Don't Ever Change
Title: Don't Ever Change
Originally posted: 2/7/2009, on the kink meme. Link
Length: 1,400 words.
Characters/Pairings: US/Russia
Premise: The request was for a yandere!America. This is set right after that NATO missile defense brouhaha in 2008, when the US and Poland agreed to put a base with 10 interceptor missiles in Poland. Russia reacted by issuing a nuclear threat to Poland and cutting off ties with NATO.
Time period: 2008
Smuttiness: 3/10
Funnyness: 1/10
Wrist slashiness: 3/10
Lolhistoryness: 6/10
Violence: 6/10
Would I like it?: It's like the lead pipe-wielding extreme version of slap-slap-kiss, with an extra side of creepy.
Russia looked a little different than he used to: the badly fitted military uniform was gone. Instead, he wore a crisp blue suit. His scarf was a silk blend. His shoes were Italian. He drew admiring looks from passerby as he trotted up the sidewalk to America's house--looks which steadily shifted to confusion, because he was still Russia.
And he still had his pipe.
America had just time to say "Russia? What brings you--" before the bent side of the faucet caught him under the chin. To his credit, the boy kept his feet and his grip on the door. His eyes bled from bewilderment to anger.
"What the fuck do you think you're--" he started.
Russia smiled. "Let's take this inside, da?" and shouldered America back into his own house. He stepped in after him, caught the doorknob with the faucet, and tugged the door gently shut behind him.
Outside, in the midsummer stunned silence, someone ventured, "Should somebody call the police?"
An uncomfortable throat-clear. "I don't…think the NYPD's up to this."
***
Inside, Russia had the United States pinned against a wall, his forearm against his throat. His eyes rolled to the ceiling and he sighed philosophically. "Alvays, you are making things so difficult for me, America." He cracked the tip of the pipe into America's knee, and America grunted and sagged to the left. "You say you want me to cooperate with others, play nice--"
"Get off of me, you commie fuck--" America gurgled.
"--Play nice with all the dear little helpless children in Europe," he went on. He casually kneed America in the balls, then choked off the ensuing cry and string of curses. "It never stops, zaebal, it is all being so tedious. But I am tryink! I listen. I am so patient with you, America." He smiled: big, kindly, and it never touched his eyes. "And then, you do this to your old friend? Vhere is your 'spirit of cooperation?' Vhy can you never, ah, poshol v zhopu, tebya ne ebut, ti ne podmakhivai--how do you say…be more considerate of your neighbors?"
"Somehow I don't think that's exactly what you said," America managed, prying Russia's arm an inch away with his own.
"I thought you vanted to be friends, America." Russia stood back with a pained expression and waited for the United States to regain his feet. America noticed the windup just in time to dash along the wall and only catch the faucet in the side of the head, instead of full across the teeth. "These mixed messages…they are not good for our friendship."
He swung again while America was still dazed, and this time sent the other nation sprawling to the floor on his hands and knees. His glasses skittered under a table. Russia went to stand over him. He leaned against his pipe and waited. A minute passed while America struggled to breathe without puking onto the carpet, and then…
Russia's brows drew imperceptibly together.
--And then America started laughing.
Not hysterical, not grim: genuine, happy laughter. In fact, he sounded almost--relieved. Russia shifted his weight back on his heels and rumbled, "There is somethink funny? You vill be sharing."
America sat back and looked up at him, and he was--beaming. His eyes shone with something that made Russia tighten his grip on his faucet uncertainly. "Oh, Russia…I was starting to wonder if I'd ever see this side of you again."
Russia frowned.
America put one hand against the wall and climbed shakily to his feet. "You're…you're perfect like this, you know?"
Russia glanced over America's face, then at the carpet where he'd hit the floor for good measure. No blood. And he'd checked the blows, so the younger nation shouldn't have a concussion. He scrutinized America. "My dear friend is teasing?" he questioned.
That dazzling, Hollywood smile persisted. "I'm not teasing. I mean it." He slumped back against the wall, and Russia put a name to that shimmer in his eyes: it was undiluted adoration. "I don't know what I'd be without you, Russia. Do you want to take another swing at me? We can fight. I don't mind."
"I am thinking you've had enough for now," he heard himself say, a note of wonder in his voice.
America shook his head. "No, I mean it! I'm fine, you know? It takes more than that to keep me down. Take your best shot." He spread his arms invitingly.
With a mental shrug--how could he refuse?--Russia picked up his pipe again and brought it around in a tight, brutal arc. America moved like a snake. He dived off the wall, rolled under the blow, and collided with Russia, shoulder into knee. Russia staggered back and dropped to the floor. America scrambled over him and drew a pistol from under his shirt at the small of his back (he carries a concealed firearm even in his own home, alone? --Of course he does, he's America). He gripped the barrel and whipped Russia across the face. A flare of blood and mucus flew across the rug. Russia brought his arm up through the haze and smashed America in the side of the head. America grunted and fell to the side. Russia rolled over him, and this time America's knee found his groin.
