There was a side of Italy no one knew, not even his own brother.

Sadistic.

Violent.

Sick.

A side that a captive England now was at mercy to. With his calves tied tightly to his thighs, his hands binded behind his back and his shirt half un-buttoned the blond felt far too exposed. The cause of his position stood over him, dressed in a black suit topped off with a fear-inducing grin.

As Italy leered over the nation, he tried to shrink and disappear like Canada was so good at. The brunette merely smiled wickedly and leaned over him, the hand holding his gun against the wall. A gloved hand ran down his exposed chest causing Arthur to half-shudder, half-cringe. The reaction made Feliciano's expression darken. The hand had reached the end of the blonde's tie and jerked it forward though the Brit didn't moved, not that it was expected.

A strangled moan leaked out of the captive when his captor pressed his left foot on England's hardening member. His back arched slightly and tears sprang from his eyes as he looked the other way. "England~" Italy sang but it wasn't his usual voice, it sounded more like a higher version of Russia. Another jerk forced him to stare into dark brown pools. "Give me a smile, England~" He purred, grinding his foot on Arthur's erection.

Squeezing his eyes shut, England turned away. He heard on tired sigh then the feeling of cold metal made him snap his eyes open again. The barrel of the gun was pressed to the side off his head and Italy was smirking. "Smile." He chimed evilly. Arthur shakly pulled his lips into an uneasy smile. "Good, England."

The freezing metal was removed from his temple but remained in hand. That grin was back as Italy stood up straight, "England, perhaps you could assist me with my own problem?" To put emphasis on his point he rubbed England's member again.

The British nation shook his head wildly in response. Feliciano growled, baring his teeth, and jerked the cloth for the third time. "It wasn't a suggestion, England." He un-buttoned his dress pants and slid down the zipper then he released his arousal from it's fiber prison. "England~" Roughly the Italian guided the Brit's head to his erection with the tie. Arthur knew he had to do it but god he didn't want to. He reluctantly opened his mouth and glided down the shaft.

This whole situation thrilled Italy. He was always the submissive one, the uke, no wonder Germany enjoyed being seme, the power was exciting. "Good, England." He cooed as that mouth sucked him off.

It was hard to stay balanced and blow Italy at the same time. The blond bobbed his head faster, eliciting moans from the Italian captor. He nearly fall over twice but manged to stay up, surprisingly. A foot connected with his stomach, slamming England against the brick wall of the German cell once again. "That's enough." Italy spat. As the brunette leaned over Arthur eyed the weapon in his hand warily.

A hand was gently placed on the back of his neck. "I think we should get to the main event. What do you think, England~" The Italian nation whispered in his ear and before England could register what main event meant that hand threw his body onto the floor.

The sound of a knife being drew made Arthur tremble. In a quick movement the ropes tying his legs were lashed and his pants an undergarments ripped off. A leather-clad finger slid down his cloth-covered spine sending fearful chills down it. "England's so sexy when he's scared. Just begging to be fucked senseless." Italy mused, lifting England's backside into the air.

With a bruising force that England didn't know the younger pocessed, Italy gripped his hips and thrusted into him, unprepared. The pain was like nothing the Brit had ever experienced, he was sure that by the time this was over he'd be bleeding.

Italy set a rough, fast pace not caring to even look for his captive's prostate. However when he found it he pounded into it ruthlessly, almost painfully. Over and over that spot was hit, in, out, in, out, and England cursed that spot. His own blood working as a lube, the tears that brimmed his eyes before were now bursting out. It hurt, oh god, how it hurt. But, god help him, he was so turned on.

A mantra punctuated each in and out. "Good, England. Good, England. Good, England." Repeated again and again by Feliciano.

The thrusts became erratic and wild as they both careened toward climax. A scream was ripped from England's throat as he exploded his seed onto the cell floor. He clenched around Italy causing him to be pushed over the edge. He released inside of the older nation with a little moan.

Once done riding out the last waves of his orgasm, the Italian glided out. He picked up the rag he had brought and cleaned off before tossing on the floor by England, who simply laid there. Feliciano pulled up his pants, re-did them and looked down at Arthur. "Until next time, England~" he cooed as he cut the rope binding his wrists together. And with that he left the holding cell.

England pulled his arms up to his head and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. He cried, the tears just kept coming and coming. He didn't know what else to do. He felt so used and dirty, he was disgusted with himself that he let that happen. So, he cried as his blood stained the stone beneath him.

Those words kept repeating in his head, "Good, England..." Over and over.

How long has it been since I last posted? Well, recently I've become obsessed with Hetalia. I have two other fics in progress but too lazy to finish them =D
I really like this one because I alway like thinking that somewhere beneath the innocence that Italy has a dark side.
Please review, even if you hated it =D