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When Russia had shown up at Germany's house that night, he hadn't been surprised.

They had come to an agreement of sorts, one that the other nations weren't allowed to know about. If they knew, Germany didn't know how they'd react. Guilt? Unlikely, the other nations seemed to blame them for their past crimes every day. Happy? No, they wouldn't want two so-called 'cold blooded killers' working together. Fear? Germany and Russia had been beaten before, and it could be done again.

What they'd probably think is that they hadn't changed after all, that Russia and Germany were still the same crazed nations they had been.

What they didn't understand was that every second of every day it hurt. The other nations didn't seem to believe him, on top of it all. They had gone through tragedies too, they said, and he shouldn't have been any different.

The difference between them and him was that people remembered. No one seemed to ever mention England's concentration camps when the topic came up, nor any of the people he slaughtered. If the word 'concentration' even came up, Poland would glare at Germany from across the table. No one paid attention to any of the natives France and England had slaughtered and stole land from, yet they couldn't seem to get enough of talking about some of the crimes Russia had committed when he was controlling the USSR.

They were forced to remember every crime they committed anytime they entered the meeting room. They weren't left alone long enough to repent for their crimes, yet at the same time they were always alone. Certain nations wouldn't trust them with the simplest tasks, while others refused to even speak to them in a way that wasn't demeaning.

Doing what they did allowed them to overcome some of the guilt that went along with the crimes they had committed. It was a punishment, but it was one that helped, and ultimately, Russia and Germany didn't care if the other nations would understand at all.

So when Russia showed up that night, tears dotting the corners of his eyes while that childish smile was still plastered on his face, Germany hadn't been surprised in the least.

Russia looked nervous, tugging at his scarf and fidgeting, "I-i… uh…" He paused, clearing his throat for a second, "I… I just…"

Germany put a hand on Russia's shoulder. "Do you need a safety word?" He asked.

Russia shook his head, "I need to be able to submit completely. I… I can't have that control. Not now…" He trailed off. "Red." He said finally. The taller man was almost quivering at this point, an action that didn't suit the strong nation.

Germany moved his face closer to Russia's ear, "Then go to the guest room, strip, get on all fours, and don't you dare move a muscle." He hissed, shoving the Russian off him roughly.

Russia looked to the ground, muttering a hoarse 'thank you' before running up the stairs to the guestroom.

Germany sighed, wandering towards his own room to gather the supplies needed for this to work the way they agreed on. In a way, Germany thought, it was almost harder to be the one delivering the punishment, rather than the one receiving it.

The one receiving the punishment would get a sort of release. It was a way to remove the guilt, a way to repent for previous behaviors. The personal giving the punishment on the other hand…

Germany shuddered as he dug out an old World War II uniform, along with the supplies that went along with these meetings. The one who gave out the punishment had to face what they had done, and had to get into the same mentality. The mentality that screamed about wanting racial purity, about slaughtering any non-perfect being in the most inhumane way possible, about treating humans like nothing more than simple lab rats at the best of times…

It was the mentality he had fought so hard to repress.

And it was so easy to slip back into it. When Germany had the Russian man pinned beneath him, he felt so powerful. It made him want to conquer other nations once again, to force them beneath his feet and make them beg for mercy, if he had enough mercy in the first place not to gag them or cut off their tongues.

Germany sighed, slipping the uniform on his body and grabbing the supplies he would need. A whip, ropes, lube, a cock ring, and vibrators all remained harmlessly in a hidden box in his closet until these nights with Russia, and it almost made him nauseous when he caught a glimpse of them when he was getting dressed in the mornings.

Yet he dealt with it because Russia would do the same for him. Whenever people called him a Nazi, or made unwanted mentions of his country's past, Russia did the same for him. Russia called him scum, forced him onto his knees and forcibly took him, making him beg for forgiveness. It was exactly what Germany wanted, exactly what he needed, and it was because of that that he reciprocated whenever Russia requested.

