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Post by Lithuania on Jul 25, 2010 21:02:58 GMT -5
1944
He wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been in the windowless little room, wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d seen daylight, since he’d been fed. His wrists were cuffed together above his head, his fragile frame chained helplessly to the cold stone wall as he slumped uncomfortably in his bonds. His lips were cracked with dehydration, his throat burning. When Ivan had first twined his fist in his hair and dragged him back to his house, when he’d first been cuffed in the cellar, bruised and battered with the ghost of a loveless kiss on the forehead and a sinister promise to return, all that Toris could feel had been utter, incapacitating terror.
Now, Christ knew how long since, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted a glass of water.
He had a horrible, irrational fear that Ivan wasn’t going to come back. That the Russian really just planned on leaving him to starve to death, chained up in his cellar. He wasn’t sure if that was worse than what his captor might have planned for him.
He knew that, as far as Russia was concerned, he’d “betrayed” him. He’d known that from the moment that the pale blonde had thrown a knife at him, from the moment he’d passed out in Germany’s arms with Ivan’s vicious promise of retribution still echoing in his ears. And if he’d had a brief respite under Germany’s rule (at least, before Ludwig's boss got so mental that things were just miserable for everyone), then it was well and truly over now.
In a way, he wondered if perhaps he’d have been better off insisting that he stayed with Ivan from the start, even while he was half dead and soaking Ludwig’s shirt with his blood. At least then the Russian might have gone a little easier on him if he’d shown some loyalty, if he’d “repented” at the time, rather than letting the resentment fester over the course of a four years and a world war. Because if anyone could bear a grudge, it was Ivan Braginski.
He’d wondered if perhaps being apart from the violet eyed nation might have spun his feelings towards the other into something a little more healthy. Ludwig had often encourage him to despise Ivan, had pointed out so many times, with that irrefutable logic of his, that Toris was mad to cling to some hope that the Russian actually had some redeeming quality. But nothing and nobody had ever kept that horrible feeling of loss at bay, had ever stopped him from feeling as though he’d been torn away from the one person in the whole world that he belonged with.
Belonged to.
But now he’d gotten that sick little subconscious wish of his. Ivan had taken him back. Literally, taken.
But now, he wanted to be anywhere else in the whole world except where he was.
Toris knew what it was like to be afraid. He’d spent a fair proportion of his latter life in this particular emotional state. But his feelings now went beyond even that. If his arms weren’t numb, he’d have still been shaking in his bonds.
“IVAN!” he screamed hoarsely, for the hundredth time that day. Because maybe, just maybe, if he could see the other man, then he might be able to explain, to tell him that he hadn’t meant to abandon him, that he still adored him beyond all rational sanity in spite of everything. “Россия, пожалуйста !”
And this time, much to his shock, the door actually opened, the small crack of light forcing him to screw his eyes shut after so much time trapped in utter darkness. Slowly, tentatively, he opened one eye, then the other, weary green eyes taking in the tall, imposing nation, still obscured by shadow and the blinding light behind him as he lurked in the doorway. It occurred to him that now was the time he should start begging, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not yet. Because, in many ways, he still had the keen sense that it had been Ivan who’d betrayed him, who’d lit this whole fuse by jumping to insane conclusions and hurling a knife at him without bothering to even take the time to gather the facts.
“I haven’t done anything wrong...” he whispered eventually to his one-time lover. Because, no matter what might be about to befall him, it still had to be said. “You know that I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t...” He trailed off despondently.
“This was all your fault, Vanya...”
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Post by Russia on Jul 26, 2010 4:52:26 GMT -5
(Note: From this point on, this thread shall be rated “R” for Toris abuse. There is sure to be an unhealthy amount of blood and tears, plus whips and other inventive methods of punishment, so read at your own risk. You have been warned.)
Things were taking a turn for the better as far as the warfront was concerned. Not more than a day ago, the Soviet forces had finally taken Vilna, Lithuania from the Nazis. The battle between Ivan’s Red Army and the Wehrmacht had been brief, only lasting about eight days, but had completely destroyed all of Germany’s hopes of turning the place into a fortress. It was a sweet Soviet victory for sure, and one that Ivan and his troops, weary though they were, had celebrated. Then there was the matter of having finally been in a position to re-claim Lithuania and drag him back to Ivan’s own personal abode. The task had been easy enough, given that Toris was in no position to put up a fight. Simply grabbing the smaller nation by the hair and pulling him along had sufficed just fine, and had taken so very little strength on Ivan’s part.
Ivan had chained Toris up down in the cellar to await his punishment. As eager as the twisted blonde nation had been to make Toris scream for his betrayal, he had had more immediate matters to attend to right after the battle. Operation Bagration did not simply stop after seizing Vilna back, and there were always things that needed his attention at times like these. Add that to the fact that his boss had insisted on communications with him concerning recent events, and it made for a sad delay for the fun. Being chained up in the cellar with no food or water for a day had to have been awful however, and a form of punishment in and of itself.
And now Ivan was home again for the time being, and had plenty of time to play a few rounds of “beat-the-Baltic-back-into-submission.” The sad truth was, Ivan was not one to forgive and forget when it came to being betrayed by the one nation that he had put trust into. Being defeated by Germany awhile back had been humiliating, but finding out that his once-thought faithful servant had been double crossing him from the start had been devastating. Not to mention the fact that Toris had been quick to run off with Ludwig right after Ivan had been incapacitated. By the time he had come to his senses, Ludwig and Toris had been long gone and he had been left to take care of his injuries on his own and bitterly plot the day when he would crush Germany as a foe and seize Lithuania from his clutches. The complete destruction of Nazi Germany had yet to happen, but Ivan figured it was only a matter of time now. He was slowly closing in on Berlin, and his Western allies were not far off. Most importantly, he had Toris back, and this time around there was no Ludwig for the terrified betrayer to hide behind. Tonight at least he would have some form of revenge.
