Friday, February 7, 2014

A Russia Lemon -- Spooned

Character: Russia

Fandom: Hetalia

OC: Blythe Jones, innocent, curious, Represents Virgin Islands

Inspiration: Brace yourselves.  Not entirely sure about this one but I tried |D

Become one with me.  It is a phrase Blythe has heard many times, directed towards her or someone else, and yet…  Never has she seen him his eyes get glassy like that, never has she noticed how lonely he looks even amid the curling, bright smiles.  It is the reason she agreed to spend the day with him.  Why she is in his kitchen this very moment making borscht, of all things.
"You are almost done, da?" Ivan peers into the pot behind her.  She jumps a little because she hadn't known he was there, and gives him a tired-you-startled-me smile.  "Uh, yes," she responds, stirring the soup.  It is perhaps the perfect meal for Valentine's Day.  The redness from the beets makes it a festive dish.  But Ivan seems not to care about Valentine's Day at all.  He has not wished her a nice holiday or even mentioned it at all since she entered his house, hours before. 
Blythe hears the phone ring and watches him leave to answer it, that cheery, fake smile plastered over his lips once more.  She turns back to the recipe book and taps the page, shaking her head.  "Vinegar…vinegar…red wine vinegar?  What's the difference anyway…?" she mumbles to herself as she heads to the cabinet.  When she opens it, she can't find red wine vinegar but she does find what looks to her like normal white vinegar, and Blythe takes that instead.  "I don't think it'll matter," she smiles, uncapping it and pouring a few tablespoons in.  But then a loud clatter elsewhere in the house makes her jump (again) and she ends up dumping much more of it into the soup.  She slaps a hand against her face and shakes her head again.
That is when Blythe sees the label on the bottle.  It is not white vinegar at all, but straight vodka.  And that isn't all: it is one of the most expensive bottles you can buy.  She stares at it, feeling cold dread seep into her, then peers over the soup and inhales the scent.  The other strong ingredients mask the majority of the alcohol.  She only hopes Ivan doesn't notice, because there is certainly no starting from scratch now.  She hurries to put the vodka away before he comes back and sees it.
The cabinet closes just in time, and then Ivan is striding into the kitchen, following the aroma of the meal with bright eyes and a nearly sincere smile.  His gaze sweeps over her, "You look frazzled.  Something happened, da?"  He watches curiously as Blythe pales and shakes her head, laughing nervously.  She doesn't seem to notice the close way he studies her.  "Ahaha!  Not at all, Ivan!  In fact, I was just going to call you in.  It's ready now," she rubs the back of her neck and shuts the recipe book, ignoring the block of text that instructs her to leave the soup simmering for an hour at least.  She is too nervous to wait that long.
"Oh?" he grins and then notices the fact that Blythe had set the small table in the kitchen with some of his nicer china.  When he sits down and waits expectantly for her to serve him, Blythe has to force away the notion that this entire day has seemed like a complete date.  She cooked for him and is now serving him, wearing that stupid apron he'd insisted she put on.  She felt like a wife.
She slowly fills his soup bowl, biting her lip the entire time.  She is lucky that the strong scent of vodka seems to mix well with beets and carrots and cabbage.  But when she sets it down in front of Ivan, she wonders if she'll actually be able to fool him and get away from this situation unscathed.
He knows.  When the borscht is sitting in front of him like this, he can smell the alcohol.  And when he lifts the first spoon to his mouth, he can taste it.  Perhaps not everyone would be able to, but his taste buds are trained to recognize vodka at a moment's notice.  And he does but he doesn't let her know because he's got a feeling it is an accident, and he doesn't want to be rude after inviting her here at such short notice.  (He can be a gentleman when he wants to be.) And besides, it actually doesn't taste all that bad. 
"Well…?" she asks, sounding a little worried as she takes the seat across from him.  "You don't think it's too…strong?"  She watches his violet eyes flash into hers and swallows thickly.  But he just stares at her in amusement, raising his eyebrows, "It is strong but so is Russia, da?"  He brings another spoonful to his lips, and another, and another, until he actually starts to feel a little drunk.  She must have put in more of the stuff than he'd realized.