The fight lurched on, and neither man regained his feet. America got the pipe away from Russia. Russia knocked the gun off America. The world was six feet of elbows and knees and split knuckles and teeth. The struggle slowed and halted once America got Russia pinned, a knee on his chest, both hands on the tails of his scarf, yanking in opposite directions. The fight went out of Russia as he shifted from red to purple. America relaxed his efforts to choke the other nation to death, but he didn't let him up. Instead, he leaned in close and brushed a strand of hair out of Russia's face. Blood from his nose dripped onto Russia's cheek.
"I did it for you," America whispered. "Those cocksucking Europeans think I did it to protect them, but I really did it for you." He caressed the line of Russia's jaw. Russia blinked impassively. "You were getting too close to NATO. Those sons of bitches…they want to change you, you know?" His blue eyes stared earnestly into Russia. "I don't want you to change. I love you just the way you are. So I have to keep you isolated--you understand? That way it'll stay as you against me." He slid his leg off Russia's solar plexus and cradled his hips between his knees. His fingers combed through Russia's hair, so gently.
"I thought it might be something like this," Russia murmured.
America kissed the blood off his face. Russia turned his head first left and then right to allow it. "I can't let you turn into one of those prissy liberal dirtbags," he breathed. His body stretched against Russia's, and even though they both hurt everywhere, this was warm, this was good. "You're the only one I respect, Russia. You're the only one I could ever love." He nipped softly at Russia's earlobe. "You're my equal." He let go of Russia's scarf and slid his hand down his side, then up again, to rest light and hot on Russia's chest. "And neither one of us gives a shit what the others have to say. Maybe we've gotta play nice for now, but one day…it'll be just you and me again, Russia." He nuzzled the side of Russia's neck and crooned, "Won't that be great? God, I wish…I wish it really was just you and me." A shudder passed down America's body, communicated to Russia through every inch of skin. "Just…just the two of us. And a whole empty world as a stage to prove who's best."
"You're crazy," Russia marveled.
America pulled back and met his eyes again. There was something so painfully sincere in those endless blue eyes that it mesmerized the older man. "So I have to protect you until then, all right? Because I love you, Russia. I love you more than anyone in the world loves you. I don't want you to change." He pressed his mouth to Russia's, and Russia, something dark and primordial stirring in his breast, felt himself respond.
America's voice was a hot, harsh whisper against his lips. "Please, don't ever change."
Originally posted: 2/7/2009, on the kink meme. Link
Length: 1,400 words.
Characters/Pairings: US/Russia
Premise: The request was for a yandere!America. This is set right after that NATO missile defense brouhaha in 2008, when the US and Poland agreed to put a base with 10 interceptor missiles in Poland. Russia reacted by issuing a nuclear threat to Poland and cutting off ties with NATO.
Time period: 2008
Smuttiness: 3/10
Funnyness: 1/10
Wrist slashiness: 3/10
Lolhistoryness: 6/10
Violence: 6/10
Would I like it?: It's like the lead pipe-wielding extreme version of slap-slap-kiss, with an extra side of creepy.
Russia looked a little different than he used to: the badly fitted military uniform was gone. Instead, he wore a crisp blue suit. His scarf was a silk blend. His shoes were Italian. He drew admiring looks from passerby as he trotted up the sidewalk to America's house--looks which steadily shifted to confusion, because he was still Russia.
And he still had his pipe.
America had just time to say "Russia? What brings you--" before the bent side of the faucet caught him under the chin. To his credit, the boy kept his feet and his grip on the door. His eyes bled from bewilderment to anger.
"What the fuck do you think you're--" he started.
Russia smiled. "Let's take this inside, da?" and shouldered America back into his own house. He stepped in after him, caught the doorknob with the faucet, and tugged the door gently shut behind him.
Outside, in the midsummer stunned silence, someone ventured, "Should somebody call the police?"
An uncomfortable throat-clear. "I don't…think the NYPD's up to this."
***
Inside, Russia had the United States pinned against a wall, his forearm against his throat. His eyes rolled to the ceiling and he sighed philosophically. "Alvays, you are making things so difficult for me, America." He cracked the tip of the pipe into America's knee, and America grunted and sagged to the left. "You say you want me to cooperate with others, play nice--"
"Get off of me, you commie fuck--" America gurgled.
"--Play nice with all the dear little helpless children in Europe," he went on. He casually kneed America in the balls, then choked off the ensuing cry and string of curses. "It never stops, zaebal, it is all being so tedious. But I am tryink! I listen. I am so patient with you, America." He smiled: big, kindly, and it never touched his eyes. "And then, you do this to your old friend? Vhere is your 'spirit of cooperation?' Vhy can you never, ah, poshol v zhopu, tebya ne ebut, ti ne podmakhivai--how do you say…be more considerate of your neighbors?"