It was a deceptively sunny day outside, and striding through the garden of his old house towards the cellar, Ivan found himself wishing that the sunflowers would have grown better this year. For some reason, the flowers had been dying at an alarming rate in the small field near his house, leaving the area looking forlorn and lonely. He had no idea what could have been killing them. It had not been a particularly hot summer so far. And yet his flowers were wilting away more and more each day without any hint as to why. Ivan suspected foul play. Without a doubt, Germany was somehow slipping into his borders and going to his house just to poison the poor things. Perhaps they would liven up once the war was completely over and he could feed them German blood as retribution. Nearing the cellar door, Ivan heard an unmistakable cry from his captive.
Россия, пожалуйста!
It appeared as though Toris had decided that pleading would somehow help him out of the mess he had gotten himself into. Reaching out, Ivan pulled the door open slowly, peering into the darkness at his chained servant. Casually, he entered the dark cellar, turning the dim light on before shutting the door.
“I haven’t done anything wrong...”
It was never a good idea to start off with such lies. Annoyed already at Toris’ insistence on the fact that he was somehow innocent, Russia stopped in front of the Baltic nation and considered the ways he was going to make Toris scream. It was more infuriating that the smaller nation was content to try and toss the blame at Ivan, when he knew damn good and well that he was the betrayer here. Lithuania had left because his liaisons with Germany had been discovered, not because Russia had somehow done something to merit such betrayal.
“This was all your fault, Vanya...”
Immediately, Russia’s hand lashed out and struck Toris across the face. “Не скажите, Литва.” Grabbing onto the other man’s chin roughly, he turned Lithuania’s face so that he could stare him straight in the eyes. “I’m not at all happy with you my dear Toris. And I am not in the mood for lies.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at the terrified Baltic. At least his naughty servant had the sense about him to be frightened. He might even realize that by the end of the night a decent amount of his blood would be decorating the cellar floor and walls.
“I always make good on my threats. You know this, Да ?” The sadistic blonde’s smile never faltered and his voice was misleadingly soft. His free hand caressed the chained nation’s cheek as he spoke. “Your betrayal cut me deep you know, and ever since you ran off with Germany I’ve been anticipating this little reunion. We both know what’s going to happen next. Do you want to make the punishment less severe?”
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Post by Lithuania on Jul 26, 2010 12:24:30 GMT -5
Ivan’s hand cracked smartly across his face and elicited a little groan from the smaller nation. Perhaps, over the last few years away from life with Russia, Toris had half-forgotten just how strong the other man was, just how utterly, sadistically adept he could be at causing pain. When he’d thought of Ivan during his time away, it had always been tinged with a wistful, sorrowful regret, with a perverse sense of loss. The sharp slap to the face and the stern admonishment reminded him that there would be no such hope for a reconciliation.
He didn’t know why, but in his head, he’d always thought that perhaps, when Ivan eventually reclaimed him (for it had always been “when” and not “if”), there would be some kind of fraught, emotional exchange, that perhaps he would, against all odds, be able to convey to the Russian just how profoundly he’d had no choice in the matter.
As the other man tilted his chin up, as he finally looked into eyes which flashed violet with the promise of bloody retribution, a horrible chill ran through him.
“I’m not at all happy with you my dear Toris. And I am not in the mood for lies.”
“I’m not lying...I...” he began quietly, but stopped himself in his tracks as he realised that the Russian was barely listening. Ivan caressed his already-bruising cheek and he closed his eyes miserably, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as the blonde murmured gently spoken threats. It seemed as though Ivan was drawing things out, savouring the moment almost, and that terrified Toris all the more.
“Your betrayal cut me deep you know, and ever since you ran off with Germany I’ve been anticipating this little reunion. We both know what’s going to happen next. Do you want to make the punishment less severe?”
His stomach lurched and his arms, numb and heavy as they were from his bondage, began to tremble violently. He looked away, down to the floor, focusing his gaze anywhere except those piercing violet eyes and that tender little smile which belied the fact that the Lithuanian’s blood would be cooling on the stone walls before the evening was out.
And there was a miserable flash of hope across his hunted features for just a moment, because Christ, of course he wanted to lessen his punishment. He could barely breathe at the thought of what Ivan might be about to do to him. But a voice in the back of his head reminded him that the Russian was toying with him, that he really had no intentions of doing anything other than making him scream for his life. And Toris couldn’t bear the thought of any more games.
“Does it matter?” he said eventually, turning dark, accusing green eyes towards his captor. The rational part of him, the part that was desperately in tune with his survival instincts, was screaming at him to shut the Hell up and start begging. But he carried on talking because, if Ivan was going to torture him regardless, if the situation was so utterly hopeless, then he might as well say all the things that desperately needed to be said. Even if the Russian would likely force him to recant it all later.
“You’re going to hurt me anyway,” he continued quietly. His voice was hard and hollow, and his own strength of tone surprised himself. “But you might as well know that I didn’t betray you. That I begged Germany to leave before you came home. That I still tried to defend you, right up until you decided to jump to one of your insane conclusions. I only left because you were killing me.”
He swallowed hard, his throat parched and dry, and his voice began to waver. “I adored you,” he said, with such cold, unhappy vehemence that it was more of an accusation than a statement. “I really, really did, Vanya.”
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Post by Russia on Jul 28, 2010 1:37:16 GMT -5
The look of hope that spread across Toris’ face was priceless. The brunette looked as though he finally understood that anything other than the truth would just get him more pain. He appeared ready to cooperate, and for just a second Ivan considered lessening his punishment by a few strikes with the whip. And then his captive’s next words changed his mind.
“Does it matter?”
Of course it mattered. How could Toris think differently? Didn’t he want to receive a slightly less severe session of pain? Didn’t he want to keep just a little more blood in his veins? It was a simply bizarre question for his servant to reply with. Irritated, the sadistic blonde stopped caressing Toris’s cheek and pulled his hand away.
“You’re going to hurt me anyway,”
It was a true enough statement. What could Toris possibly expect after having stabbed his master in the back at the beginning of the war? A warm welcome home? Ivan thought himself a fair and reasonable country, but he had his limits, and the shivering Baltic before him had pushed past those limits. He should consider himself lucky that Russia was so attached to him and wasn’t planning on continuous brutal punishments every day for the rest of Lithuania’s time with him. Whereas their was no way for Toris to escape punishment, had he decided to be a good little servant and obediently admit his wrong doings, then he would have gotten a few less lashes with the bullwhip.
