Congratulations (England, Prussia) - Pt 2
Title: Congratulations
Warnings: Sex, and not too much else
Summary: After a significant military victory, Prussia goes to see England
Characters: England, Prussia
Year: 1757
Pt 1
Ok. Ok, so he was nervous. In his own head, he could admit it. You know, man, he hadn’t done much fucking, and he’d gotten fucked himself even less. When he had… damn, but it had hurt. This was coming from him, and he’d gotten shot. So when he stood up, he might-might-have been shaking a little. But man, if you got yourself in a position where you could get your jerk-off fantasies acted out without any repercussions… sure, yeah, there were probably people who’d let that pass, but Prussia wasn’t one of them.
He crossed the room to the door he’d come in through; it looked solid enough. He braced himself against it, and scrunched his eyes shut. Then England was behind him, and his breath was hot against his ear when he whispered “How gentle do you want me to be getting in?”
Prussia twitched at the word gentle. Nobody should be being gentle with anybody here. Then he remembered muffling his screams in the dirt, fighting with everything in him not to beg for it to stop. “Uh,” he said.
England was quiet for a second. “Have you done this before?”
“Yeah,” grumbled Prussia, not happy about admitting it, but not willing to let England think he was the first or anything.
“How often?”
Now, that was just… “Four times.” He looked over his shoulder-England looked impressed. He felt a little surge of smugness.
“We’re going to have to take the beginning slow, then,” he said.
Prussia sighed impatiently, turn between irritation and relief. “Can we get this over with?”
“As you like.”
He heard England moving away, and turned. “Where the fuck are you going? I’m not waiting forever.”
England came back with a small bottle of some sort of medicinal liniment. What the fuck? “Turn,” he said. Prussia obeyed. “Take down your trousers.” Prussia hesitated for a moment. But that was kind of an important part of the process, so he did it.
He breathed deep, trying to relax for the pain. Then jumped, when, instead of what he expected, he felt England fingers-wet. “What the fuck?” he asked. England sighed in exasperation, but didn’t answer. Then, in one smooth motion, England had a finger all up in him, and-it hurt, sure, but in the way that getting smacked hurts, not the way getting sliced open hurts. “You’re going to fuck me with your hands?”
He heard impatience in the other man’s voice. “You really haven’t done this outside of wartime, have you?”
“Uh, no.” Why else would you do it?
“It’s possible-“ England’s finger was moving now, and damn but it was weird, “-to do this without injuring your partner.”
Prussia let that sink in. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” said England, and Prussia couldn’t quite read his voice. Then his finger was moving out, and Prussia couldn’t help himself from clenching down hard. Another impatient sigh, and England’s hand stilled until Prussia could get himself to relax. When England’s fingers came back, there were two of them, and, yeah, it still hurt, but… damn. Uh. Maybe England would forget he’d made that noise.
Prussia was breathing fast and shallow when England got up to three, and now it was just plain pain. To his relief and frustration, England stopped moving. Oh. Right. With the mastery of his body that came from centuries of physical training, Prussia forced himself to relax. Then England’s fingers were sliding again, and it was frustratingly gentle.
“Dammit, asshole. I’m not your wife, do this right.” He felt England shrug, and then the fingers were ramming into him, fast and hard. Fuck. He was making noise now, and he didn’t bother to stop himself. “Enough with the fucking hands,” he got out, and in the next beat England’s dick-slick too, which he thought he understood now-was there. The first inch was fast, and Prussia nearly screamed. Then there was a slow, steady slide, and Prussia’s breathing went shallow again.
Again, he clenched down, and England winced. “Cut it out,” he hissed.
Prussia didn’t want to admit he couldn’t help it, so he did it again. England grabbed a handful of his hair, and yanked his head to the side. “Quit it,” was what he probably said, but the blood was rushing too loud in Prussia’s ears for him to listen. He felt his whole body go slack. When England finally pushed the rest of the way in, he whined, and was mortified to realize that he was bucking back against him. England laughed low, and Prussia would have been infuriated if it didn’t feel so fucking good.
England grabbed his hips, and then he was fucking him for real. Again, pain, but-just enough pain. Prussia growled, and spread his legs wider. “Hard-fuck-harder.” And there it was, right on the edge of way too much. He could feel already that he was gonna be sore for a week, but he really just didn’t give a fuck. He freed an arm, and jerked himself hard and fast, and damn, that was it, he was coming all over England’s door. Hah, served the fucker right.
England was breathing hard now, movements getting jerky and the fingers on his hips bruising. “If you come in my ass, I’ll kill you,” said Prussia, just to get that out there. England grunted assent. Then his whole body went taut, and he was out-just in time, it sounded like. He let his weight rest on Prussia, and Prussia found he didn’t mind.
For a second, anyway. Then he was pushing himself up and away. Damn, yeah, there was the ouch. He winced as he bent down enough to get his pants up. He heard England doing the same behind him.
He turned, and collapsed on the man’s bed, dirty uniform and all. England lay down next to him-not touching, which was good because Prussia would so have whipped his ass. “So, you were going to fuck me,” said England, and Prussia wanted to hit him for the smug satisfaction in his voice.
“Go to hell,” said Prussia. He didn’t ask if the offer applied to another day. He’d make it apply, dammit.
England just laughed. “Congratulations,” he said. And Prussia felt a slow, satisfied smirk on his face.