"Somehow I don't think that's exactly what you said," America managed, prying Russia's arm an inch away with his own.
"I thought you vanted to be friends, America." Russia stood back with a pained expression and waited for the United States to regain his feet. America noticed the windup just in time to dash along the wall and only catch the faucet in the side of the head, instead of full across the teeth. "These mixed messages…they are not good for our friendship."
He swung again while America was still dazed, and this time sent the other nation sprawling to the floor on his hands and knees. His glasses skittered under a table. Russia went to stand over him. He leaned against his pipe and waited. A minute passed while America struggled to breathe without puking onto the carpet, and then…
Russia's brows drew imperceptibly together.
--And then America started laughing.
Not hysterical, not grim: genuine, happy laughter. In fact, he sounded almost--relieved. Russia shifted his weight back on his heels and rumbled, "There is somethink funny? You vill be sharing."
America sat back and looked up at him, and he was--beaming. His eyes shone with something that made Russia tighten his grip on his faucet uncertainly. "Oh, Russia…I was starting to wonder if I'd ever see this side of you again."
Russia frowned.
America put one hand against the wall and climbed shakily to his feet. "You're…you're perfect like this, you know?"
Russia glanced over America's face, then at the carpet where he'd hit the floor for good measure. No blood. And he'd checked the blows, so the younger nation shouldn't have a concussion. He scrutinized America. "My dear friend is teasing?" he questioned.
That dazzling, Hollywood smile persisted. "I'm not teasing. I mean it." He slumped back against the wall, and Russia put a name to that shimmer in his eyes: it was undiluted adoration. "I don't know what I'd be without you, Russia. Do you want to take another swing at me? We can fight. I don't mind."
"I am thinking you've had enough for now," he heard himself say, a note of wonder in his voice.
America shook his head. "No, I mean it! I'm fine, you know? It takes more than that to keep me down. Take your best shot." He spread his arms invitingly.
With a mental shrug--how could he refuse?--Russia picked up his pipe again and brought it around in a tight, brutal arc. America moved like a snake. He dived off the wall, rolled under the blow, and collided with Russia, shoulder into knee. Russia staggered back and dropped to the floor. America scrambled over him and drew a pistol from under his shirt at the small of his back (he carries a concealed firearm even in his own home, alone? --Of course he does, he's America). He gripped the barrel and whipped Russia across the face. A flare of blood and mucus flew across the rug. Russia brought his arm up through the haze and smashed America in the side of the head. America grunted and fell to the side. Russia rolled over him, and this time America's knee found his groin.
The fight lurched on, and neither man regained his feet. America got the pipe away from Russia. Russia knocked the gun off America. The world was six feet of elbows and knees and split knuckles and teeth. The struggle slowed and halted once America got Russia pinned, a knee on his chest, both hands on the tails of his scarf, yanking in opposite directions. The fight went out of Russia as he shifted from red to purple. America relaxed his efforts to choke the other nation to death, but he didn't let him up. Instead, he leaned in close and brushed a strand of hair out of Russia's face. Blood from his nose dripped onto Russia's cheek.
"I did it for you," America whispered. "Those cocksucking Europeans think I did it to protect them, but I really did it for you." He caressed the line of Russia's jaw. Russia blinked impassively. "You were getting too close to NATO. Those sons of bitches…they want to change you, you know?" His blue eyes stared earnestly into Russia. "I don't want you to change. I love you just the way you are. So I have to keep you isolated--you understand? That way it'll stay as you against me." He slid his leg off Russia's solar plexus and cradled his hips between his knees. His fingers combed through Russia's hair, so gently.
"I thought it might be something like this," Russia murmured.
America kissed the blood off his face. Russia turned his head first left and then right to allow it. "I can't let you turn into one of those prissy liberal dirtbags," he breathed. His body stretched against Russia's, and even though they both hurt everywhere, this was warm, this was good. "You're the only one I respect, Russia. You're the only one I could ever love." He nipped softly at Russia's earlobe. "You're my equal." He let go of Russia's scarf and slid his hand down his side, then up again, to rest light and hot on Russia's chest. "And neither one of us gives a shit what the others have to say. Maybe we've gotta play nice for now, but one day…it'll be just you and me again, Russia." He nuzzled the side of Russia's neck and crooned, "Won't that be great? God, I wish…I wish it really was just you and me." A shudder passed down America's body, communicated to Russia through every inch of skin. "Just…just the two of us. And a whole empty world as a stage to prove who's best."
"You're crazy," Russia marveled.
America pulled back and met his eyes again. There was something so painfully sincere in those endless blue eyes that it mesmerized the older man. "So I have to protect you until then, all right? Because I love you, Russia. I love you more than anyone in the world loves you. I don't want you to change." He pressed his mouth to Russia's, and Russia, something dark and primordial stirring in his breast, felt himself respond.
America's voice was a hot, harsh whisper against his lips. "Please, don't ever change."