(no subject)
Title: Rough Estimate
Author/Artist: Sai
Character(s) or Pairing(s): PrussiaxDenmarkxGermany
Rating: Hard NC17
Status: In Progress
Warnings: Prussia's mouth, Denmark's mouth, noncon, bondage, strangulation
Summary: Prussia and Germany get revenge on Denmark for orchestrating the Danish Resistance Movement
Notes: Written for the kinkmeme; parts 1-6
Original request:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27758862#t27758862
His head hurt. No, nevermind just his head - everything hurt. His sides, back, arms and legs, everything ached. And his face..his face was absolutely throbbing, something wet and warm sliding down his chin that Denmark belatedly realized must be blood. They’d broken his nose, hadn’t they? The arrogant bastards had jumped him, beaten him, and busted his nose. He could have taken them beating him to within an inch of his life if they would have just left his face alone.
Shifting so his chin wasn’t digging into the cold floor, Denmark coughed and watched dark crimson flecks dot the floor. What the hell was that awful noise? Was that what passed for music in Germany? The record sounded scratched, the music blasting into the room too loud to be enjoyable, whatever it was.
“Brüder, bitte. You know I hate your music.”
“Relax, West. I was just setting the mood.”
“I cannot see how the Prussian national anthem could possibly set any sort of mood.”
Abruptly one of them grabbed the back of Denmark’s jacket and hoisted him to his feet. Germany, apparently, because his shorter, paler brother was the first person Denmark noticed when his vision cleared.
Prussia’s smile showed too many teeth to be authentically kind. “Evenin’, Dornröschen! How ya feeling? You look like shit.”
Powerful hands yanked him backwards into a seat hard enough to wind him when he landed. “Don’t figure we gave him a concussion, do ya, West?”
“Nein,” came the more masculine voice behind him, quieter, but just as intimidating as his brother’s crimson-eyed stare. “We are lucky for that at least. I warned you not to hit him in the head.”
“What the hell is this?” Denmark spat, once he found his voice again. His hands twitched instinctively, lonely without the heft of a weapon.
Here came Germany around front, half dressed and not bothering with the formality of a polite smile. “Was ist das?”
“This is punishment. This is what we must do now that you’ve upset the Fuhrer.”
“I didn’t-.”
“Oh, but you did. We had an agreement, Denmark.” Fingers fisted in his hair and jerked his head back so that he had to look up at Germany, face throbbing. “You agreed to help the Fuhrer complete his plans to cleanse Europe. You agreed, and we agreed to be lenient with your people, to let you have your independance. You only needed send us the escapees. But this is how you repay us?”
“Your boss is a madman! Haven’t you been to those camps, Germany? Can’t you feel your own people suffering? How can you let him get by with this shit? For fuck’s sake, Dachau! Auschwitz! He’s killing them by the thousands! Why can’t you feel that? Why aren’t you stopping him? Austria, Ukraine, his fucking Einsatzgruppen is everywhere!” He was shouting now, muscles tensed, ready to rise up out of that chair and knock some sense into the blond staring down at him so vacantly.
This wasn’t the Germany he knew. This was someone entirely different, a terrible mockup of Prussia, it seemed. He was the only one cruel enough to let people suffer like this. He might have said more, but Germany delivered a backhand swat to his face so hard that Denmark fell back, bursts of black and white clouding his vision again as the pain spiked.
“What a nation would do for his people is entirely different from what he must. I am given no options.” There, finally, a break in his detachment, and the pain on Germany’s face must have matched what he saw on Denmark’s. But only for a split second.
“As I recall, we were discussing your people, the ones you might have protected by extraditing mine. Under our marshall law now, aren’t you? Pity. Tell me, Gilbert, do you recall how many people Denmark sent back to us over the last two years?”
“Nineteen,” Gilbert chirped. “I can name ‘em all off, if you forgot.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Germany towered over Denmark, lip curling. “Only nineteen.”
“I didn’t give anyone up! That was all arranged by my boss! He found them, he sent them, not me! I didn’t want any of them to go to your fucking camps!”
“All dead now. All sent to Auschwitz.” Prussia added, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “There might be two or three children left, but that’s only because Mengele’s got ‘em. “
Denmark sagged in his chair. “Sick fuckin’ bastards. How can you keep doing this..”
“What I am curious about, Denmark,” Germany interrupted, “is why you saw fit to assist in hiding…what was the rough estimate? Ah yes - seven thousand escaped Danish and German Jews, rather than making it easier on yourself and sending them to us.”
Another expression blossomed on Germany’s face, and it was a rage so unfiltered that Denmark drew back slightly. “Seven thousand. I wonder, where could they have gone? Home to the Holyland, perhaps?”