Toris however, was being unusually difficult today. Instead of being truthful, he again started off on more lies. He claimed that he had not betrayed Ivan at all, and that he had been trying to get Germany to leave from the start. Which of course was far from what Ivan himself knew to be true. He knew that Lithuania had been in league with Ludwig ever since the pact had been altered. Together, the two of them had undoubtedly planned the initial invasion of the Soviet Union. They had planned bringing Russia to his knees, although the reason why Toris would do such a thing still evaded him.
Maybe it all boiled down to the fact that he simply liked Ludwig? It was strange, because they had never seemed to have that good of relations before. Instantly, images of meek little Toris sneaking off to meet up with Ludwig while Ivan was away entered the crazed blonde’s head. His servant had once claimed to love him, but now he was seriously questioning that. Maybe all that talk by the fire had been to cover up his secret affair with Germany? Of course Lithuania was very smart and would realize how upset Ivan would have been if he had found out, and he wanted to protect Germany, so he had been quick to try and convince Ivan that nothing was amiss.
“I only left because you were killing me.”
No, you left because you would rather run off with Germany. I would never kill you Toris, and you know it. His irritation at these false statements was starting to reach it’s peak.
“I adored you, I really, really did, Vanya.”
The usage of the past tense in that claim did not get past Russia. For him, it was just as good as admitting that Toris now had his sights on Germany instead. “Lies, Lithuania. More lies. I know about you and Germany, so you might as well admit it.”
Turning, the tall Russian went straight for the crate where he kept his favorite disciplinary tools. He had been preparing to get Lithuania back almost since the other nation had left, and had taken the time to make sure his favorite bullwhip was polished off and ready for action. If his Baltic servant was not wanting to admit his betrayal now, he would by the time Russia was done with him. “Dear Toris, if you truly adored me as much as you say, you would have never turned on me in the first place, and you would not be lying to me right now. It’s not nice to lie to loved ones, is it?”
Withdrawing his weapon of choice, Russia returned from the corner of the cellar to stand in front of Toris again. The unmistakable air of fear from the smaller nation only served to bring out the whip-happy Russian’s sadistic urges even more. These sessions were punishments, and he liked to think he had never brought them upon Toris when the other had not done anything to merit them. Still, he got off on them just the same. As much as he undeniably loved the trembling little brunette before him, he loved to hear him scream almost just as much. With Ivan, the lines between love and sadism were frighteningly blurred, and he truly thought it was perfectly normal and okay to beat the living daylights out of a lover. In particular, a lover that had been disloyal to his trust.
Bringing out a small pocket-knife, Ivan first sliced Toris' shirt open in the front, in order to expose the nation's pale flesh. Backing away a few steps, he uncoiled the familiar leather instrument, and gave it a crack right for Lithuania’s left cheek, quickly followed up by a lash for the bound nation’s chest.
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Post by Lithuania on Jul 28, 2010 15:29:19 GMT -5
“Lies, Lithuania. More lies. I know about you and Germany, so you might as well admit it.”
“What the...?!” Toris exclaimed, not quite able to believe that Ivan had jumped to such a conclusion. He’d known that the Russian considered his leaving as a betrayal, but the other nation seemed to be implying that Toris and Ludwig had been...romantically involved?
He had no time to feel hurt at the thinly veiled accusation, however, as Ivan reached for a hideously familiar object and the Lithuanian’s objections died in his throat as he stared up at the bullwhip, coiled in Russia’s hands like a snake, and he suddenly felt much of his righteous indignation evaporate in the face of the paralysing fear he felt. With his hands shackled above his head, he was all too horribly aware of how completely helpless he was, how utterly at the mercy of Ivan’s twisted whims.
“...It’s not nice to lie to loved ones, is it?”
“Vanya...I’m not lying....I...” he began to mumble desperately, but Russia was already cutting the front of his shirt open and he shivered violently, a helpless panic rising in his chest. He suddenly began to pull on the manacles about his wrists, causing the chains to rattle uselessly. And then Ivan lashed out for his face, and Toris jerked his head back instinctively, so that the blow caught him smartly across the cheekbone. A fraction of an inch higher and it would have hit his eye and he realised, even through the sudden, searing pain, that Russia was not fucking around. A split second later, and another lash caught him across the chest and this time he let out a choked cry and yanked desperately against his bonds again.
He felt blood trickle down his cheek as he looked up at his captor, tears already beginning to form in his eyes. “I adored you,” he repeated insistently, although his voice had none of the hard strength of before, his breath coming in ragged gasps, “I always did and if you don’t believe me about anything else...you have to believe me...”
He shook his head vehemently, pulling against his chains again so hard that he could feel his wrists beginning to bruise. “Don’t do this...” he begged, and it was all so, so much more frightening because he was tied up and God, if he could only move his arms, wrap them about himself protectively, then he might feel a fraction less exposed. If there was one thing that Toris hated above anything else, it was being chained up like a dog. The restraints gave him a constant, heightened sense of panic, another additional distress on top of the rising fear which was already starting to mount to fever pitch.
“You don’t have to do this...you’ve already won the war...” He gave another violent yank of his arms as he squirmed helplessly in his bonds, and his eyes darted wildly to the whip in Russia’s pale hands. “Please...please...don’t do this...” he whispered uselessly.
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Post by Russia on Jul 29, 2010 4:49:40 GMT -5
Pausing briefly, Ivan watched with inappropriate fascination as the lash across Toris’ cheek began to bleed. The other nation’s stifled cry, combined with the rattling of the chains created such a beautiful symphony together. It really set the mood.
“I adored you,”
Toris’ words seemed to have lost some of their strength already, and the sadistic blonde had to wonder just how much longer it would take to break the young Lithuanian completely. How long before he had him confessing his crime and then begging for mercy? Going by the other man’s pained gasps, Ivan was guessing it would not be long now. Which was a shame really. They had just started the game. With his next words however, Toris proved he still had some little bit of defiance left in him.
