RusPrus III

((Oh hey, another WG thing. That’s pretty much all this is. If, if it isn’t quite to your tastes, you can kindly navigate away and we won’t tell anyone this ever happened. There’s no need to tell me how terrible a person I am or how screwed up I must be. I know.))

Prussia looked down at his half-full plate. "I'm full."

Russia, who had finished his seconds long ago and had been watching Prussia eat since then, didn't quite believe that. "Really? I thought your stomach was a bottomless pit."

Prussia gave Russia a dirty look. "Yeah, you, too."

Russia winced internally. He wasn't sure if he felt full, but he knew he didn't feel like he was done. But...he was getting too big! People were beginning to make comments. Just the other day, in fact, his boss suggested he try and lose a few kilos. However, this was not the way this conversation was to go. "I made it all for you."

"Yeah, well, you made too much."

Oh, dear. This was not how things were supposed to go, not at all. Prussia was supposed to eat it all! Didn't he like it? Maybe if he'd made German food...but it was too late for that! If Prussia wasn't going to eat it on his own, Russia just supposed he'd have to help him. "If you won't eat it, then I'll make you eat it."

Prussia let out a bark of laughter. "I'd like to see you try."

Faster than should have been possible, Russia was across the table and in front of Prussia with a forkful of food, saying "Open wide!"

"Like hell I'll let you feed me."

"If you don't cooperate I'll sit on you and force it down your throat." Russia nudged the fork closer to Prussia's mouth, waiting for him to either accept it or speak again.

Prussia turned his head away from the fork. "You'll make me puke!"

"I'll make sure you don't. I'll only be sitting on your legs!" Russia paused. “But, if you're really against it, I'll only tie you up.”
~
It turned out that tying up Prussia was exactly what needed to happen. Russia made sure the rope was loose enough so as not to be uncomfortable, but at the same time tight enough so that Prussia couldn't really move. He only tied his hands, though.

Russia started massaging Prussia's shoulders. “You should really try to relax. It'll make everything easier.”

“Are you trying to be soothing? Because you're not.”

Russia was, actually, trying to be just that. He felt it would be much easier if Prussia would just sit there and eat like he was supposed to. “I promise I'll stop when you begin to look ill. But please don't throw up. That would be wasteful. We can't do that.”

Prussia squirmed around and watched Russia with wild eyes. Slightly baffled, he asked, “Who's 'we'?”

Russia ignored the question. “If you try to stand I'll tie your legs. I don't want to have to do that.” He refilled Prussia's plate and brought it closer to them. “Open wide!”

Prussia did, likely to complain again, and found his mouth full. As he chewed and swallowed, Russia waited with another forkful. They were going to clear the table whether Prussia liked it or not.
~
A while later, Prussia was beginning to protest more so than before. His shirt was riding up just enough to show some stomach-bloating, and he was squirming around so much that Russia began to think he should have tied him at the waist, too. That idea was quickly dismissed, though, when he remembered how uncomfortable it was having things dig into your stomach. Along that train of thought, Russia undid Prussia's pants and rubbed his stomach, looking at the table.

He hadn't done bad. Russia had been hoping for more, but not much was left on the table. Really, it was just a few stray pelmini and two pirozhki. Maybe they weren't done yet.

“Do you think you can eat more?”

“Does it look like I can eat more?”

“You should try. You're still so thin. Doesn't Germany feed you?”

“He asked the same thing about you when the Wall came down.”

Lucky for Prussia, Russia wasn't paying attention anymore. Instead, he was rounding up the last scraps of food to feed to Prussia. “Please don't make me eat these. I really shouldn't.”

Prussia just gave Russia a Look. “Shouldn't I be the one saying that to you?”

“But you didn't!”

“Please don't make me eat those.” Prussia said, completely void of emotion.

Russia giggled. “It's too late now! It doesn't count.” And he shoved a pelmini in Prussia's mouth.

Prussia barely chewed, swallowing the thing nearly whole. “I'm really full. I don't want to eat more.”