He'd been so focused on Germany's apparently growing anger that when Prussia snickered from somewhere behind them, Denmark nearly jumped clean out of his seat, startled by the sarcastic noise and the stumbling bootsteps that followed. He had just enough time to turn his head, looking for the other German, when Sweden fell not ten feet from him, landing roughly on his side, arms handcuffed behind his back. His glasses were gone, and even from his spot Denmark could see the thin scrim of blood drying between his nose and upper lip.
“Berwald, do you have any idea where those people might have escaped to?”
Sweden, who didn’t look quite as bad off as Denmark felt, stared up at Ludwig, matching his stoicism. He wasn't going to talk. He was more intelligent than that. Not because they had anything to hide, but because Sweden realized both of the brothers already knew just where those missing Germans went and who had helped them get across the Øresund. He wasn't about to play into their cutesy little game.
“Sweden’s neutral, you fucks! You can’t -.” Can’t fuck with him, was what Denmark planned on finishing with, but the back of Germany’s hand stopped him, knuckles cracking hard against his cheekbone.
“You are in no position for name-calling.”
For whatever reason, this made Prussia laugh under his breath. “Not yet you aren’t. But look, you asked what this is about, and we only halfass told you. Figure you deserve a real explanation, since you’ve been so cooperative up til now.”
Another of those dry laughs came, a noise that Denmark was steadily learning to hate. “You cheated us outta those seven thousand. We’re left with those nineteen you saw fit to bless us with. We figured hell, best be thankful for what we got at least.”
Germany’s smile appeared at last, cold and stiff. “Prussia suggested we thank you for every single one, but while I have the stamina, I simply do not have the time. Once will have to do.”
“What are you fucks on about?”
The brothers moved simultaneously, Prussia grabbing one arm and Germany the other, to jerk him out of the chair and wrestle him onto the ground. He tried to fight, but there wasn’t much he could do with two hundred-odd pounds of muscle straddling his thighs and Prussia’s slender but alarmingly strong hands clenched around his wrists, pinning them to the floor above his head.
“We just wanna show you a little gratitude, Denmark!” Prussia laughed, letting go of his hands just long enough to grab the back of his jacket and start yanking it over his head. “You’ll have to forgive us for skippin’ the foreplay though.”
“You see, when the Fuhrer learned of your Danish Resistance Movement, he was rather..upset. So I very carefully reminded him of those nineteen you sent us. Do you think he was grateful?”
Denmark, flushed cheek pressed against the cool floor, bucked his hips, trying and failing to throw Germany off. “Hell if I know. I sure as fuck don’t care, either. Get off me!” With his head turned like this, he could just barely see Berwald sitting slumped over on the floor, jaw working steadily while he kept his head turned.
“If you settle down, we might make this easier on you,” Germany snapped, clipping the back of his head with a fist had enough to bring those starbursts back.
Prussia snorted, working now on the buttons around Denmark’s shirt collar. “Yeah, as easy as you can make ten inches.” Cold fingers, rough but surprisingly nimble, grazed the skin through his gaped collar, making him recoil slightly, shivering.
They undressed him in a matter of moments, cutting his shirt down the back when he refused to lift up to help and yanking his pants down, belt and all, in one quick motion. It wasn’t until Germany got a hand up his shorts that Denmark started fighting in earnest, trying to kick back against Germany and swing at Prussia, now that the smaller nation had let go of his wrists.
Prussia took a glancing blow so hard it knocked him from knees to ass, but he was laughing as he fell, clearly enjoying the struggle. “Hell, West! He knows just how to turn me on!”
“You...get the fuck off me! You can’t do this shit!”
“Really, you have left us no other options. Betrayal of that sort requires a fitting punishment. And we could think of nothing better than abusing you, the same way you chose to abuse our trust and hospitali-"
"Fucking hospitality? What hospitality?" As much as he wanted to thrash and kick at Germany, Denmark couldn't do anything but tremble, skin crawling where Germany's breath fell warm against the backs of his thighs.
And scream, too, when the other nation grabbed hold of his hair and jerked his head back so hard something popped, sending an intense, tingling pain down his spine.
"With all that shouting and protesting you've been doing," Germany hissed in his ear, hips grinding down against Denmark's ass, "I fully expect you to use your exceptional lung capacity and scream for me while I'm fucking you."
Rather than simply letting go, Germany shoved Denmark's head towards the floor, grinding his throbbing face into the drying blood spatters and holding it there. The position was so awkward and painful, Denmark couldn't twitch, couldn't even attempt getting his wrists out of Prussia's cold grip because even the smallest movement made his neck and back shriek in pain. And Germany was so fucking heavy halfway laying on him like that.
