[Fic] We Taste The Same
Title: We Taste The Same
Author/Artist: dappledwings
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Belarus/GDR
Rating: Hard R to NC-17, I'd think.
Warnings: Unbeta'd drabblefic. Violence, gunplay, dub-con, a touch of bloodplay.
Summary: Belarus is not best pleased- GDR has gone against her wishes and been to see Russia.
Words: 1,451
Author's notes: Title is from 'I don't care' by Fall Out Boy. I call GDR East Germany in this, and yes, it is Prussia. Headcanon of him being smoother and darker is all because of the anon meme. Damn you, gdr_eagle
Belarus knocks upon her comrade’s door. He answers the door, wiping the blood from a split lip and her face twists immediately. “You went to see Brother, didn’t you, Comrade?” He remains silent, watching her from burning red eyes. “I thought I warned you. You do not make Brother happy, and his happiness is my priority.” Belarus steps closer. “I must remove those who make Brother unhappy.”
East Germany’s face turns to a dark expression as she gets too close, threatens him. The meaning of removing someone hangs, stark in the half-light of an incoming winter storm. “Perhaps you should remove yourself, then, Comrade. I see no evidence of you making Russia happy.” His voice is low and smooth and slick, just begging for a reaction from the ill-humoured nation.
Just as planned, Belarus already being on edge, she swings- lashes out at him. She even gets a couple of blows in, seeing red and reaching for her knife, before East Germany has her pinned by the neck to a wall. “Stay away from him, make him happy,” he threatens, watching the Slav nation turn red, then purple. He drops her to a coughing heap on the ground, turns to walk away, before a knife lashes at his ankles. East Germany curses, he should know better, know that she is quick and cunning and dangerous. Before he can continue with his curses and react to the bite of the knife at his ankles, the knife pricks at the base of his neck, pushing softly against his windpipe.
“Perhaps Comrade has gone quite mad. Perhaps he no longer realises that it is Russia’s sister who understands him best. Why, he is only interested in you as a play thing. When you have left, it is I who will be remaining, standing beside him. It is I who will comfort him. It is I who he will need. And then…” East Germany wriggles a little, testing Belarus’ hold. He only succeeds in nicking himself on the knife. She bends her head, licks the blood. “It is I who will marry him.” Her breath is cold against his skin- it seems that Russia is not the only family member who has inherited the block of ice effect. However, the temperature difference makes him shiver, makes him think of Russia. And suddenly the atmosphere seems to shift to something different. Something entirely more intimate.
“You are cruel, Comrade, to remind me of what I cannot have. But you do remind me also of what has me. I suppose you could say who has me.” East Germany’s grin would otherwise be described as ‘shit-eating’, but Belarus is not one to use that language. Instead, she grunts, forces his head back, dragging at the skin with the knife. Blood trails follow the path of the blade, deep red against pale white skin and shining silver metal.
The wound is not deep, but it bleeds profusely. This time, Belarus does not taste the blood, leaves it to bleed wherever it will. She callously cuts away the clothes, despite knowing that he will only just afford another shirt. The trousers somehow escape mostly intact, though the buttons are simply torn away. East Germany’s hands are free, and he uses them to grab the knife bearing hand and swing them, so that Belarus faces him. With this, he tears the knife away, throwing it as far as he can down the hallway. This leaves her unarmed, but not defenceless. As they both well know. The knife clatters to a halt against a wall, somewhere, but this almost refuses to register within the pair’s brains.
They watch each other for a silent moment, sizing each other up, almost. And then, Belarus lunges, hands outstretched. On one hand, her nails connect with his face, and the other connects with his body, leaving long, scored red marks. East Germany reacts by grabbing her, pulling the woman close before punching her stomach. He doesn’t care that she is female, only that she is threatening him.
Belarus is silent, remains so aside from a deep breath when she is winded. She has pride to maintain, after all. Being pinned against a wall twice by the same man is almost more than her pride can take, but she keeps silent as her back hits the wall. She needs to regain her breath first.
Her eyes widen as the Germanic nation tears her dress apart, cursing the fabric and the layers all the time. When she finally opens her mouth to bite (East Germany is not looking, and so is a prime target), a gun- she is told in a harsh voice to ‘suck it’- pre-emptively fills Belarus’ mouth. She cannot spit it out. And so she slides her tongue down the cold barrel, keeping her eyes fixed on East Germany the whole time. He does not look, too busy with ridding her of layers until she is shivering, naked and cold. But the whole time, her tongue is working and she is sucking on the gun. The taste of gunpowder is heavy on her tongue- Belarus wants to spit the taste away.
The relief is when the gun is withdrawn, but the former Prussian instead claims Belarus’ mouth. She grapples blindly to wrestle the gun from him, and it is by chance that it clatters the same way as the knife, down the hall and out of sight and mind.
“I will not do this here.” Belarus is adamant, and East Germany sighs.
