A/N: So… Um… -scratches nose- I wasn't planning on taking more multi-chaptered stories than necessary, but still… I can't help wanting to write about RussiaxPrussia because I'm falling more and more in love with this couple. And it's all because I read FroggyFran's "Just Another Brick in the Wall" it's so sad, it got stuck into my head like glue.

...

I know I can be such a stupid drama queen sometimes. I've said something like "I swear I'm gonna write a RussPru fic with happier ending!" to her. I am such a dope when it comes to endings. x.x Don't get me wrong, I think her fic is fabulous.

But I just can't stand sad ending. They make me cry for days. And usually when I came across anime/manga like that, I write fanfics of them with happier endings almost instantly. Ex: Code Geass -sobs- Lelouch…

Ms. FroggyFran, if you ever read this Author's Note, I hope you can forgive the stupid me. Really, saying something like that so randomly. x.x

Warnings: R-18. Language. Violence. R-Rape. (yeah, I'm reluctant to write that part, but it is necessary in RussPru, sadly)

Summary: Gilbert is a criminal wanted by the police. Ivan is a rich man in need of a housekeeper. One thing leads to another, Gilbert works for him. Strange that beneath his child-like cruelty and demeanor, Gilbert finds a heart of gold and even darker past than his own. RussPru AU

Supreme Fascination

Chapter One: Strangers

Gilbert panted loudly, sucking in the chilly, cold air into his dry lungs.

He tried to clench his mouth tightly, preventing his laboring breaths from giving away too much noise. Throwing his head back against the rough texture of the tree behind him, he bit down on his lower lip. He held back the scream he had wanted to release out loud, just to lighten the burning, throbbing pain, feeling blood flowing out and seeping into his black jacket. His right arm was shot.

And the bullet was still nestled inside the gaping wound that was still giving out warm red liquid. He clenched his jaws tightly, if not he would bite his own tongue in attempt of suppressing the pain. His breaths were short, ragged, and wild. He slumped down to the green grass beneath him, thanking the lush bushes of the park that hid him better within the dark shadows of night.

He jolted aware when his ears heard the faint noise of siren getting stronger by seconds. Police. Damn, they had caught up with him. He could hear running footsteps and quickly ducked his head, his chin nearly touched the prickly wet grass. The small gaps of the bushes gave him limited vision, but he could see blue uniforms along with guns hung by their waists, slender lights in their hands. That was enough information for the Prussian.

Biting his lower lip, he roused himself to crawl on the green field, he would've screamed out when his wounded arm bumped against a nearby tree, if he hadn't been biting his lip to bleed. He grunted wildly, panting. Snapping his crimson pupils wide, he used only the left elbow to crawl as fast as his weak body could. He was a bloody mess, drops of blood staining the green field red in his wake. But he didn't care about that. Gilbert only thought of how not to get caught. How to survive without having to get into stinky, rotten jail.

He crawled and stopped when two polices ran just beyond the bushes, waiting for them to disappear into the dark shade before continuing. He had to get away somehow. No way he was going to get caught. He was never caught before, and he wasn't going to start now.

Gilbert took a sharp intake of air as he roused his trembling knees to stand. He leaned against the brick wall, hiding within the shadow of the trees whilst stuck himself to the said wall. His tired, focused eyes screened his surrounding, threw his gaze back and forth. The sickening smell of his own blood and another person's that stained his shirt evaporated and reached his nostrils. He twisted his nose in disgust. He never did like that iron smell, even though he had been doing the profession for years. He had to burn the shirt later, to rid himself odd the now crusted, dried up blood stuck to the fabric. And he actually liked this one.

He just murdered someone.

It was supposed to be a clean assassination. He had calculated everything like the professional he was. The timing was perfect, the target was alone in his hotel room that night, and no one saw Gilbert there. Gilbert had also worn rough gloves to cover his finger prints as he shot the man in the head. It was a suite, the whole room was soundproofed and there was no eyewitness. It was supposed to be perfect.

The only thing he hadn't calculated was that his target had ordered food to his room. After he had done the job, he opened the door and in front of him stood a bellboy, with a cart of food and wine on his side. He had been completely taken, and the bellboy had seen the dead man with a hole in between his eyebrows lying limply on the brown carpet inside the room.