In complete contrast, his free hand - warmer than Gilbert's but bigger, movements more steady and deliberate - slid down Denmark's side, over the slight curve of his hip and down into his shorts.
Germany got that scream he wanted, premature as it was, simply by ramming his index and middle fingers knuckle-deep into Denmark without any preparation or forewarning whatsoever.
"Hey, I thought we were skippin' foreplay?"
Both Germany and Prussia laughed, but fuck preserving pride right now, the pain just those two fingers caused came roaring up through his entire lower half, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on what the brothers were saying.
And the bastard kept moving his hand! He'd pull back all the way, twist his wrist a few times, then jam them back in, deep as he could get, so deep the stroke made Denmark's body jolt and tremble.
He didn't notice the fingers knotted into his hair were Prussia's now, not until the other nation lifted his head and smirked. "Now..since West gets that end first, I get this one. And if I feel teeth, I'll pull every single one of 'em outta your head and fuck your bleeding mouth."
"F-fuck you..suck it yourself, you fuckin' filthy son of a bitch," Denmark spat, trying desperately to ignore Germany's fingers dry-fucking him.
But he forgot Prussia still had a hand free, even if it was preoccupied undoing his belt and zipper about a foot from his face. That hand whipped into his cheek so fast and hard that the bruise would last for weeks.
Prussia still hadn't lost his smile, all teeth and malice, and shoved the front of his pants and shorts down, exposing his half hard length. "Suck my dick or I smash that fucking nose of yours 'til you start looking like one of those people you tried so hard to hide. Want to fit in, don't you?"
Keeping his mouth shut and eyes closed was only part rebellion - he couldn't stand looking at Prussia while Germany was back there curling his fingers at the height of every thrust, hitting a place that was so sensitive it made him forget the sharp pain acting as a precursor to pleasure.
Yes, it was pleasure, and an intense pleasure at that, but Denmark wasn't enjoying it at all. As far as he was concerned, it was an involuntary reaction, something to be suffered through just as much as the small, stinging pain from the tears Germany's forced entry had created.
But Prussia didn't care. He only saw Denmark disobeying and delivered the necessary punishment, hitting the fallen nation square on the bridge of the nose. With his dick.
And of course it hurt - that was broken bone Prussia just cockslapped - so badly Denmark couldn't help another loud, pained cry, involuntarily giving Prussia the opening he needed to jam two fingers into his mouth, back so far they made Denmark gag.
"Are we having trouble listening?" Prussia nodded his head for him. "Oh? Well, that's too bad, because I really hate repeating myself. I mean I really, really hate repeating myself."
Prussia snorted and flexed his fingers so that Denmark choked, throat convulsing around the intruding digits.
"I want you to open your fucking mouth and choke on my cock. Is it that hard to understand? Don't make me tell you again. Now, here in a minute-"
Prussia paused, watching what Denmark realized, horrified, was Germany unzipping his own pants. "- or less, my brother is going to put that big dick of his straight up your tight ass. It is tight, isn't it West? I can tell just by looking at him he's never had anything up there before. 'cept maybe a stick."
“Thought I was going to lose a finger,” Germany muttered. Prussia laughed and made some snide comment in German, something Denmark might have been able to decipher had he not been in so much pain.
Germany added a third finger, making Denmark moan and buck away, noise stifled by Prussia’s fingers in his throat. The latter only lasted a few more seconds - Prussia withdrew and moved, shifted up onto his knees and pressed his dick against and into Denmark’s panting mouth. He only got a few inches in before the fallen nation got his wits about him again and bit down.
They couldn’t really expect him to take all this laying down. He was too stubborn to let them run right over him. They’d do it anyway, and he’d be in an incredible amount of pain for a few days, but Denmark was just too stubborn to roll over, spread his legs and take whatever the brothers handed out.
They would both have to suffer first, even if he got fucked at the end of it all.
Prussia yelped, startling Germany so badly he jerked and yanked his hand back out of Denmark, who cried out just as loudly as Prussia had until the toe of the shorter nation’s boot connected with his ribs and jarred the air out of his lungs.
“You fucking worthless traitor piece of shit!” Another kick and another scream, this time for the snap and hot flare of pain in his side. “What did I say? What did I fucking say?!”
Prussia kept kicking him, first in his sides then his spine and the small of his back when Denmark tried to roll away. German wasn’t bothering to hold him down now, not at the risk of getting nailed by one of Prussia’s boots.
One kick stuck, wedged up under his side and shoved Denmark onto his back to get a clear shot at his stomach and chest. He might have gotten higher, probably planned to the way he made a path up Denmark's torso. But at the last possible second the blond's hands shot out, grabbed onto Prussia' ankle mid-kick, and used the momentum of the motion to jerk the other nation forward, off balance.