Blythe stands up and takes his empty bowl to the sink.  She isn't sure if she should be relieved or guilty that Ivan hadn't seemed to notice.  She thinks she'll probably buy him another bottle of that expensive vodka to make up for it regardless, and is calculating the costs of such an endeavor when suddenly Ivan's heavy arms are slipping around her waist and he's nuzzling his nose against her neck.  She stills immediately, curiously looking behind her shoulder, and then his face is inches away, and he's staring down at her through soft eyes that she had never seen on him before.  "…Ivan?" she wonders, trembling a little in his arms.
"Become one with me," he murmurs.  His eyes are glassy.  His smile is lonely.  It is all directed at her, no one else, and Blythe blinks in surprise.  She frowns because she'd never understood the context of those words (though she probably should have by now), and because has a feeling she's about to be informed of said context.
"I want you…" his accent is thicker.  His eyes close and Ivan presses his lips below her ear.  Blythe shudders against him, unconsciously leaning into him. He makes a pleased sound and suddenly everything becomes clear.  When he says 'become one with me', he actually means, 'let me fuck you senseless till you're mine mine mine'.  And despite the warning bells that alert her to get away from him, Blythe is actually unafraid of the concept even though she's a virgin and doesn't know one thing about sex. 
She turns in his arms and he peers down at her with unwavering eyes, like he's waiting for her rejection, even expecting it.  It makes her sad, a little, even though she knows it probably shouldn't.  "…Are you terribly drunk right now?"  She wants to say 'sorry', but Ivan seems to understand anyway and chuckles.  He flicks away a strand of her hair and murmurs, "Not drunk enough to regret asking you to be mine."  It is perhaps the most romantic thing he's said to her today, and Blythe smiles bashfully.  Her arms slide around his waist and he is surprise that she'd initiate anything.  But he takes it all into stride and pulls her closer, slowly lowering his mouth to hers.
The kiss is short but deep, slow and passionate, heady.  It makes her thoughts turn to incoherent slips of clouds.  It makes her body crave more.  And the way she trembles into him, the little pleased sound she makes against his lips, has Ivan pushing her to against the counter and covering her body with the his own.  And all at once he's touching her everywhere, slipping his bare hands under her shirt and grasping her waist, trailing up her spine.  And though it makes Blythe nervous and unsure, she can't stop herself from enjoying the almost reverent way he holds her.
"But I will have to punish you for using all my vodka," he smirks, making a flurry of lovely mischief level over his eyes.  She feels his teeth sink into her bottom lip and clutches at his shirt tightly, closing her eyes and hooking a leg around his.  She is not masochistic but she likes the idea of his punishment.  "I'll buy you some more," she promises halfheartedly, and he chuckles and pulls away, reaching for something behind her.
"That won't be necessary.  I am thinking of something more…interesting."  She feels wood push her chin up and sees that Ivan has gotten a hold of one of the wooden spoons.  She feels herself smiling a little even as a shudder rocks through her body, and Ivan chuckles again.  "You like this idea, da?"  And then he slips his fingers around the buttons of her shirt and pulls her into the middle of the kitchen.
"I like you," Blythe says truthfully, blushing a little.  She doesn't need to look at Ivan's face to know that it has softened.  She glances at him quickly then looks away, taking things into her own hands as she begins to unbutton her top.  He watches.  Watches it slide off her shoulders.  Watches her pants join them.  And then he smiles, but it isn't his normal cheery smile.  This smile is dark and intense and maybe a little scary, but mostly just very lustful.
"I am glad to hear this," he murmurs, stepping forward.  She pushes her against the table that was now bare, and tells her throatily, "Lay down."  She swallows and does as he says, and she can hardly breathe when he pushes her legs apart and comes to nestle between them.  This was not what she had in mind when she came over to his house for the day, but Blythe is definitely not complaining. 