With a look of amusement, Ivan watched the captured Baltic struggle against his restraints some more while shaking his head. The brunette looked as though he were much more frightened than last time Russia had brought out the whip. There had been fear then, but there was complete terror on his pretty features now. It was all very appropriate. This punishment was going to be much worse than most of the ones before. Lithuania had to learn that to do anything other than Russia's will was insane and nonproductive. That betraying him to the enemy was not going to do any bit of good, because he always won in the end and Lithuania was always going to end up back under his rule. There would be no more talks of love and sunflowers until his servant had learned these simple lessons.
“You don’t have to do this...you’ve already won the war...”
Yes he had won the war, or at least was so very close that it no longer mattered anymore. But that wonderful feeling of victory was temporarily eclipsed by the fact that Lithuania had let him down from the start and welcomed his Nazi adversary.
“Please...please...don’t do this...”
And the other nation‘s whispered plea was so soft, it almost made his previous statements seem more truthful. But Ivan knew that he was just trying to get out of a beating, so he ignored the strange and unfamiliar part of him that wanted to believe the lies and cease the whippings. “As if there was any doubt that we would win. Which makes you a very foolish country for turning on me like that.” Ignoring the pleas, Ivan struck the chained Baltic a few more times across the chest with the whip. “I’m sorry Lithuania, but you and I both know that I have to do this.”
He focused his attention fully on the task at hand, turning a portion of Lithuania’s chest into a patchwork of beautiful red lash marks. There was no way the other man could struggle away from the blows, and with each crack of the leather there was a painful looking new welt or cut, depending on the force of the particular blow. With the whip repeatedly lashing out at his newly regained servant, it took very little time for him to create a fair amount of criss-crossed marks on the pale fleshy canvas.
Stopping the assault, he coiled the whip around his right fist and moved closer to the injured country. “Are you ready to confess to your crime, Litva?” A confession would not exempt Toris from the remainder of his punishment, but Ivan figured it would be the first step towards mending their relationship. He missed having his green-eyed companion around, and hoped that after the beating, things could go back to how they were before Germany’s invasion. Things had been so good then. His violent, violet eyes focused on Toris expectantly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ((Nothing spectacular, but it's three in the morning and I am tired right now. I apologize in advance for any typos that probably slipped right by me due to this. ))
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Post by Lithuania on Jul 29, 2010 12:15:31 GMT -5
Toris didn’t even know why he was begging, he realised, as Ivan raised the whip once again. Today, there was no hope of calming Ivan down a fraction. There was no doubt that his notoriously obsessive, notoriously jealous lover had been planning bloody retribution for the last four years. For a moment, Lithuania found himself vehemently wishing that the Nazis had won the war, and then hating himself for such thoughts. After all, Ludwig’s boss had caused so much suffering for his people; maybe it really was for the best that he was back here, that at least the Jewish population of his lands weren’t being rounded up and detained, or worse. At least, if he was here with Russia, no matter how much of a beating he was taking, his people would be safer than if left at the mercy of Hitler’s insane dogmas.
His thoughts were cut brutally short as the whip cut through his skin again, causing him to jerk back. His back pressed against the cold stone of the cellar wall, his legs thrashing uselessly against the dirty floor, he bit his lip so hard that small beads of blood began to form around the indentations from his incisors. It hurt, already more than he thought possible, his terror heightening every sensation, and he was struck with the sickened truth that Russia was only just getting started, that this was simply a warm up for him.
“I’m sorry Lithuania, but you and I both know that I have to do this.”
You don’t. You don’t, you don’t, you DON’T!
Toris let out a hiss in response, which turned into a whimper and, as blows rained down on him and leather cut into increasingly torn and sensitive flesh, eventually the gurgle in the back of his throat became a howl of pain, long and continuous. He pushed back against the wall, his feet scrabbling against the floor as he uselessly willed the stone to open up and swallow him. But there was no hope of evading a single blow, and it seemed like an eternity before Ivan finally stopped. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he looked up at the violet eyed nation with desperate hope as he curled the whip away in his fist and leaned in close to him.
“Are you ready to confess to your crime, Litva?”
Lithuania stared at him in silent horror for a few long moments, still gasping from the pain that ripped across his chest. He lifted wide, tear stained eyes towards his captor and fought to slow his breathing down enough to formulate a response.
Clearly, Ivan wanted him to “confess”. But if he did, what would he be falsely admitting to? Did Russia expect him to say that he and Germany had been long time allies, or even lovers? That Toris leaving had been a calculated act formed around a long deception, rather than a spur of the moment act of desperation? Could he really admit to such awful lies, could he really look the other nation in the eye and list off “crimes” that he hadn’t damn well committed?
But Christ, it hurt so much already.
“I’m sorry...” he said eventually, hanging his head, his speech low and feverish and desperate. “I’m sorry I left, Vanya. I was scared and I fucked up and made a stupid decision. But I never...ever...planned for it.”
His voice was choked with the onset of sobs as he fixed Ivan’s gaze with tearful eyes. “I didn’t want to be away from you...I’m so sorry...” His aching shoulders were trembling, even with his arms bound taught above his head and the words left his lips in an almost hysterical babble. “But I didn’t plot anything...I just reacted and then I was scared to go back because I thought you hated me then and everything got so out of control...but please...I didn’t mean to betray you...”
The Lithuanian was sobbing in earnest, shaking and terrified. As he spoke, he felt as thought he meant what he was saying, as though his "confession" was actually providing some catharsis through the pain. And he felt genuinely reptentant, felt somehow that he had committed some crime against the other man, despite all rational evidence to the contrary.
And this feeling scared him so much more than even the whip in Ivan's hand.
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Post by Russia on Jul 30, 2010 5:37:38 GMT -5
All was silent temporarily, save for the sound of Lithuania’s pitiful gasps. Russia watched the other man try and catch his breath enough to begin the confession. He stared into Lithuania’s teary eyes with a wild anticipation before his gaze drifted down to the injured country’s exposed and bleeding chest. It was a beautiful sight, the way the new marks were such a stark contrast against Toris’ pale skin. The way the little traces of blood oozing out of some of the wounds made the beautiful red rivulets he had come to love. Best of all, unlike last time when he had lashed the Baltic across the back, this time Lithuania had a much better view of the pretty marks the whip had left on him.