Germany put the box under his arm, taking one final look at his uniform in his bedroom mirror, making sure it was meticulous. He sighed, the German man, like many of his citizens, hated seeing the uniform under any circumstances. It was the reminder of a mistake, one that Germany often feared would never be forgotten.

Germany walked out of his room, wandering up the stairs and finally approaching the guest room. He took a final moment to prepare himself, grabbing his whip in one hand and flinging the door open with the other.

Germany dropped the box down near the door, examining Russia's body as he walked closer to the man, cracking his whip against the floor. The taller man was on all fours, while his legs were spread, allowing Germany a glimpse of his entrance, as well as the limp, long, thick cock that lay flaccid between them. The only thing the Russian was still wearing was his scarf, and that was the one clothing item Germany had long since accepted he could never remove during these encounters. It was too intimate if he did that, and a line he simply could not cross.

Germany snapped the whip against the floor again, "Worthless." He spat, walking around the Russian to make sure the older man could see the steel-toed boots that went with his uniform, the ones that would most likely be kicking his sides less than an hour later, "Complete and utter garbage." He hissed.

Russia looked up, tears dotting the corners of his eyes just like before. His eyes said 'forgive me' and 'punish me' at the same time. Germany gripped the bottom of Russia's chin, forcing the other blond haired man's face closer to his own.

Russia's throat was stretched taught, and Germany could see scars peaking out from underneath his scarf. "Communist piece of shit." Germany spat, twisting Russia's head roughly to the side.

A thinly veiled pained noise escaped from Russia's throat, and Germany smirked at that. The power was addictive, and he had to remind himself not to trip the wire, to make sure he would still be able to return to his normal self after this was over. He wouldn't let himself get to that place again, not after what happened last time.

Germany removed his hand from Russia's chin, walking behind the Slavic nation. He cracked his whip once again. "Count them." He barked, snapping his whip against Russia's back.

A pained scream came out of Russia's throat, "Oдин!" He called out.

Germany smirked, seeing the pretty trail of blood leaking out from the welt he had created. The first hit was always the most satisfying, and Germany shuddered in pleasure remembering when he had Poland under his feet, begging for—

Germany stopped dead in his tracks. Don't trip the wire, he reminded himself, because when it broke there was no going back. He would be back to stage one, and he'd have to gain the world's trust back all over again.

"In English." He ordered. "You submitted to America, didn't you? Gave away your power to a capitalistic pig?" He teased, snapping the whip against his back once again. "So why don't you try again?" He asked, hitting Russia's back with the whip once again.

Russia looked down at the ground, "Three." He muttered.

"Say it louder." Germany ordered, "So everyone can hear just how far you've fallen." He snapped the whip again.

"Four!" Russia yelled.

Germany smirked, "I think you mean 'one.'" He replied, cracking the whip once again.

When they got to ten, Germany put the whip to the side, admiring the patchwork of welts left on Russia's back. It was so pretty, he mused, the way that the blood tended to fall out of the wounds. He wanted to lean down and lick it all up, but at the same time knew that he couldn't. Tasting blood like this would give him a power high he wouldn't be able to come down from, and Germany couldn't let that happen.

Don't trip the wire.

Instead Germany reached into his box again, pulling out the set of ropes he had placed in there for encounters like this one. He grabbed Russia's arms next, forcing them behind his back and tying them up with the strips of rope.

He forced Russia's shoulders to the floor, making his ass display itself more obscenely than before. "Stalin's little whore." Germany teased, reaching into his box and pulling out the lube and vibrator. "What would your beloved boss have thought if he had seen you now? Submitting to capitalism, submitting to me…" He activated the device, seeing a tremor go through the Russian man's body when the sound reached his ears.

He covered the vibrator in lube. It was one of the bigger ones, he noted, the type that would normally only be used after long hours of foreplay, from teasing with multiple toys beforehand. But it would do fine for what Germany intended, and it always suited encounters like this with the Russian man.