Funny..he half expected Prussia to catch himself, not pitch forward and smack his face off the hard floor, landing with his ass in the air and yelping like a kicked dog.
Too bad Germany didn't let him really enjoy that picture-perfect moment. Before Denmark could so much as draw a shallow breath to laugh, the other German was hauling him up by the hair, dragging him up onto his knees. Denmark cursed, fingers scrabbling uselessly over Germany's hand, and glared up at him just as the bigger man jerked his head back and spit in his face.
"Ungrateful bastard. We show you leniancy, you toss it back in our faces. We try to exprss our gratitude, and you refuse to cooperate. I am beginning to think you need a lesson in proper manners."
"Suck...my...ass, Ludwig," Denmark snapped, each rasping breath shifting what felt like two, possibly three broken ribs.
"He bit my fuckin' cock, West!"
Both men - one stone-faced, the other squinting in obvious pain, vainly clawing at Ludwig's hand - looked up at the recovered Prussian. But Gilbert had his back to them, pants below his skinny ass, obviously inspecting the damage.
"Bit me right on my Christing dickhead..."
"Is it bleeding?" Germany sighed, giving Denmark a rough shake his his nails bit in deep.
"Nah..nah, I don't think so.."
Now Prussia would whip around on him, light into him with another hailstorm of kicks, blows and curses until he had no choice but to lay still. Denmark expected him to, even braced himself for a boot to the kidney when he heard Prussia shuffling into motion. But he was headed elsewhere.
"You won't suck me off? Fine. I brought a backup."
Gilbert smiled at him, paused now beside Sweden, and stroked the quiet blond's hair, who pulled away from him immediately. "How about it, Denmark? You keep shutting me down. Figure I should just get Berwald to help?"
"Wh't'ver y'put in m'mouth, y'ren't gett'n back, B'lschmidt," Sweden muttered, glaring up at Prussia. "F'ng'rs, t'ngue, dick, wh't'ver't is, I'll bite it off."
"Alright! Shit, okay, alright, I'll do it!" Denmark shouted. There was an audible desperate edge to his voice that he hated, but watching Prussia put his hands on someone so damn undeserving made his stomach knot up.
"Just get your filthy Mof hands off him. He isn't part of this."
"Yes he is." Germany's voice was so soft, Denmark almost had to strain to hear him. "He is here to watch. We're making an example out of you. If he continues to claim neutrality but assist our enemies, we will make an example out of him as well. Until then, Gilbert, let Berwald be. Get another set of-..no. No, on second thought, get rope. Out of my bags. No, Ost, my bags, over by the door.."
What happened after Gilbert shoved Sweden down and stalked off, muttering, Denmark wouldn't be able to remember later. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, snapping something about how it was fucking dishonorable to disrespect a country's neutrality, Germany brought a fist down onto his nose and Denmark knew nothing but pain and a deep, velvety-black darkness.
Vague consciousness lingered, letting him feel Germany and Prussia's hands - alternately cold and quick, warm and soothing - moving over his body, inspecting and pressing into injured places already going bruise-purple, guiding something rough around his elbows and wrists and lower, doing something to his legs that felt vaguely uncomfortable.
Searing agony in his shoulders brought Denmark around again, bare seconds before Prussia bit him, right above his left nipple, so hard the marks began to seep blood within seconds. The ropes binding his arms held strong, wrenching his shoulders back when he tried to buck, screaming.
"Rope bondage is always a bit temperamental," Germany murmured, right in Denmark's ear, each syllable falling hot against his neck. Prussia was sucking at that new injury, making the raw wounds sting with every flick of his tongue, but Germany was practically cradling him, Denmark's back flush up against his front.
"Move too much and you'll pop something out of place. Move too little, and I'll beat you until you're writhing from the pain."
Denmark drew a wet breath, blood and spit thickening his voice. "This..the only way you two get a-any, huh?"
They wouldn't kill him, not with Sweden watching. Denmark was suddenly, wildly sure of that at least. All he had to do was get through a little physical pain and this shit would be done with. They weren't going to break him like this, not someone as stubborn as him, not while he still needed to get Sweden out of here safely. Sweden hadn't done shit, and they were still making him sit over there and watch, trapping him there where he could see Prussia's blunt nails raking down Denmark's chest, leaving raw, red tracks behind.
"Get off me." Moving wasn't an option anymore. They had his arms bound tight, stretched above his head and anchored to something on the wall. And his legs..his fucking legs were bent, rope wrapped completely snug around calf and thigh, keeping them bent up like that. And with Prussia situated in between his knees, he couldn't even get his knees closed to preserve a little fucking modesty.
Both brothers laughed, but it was Prussia who responded, lifting his head and smirking, crimson flashing.