Warnings: Sex, and not too much else
Summary: After a significant military victory, Prussia goes to see England
Characters: England, Prussia
Year: 1757
Pt 1
Ok. Ok, so he was nervous. In his own head, he could admit it. You know, man, he hadn’t done much fucking, and he’d gotten fucked himself even less. When he had… damn, but it had hurt. This was coming from him, and he’d gotten shot. So when he stood up, he might-might-have been shaking a little. But man, if you got yourself in a position where you could get your jerk-off fantasies acted out without any repercussions… sure, yeah, there were probably people who’d let that pass, but Prussia wasn’t one of them.
He crossed the room to the door he’d come in through; it looked solid enough. He braced himself against it, and scrunched his eyes shut. Then England was behind him, and his breath was hot against his ear when he whispered “How gentle do you want me to be getting in?”
Prussia twitched at the word gentle. Nobody should be being gentle with anybody here. Then he remembered muffling his screams in the dirt, fighting with everything in him not to beg for it to stop. “Uh,” he said.
England was quiet for a second. “Have you done this before?”
“Yeah,” grumbled Prussia, not happy about admitting it, but not willing to let England think he was the first or anything.
“How often?”
Now, that was just… “Four times.” He looked over his shoulder-England looked impressed. He felt a little surge of smugness.
“We’re going to have to take the beginning slow, then,” he said.
Prussia sighed impatiently, turn between irritation and relief. “Can we get this over with?”
“As you like.”
He heard England moving away, and turned. “Where the fuck are you going? I’m not waiting forever.”
England came back with a small bottle of some sort of medicinal liniment. What the fuck? “Turn,” he said. Prussia obeyed. “Take down your trousers.” Prussia hesitated for a moment. But that was kind of an important part of the process, so he did it.
He breathed deep, trying to relax for the pain. Then jumped, when, instead of what he expected, he felt England fingers-wet. “What the fuck?” he asked. England sighed in exasperation, but didn’t answer. Then, in one smooth motion, England had a finger all up in him, and-it hurt, sure, but in the way that getting smacked hurts, not the way getting sliced open hurts. “You’re going to fuck me with your hands?”
He heard impatience in the other man’s voice. “You really haven’t done this outside of wartime, have you?”
“Uh, no.” Why else would you do it?
“It’s possible-“ England’s finger was moving now, and damn but it was weird, “-to do this without injuring your partner.”
Prussia let that sink in. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” said England, and Prussia couldn’t quite read his voice. Then his finger was moving out, and Prussia couldn’t help himself from clenching down hard. Another impatient sigh, and England’s hand stilled until Prussia could get himself to relax. When England’s fingers came back, there were two of them, and, yeah, it still hurt, but… damn. Uh. Maybe England would forget he’d made that noise.
Prussia was breathing fast and shallow when England got up to three, and now it was just plain pain. To his relief and frustration, England stopped moving. Oh. Right. With the mastery of his body that came from centuries of physical training, Prussia forced himself to relax. Then England’s fingers were sliding again, and it was frustratingly gentle.
“Dammit, asshole. I’m not your wife, do this right.” He felt England shrug, and then the fingers were ramming into him, fast and hard. Fuck. He was making noise now, and he didn’t bother to stop himself. “Enough with the fucking hands,” he got out, and in the next beat England’s dick-slick too, which he thought he understood now-was there. The first inch was fast, and Prussia nearly screamed. Then there was a slow, steady slide, and Prussia’s breathing went shallow again.
Again, he clenched down, and England winced. “Cut it out,” he hissed.
Prussia didn’t want to admit he couldn’t help it, so he did it again. England grabbed a handful of his hair, and yanked his head to the side. “Quit it,” was what he probably said, but the blood was rushing too loud in Prussia’s ears for him to listen. He felt his whole body go slack. When England finally pushed the rest of the way in, he whined, and was mortified to realize that he was bucking back against him. England laughed low, and Prussia would have been infuriated if it didn’t feel so fucking good.
England grabbed his hips, and then he was fucking him for real. Again, pain, but-just enough pain. Prussia growled, and spread his legs wider. “Hard-fuck-harder.” And there it was, right on the edge of way too much. He could feel already that he was gonna be sore for a week, but he really just didn’t give a fuck. He freed an arm, and jerked himself hard and fast, and damn, that was it, he was coming all over England’s door. Hah, served the fucker right.
England was breathing hard now, movements getting jerky and the fingers on his hips bruising. “If you come in my ass, I’ll kill you,” said Prussia, just to get that out there. England grunted assent. Then his whole body went taut, and he was out-just in time, it sounded like. He let his weight rest on Prussia, and Prussia found he didn’t mind.
For a second, anyway. Then he was pushing himself up and away. Damn, yeah, there was the ouch. He winced as he bent down enough to get his pants up. He heard England doing the same behind him.
He turned, and collapsed on the man’s bed, dirty uniform and all. England lay down next to him-not touching, which was good because Prussia would so have whipped his ass. “So, you were going to fuck me,” said England, and Prussia wanted to hit him for the smug satisfaction in his voice.
“Go to hell,” said Prussia. He didn’t ask if the offer applied to another day. He’d make it apply, dammit.
England just laughed. “Congratulations,” he said. And Prussia felt a slow, satisfied smirk on his face.