Germany spread the Russian's ass cheeks with one hand and positioned the vibrator with the other. He slipped it in slowly; making sure the Russian could feel just how big what was entering him actually was.

He fidgeted around with the toy for a couple of seconds, before smirking as the Russian's body nearly collapsed onto the ground, overcome by a sudden jolt of pleasure. The Slavic man began panting, twitching his hips every couple of seconds.

Germany had to pause for a second. He wanted to grab Russia's hair, to force his cock into the Slavic man's mouth, and then to lick up all the blood he could. But he was getting too close, and the wire would snap if he didn't stop and calm himself down.

He took a few deep breaths, trying to come down from his power high. Russia was still twitching, thrusting against the ground every couple of seconds and making light panting sounds. Germany reached into the box beside him again, pulling out the cock ring this time.

Germany grabbed Russia's hip with one hand, twisting him so the younger nation could have access to his length. The other nation was large, and Germany moaned slightly upon thinking how he had full control over Russia. He could flip him over and whip his cock until the other nation's throat was too dry to scream anymore, or he could be merciful and put the older nation's length into his mouth, and make him come undone from the pure pleasure.

But Germany had to take a deep breath and choose neither option, because both would risk setting him off. He wouldn't do that; he refused to let himself trip the wire again.

Instead, Germany slipped the cock ring over the Russian man's cock, tightening it at the base and ensuring the Slavic nation wouldn't be able to come as easily.

The first time they had done this, Germany had been surprised at just how hard Russia got so quickly. Though, Germany had grown to understand it in a way. It felt good letting go of the past guilt. When they allowed the other to do this it made them vulnerable, a feeling that nations weren't allowed to show in front of others. Making themselves vulnerable tended to enhance any feeling they got afterwards, be it happiness, shame, or sexual pleasure.

"Slut." Germany growled, giving Russia's length a sharp tug, "What would your boss' have thought if they had seen you like this, I wonder?" He mused aloud, grabbing the end of Russia's scarf with his other hand and pulling it tight around the other nation's neck. "They would've killed you, you know. If you were lucky, at least," He mused, pulling Russia's scarf tighter around his neck. "They might've tortured you instead, just like they did to poor Ukraine back in the thirties."

The German man felt Russia tense beneath him, and he knew he had hit a sore spot. That was the point of these, though, in Germany's opinion, to hit all of the sore spots they were too ashamed to bring up in any other situation.

Germany dropped the ends of Russia's scarf, climbing off the man and walking in front of him once again. The Russian's eyes were fixed on the ground, and he was wheezing for air. "Look at me." Germany commanded.

Russia's eyes remained fixed on the ground, and Germany felt a surge of anger go through him. How dare the other nation refuse a demand when in such a vulnerable position? Didn't he know just what the other could do—what the other nation would do to people who tried to disobey him?

But Germany could be merciful on occasion, and he decided to give Russia another chance to obey. "Look at me." He commanded again, with more aggression in his voice than before. Russia had to know he was serious, after all.

Yet, the Russian man didn't obey. Germany felt rage boil inside him, because how dare Russia have the gall to try to ignore him? Especially when Germany could do anything he wanted. Germany was tempted to step on his face, to crack all of his teeth. Or maybe kick his sides until they were bruised; maybe break a rib or two if he was feeling particularly cruel. Germany could remember the feel of bones crushing underneath his shoes. It felt delicious, he could remember, and the way they always seemed to scream so loudly—

Germany stopped himself again. Tread the line, but never trip the wire.

He grabbed the bottom of Russia's chin with a gloved hand, forcing his head up to examine the uniform donned by the German man. Germany strived for accuracy when he picked out his outfit for this sort of event, and everything from the red on his sleeve to the stitches in his pants were exactly what had been issued during World War II.