Out of reflect, Gilbert carelessly shot the screaming boy. And he had missed and aimed at his left shoulder instead. The boy fell to the floor, curling in pain. And there were other guests nearby. Eyewitnesses. A woman shrieked, and Gilbert turned on his back and ran as fast as he could, never looking back.

He was too late, however, the police had already arrived and searched the area around the five-star hotel. Apparently an albino murderer was very easy to spot. Gilbert got shot in the arm when trying to escape his pursuers.

He didn't know exactly how long he had been running. His legs were hurting and Gilbert was exhausted both mentally and physically. His arm became numb as time went on, he couldn't move it an inch without resurrecting the scorching pain all over again. He had to quickly get the bullet out before the wound got infected.

After checking no one was around, Gilbert forced his legs to move. With staggering, limping steps he hurried on, hoping he could reach his current home, or maybe his friend's house to get medical treatment. He remembered Francis's apartment was nearby the park. He had been there once or twice… But his thought was interrupted with fierce barks of a dog. A drop of cold sweat dripped down his already mud-caked, worn out face.

Police dogs.

God, he loathed those damned, sharp-nosed creatures! Those dogs must've smelled the blood on him, and the barks became louder, followed by the running footsteps of people who shouted frantically.

"Over there! He found something over there!"

Gilbert flinched and staggered back, spinning on his heels and run. He could've cared less of the exhaustion hazing his mind, he had to get away quickly! Those dogs were faster than his weak legs, and they would bit into his flesh mercilessly to prevent him from escaping. There was nothing pleasant about dogs like that to criminals like Gilbert. He ran and ran, but still the barks followed tightly behind him. He damned his legs for growing weaker by each step.

Come on, don't betray me. He told his own legs, gritting his teeth. Fucking run faster! Come on!

With labored breaths, he tried running faster, almost stumbling on his way. But the end of the path greeted him so suddenly, he had to stop on his track to look at the dead end in front of him. A tall, solid, beautifully crafted iron fence stood proud before him, thick brick walls stretched along the either sides of it, into the bushes that hid the rest.. And beyond the firmly locked gate there was a house. A dim silhouette of a manor was built deep within what seemed to be a private quarter of a millionaire, surrounded by wide garden area. Gilbert hadn't known such a place existed within the town.

He had no time to be awed as the barks and voices of people rapidly approaching towards him. He looked up in panic and stared at the tall fence. It looked like it would be very hard to climb. But he had no choice. Ignoring the pain of his wound, Gilbert brought a leg up and started climbing the fence with a only one hand. He wasn't used to using his left hand and had difficulties. But he was a military trained soldier in the past and he was able to climb quickly, at the top of the fence he spotted a bunch of very luck bushes and decided to jump at it.

He lunged without hesitating, protecting his injured arm as he did. He fell rolling on the fine bushes, now flattened and ruined. He gasped for air and tossed his head about, his wounded arm once again stung and burned on his side. Drops of tears welled up at the corners of his clenched eyes. He panted, tasting blood as he bit down too hard at the insides of his cheeks. It hurt so fucking much. He took a sharp intake of air, struggling not to scream, grunting hard.

He could feel more blood spilt out of the bullet hole. He could die if he lost too much blood. Cursing under his breath, the albino sat up and ripped his bloody shirt off of his torso with the left hand and his teeth. He shut his eyes as he wrapped the torn fabric around the wound tightly, hoping it would be enough to at least stop the bleeding.

"Nothing here, is he inside? I think I saw something move there."

The albino snapped his eyes at the gate, the polices were already right in front of the iron gate, they couldn't see him as he was hidden nearby the walls. But the dogs did. Their relentless beady eyes spotted him and snarled, growling and barking out loud as they tried to get past the tight gaps of the iron bars, which thankfully were too small for them to enter. Gilbert, both thanking and cursing his luck, brought his legs to stand and begun inching away from the gate. He went along the wall and around the estate, searching for an unlocked window or the backdoor of the manor.

In the darkness, it was even harder for his eyes to find a way in, especially since his vision blurring in the result of blood loss. This was not the time to be anemic, Gilbert. He mused himself, as he circled the building, straining his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows to concentrate. His laboring breaths became heavier and heavier in each time he inhaled and exhaled. The sounds of his breathing fell clear in his ears. He clutched at his clumsily bandaged arm, limping his way along the closed windows of the manor.