“I’m sorry...”
Toris lowered his head, and truly gave the impression that he was this time. His voice had taken on a much more somber tone as well, which pleased Ivan. It had taken him a few good whacks with the whip, but now Toris was ready to tell him the truth. None of this blaming Russia for his running off.
“I’m sorry I left, Vanya. I was scared and I fucked up and made a stupid decision. But I never...ever...planned for it.”
Scared? Of what? He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Lithuania would be afraid to stay with him. He protected Toris and the other soviet nations, so why should any of them be frightened into running off? It seemed to be a weak explanation to him. Unless… he was scared because he thought Ivan had found out about the affair between him and Germany. The violet-eyed Russian considered the idea that the decision might not have been planned. He wanted to believe that, but at the same time there was an un-shakable air of doubt surrounding the claim. If Toris was with Germany in secret for as long as Ivan thought he was, then there would have had to have been some planning involved.
And Toris was sobbing and trembling again, and Ivan had to wonder how he could manage to tremble so much being chained up like that. It had to be painful to even move around in that position.
“but please...I didn’t mean to betray you...”
“But you did betray me, Toris.” he stated softly, giving the other a slightly hurt expression. “You’re not telling me everything.” it was not a question at all, but a statement. He gave the sobbing nation a sigh. “I love you Toris, but I am not pleased with you. You’re withholding part of your confession.” The tall nation’s eyes wandered up to where Toris’ hands were cuffed. “That doesn’t look comfortable. Would you like to come down for awhile? I want to switch games for a bit anyways.”
Russia tossed the whip gently to the ground, then reached into his coat pockets to find the keys to Toris’ cuffs. The deranged blonde had left them in his coat pocket since he had first chained Lithuania up, and found himself hoping that he had not taken them out and left them somewhere else. His gloved hand closed on something cold and metallic, and he withdrew the small silver keys and showed them proudly to Toris. Reaching up, he quickly undid the lock on Toris right wrist first, followed shortly by his left.
Grabbing Toris by his hair once more, he pulled the smaller nation away from the wall and towards the center of the cellar, right underneath the dim light fixture. Flipping the wounded Lithuanian onto his back and pressing him down first with his foot, Russia proceeded to kneel down and straddle the terrified Baltic, withdrawing the knife he had used on Toris’ shirt earlier. “Now, tell me about your relationship with Germany.”
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Post by Lithuania on Jul 31, 2010 3:32:14 GMT -5
At Russia’s assertion that he was still withholding part of his “confession”, Toris began to shake his head frantically.
“That doesn’t look comfortable. Would you like to come down for awhile? I want to switch games for a bit anyways.”
The Lithuanian didn’t want to know what Ivan’s next “game” would involve, so he simply shrank backwards, even as Russia unchained him. His arms crashed to his sides, two dead weights, and he let out a load groan at the painful sensation of blood beginning to return to his limbs. The momentary relief at being untied was instantly eclipsed by fear again as Ivan grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to the centre of the dingy little room.
He writhed and whimpered under Ivan’s foot, his wounded chest crying out in protest. And then the much larger nation was on top of him and Toris caught the unmistakable glint of silver in his hand and he suddenly, very vehemently, wished that Ivan had stuck with the whip.
“Now, tell me about your relationship with Germany.”
His eyes never left the little blade, even as he wriggled and struggled. “I...Ivan I don’t...” He continued to stare at the knife, his eyes going larger and larger. “Nothing ever happened,” he insisted pitifully, desperately, “There was no “relationship”. I never felt anything for him...”
Ashen faced and terrified, he squirmed underneath the larger nation, occasionally gasping at the pain in his chest. Wrenching one of his arms free from underneath Ivan’s knee, he reached up and clasped the other man’s free hand, the one without the blade. Cloying and desperate, he twined his shaking fingers with the Russian’s cold, pale grip.
“I loved you!” he cried out, frightened tears streaming down his cheeks. “I still do...I was never unfaithful in that way...not ever....”
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Post by Russia on Aug 1, 2010 2:41:34 GMT -5
“I...Ivan I don’t...”
Want to tell me the truth about that. He mentally finished the little nation’s sentence. Lithuania’s eyes were growing wider with fear, as Ivan stared down at him. As terrified as Toris appeared to be, Ivan was thoroughly enjoying himself. There was a such a feeling of power knowing that the other nation pinned under him was completely at his mercy. He would have the truth yet, no matter how many cuts with the knife it took him to get it.
“There was no “relationship”. I never felt anything for him...”
No relationship? Then why had Toris been so quick to betray Russia to Germany? It didn’t make sense to the Russian unless there was some sort of strong connection between the two of them. Toris had always been happy at Ivan’s house until the pact. He knew, because Toris had said so himself. And he may be a wonderful cook, and a great servant, but Toris Lorinaitis was not a good liar. Which he was demonstrating now, by trying to claim he was never involved with Germany. The way Ivan figured, what connection could be stronger than an inappropriate love? That might be enough to make the trembling little servant decide to abandon all reason and run off with an enemy.
It really was tragic on Lithuania’s part, that the smaller man didn’t just admit this to Ivan. Instead of pretending that the affair had never happened. Russia watched the trapped country squirm under him, as if the act would somehow lead to freedom. Toris did manage to free one of his arms, and Ivan was startled when the smaller nation reached towards his left hand and twined his fingers with his own. Was this a Lithuanian gesture? Was Toris trying to plead not only with words, but actions as well now? It was touching, but not an action that would save the sobbing Baltic from retribution. Still, Ivan pulled the hand up gently and rubbed it gently against his cheek before giving the Baltic's hand a slight squeeze and pulling his fingers free again. Playfully, the larger country pressed the blade under Toris' chin with enough pressure to be felt, but not enough to break the flesh.