"You're starting to sound like a broken record."
Author/Artist: Sai
Character(s) or Pairing(s): PrussiaxDenmarkxGermany
Rating: Hard NC17
Status: In Progress
Warnings: Prussia's mouth, Denmark's mouth, noncon, bondage, strangulation
Summary: Prussia and Germany get revenge on Denmark for orchestrating the Danish Resistance Movement
Notes: Written for the kinkmeme; parts 1-6
Original request:
http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27758862#t27758862
His head hurt. No, nevermind just his head - everything hurt. His sides, back, arms and legs, everything ached. And his face..his face was absolutely throbbing, something wet and warm sliding down his chin that Denmark belatedly realized must be blood. They’d broken his nose, hadn’t they? The arrogant bastards had jumped him, beaten him, and busted his nose. He could have taken them beating him to within an inch of his life if they would have just left his face alone.
Shifting so his chin wasn’t digging into the cold floor, Denmark coughed and watched dark crimson flecks dot the floor. What the hell was that awful noise? Was that what passed for music in Germany? The record sounded scratched, the music blasting into the room too loud to be enjoyable, whatever it was.
“Brüder, bitte. You know I hate your music.”
“Relax, West. I was just setting the mood.”
“I cannot see how the Prussian national anthem could possibly set any sort of mood.”
Abruptly one of them grabbed the back of Denmark’s jacket and hoisted him to his feet. Germany, apparently, because his shorter, paler brother was the first person Denmark noticed when his vision cleared.
Prussia’s smile showed too many teeth to be authentically kind. “Evenin’, Dornröschen! How ya feeling? You look like shit.”
Powerful hands yanked him backwards into a seat hard enough to wind him when he landed. “Don’t figure we gave him a concussion, do ya, West?”
“Nein,” came the more masculine voice behind him, quieter, but just as intimidating as his brother’s crimson-eyed stare. “We are lucky for that at least. I warned you not to hit him in the head.”
“What the hell is this?” Denmark spat, once he found his voice again. His hands twitched instinctively, lonely without the heft of a weapon.
Here came Germany around front, half dressed and not bothering with the formality of a polite smile. “Was ist das?”
“This is punishment. This is what we must do now that you’ve upset the Fuhrer.”
“I didn’t-.”
“Oh, but you did. We had an agreement, Denmark.” Fingers fisted in his hair and jerked his head back so that he had to look up at Germany, face throbbing. “You agreed to help the Fuhrer complete his plans to cleanse Europe. You agreed, and we agreed to be lenient with your people, to let you have your independance. You only needed send us the escapees. But this is how you repay us?”
“Your boss is a madman! Haven’t you been to those camps, Germany? Can’t you feel your own people suffering? How can you let him get by with this shit? For fuck’s sake, Dachau! Auschwitz! He’s killing them by the thousands! Why can’t you feel that? Why aren’t you stopping him? Austria, Ukraine, his fucking Einsatzgruppen is everywhere!” He was shouting now, muscles tensed, ready to rise up out of that chair and knock some sense into the blond staring down at him so vacantly.
This wasn’t the Germany he knew. This was someone entirely different, a terrible mockup of Prussia, it seemed. He was the only one cruel enough to let people suffer like this. He might have said more, but Germany delivered a backhand swat to his face so hard that Denmark fell back, bursts of black and white clouding his vision again as the pain spiked.
“What a nation would do for his people is entirely different from what he must. I am given no options.” There, finally, a break in his detachment, and the pain on Germany’s face must have matched what he saw on Denmark’s. But only for a split second.
“As I recall, we were discussing your people, the ones you might have protected by extraditing mine. Under our marshall law now, aren’t you? Pity. Tell me, Gilbert, do you recall how many people Denmark sent back to us over the last two years?”
“Nineteen,” Gilbert chirped. “I can name ‘em all off, if you forgot.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Germany towered over Denmark, lip curling. “Only nineteen.”
“I didn’t give anyone up! That was all arranged by my boss! He found them, he sent them, not me! I didn’t want any of them to go to your fucking camps!”
“All dead now. All sent to Auschwitz.” Prussia added, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “There might be two or three children left, but that’s only because Mengele’s got ‘em. “
Denmark sagged in his chair. “Sick fuckin’ bastards. How can you keep doing this..”
“What I am curious about, Denmark,” Germany interrupted, “is why you saw fit to assist in hiding…what was the rough estimate? Ah yes - seven thousand escaped Danish and German Jews, rather than making it easier on yourself and sending them to us.”
Another expression blossomed on Germany’s face, and it was a rage so unfiltered that Denmark drew back slightly. “Seven thousand. I wonder, where could they have gone? Home to the Holyland, perhaps?”