He could feel the images became harder to see, but that wasn't because it was nighttime.

This was no good, he would faint anytime.

On his way, he spotted one window was left wide opened. Staring at it with wide eyes. Gilbert strode towards it in staggering steps. He stopped just before the sill, gaze turning right and left, making sure nobody saw him. There was no one around, he silently thanked. He brought up a knee to climb up, bringing another foot after that. He brushed away the burgundy curtain that was in the way with a tilt of his neck, then he stepped in, feeling the rough surface of an auburn carpet beneath his leather shoes.

"Who are you?"

He snapped his head towards the source of the voice in panic. There was someone standing in the room, only a bit far from him. A blonde man clad in white robe, amethyst silk pajamas beneath the robe matched his eyes that were staring curiously at the murderer. Gilbert flinched and stepped back when he realized the man was freakishly tall and big, like a bear. He had been discovered! And by a man so big he almost resembled a bear, with his body suffered from blood loss and a bullet still nestled within his right arm, Gilbert was sure he'd die this time.

There was an awkward silent between the two. No one made a sound of movement. Gilbert panted heavily, his useless right hand gripping the revolver. He only had one bullet left. If the man tried to move, he'd aim for his heart and kill him. He could shoot with his left hand as well as the right. He glared threateningly at the unusually quiet man.

His amethyst eyes strayed from Gilbert's mud-caked, messed up hair with leaves and small branches stuck to the white tresses, down to his ripped up shirt and soiled jacket. Then his gaze momentarily stopped at the messily bandaged wound that had been soaked red again and drops of red liquid fell trailed along his right arm and dripped down onto the carpet, staining it with crimson spots. Gilbert followed his gaze and quickly returned it to his face.

Odd. This man was too calm.

He had seen Gilbert's bundle of bloodied mess and he had even seen the revolver in his hand, why was he being so calm? He was a stranger, a trespasser to his huge private estate. And yet this man did nothing a normal person would do; scream, call the police, try to take Gilbert down, beat the hell out of him, kill before getting killed. But the blonde did none of that. He was just standing there, examining Gilbert as if assessing him, with eyes as cold as the Siberian ice and snow.

Gilbert shivered under the cold of his gaze, although the room was well-lit and warmed by the crackling flame in the fireplace. His instincts told him this man was no ordinary rich man. He was dangerous. He emitted a wicked feeling around him. Gilbert had sharp insight that rarely ever missed, especially being a criminal who had never once thrown into jail. The strange coldness in the blonde's eyes was enough prove of that.

A knock on the door sucked in both of their attentions.

"Mr. Ivan. There are police by the gate. They said they are looking for a criminal who might have gotten inside the estate. Vash and Eduard have moved to search for the said man in the house, are you okay Mr. Ivan?" Came a kind voice that sounded a bit nervous from beyond the closed mahogany door.

The blonde called Ivan turned his head at him again. and Gilbert responded by taking the gun into his left hand and pointed it at him wordlessly. Red eyes glared at the blonde, whose amethyst orbs only widened slightly. They stared at each other for mere seconds, before that kind voice called again, knocking at the door three times.

"Mr. Ivan? Are you there?"

"Yes, Toris. I am here." The blonde answered in a cheerful, child-like manner that sent a silver eyebrow up in disgust. Though he kept his violet eyes locked with Gilbert's.

They strayed up and down at the albino. Gilbert unintentionally shuddered when those prickly cold eyes met his again.

"…I believe there are no one here but myself, Toris. Tell the good gentlemen to leave my property before I call their superior." The blonde said, voice dripping with sugary venom. The creepy thing was, he was smiling all the while he spoke, but it was nothing like a sincere smile. It was obviously fake. His eyes gave it all away.

"Oh, is that so? I apologize for disturbing you, sir. I will inform them immediately." Gilbert heard the sounds of footsteps vanishing.

Gilbert furrowed his eyebrows. Why did the man lie? Why did he cover him? Was he afraid of his threat after all, like a normal person? But something felt not right.