Lithuania’s claims did nothing to satisfy Russia’s demand for the truth. The sudden thought that some of those tears being shed were not only out of fear, but for Germany, agitated the insane Russian all the more. Toris was mourning the loss of Ludwig, even as Ivan held a blade to his face. In all likelihood, the trembling nation was imagining all the things that Russia was going to do to Germany once he had complete control of Berlin. If that were the case, then Toris had every reason to sob, because after he had properly dealt with Toris, then Ivan planned to turn his sights to Ludwig.
“Toris, you know I can see right through those lies. Why don’t you be good and tell me the truth now?”
Pulling the blade away from Toris' chin, Ivan focused his sadism on the man’s chest. With the carefulness of a woodworker, he sliced the small knife across the mess of whip marks, making a bloody line that spanned all of Toris’ chest. Not very deep of course. The goal was not to get Toris to pass out from blood loss. Dragging the knife into a diagonal, downwards cut, he gave the other man an encouraging smile. “Now tell me you’re sorry for the affair with Germany.” Pulling the knife away, the crazed blonde traced the cuts with his left pointer finger lovingly. “Admit the truth to me, and then convince me that it won’t happen again.”
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Post by Lithuania on Aug 1, 2010 15:25:32 GMT -5
As Ivan pressed the brunette’s pale, cold hand to his cheek, Toris felt a brief, short-lived thrill of hope, that perhaps the gesture was a sign that things might be able to go back to how they’d been, before the advent of the war. It seemed, to Toris, to be a sign that maybe, just maybe, Ivan still loved him, in his own utterly twisted way.
But then it was all shattered again as the Russian cast his hand aside and began to fixate on the knife in his hand and that crippling, unbearable fear took hold again. Suddenly, a blade was at his chin and he tilted his head back, his bottom lip trembling as he felt the knife bite at his neck. For a horrible moment, he was certain that Russia was really going to slit his throat, and he was about to start begging for his life when the other man cut him off again, his voice gentle and lilting despite the murderous gesture.
“Toris, you know I can see right through those lies. Why don’t you be good and tell me the truth now?”
He looked up at his deranged captor pleadingly. “Ivan...I am...” he began hopelessly, but his words were cut short as Ivan forced his blade under Toris’ already mangled skin. Anything that he might have said became a desperate howl of pain as the larger nation sliced across his chest. He closed his eyes tightly, his screams unbidden and echoing off the walls of the cellar as he felt the blade slit through injured flesh, felt the hot spill of blood down his ribcage. The knife, on top of the whip marks, was utterly excruciating and Russia was a master at his craft. Before he’d made it all the way across his chest, Toris was a sobbing wreck, and the only thing he could coherently think of was how to make it stop.
Eventually, the agony ceased and the smaller nation lay panting and sobbing on the ground, pinned there under Ivan’s weight. His limbs twitched a little, as he wept wholeheartedly, the undiluted physical pain breaking down any last resistance that he might have harboured.
“Now tell me you’re sorry for the affair with Germany.”
Did it matter anymore, he wondered to himself. Did it really matter that he had loved Ivan, all through the war, even when he’d been apart from him? He supposed, in a small wave of hysteria, that nothing particularly mattered now, except trying to make the other nation stop hurting him.
Ivan caressed his wounds, dragging a series of frightened, pained whimpers from the Lithuanian’s mouth.
“Admit the truth to me, and then convince me that it won’t happen again.”
Weeping in heartbroken earnest, Toris looked at Ivan and silently begged the other man not to force him to say it, mutely willing his captor to see sense. Then his tear-soaked gaze flitted briefly to the knife again, and he sobbed all the harder, because there was no hope of imparting any kind of truth or reason to the man that he’d so irrationally loved, because this would go on and on until he gave Ivan what he wanted. And wasn’t that what Toris had always done, foolishly and unconditionally. Hadn’t he always given the other nation everything he had to give, reasonable or otherwise? Hadn’t this utter, unreasonable concession made up the fundamental tenet of their entire insane relationship?
Why break the habits of a lifetime?
His chest heaving with sobs, he struggled to compose himself sufficiently, through the pain and the horrible sense of empty shame at being forced to say something so abhorrent. Eventually he gathered enough strength to look the other nation in the eyes, broken and defeated.
“I’m sorry for my affair with Germany,” he repeated mechanically, his voice barely more than a whisper, desperately praying that his submission would afford him some mercy. “I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I betrayed you, and...and I deserve this.”
His delicate features contorted with physical and mental anguish, he reached up with considerable difficulty and gripped the front of Ivan’s coat, just below his collar. “Please...” he murmured desperately, choking down the lie and fixating on how vehemently he just wanted things to be alright again, how much he wanted to make it all stop. “Please...forgive me...Vanya...”
With the tiny fraction of energy he had left, he pulled himself forward, groaning in pain as he did so, his injuries screaming out in protest. And eventually, with a horrible, pained effort, he found his pale face level with the Russian’s, and he held himself there with violently shaking hands, the effort taking all his strength.
Then he pressed his parched lips to Ivan’s, smearing his own blood against the other man’s mouth as he kissed him with a profound, impassioned desperation.
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Post by Russia on Aug 2, 2010 4:58:03 GMT -5
Playing with the knife, the crazed nation noticed the look of defeat on Toris gentle, somber features and waited for the confession that was to come. He knew that once the knife had come into play, the little nation would not be defiant for long.
“I’m sorry for my affair with Germany,”
Toris’ voice was so very quiet, but Ivan heard him all the same. His Baltic servant must have been ashamed to have had his relationship with Germany discovered, since he was whispering the apology. It must have occurred to him that now was the time for pleading for forgiveness, and praying that Russia decided to finally grant it.
“I’m sorry I lied and I’m sorry I betrayed you, and...and I deserve this.”
Taking his left glove off, he casually ran a bare finger along the blade of the knife while listening to Toris’ confession. Now he had gotten Lithuania to admit his crimes, the question became what was in store for the little country now? Ivan was not done disciplining the other man. Whether he had finally admitted it or not, the fact remained that Toris had still done the crime and would need punishment for that. He was sorry now, but not as sorry as he was going to be. But still, there was a part of the blonde-haired sadist that longed to lessen the punishment, especially looking down at Toris’ anguished expression. He was torn between the desire for more blood, and his wish to simply hold the beaten nation closer and let things go back to how they were before the war. He felt the Baltic grab onto his coat, but didn’t stop him. Instead he simply stared down at the young looking Lithuanian in silent consideration.