Ivan blinks down at her casually.  He slowly takes his ever present coat off.  Then his scarf.  Then his shirt.  Then he lays the wooden spoon against her stomach, watches her flex in anticipation, and smoothes his hands over her legs and up her abdomen.  She swallows and he says lowly, "We will play game, da?  You must stay silent."  He blinks at her, waiting for her to nod.  When she does, he smiles that lustful smile and drags her to the edge of the table. 
He's touching her before she knows what's going on.  His hands are cupping her breasts through her bra, firmly massaging them.  After a few minutes, Ivan reaches behind her and unclips the fabric.  He pushes it away and immediately converges on her chest.  Blythe bites her lip hard when he roughly pinches at her taut nipples.  He is not gentle but she doesn't really mind, surprisingly.
He lowers his mouth to one breast and licks his tongue over her.  Blythe squirms and cannot stop the small, pleased noise that leaves her lips.  Ivan chuckles and suddenly there's a slight stinging sensation on her abdomen from the wooden spoon.  He raises an eyebrow, "Is fun game, no?" and then kisses his way down her body to lick at the red welt forming on her stomach.
She does not know how she'll be able to curb her moans, especially when he leans back and prods her core with the tip of the wooden spoon.  A low moan escapes her and she feels him jerk the spoon roughly against her womanhood.  This time, the pain is mingled with delightful pleasure that has her moaning again, and experiencing the very same fate.
Ivan chuckles, "You are making me very hard, lyubov moya." [1]  His fingers slip into Blythe's panties and he strokes over her wet heat, making her moan again and arch her back.  This time, the stinging is administered to her inner thigh.  His fingers pull away and are replaced by his clothed cock, which creates a tent in his pants. 
He rubs it against her and she whines.  He smirks, "You are not very good at this game."  He digs the heel of his palm against the top of her clit and she goes utterly crazy.  "Ivan!  I-Ivan…please hu-hurry up -- "  she bites back a cry of pain when he slaps the spoon against her other thigh.
But her plead doesn't go completely ignored.  A moment later, Ivan is unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock, and then he's pushing aside her panties and muttering, "You are virgin, da?  It will hurt."  Then he starts pushing in, holding her thighs firmly and watching as her expression turns to delightful pain.
It does hurt, quite a bit, and she doesn't even try to stay quiet.  But Ivan seems to have forsaken the spoon and is breathing heavily, trying not to move too much even as she clenches tightly, painfully around his shaft.  After a moment or two, he really can't help himself anymore.  He drags his cock out of her and she whimpers loudly when he roughly pushes back in, panting and clutching her legs.  But Blythe doesn't complain because she'd rather he move and let her adjust to him.  And she is adjusting, faster than she'd thought possible.  Soon, her back is arching not from pain, but immense pleasure.
"You feel good now, da?" Ivan grinds out, seeing how her eyes are shining with lust.  Blythe reaches down to grasp his wrists and whispers, "Y-Yes…mmm!"  He roughly pins her to the table and thrusts faster, pushing her down and fucking her like it's the only thing he's ever wanted.  Maybe it is.
"It feels…so good…!" she moans, digging her nails into Ivan's skin.  His cock feels huge inside of her, stretching her like that.  And though it still hurts a little, it is something she can take.  Something she is all too happy to take, in fact.  But she doesn't last very long.
She's racing toward her orgasm before she even knows what's happening, and by the time Blythe realizes it, there is absolutely nothing she can do.  Ivan lets her come, closing his eyes and appreciating the way her muscles clench over his cock.  She gasps out heavily but he doesn't stop fucking her, because he's not quite there yet, not quite ready to be finished with her.  It takes another minute or two before Ivan finds release, and by then Blythe is starting to feel aroused again, especially when she watches the way her new lover gasps and shudders and comes.
So she decides that since it's Valentine's Day, this is the perfect way to spend it.  And when Blythe offers her reasoning up to Ivan, he seems to approve.  He lifts her up and carries her off to his bedroom, and the wooden spoon is abandoned.

[1] lyubov moya: my love



  1. Thank you thank you thank you! I love it! ; _ ;

  2. Hey I was wondering if you can make one with America and Laos

  3. She isnt the virgin islands anymore, *snickers*