He'd been so focused on Germany's apparently growing anger that when Prussia snickered from somewhere behind them, Denmark nearly jumped clean out of his seat, startled by the sarcastic noise and the stumbling bootsteps that followed. He had just enough time to turn his head, looking for the other German, when Sweden fell not ten feet from him, landing roughly on his side, arms handcuffed behind his back. His glasses were gone, and even from his spot Denmark could see the thin scrim of blood drying between his nose and upper lip.
“Berwald, do you have any idea where those people might have escaped to?”
Sweden, who didn’t look quite as bad off as Denmark felt, stared up at Ludwig, matching his stoicism. He wasn't going to talk. He was more intelligent than that. Not because they had anything to hide, but because Sweden realized both of the brothers already knew just where those missing Germans went and who had helped them get across the Øresund. He wasn't about to play into their cutesy little game.
“Sweden’s neutral, you fucks! You can’t -.” Can’t fuck with him, was what Denmark planned on finishing with, but the back of Germany’s hand stopped him, knuckles cracking hard against his cheekbone.
“You are in no position for name-calling.”
For whatever reason, this made Prussia laugh under his breath. “Not yet you aren’t. But look, you asked what this is about, and we only halfass told you. Figure you deserve a real explanation, since you’ve been so cooperative up til now.”
Another of those dry laughs came, a noise that Denmark was steadily learning to hate. “You cheated us outta those seven thousand. We’re left with those nineteen you saw fit to bless us with. We figured hell, best be thankful for what we got at least.”
Germany’s smile appeared at last, cold and stiff. “Prussia suggested we thank you for every single one, but while I have the stamina, I simply do not have the time. Once will have to do.”
“What are you fucks on about?”
The brothers moved simultaneously, Prussia grabbing one arm and Germany the other, to jerk him out of the chair and wrestle him onto the ground. He tried to fight, but there wasn’t much he could do with two hundred-odd pounds of muscle straddling his thighs and Prussia’s slender but alarmingly strong hands clenched around his wrists, pinning them to the floor above his head.
“We just wanna show you a little gratitude, Denmark!” Prussia laughed, letting go of his hands just long enough to grab the back of his jacket and start yanking it over his head. “You’ll have to forgive us for skippin’ the foreplay though.”
“You see, when the Fuhrer learned of your Danish Resistance Movement, he was rather..upset. So I very carefully reminded him of those nineteen you sent us. Do you think he was grateful?”
Denmark, flushed cheek pressed against the cool floor, bucked his hips, trying and failing to throw Germany off. “Hell if I know. I sure as fuck don’t care, either. Get off me!” With his head turned like this, he could just barely see Berwald sitting slumped over on the floor, jaw working steadily while he kept his head turned.
“If you settle down, we might make this easier on you,” Germany snapped, clipping the back of his head with a fist had enough to bring those starbursts back.
Prussia snorted, working now on the buttons around Denmark’s shirt collar. “Yeah, as easy as you can make ten inches.” Cold fingers, rough but surprisingly nimble, grazed the skin through his gaped collar, making him recoil slightly, shivering.
They undressed him in a matter of moments, cutting his shirt down the back when he refused to lift up to help and yanking his pants down, belt and all, in one quick motion. It wasn’t until Germany got a hand up his shorts that Denmark started fighting in earnest, trying to kick back against Germany and swing at Prussia, now that the smaller nation had let go of his wrists.
Prussia took a glancing blow so hard it knocked him from knees to ass, but he was laughing as he fell, clearly enjoying the struggle. “Hell, West! He knows just how to turn me on!”
“You...get the fuck off me! You can’t do this shit!”
“Really, you have left us no other options. Betrayal of that sort requires a fitting punishment. And we could think of nothing better than abusing you, the same way you chose to abuse our trust and hospitali-"
"Fucking hospitality? What hospitality?" As much as he wanted to thrash and kick at Germany, Denmark couldn't do anything but tremble, skin crawling where Germany's breath fell warm against the backs of his thighs.
And scream, too, when the other nation grabbed hold of his hair and jerked his head back so hard something popped, sending an intense, tingling pain down his spine.
"With all that shouting and protesting you've been doing," Germany hissed in his ear, hips grinding down against Denmark's ass, "I fully expect you to use your exceptional lung capacity and scream for me while I'm fucking you."
Rather than simply letting go, Germany shoved Denmark's head towards the floor, grinding his throbbing face into the drying blood spatters and holding it there. The position was so awkward and painful, Denmark couldn't twitch, couldn't even attempt getting his wrists out of Prussia's cold grip because even the smallest movement made his neck and back shriek in pain. And Germany was so fucking heavy halfway laying on him like that.