“We will do this in here then.” He pulls her into the lounge, not allowing her chance to escape. His hand will leave bruises, dark purple remnants of fingers wrapped around her wrist. East Germany is not gentle, far from it, especially when he throws her down onto the sofa. He does not waste time, removes his own underwear and presses his hand to her neck as he enters her roughly.
Belarus scratches anywhere she can reach. His back, his shoulders, his legs and arms. Only his face is saved by the fact that she cannot reach up without the pressure on her windpipe being increased to nearly unbearable levels. She is desperate to get the most pleasure she can out of this- if he comes before her, Belarus will not be able to orgasm before she gets home. It is a long way to walk if you are pent up.
She manages to orgasm first, an achievement with the way he is roughly thrusting, without care to her. Without touching or toying with her, like she imagines her Brother would do. It is the thought of her Brother doing things to her that makes her come- touching and kissing her- and after she does, she lies motionless and unwilling to help East Germany orgasm. Her satisfaction comes first right now, and she is not thoroughly happy with her level of satisfaction.
East Germany grunts a couple of times before he freezes, and Belarus pushes him off before he can stop her doing anything. Finding her dress (although it is ruined, it will make do) and her tights, she gets dressed quickly. A hand falls on her shoulder, biting it seems a natural reaction.
East German hisses, and slaps her across the face. The mark burns red, but Belarus makes no sound or sign of acknowledgement that she has been slapped. In fact, her expression does not change in the slightest, though perhaps there is a shift in her eyes and she looks a little more dangerous.
“Refrain from this, Comrade.” Belarus’ voice slips out like ice, almost glacial in tone.
East Germany smirks a little, for a moment looks like Prussia, but then the likeness is gone. It is buried beneath the harshness he has gained, and Belarus finds herself almost missing the nation. She is not so stupid to do so for more than a moment though, and immediately tenses again. “From this?” He is touching her again, her shoulder for now, but another hand is sliding towards her buttocks.
“From everything. I am leaving as soon as I get my knife.” Belarus leaves him no time to respond in any way, sweeps past him to grab the knife, contemplating taking the gun too. “Stop blocking the door, I must use it to leave.”
Standing aside, the Germanic man gives Belarus a look. The look is filled with contempt and disgust, of pity and horror, of apathy and coldness. The Slavic nation ignores it, refuses to meet his red eyes as she walks out the door. He can think what he likes; it is she who will have her Brother’s hand in marriage. No one else. Belarus will see to that.
Author/Artist: dappledwings
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Belarus/GDR
Rating: Hard R to NC-17, I'd think.
Warnings: Unbeta'd drabblefic. Violence, gunplay, dub-con, a touch of bloodplay.
Summary: Belarus is not best pleased- GDR has gone against her wishes and been to see Russia.
Words: 1,451
Author's notes: Title is from 'I don't care' by Fall Out Boy. I call GDR East Germany in this, and yes, it is Prussia. Headcanon of him being smoother and darker is all because of the anon meme. Damn you, gdr_eagle
Belarus knocks upon her comrade’s door. He answers the door, wiping the blood from a split lip and her face twists immediately. “You went to see Brother, didn’t you, Comrade?” He remains silent, watching her from burning red eyes. “I thought I warned you. You do not make Brother happy, and his happiness is my priority.” Belarus steps closer. “I must remove those who make Brother unhappy.”
East Germany’s face turns to a dark expression as she gets too close, threatens him. The meaning of removing someone hangs, stark in the half-light of an incoming winter storm. “Perhaps you should remove yourself, then, Comrade. I see no evidence of you making Russia happy.” His voice is low and smooth and slick, just begging for a reaction from the ill-humoured nation.
Just as planned, Belarus already being on edge, she swings- lashes out at him. She even gets a couple of blows in, seeing red and reaching for her knife, before East Germany has her pinned by the neck to a wall. “Stay away from him, make him happy,” he threatens, watching the Slav nation turn red, then purple. He drops her to a coughing heap on the ground, turns to walk away, before a knife lashes at his ankles. East Germany curses, he should know better, know that she is quick and cunning and dangerous. Before he can continue with his curses and react to the bite of the knife at his ankles, the knife pricks at the base of his neck, pushing softly against his windpipe.
“Perhaps Comrade has gone quite mad. Perhaps he no longer realises that it is Russia’s sister who understands him best. Why, he is only interested in you as a play thing. When you have left, it is I who will be remaining, standing beside him. It is I who will comfort him. It is I who he will need. And then…” East Germany wriggles a little, testing Belarus’ hold. He only succeeds in nicking himself on the knife. She bends her head, licks the blood. “It is I who will marry him.” Her breath is cold against his skin- it seems that Russia is not the only family member who has inherited the block of ice effect. However, the temperature difference makes him shiver, makes him think of Russia. And suddenly the atmosphere seems to shift to something different. Something entirely more intimate.