Although the uniform he was wearing hadn't exactly been his to begin with. In fact, all of his original uniforms he had either burned or given away. It was easier that way, in the German's opinion, to suppress the emotions that came along with the war in general. The replicated uniform didn't bare the same memories that the old ones had, and while he still felt the surge of hunger for power or burn of shame when he wore it, it was a lot less than the original uniforms he had owned.

Germany looked into the violet man's eyes, seeing a look of utter shame in the man's eyes. The thing he had said about the Ukrainians, Germany realized, must've been what Russia had been upset about in the first place.

Not that Germany was surprised in the least. He knew that Ukraine, Russia's own sister, had refused to interact with him since the incident, an incident that Russia's boss at the time had insisted on doing, giving the nation no choice in the matter. When he thought about it, he often remembered himself in World War II. Whether or not he had wanted it, he had been forced into it, and then when his citizens gave him mixed feelings about the event it had felt like there were two people living inside him.

He didn't have the two voices in his head nowadays; at least, they weren't as loud as they had been before. It was only in encounters like these that he found the voices spoke up, Germany would admit. He constantly wondered why he submitted himself to this kind of torture, when it risked him tripping the wire.

Although, what Germany had begun to realize that the reason he did it was because Russia did the same for him. While the two hadn't explicitly discussed their deal, nor the emotions surrounding why they did this, it had become fairly obvious to Germany that Russia went through similar stress when he had to be the one on top. In fact, Germany had concluded that it might've been ever harder for the older nation. Germany's rein of terror had ended more than sixty years ago; Russia's hadn't even been twenty.

It was weirdly flattering, Germany felt, that Russia put himself at such a high risk when they did this.

Germany leaned over, pressing his mouth against the Slavic nation's. He didn't bother warming the other nation up, merely bit down on his lip until blood was spilling and Russia wasn't able to keep his mouth closed anymore.

Germany lapped at the blood spilling out of Russia's lip, sliding his tongue into the other nation's mouth as soon as the blood seemed to stop. Very rarely did the two nations actually kiss when they did this, and that was for obvious reasons in Germany's opinion. Kissing was intimate, something between lovers, and using it display power was always a very narrow line.

Too soft and it felt too gentle, too hard and it wasn't even pleasant for the person giving the kiss. Germany explored Russia's mouth with his tongue quickly and efficiently, making sure to force the other nation's tongue back and own the other's mouth.

He forced his tongue down the Russian's throat, feeling a surge of satisfaction once he felt Russia gag on his tongue. Russia's throat muscles contracted deliciously, in Germany's opinion. Germany would've loved to test just how those muscles could work around his cock. He wouldn't have to ask permission either. Germany knew that if he pressed his cock against Russia's lips the other nation would suck. And if he didn't Germany would whip the Russian again, force him to lie on the scratchy carpet with his wounds free to rub against the uncomfortable material. Then he could pry Russia's mouth open, force his length down his throat and fuck the back of his throat. He could feel those delicious contractions in a more pleasurable way, to be sure.

But that wasn't part of the agreement. A blowjob made both of them too vulnerable. The person on top was at the mercy of the person on bottom, should he decide he wants to use his teeth the person on top couldn't stop him. On the other hand, the person on bottom wouldn't be able to use his safe word if need be, and that was simply unacceptable. Especially since the submissive one really wouldn't have any other way to get the top's attention, ultimately.

Germany pulled away from the kiss, making sure to spit to the side immediately after. It was more degrading, that way, and would make sure the affect was the one that Germany was going for.

"Disgusting." Germany spat, backhanding Russia. "The mighty do seem to fall, don't they? If anyone could see you now, what would they say, I wonder?" He mused, "Ukraine would be disappointed at how much of a slut her older brother became, wouldn't she?"

Tears were appearing at the corner of Russia's eyes, and Germany had to wonder if he had crossed the line, if Russia would say the safe word, and end it all right here.