In complete contrast, his free hand - warmer than Gilbert's but bigger, movements more steady and deliberate - slid down Denmark's side, over the slight curve of his hip and down into his shorts.
Germany got that scream he wanted, premature as it was, simply by ramming his index and middle fingers knuckle-deep into Denmark without any preparation or forewarning whatsoever.
"Hey, I thought we were skippin' foreplay?"
Both Germany and Prussia laughed, but fuck preserving pride right now, the pain just those two fingers caused came roaring up through his entire lower half, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on what the brothers were saying.
And the bastard kept moving his hand! He'd pull back all the way, twist his wrist a few times, then jam them back in, deep as he could get, so deep the stroke made Denmark's body jolt and tremble.
He didn't notice the fingers knotted into his hair were Prussia's now, not until the other nation lifted his head and smirked. "Now..since West gets that end first, I get this one. And if I feel teeth, I'll pull every single one of 'em outta your head and fuck your bleeding mouth."
"F-fuck you..suck it yourself, you fuckin' filthy son of a bitch," Denmark spat, trying desperately to ignore Germany's fingers dry-fucking him.
But he forgot Prussia still had a hand free, even if it was preoccupied undoing his belt and zipper about a foot from his face. That hand whipped into his cheek so fast and hard that the bruise would last for weeks.
Prussia still hadn't lost his smile, all teeth and malice, and shoved the front of his pants and shorts down, exposing his half hard length. "Suck my dick or I smash that fucking nose of yours 'til you start looking like one of those people you tried so hard to hide. Want to fit in, don't you?"
Keeping his mouth shut and eyes closed was only part rebellion - he couldn't stand looking at Prussia while Germany was back there curling his fingers at the height of every thrust, hitting a place that was so sensitive it made him forget the sharp pain acting as a precursor to pleasure.
Yes, it was pleasure, and an intense pleasure at that, but Denmark wasn't enjoying it at all. As far as he was concerned, it was an involuntary reaction, something to be suffered through just as much as the small, stinging pain from the tears Germany's forced entry had created.
But Prussia didn't care. He only saw Denmark disobeying and delivered the necessary punishment, hitting the fallen nation square on the bridge of the nose. With his dick.
And of course it hurt - that was broken bone Prussia just cockslapped - so badly Denmark couldn't help another loud, pained cry, involuntarily giving Prussia the opening he needed to jam two fingers into his mouth, back so far they made Denmark gag.
"Are we having trouble listening?" Prussia nodded his head for him. "Oh? Well, that's too bad, because I really hate repeating myself. I mean I really, really hate repeating myself."
Prussia snorted and flexed his fingers so that Denmark choked, throat convulsing around the intruding digits.
"I want you to open your fucking mouth and choke on my cock. Is it that hard to understand? Don't make me tell you again. Now, here in a minute-"
Prussia paused, watching what Denmark realized, horrified, was Germany unzipping his own pants. "- or less, my brother is going to put that big dick of his straight up your tight ass. It is tight, isn't it West? I can tell just by looking at him he's never had anything up there before. 'cept maybe a stick."
“Thought I was going to lose a finger,” Germany muttered. Prussia laughed and made some snide comment in German, something Denmark might have been able to decipher had he not been in so much pain.
Germany added a third finger, making Denmark moan and buck away, noise stifled by Prussia’s fingers in his throat. The latter only lasted a few more seconds - Prussia withdrew and moved, shifted up onto his knees and pressed his dick against and into Denmark’s panting mouth. He only got a few inches in before the fallen nation got his wits about him again and bit down.
They couldn’t really expect him to take all this laying down. He was too stubborn to let them run right over him. They’d do it anyway, and he’d be in an incredible amount of pain for a few days, but Denmark was just too stubborn to roll over, spread his legs and take whatever the brothers handed out.
They would both have to suffer first, even if he got fucked at the end of it all.
Prussia yelped, startling Germany so badly he jerked and yanked his hand back out of Denmark, who cried out just as loudly as Prussia had until the toe of the shorter nation’s boot connected with his ribs and jarred the air out of his lungs.
“You fucking worthless traitor piece of shit!” Another kick and another scream, this time for the snap and hot flare of pain in his side. “What did I say? What did I fucking say?!”
Prussia kept kicking him, first in his sides then his spine and the small of his back when Denmark tried to roll away. German wasn’t bothering to hold him down now, not at the risk of getting nailed by one of Prussia’s boots.
One kick stuck, wedged up under his side and shoved Denmark onto his back to get a clear shot at his stomach and chest. He might have gotten higher, probably planned to the way he made a path up Denmark's torso. But at the last possible second the blond's hands shot out, grabbed onto Prussia' ankle mid-kick, and used the momentum of the motion to jerk the other nation forward, off balance.