"Please...forgive me...Vanya...”
Of course he would in the end. Russia could have a completely foul temper at times, and was more than capable of holding grudges for very long stretches of time, but not against Toris. Not with the other man pleading and so apologetic. Even if it had taken Ivan a bit to beat the truth out of him, at least Toris had finally admitted his crime. Ivan studied the brunette- in-question curiously, as the other used his grip on Ivan’s coat to pull himself up. He was trying to decipher what Toris was up to by suddenly shifting his position -he at first thought that the other man was trying to get free again- when he suddenly found himself in a kiss.
It was an odd sensation -given the fact that Toris’ lips were cracked and bloodied- but not necessarily a bad one. It just made the moment seem more raw and less fake somehow. Temporarily forgetting that he was still clutching a knife in his right hand, the overly dominant nation wasted no time in running his left hand into Toris’ hair and roughly seizing a handful of the brown locks. Wrapping his right arm around the injured Baltic's back, Ivan was quick to pull the smaller nation closer, deepening the kiss and not at all minding the metallic taste of blood from Toris’ lips. He pulled away after a few moments, and gave his servant a kiss to the forehead.
“I want to forgive you, Litva. I have missed you. This will have to wait until your punishment is over for tonight.” He whispered into the beaten Lithuanian’s ear. Abruptly, he shoved Toris back down and pulled the fabric of his shirt away from the cuts again. “Should I paint us a picture, Toris?” As a demonstration the unhinged Russian pushed his finger down onto one of the cuts forcibly and then painted a small heart with the make-shift red finger paint. The cruel drawing would wash off easily, but an idea struck him that would last much longer and would serve as a reminder never to betray him again. Russia’s eyes seemed to light up at the new idea, and he fixed Toris with a look of child-like glee. “I have a better idea. It should suffice as a good enough punishment for the night too, and will serve to remind you where your loyalties lie. First, I want you to guess what I am going to do to you, Toris.” His grip on the knife tightened as he forced the other man to guess his own punishment.
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Post by Lithuania on Aug 3, 2010 17:08:21 GMT -5
Ivan kissed him back, rough and deeply possessive, and Toris felt his hand twine through his hair, forcing his head back. He moaned a little and even through the pain he was unable to quite shake the feeling that he was back where he belonged, for better or worse. He felt a brief little thrill run through him and it wasn't that he was a masochist, despite Ludwig's initially adamant allegations, but more that, above all else, he desperately wanted Ivan's obsessive brand of affection. He hated the pain, the humiliation and the abuse, but he craved, above all else, the sensation of wholeheartedly belonging to the person he loved more than anyone.
Not for the first time, Toris wondered if there might be something deeply wrong with him.
“I want to forgive you, Litva. I have missed you. This will have to wait until your punishment is over for tonight.”
The blonde’s gentle, lilting voice in his ear caused him to shiver, caused him to close his eyes in a kind of agonised acceptance. The sensation of Ivan’s kiss on his forehead caused fresh tears to spill down his cheeks, and he found himself torn hideously between fear and hope, his emotions oscillating wildly as he found himself involuntarily longing for the other nation’s arms around him again. But instead, he was pushed back roughly against the floor and Ivan was prodding at his injuries and fingerpainting with his blood and he looked away, squeamish at the sight. It wasn’t so much his own blood that disturbed him, but more the glint of excited happiness in the Russian’s eyes.
“I have a better idea. It should suffice as a good enough punishment for the night too, and will serve to remind you where your loyalties lie. First, I want you to guess what I am going to do to you, Toris.”
The little nation's blood ran cold at those words. If Ivan had dreamt up something that he considered to be a “good enough punishment”, then it was bound to be utterly Hellish, by any stretch of the imagination. A hundred and one sick, unbearable possibilities ran through his panicked mind, and each and every one made him bite his tongue all the more. Because if there was one thing that he wasn't going to do, it would be to risk giving his captor new ideas.
Toris' gaze flitted to the knife again, his mind blank with abject terror. And he knew that the other man expected him to say something, but he remained frozen, his shoulders shaking. He found himself painfully wishing that the Russian would simply take him in his arms again, would tell him that things really could just go back to the way they'd been, before Ivan had gone mad and Ludwig had invaded. It might not have been perfect, but it was a damn sight better than this.
“If you punish me....” he began, his voice shaking as he avoided the question. “...will you really forgive me? W...will things go back to how they were before I left?”
Thoroughly defeated, Toris slumped back against the floor, his chest on fire, his body exhausted and dehydrated, his presence of mind utterly shattered and his breathing fast and painful. He tilted his head back and gazed up at his captor through half-lidded eyes.
“I can't guess...” he whispered, sobbing again. “But I know that...that it's going to be unbearable. Because it always is with you. So...just please...make it quick.” His voice choked off fearfully as fresh tears streamed down his face. “I want things to go back, Vanya. To...to how they were.”
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Post by Russia on Aug 7, 2010 15:21:21 GMT -5
It seemed that Toris really had to think about what Ivan was planning for him. Staring down at the shaking nation, he couldn’t help but feel that Toris should have guessed it much quicker. Here he was with a wickedly sharp knife in hand, looking down at perfect expanse of pale flesh. Not considering the fact that Toris would have to be a mind reader to come to the correct assumption, he gave the other man a slightly disappointed look.
“If you punish me....”
The Baltic was not answering his question straight off, but curiosity compelled the tall blonde to listen anyways. Maybe Toris was just trying to give himself more time to think over what his punishment could be. He really had been away from Russia too long.
“...will you really forgive me? W...will things go back to how they were before I left?”