Though, after a few seconds, the Russian man showed no sign of cutting their time together short. Germany circled around Russia once again, giving him a few kicks before stopping behind the taller man, looking down at the fruit of his labor.

Some of the welts on his back had begun to bleed, spreading a nice, red color over the Russian's back. There were some bruises forming from where Germany had kicked him, and it all looked delicious, in Germany's opinion.

Though the best part was what laid between the Russian's legs. Germany reached down, pulling the vibrator out of Russia and setting it to the side. Russia twitched it response, moaning in relief.

Germany wrapped a hand around the older man's length, giving it a few rough strokes before moving his hand to his own pants. Germany unhooked his belt, pulling it off and snapping it against Russia's ass once before setting it to the side. He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out, positioning it against Russia's entrance.

It was the hardest part, always. The risk was always amplified at this time, as well as what soon followed. Invasions, or at least what they traditionally were, often ended in this sort of action when they were successful. As a result, having sex at all tended to be a strained act, even between the closest of lovers.

With one final deep breath Germany shoved himself into the older nation roughly, biting down on his lip to hold back a moan. Better to show no emotion at all than to let out a sign that he actually was enjoying being inside Russia.

The fewer emotions tied to this the better.

It felt good, though, far too good, in Germany's opinion, for the emotions that were tied to it. The Russian man was just so damn tight, and it just felt so good…

That's when the power thrill came in.

Germany had Russia, Russia of all nations, pinned beneath him. If he wanted to, he could kill Russia like this—snap his neck or strangle him… Hell, Germany had him tied down, he could walk away and get a knife, stab the Slavic nation until the carpet was stained bright red.

It would be beautiful. It would make a mockery of Russia's communism at the same time, and Germany would've loved to do that. It would be the perfect revenge for what Russia had done to Prussia, or rather East Germany at the time.

And it wasn't as if the Russian didn't deserve it. Germany grunted, giving a particularly hard thrust. After all, Russia had done so many terrible things—things that Germany couldn't do on even his worst days. He had starved his own sister—his own blood, and for what? Fascism? Pride?

Germany doubted there was a better reason than that. How could there be? Germany wouldn't have ever hurt Prussia in the same way Russia had hurt Ukraine. It was something that was just wrong.

Russia didn't deserve any forgiveness, and Germany illustrated this by digging his nails into the Russian man's hips, making sure blood would be seeping out of the crescent shaped wounds. From what Germany could hear, Russia had started crying, and it only made the blond man smile more.

Having this power over Russia—power over a nation, who could destroy the entire world with his nuclear weapon stockpile seven times over, was the most intoxicating thing Germany had ever felt. No one would blame him for attacking Russia, the red bastard deserved it and Germany knew that. He had done so much wrong—and it was time for the filthy commie to get what he deserved.

And then, in a single second, the wire snapped.

Germany slammed Russia's face into the carpet, making a feral, growling noise as he made long, red scratch lines over Russia's hip and stomach. Somewhere, in the back of Germany's mind, he could hear Russia screaming 'red', but it only served to fuel Germany's desire to dominate the other nation—to own him completely.

Germany felt tightness pooling in his stomach, and he knew he wasn't far from climaxing. Sure enough, within a few more thrusts, Germany shuddered and climaxed without a word.

He zipped his pants up, climbing off the Russian and looking down at the scratched up, bruised man.

It was quite beautiful, Germany felt--too beautiful to let go, in fact. He smirked, leaning over Russia's face. "From now on," he began, "You're going to be living in my house. Understand?"

Russia twitched for a second, trying to swallow tears as much as he could. Wordlessly, he nodded in response.

"Good. I'll expect you in my room in a few hours. It'll give you time to clean yourself up, whore." Germany spat, opening the door and walking off.

Russia merely twitched on the floor, because he knew better than anyone what this all meant. The wire had been tripped, was broken, and it would take more than strip of duct tape to put it back together.