"How rude. Of course I am not afraid of your little threat." The blonde uttered, it looked like Gilbert had spoken out his mind. The blonde smiled that icy, fake smile that got Gilbert on guard again.

Ivan tilted his head. "Don't be unreasonable. We can stand here without moving for hours then you'd die from blood loss and I'd be leaving the room for breakfast. Or you can just shoot me right now, Toris and the other staff would hear it and call the police, and you might die in prison just like a rotten rat."

Gilbert snarled at the blonde's arrogance. "Then why did you lie?" He demanded, panting hoarsely. He shut his eyes at the stinging pain. "Why did you cover up for me? Why did you save me?"

The blonde smiled. "Are you familiar with cooking?"

"Wha--?"

That was not the answer Gilbert had expected, neither had it been an answer! It was a question. And completely unrelated to the topic of conversation a criminal and a threatened citizen usually had. The albino Prussian gaped his mouth like a fish, obviously taken by the question. But the blonde didn't seem to care.

"Are you good or excellent in cleaning? Do you have the experience as a gardner? Or perhaps, do you do laundry by yourself often?" He went with the perfectly different topic and questions weren't meant to be asked to an intruder like Gilbert. "How much pay do you wish for? Would it be weekly, monthly, or daily? I prefer charging by the working hour, so it'll be easier for you to adjust your schedule."

"This is not some kind of an interview!" Gilbert choked out, recovering from the shock.

"Unfortunately, it is, Little Weillschmidt. You're in no position for refusing me, as you're within my estate, my territory. I decide for you to live or die." His voice suddenly turned dangerously low and icy cold. But another bright smile tugged at the corners of his lips, one that sent shivers down the albino's spines.

"I am currently looking for a new housekeeper, you see. The hungarian girl who worked here before quit two months ago to marry, she was quite the character. I wasn't sure if I can find a tough and unique person as her substitute, I've been looking for months and no applicant satisfy me." He went back with the childish manner of speaking, sweet poison dripping down his mouth.

Gilbert suddenly had a bad feeling.

"That's why, Little Weillschmidt, I insist. I want you to take her place. It is going to be entertaining, just like when Elizaveta was here." He strode towards him. Gilbert straightened his arm and pointed the gun at his heart. But those hypnotizing cold eyes rendered him unable to pull the trigger.

Dangerous. That man was dangerous. Something about him wasn't right. The voices in his mind told him over and over again. He had to run. Hide. Somewhere, anywhere. Why did he felt such terrifying pressure when he was the one who had murdered many people, threatened, stole, and did many unspoken crimes. But this man, who was supposed to be an ordinary citizen was able to make him sweat furiously under his gaze.

Dangerous.

Dangerous.

This man was dangerous.

He had to get away.

Escape.

But he was already right in front of him, pushing his left arm down with a big gloved hand. Pristine amethyst eyes stared down at him. Gilbert was caged within the much bigger body, hearing his heart thumping loudly in his ears and feeling sweat soaking his back.

His gaze went down to the injured arm. "Ooh, poor Little Weillschmidt, you're wounded! I must call the best doctor in town to come and treat you." He said, didn't sound worried in the slightest. Smiling like an innocent child, Ivan wrapped his arms loosely around his body, pulling him close gently while whispering into his ears.

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. My Little Gilbert."

Gilbert gulped.

The Russian blonde pulled away then. As if hypnotized, Gilbert silently followed Ivan as the bigger man guided him towards the seemingly comfortable and expensive leather sofa right in front of the fireplace. He reached his shoulders and pushed him down to sit on it. "Rest well, Little Weillschmidt. I will call the doctor! You must wait a little while."

Red eyes reflected the flickering flame as he stared at it, sweat still dripping down his chin. The blonde had left the room, claiming to call the doctor. Silence emerged within the room, only the flickers of the flame filled in the empty air. The albino's heart hadn't calmed down a tad bit. He no longer cared of the wounded arm lying on his side, blood staining the cushion.

The bad feeling hadn't gone away.

How did he know my real name?

TBC

A/N: Err… I have no idea what I've created this time. This fic is going to be filled with romance/suspense I guess. So… what do you think? Is it weird? …'coz I thought so too. I'm becoming a sucker for RussPru ;A;

Review if you want to see more of this story... ...or if you want me to stop.