fireplace again. If you don’t, I can’t guarantee that Ludwig and I won’t get bored and just decide to go play with your people instead. I am sure we could both use the target practice.”

Standing there dumbly, he felt an overwhelming, sick horror rise up in his throat at the thought of Ivan and Ludwig massacring his already-suffering people. He opened his mouth to ask Russia just what the Hell was going on, but Ivan had already turned on his heel and left.

He set the box down on his old bed and sat down for a moment, burying his head in his hands. There was a thin layer of dust covering the sheets...clearly Ivan hadn't bothered to come in here since he'd left. And then, with a frightened, morbid curiosity, he opened the box and pulled out the contents. His hands closed around yards of starched black fabric and...

He leapt back of the bed and let the thing fall to the floor, looking at it in revulsion.

“IVAN...! I WON'T DO IT!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, subconsciously trying to make his voice as masculine as possible. “YOU CAN GO TO HELL!”

Tears streaming down his cheeks, he kicked the offending object, before sinking cross legged to the floor and bursting into angry tears. Ivan had forced him into a lot of humiliating situations before, and so very much of Toris' pride was long since defeated, but this was just too much.

Toris Lorinaitis was not going to wear a maid's dress.

He sat on the dusty floor, pulling his knees up to his chin and staring at the garment with a mixture of anger and despair, chewing on his lower lip as he thought of how he could possibly avoid it. He glanced desperately at the window, but it had been fitted with bars for as long as he could remember. And besides...Ivan didn't make idle threats. He couldn't bear the thought of even a single one of his people dying because he refused to swallow his pride and indulge two sadists. Even Ludwig, who was normally a little more reasonable, seemed pissed off and deranged enough to follow through on such a hideous threat. After all, he was already leading an army that was killing off innocent civilians by the thousand.

No...there was no way he could allow a single one of his precious children to die over this. His homeland was far, far more important than his broken heart...and if this might even stand a chance of placating the two deranged army generals in the living room, then he would just have to swallow his pride, as he'd had to do so many times.

Although he suspected that, after this, he might not ever have any left.

Picking up the dress, he laid it across the bed, noting with a shudder that the outfit came complete with a white apron and stockings. Gritting his teeth, and with all the solemnity of a man who was about to go to his execution, he began to undress, folding his own clothes neatly on the table. Taking the dress, he examined it with shaking hands for a moment, a look of utter disgust on his face. He screwed his eyes closed tightly and slipped it over his head. Much to his dismay, the damned thing fitted perfectly. His jaw set firmly and his hands shaking, he completed the outfit by hastily donning the apron and stockings before he could change his mind, swallowing down the rising bile in his throat.

And then slowly, he forced himself to turn around and look in the mirror, dreading the sight of how utterly ridiculous he must look. But as he stared at himself through dusty glass, the thing that horrified him the most was that he didn't look ridiculous at all. He just looked like a flat-chested girl, who happened to be wearing a dress. Without his masculine clothing, it was almost impossible to tell that he was a boy at all. His hair didn't help matters, come free from its messy ponytail and hanging loosely past his chin, but it was his face...wide eyed and delicate and elfin and bruised and battered, streaked with tears that were still silently flowing...which made the outfit seem so fitting, made the brunette look so girlish and vulnerable and subjugated. He looked less out of place in the maid's dress than he ever had in a military uniform. The full black skirts came to his knees, and the white apron gave the illusion of a feminine waist and the sight horrified him. Shocked and ashamed, Toris turned his head away from his reflection and let out a tiny sob.

He sat down on the bed again, skirts rustling awkwardly beneath him, and he bunched his fists up in the fabric of the apron. There was no way in Hell he could go out there, dressed up like a doll, and try to appease his former lover and the bastard who'd stolen him from him. There was no way....

But he couldn't sit in this room forever and wait for Russia's patience to run out. And Ivan's cold glare, and the prospect of violence towards his people still flashed in his mind with disturbing, frightening clarity and spurred him on. Choking down another wave of sobs, he got to his feet, shakily. He debated putting his own boots back on, but decided against it and made his way down the corridor in stockinged feet, staring at the floor to avoid catching sight of his own reflection. His footsteps painfully slow, he stepped down the stairs, his heart hammering with a sick dread until eventually he was at the door to the living room, and his hand was on the doorknob. Standing there shaking for a moment, all his defiance from earlier utterly decimated, he felt like a lamb going to slaughter.

Slowly, with shaking hands, he nudged the door open, only glancing up briefly at the two men, before keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his cheeks burning scarlet with shame and humiliation. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, and his shoulders shook with the effort of not bursting into tears again.

And then...because he knew exactly what they wanted, and he didn't want to risk prolonging their sick little game any more than necessary...he opened his mouth and spoke in a quiet, trembling voice, barely able to keep the humiliation and fear and useless hatred from his tone.

“I'm sorry...” he said flatly, through gritted teeth, “...that I threw your drink at you.” He wrapped his arms around himself protectively and willed the ground to open up and swallow him, still unable to make eye contact with either nation. “Please forgive me...Sir.”