“Of course I will. I’ve always forgiven you in the past after you’ve received punishments for your misdoings, haven’t I?” His previous look of disappointment slipped back into a smile again. Here Toris was facing an unknown sentence, and all he could think about was forgiveness. It was sweet really. Ivan considered the second question, studying the blood-tipped blade in the dim lighting. Would things really be as they were now that he had his servant back? He saw no reason why things would have changed. Although he might have to consider keeping better tabs on Toris in the future. Just in case the sneaky Baltic felt the urge to run off with his enemies again. But that aside, everything was fine after a good beating. If anything, things had always seemed to go more smoothly in the past after such incidents.
“Da, things will be like they were before you ran off.” he confirmed cheerfully, ruffling Toris’ brown hair.
The words had the effect of comforting Lithuania, or at least, his slumped posture seemed to suggest that they did. In fact, Russia thought he looked almost sleepy, with his eyes only half-lidded. If he hadn’t seen the other nation cry out from the previous discipline, he would have been concerned that Toris was getting bored with these punishments.
“I can't guess...but I know that...that it's going to be unbearable. Because it always is with you. So...just please...make it quick.”
The news that the other nation couldn’t even guess at his punishment was startling and disappointing. “If it was not unbearable, how would you ever learn? It takes more than a simple slap to get someone’s attention and remind them of the way things should be, Toris.”
Studying Toris’ bare chest, the sweetly smiling sadist searched for the right area to begin. Finally settling on the area of skin right under the long horizontal gash he had made not long ago, Russia began to carve slender delicate Cyrillic letters. If the whip marks from before had not been enough to remind Toris of his place, then this surely would. The Lithuanian couldn’t read the best in Russian, but Ivan knew that there were some words that even he would recognize without second thought. One of which was Ivan’s own name. His left hand was now positioned on Toris’ upper chest- right above the area he was mutilating with his bloody lettering- to keep the other man held down for the process. Ivan did not want his beautiful lettering to be ruined, should the Lithuanian decide to struggle against him. Digging the blade in a little deeper, he carefully formed each letter until the name “Èâàí” was etched into the pale flesh.
As if it were no more than a piece of art, the overly possessive nation wiped at some of the blood around the letters with the cuff of his coat sleeve. He had done a fine job in his own opinion. Shifting his weight, he dismounted Toris, and stood up to his full height once more. “I think it looks fantastic, Toris. You should see for yourself.” In much better spirits than he had been in awhile, the unhinged Russian searched his cellar for something remotely reflective. After a bit of a hunt, he finally found a hand sickle, that had not yet lost all of its shiny surface to rust. He held the harvesting instrument at a slight angle near his Baltic comrade, in hopes that the other man could see the bloody lettering.
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Post by Lithuania on Aug 7, 2010 17:11:22 GMT -5
Ivan was cheerfully proclaiming something reassuring and ruffling his hair, but Toris was already eyeing the bloodied knife in his hand and barely listening. The certainty of the physical pain to come made his heart race in a sickening panic, hyped up on more panic and adrenaline than his frail, exhausted little form was able to take, his head swimming with terror. He shook and shivered violently underneath the only person in the world who could make him so hideously fearful, so sick and hopeless and helpless and afraid, who could make him feel loved and worthless in equal and bafflingly concurrent extremes.
“If it was not unbearable, how would you ever learn? It takes more than a simple slap to get someone’s attention and remind them of the way things should be, Toris.”
He never had the chance to tell him that he didn't have to do anything to get his attention, that Ivan was the sole subject of his obsessions just as profoundly and unhealthily as Toris was the subject of his. He didn't have the chance to say much, as a matter of fact, because there was a broad palm pressing down on his chest, holding him immobile and barely able to breath, and a moment later, a searing pain shot through his chest and he squeezed his eyes closed. Sickened to the point of nausea at the Russian's actions, he turned his head frantically to one side, then the other, thrashing underneath his grip and finding that it was all useless.
The blonde was taking his time, carving something definite and purposeful into his chest, not simply cutting for the sake of causing pain. This fact alone horrified Toris perhaps more than even the pain of the incisions. He was screaming...hoarsely, his voice intermittently cutting off in pitch as his throat threatened to give way...but screaming nonetheless, his cries echoing off the walls of the cellar. A part of him wished that he could be braver, that he was more stoic, and perhaps if it had been anyone in the world but Ivan, he might have been able to grit his teeth, to hold out and remain defiant a little longer and not paint such a stark picture of his own distress. But when it came to Russia, Toris had no pride left. Really, when it came to Russia, he had nothing left at all.
Eventually, mercifully, after what seemed like an eternity, the pain stopped, and the brunette's hoarse screams began to die into miserable, unhappy, breathless little whimpers. Warm, sticky blood was oozing from his chest, to the floor and when Ivan climbed off him, he instinctively put his hand to the wound, feeling hot crimson spill between his fingers.
“I think it looks fantastic, Toris. You should see for yourself.”
He shook his head, over and over again, because he didn't want to see, didn't want to know what had been carved into his chest. He lay back on the floor, a pool of blood underneath him, staring up at the ceiling miserably, cold tears spilling from his cheeks and making little rivers over his temples.
And when he looked again, Ivan was holding a sickle in front of him expectantly and he tensed up in horror, because he thought that the other man was going to cut him with it. But instead, he just angled the reflective surface towards him expectantly. With a gut wrenching feeling of trepidation in his stomach, he removed his hand. And, of course, he already knew what he was going to see, before he'd even looked at his own bloodied reflection.
Иван.
He stared at the red letters, reversed in the reflective metal, his eyes wide and blank with revulsion. Ivan had mutilated his skin many times before, and each new scar had sickened him, but this...this was so much more hideous than any other scar that the Russian had inflicted on him. There was something horribly degrading, something disgustingly permanent and coldly humiliating about it.
If he'd been distressed before, then now, something in him utterly snapped. Pushing the blade away, he wrenched himself onto his side, his breathing coming fast and hysterical until he was hyperventilating and he couldn't stop. And it didn't even matter any more how much his chest hurt, he still brought his knees up to his chest, pulling them tightly to himself and curling up into a ball, unable to look at Ivan. Lost and small and broken, he pressed both hands to the painful carving and willed it to go away as he sobbed as though his heart would break.
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