Funny..he half expected Prussia to catch himself, not pitch forward and smack his face off the hard floor, landing with his ass in the air and yelping like a kicked dog.
Too bad Germany didn't let him really enjoy that picture-perfect moment. Before Denmark could so much as draw a shallow breath to laugh, the other German was hauling him up by the hair, dragging him up onto his knees. Denmark cursed, fingers scrabbling uselessly over Germany's hand, and glared up at him just as the bigger man jerked his head back and spit in his face.
"Ungrateful bastard. We show you leniancy, you toss it back in our faces. We try to exprss our gratitude, and you refuse to cooperate. I am beginning to think you need a lesson in proper manners."
"Suck...my...ass, Ludwig," Denmark snapped, each rasping breath shifting what felt like two, possibly three broken ribs.
"He bit my fuckin' cock, West!"
Both men - one stone-faced, the other squinting in obvious pain, vainly clawing at Ludwig's hand - looked up at the recovered Prussian. But Gilbert had his back to them, pants below his skinny ass, obviously inspecting the damage.
"Bit me right on my Christing dickhead..."
"Is it bleeding?" Germany sighed, giving Denmark a rough shake his his nails bit in deep.
"Nah..nah, I don't think so.."
Now Prussia would whip around on him, light into him with another hailstorm of kicks, blows and curses until he had no choice but to lay still. Denmark expected him to, even braced himself for a boot to the kidney when he heard Prussia shuffling into motion. But he was headed elsewhere.
"You won't suck me off? Fine. I brought a backup."
Gilbert smiled at him, paused now beside Sweden, and stroked the quiet blond's hair, who pulled away from him immediately. "How about it, Denmark? You keep shutting me down. Figure I should just get Berwald to help?"
"Wh't'ver y'put in m'mouth, y'ren't gett'n back, B'lschmidt," Sweden muttered, glaring up at Prussia. "F'ng'rs, t'ngue, dick, wh't'ver't is, I'll bite it off."
"Alright! Shit, okay, alright, I'll do it!" Denmark shouted. There was an audible desperate edge to his voice that he hated, but watching Prussia put his hands on someone so damn undeserving made his stomach knot up.
"Just get your filthy Mof hands off him. He isn't part of this."
"Yes he is." Germany's voice was so soft, Denmark almost had to strain to hear him. "He is here to watch. We're making an example out of you. If he continues to claim neutrality but assist our enemies, we will make an example out of him as well. Until then, Gilbert, let Berwald be. Get another set of-..no. No, on second thought, get rope. Out of my bags. No, Ost, my bags, over by the door.."
What happened after Gilbert shoved Sweden down and stalked off, muttering, Denmark wouldn't be able to remember later. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, snapping something about how it was fucking dishonorable to disrespect a country's neutrality, Germany brought a fist down onto his nose and Denmark knew nothing but pain and a deep, velvety-black darkness.
Vague consciousness lingered, letting him feel Germany and Prussia's hands - alternately cold and quick, warm and soothing - moving over his body, inspecting and pressing into injured places already going bruise-purple, guiding something rough around his elbows and wrists and lower, doing something to his legs that felt vaguely uncomfortable.
Searing agony in his shoulders brought Denmark around again, bare seconds before Prussia bit him, right above his left nipple, so hard the marks began to seep blood within seconds. The ropes binding his arms held strong, wrenching his shoulders back when he tried to buck, screaming.
"Rope bondage is always a bit temperamental," Germany murmured, right in Denmark's ear, each syllable falling hot against his neck. Prussia was sucking at that new injury, making the raw wounds sting with every flick of his tongue, but Germany was practically cradling him, Denmark's back flush up against his front.
"Move too much and you'll pop something out of place. Move too little, and I'll beat you until you're writhing from the pain."
Denmark drew a wet breath, blood and spit thickening his voice. "This..the only way you two get a-any, huh?"
They wouldn't kill him, not with Sweden watching. Denmark was suddenly, wildly sure of that at least. All he had to do was get through a little physical pain and this shit would be done with. They weren't going to break him like this, not someone as stubborn as him, not while he still needed to get Sweden out of here safely. Sweden hadn't done shit, and they were still making him sit over there and watch, trapping him there where he could see Prussia's blunt nails raking down Denmark's chest, leaving raw, red tracks behind.
"Get off me." Moving wasn't an option anymore. They had his arms bound tight, stretched above his head and anchored to something on the wall. And his legs..his fucking legs were bent, rope wrapped completely snug around calf and thigh, keeping them bent up like that. And with Prussia situated in between his knees, he couldn't even get his knees closed to preserve a little fucking modesty.
Both brothers laughed, but it was Prussia who responded, lifting his head and smirking, crimson flashing.
"You're starting to sound like a broken record."