“You should still try. Look, there isn't much left.” Though there wasn't, Prussia looked like he was falling asleep, and his stomach was hard and distended and painful-looking. Russia took pity on him and ate a pirozhki, just to help him out.

“But I really don't want any more...” Prussia mumbled.

“Here.” Russia stabbed one of the last pelmini and put it in Prussia's mouth. He then took his jaw and made him chew. “Swallow.”

Prussia did. He repeated this process until nothing was left. Russia then untied Prussia's hands gently picked him up, and carried him to the couch. “I'm going upstairs to change. Please don't try to leave.” Prussia merely nodded. Russia doubted he heard.
~
Prussia was still laying on the couch when Russia came back downstairs wearing his pajamas. His eyes were open, though. Russia sat down next to him and rubbed Prussia's stomach. “Are you ready for dessert?”

“What?”

“I have a nice chocolate cake from Ukraine. I don't want to eat it alone.”

Prussia gaped at Russia. “How could you think I want to eat more? Can't you...wait a bit? Next week, is good.”

Russia smiled. “But next week it will be bad! We should eat it tonight. Though, I guess we can wait a little longer.” He stood up and began walking towards the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“No.”

Russia shrugged. A moment later he came back with a shot glass and a bottle of vodka. He measured out a shot and offered both the glass and bottle to Prussia, who shook his head “no”. Russia shrugged again, in a 'suit yourself' kind of way, and downed the shot. He hadn't had a drink all day and he decided he deserved one (or more). He had, at least, succeeded in cutting back in the alcohol department, and felt a bit proud of himself. (Though, it never lasted long.)
~
After a while of just sitting there, rubbing Prussia's stomach (in what Russia hoped was a soothing way) and drinking, he got up to get the cake and a fork. Clearly, Prussia was not going anywhere. Besides, he had a lot of locks on his door, and only locked some of them. (It was actually quite troublesome; Russia himself often forgot which locks he locked, and then spent forever locking and unlocking all of them, trying to get out of his house.)

When he returned, he sat down next to Prussia and ate a forkful. He then leaned forward and nudged Prussia's cheek with the fork. Prussia groaned and turned his head away, mumbling something about “going the fuck to bed Jesus, Russia, don’t you sleep”. (Which, of course, was silly -- of course he slept! Sleeping was one of his favorite things, after alcohol and cake!) After eating the bite that should have been Prussia’s as well as another, Russia tried feeding Prussia again. “Gilbert,” he began, “If you do not eat what I give you, I am throwing you out. Now.” Of course, the cold outside wouldn’t kill the Prussian, but it would be quite uncomfortable. Not to mention, it would be difficult finding someone else so kind and willing to take in the loud, annoying ex-country on such short notice. Ivan believed it would not actually happen.

Prussia turned his head slowly and, shooting Russia the dirtiest glare he could muster in his sleepy state, ate the cake.

It was very good. Prussia found himself completely willing to eat the cake, savoring the chocolate flavor between bites. As they shared the cake, Prussia realized two things: feeling stuffed to the brim was not a bad feeling, and he would never, on pain of death or otherwise, admit this new realization. He also thought that, if Ukraine had always cooked like this and gave her brother food, no wonder he was so fat.

He might have actually voiced that last thought.

Oops.

A sudden slap to the face and incredibly painful punch to the gut (which sent Prussia lurching forward, adding to the pain) told him that yes, he said the last thought aloud.
“I am not fat,” said a clearly irate Russia. “Do not ever say that again.”

“You are, though. Have you even seen yourself?”

Russia growled and stood up, grabbing the place with what was left of the cake, and the vodka bottle. “Maybe it’s everyone else who’s too thin. Like you. But I won’t be the only one.” He turned and walked away towards the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he called, “Go to bed or leave. I don’t care.” Once in the kitchen, he finished off the cake and the bottle. It would certainly set his plans back a bit if Gilbert left, but maybe he could find someone else. Someone better, more compliant, less loud and rowdy. Easier to understand. Russia snorted at that thought as he went up to bed.

Prussia, too full and sore and tired and, somehow, angry, just fell asleep on the couch.

Whatever.