“You are cruel, Comrade, to remind me of what I cannot have. But you do remind me also of what has me. I suppose you could say who has me.” East Germany’s grin would otherwise be described as ‘shit-eating’, but Belarus is not one to use that language. Instead, she grunts, forces his head back, dragging at the skin with the knife. Blood trails follow the path of the blade, deep red against pale white skin and shining silver metal.
The wound is not deep, but it bleeds profusely. This time, Belarus does not taste the blood, leaves it to bleed wherever it will. She callously cuts away the clothes, despite knowing that he will only just afford another shirt. The trousers somehow escape mostly intact, though the buttons are simply torn away. East Germany’s hands are free, and he uses them to grab the knife bearing hand and swing them, so that Belarus faces him. With this, he tears the knife away, throwing it as far as he can down the hallway. This leaves her unarmed, but not defenceless. As they both well know. The knife clatters to a halt against a wall, somewhere, but this almost refuses to register within the pair’s brains.
They watch each other for a silent moment, sizing each other up, almost. And then, Belarus lunges, hands outstretched. On one hand, her nails connect with his face, and the other connects with his body, leaving long, scored red marks. East Germany reacts by grabbing her, pulling the woman close before punching her stomach. He doesn’t care that she is female, only that she is threatening him.
Belarus is silent, remains so aside from a deep breath when she is winded. She has pride to maintain, after all. Being pinned against a wall twice by the same man is almost more than her pride can take, but she keeps silent as her back hits the wall. She needs to regain her breath first.
Her eyes widen as the Germanic nation tears her dress apart, cursing the fabric and the layers all the time. When she finally opens her mouth to bite (East Germany is not looking, and so is a prime target), a gun- she is told in a harsh voice to ‘suck it’- pre-emptively fills Belarus’ mouth. She cannot spit it out. And so she slides her tongue down the cold barrel, keeping her eyes fixed on East Germany the whole time. He does not look, too busy with ridding her of layers until she is shivering, naked and cold. But the whole time, her tongue is working and she is sucking on the gun. The taste of gunpowder is heavy on her tongue- Belarus wants to spit the taste away.
The relief is when the gun is withdrawn, but the former Prussian instead claims Belarus’ mouth. She grapples blindly to wrestle the gun from him, and it is by chance that it clatters the same way as the knife, down the hall and out of sight and mind.
“I will not do this here.” Belarus is adamant, and East Germany sighs.
“We will do this in here then.” He pulls her into the lounge, not allowing her chance to escape. His hand will leave bruises, dark purple remnants of fingers wrapped around her wrist. East Germany is not gentle, far from it, especially when he throws her down onto the sofa. He does not waste time, removes his own underwear and presses his hand to her neck as he enters her roughly.
Belarus scratches anywhere she can reach. His back, his shoulders, his legs and arms. Only his face is saved by the fact that she cannot reach up without the pressure on her windpipe being increased to nearly unbearable levels. She is desperate to get the most pleasure she can out of this- if he comes before her, Belarus will not be able to orgasm before she gets home. It is a long way to walk if you are pent up.
She manages to orgasm first, an achievement with the way he is roughly thrusting, without care to her. Without touching or toying with her, like she imagines her Brother would do. It is the thought of her Brother doing things to her that makes her come- touching and kissing her- and after she does, she lies motionless and unwilling to help East Germany orgasm. Her satisfaction comes first right now, and she is not thoroughly happy with her level of satisfaction.
East Germany grunts a couple of times before he freezes, and Belarus pushes him off before he can stop her doing anything. Finding her dress (although it is ruined, it will make do) and her tights, she gets dressed quickly. A hand falls on her shoulder, biting it seems a natural reaction.
East German hisses, and slaps her across the face. The mark burns red, but Belarus makes no sound or sign of acknowledgement that she has been slapped. In fact, her expression does not change in the slightest, though perhaps there is a shift in her eyes and she looks a little more dangerous.
“Refrain from this, Comrade.” Belarus’ voice slips out like ice, almost glacial in tone.
East Germany smirks a little, for a moment looks like Prussia, but then the likeness is gone. It is buried beneath the harshness he has gained, and Belarus finds herself almost missing the nation. She is not so stupid to do so for more than a moment though, and immediately tenses again. “From this?” He is touching her again, her shoulder for now, but another hand is sliding towards her buttocks.
“From everything. I am leaving as soon as I get my knife.” Belarus leaves him no time to respond in any way, sweeps past him to grab the knife, contemplating taking the gun too. “Stop blocking the door, I must use it to leave.”
Standing aside, the Germanic man gives Belarus a look. The look is filled with contempt and disgust, of pity and horror, of apathy and coldness. The Slavic nation ignores it, refuses to meet his red eyes as she walks out the door. He can think what he likes; it is she who will have her Brother’s hand in marriage. No one else. Belarus will see to that.