Winning (Prussia, Canada) - Pt 2
Title: Winning
Warnings: Blood and sex. Glorification of war.
Summary: Canada had never lost a war-- but he had never really won one either.
Characters: Prussia, Canada
Year: Present
Part 1
They hadn't chosen a scenario, only a time and place: the next week, and a remote park in one of Canada's forests. Canada was half-afraid-- more than half-- that when Prussia showed up, he'd want him to pretend to be France, Germany, worse-- Russia. But when the man stepped out suddenly from behind a tree, he punched him in the face, without preamble. Canada stumbled, gasping, in shock. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hit. Without waiting for him to regain his balance, Prussia punched him again, and kneed him in the stomach. Canada fell to his knees, trying to breathe, and ducked away from Prussia's kick just in time. “Jeez, you're a pussy,” the other man said.
Canada narrowed his eyes, but didn't look up. The next time Prussia's foot shot out at him, he grabbed it, and twisted. Prussia felt to the ground with a curse, and Canada was on top of him, pinning him down by the wrists. He didn't really know how to fight, but on the other hand, he was a landed nation with a huge territory and 34 million children. Prussia hadn't had land since 1947.
The sound Prussia made was somewhere between a snarl and a laugh. “Brat,” he said, and managed to get a knee between them, getting Canada in the sternum. He gasped again, already wondering how he was going to explain the bruises. Before he knew it, Prussia was on his feet again. How did he do that?
Prussia laughed, and spit in the dirt next to him. Canada tried to get up, but Prussia kicked him back down, and kept him there was a boot to the chest. “Gotta do better than that, kid.”
Canada wheezed. “We don't usually fight one-on-one in this part of the world,” he got out.
“Well, there's your problem right there,” said Prussia, and kicked him in the chin. Canada spat blood, and then sucked on his tongue where he'd bitten it, fascinated. When was the last time he'd bled?
“How do you figure that?” he asked, lunging up, full of adrenaline from the metallic taste in his mouth.
“Well,” said Prussia, feinting with a fist to the left, and then crashing the other into the side of his head. Canada saw white. “Every once in a while, you need to get your aggression out.”
Canada threw a wild punch, and managed to clip the other man across the face. “I buy that,” he said.
Prussia grinned, wild and savage, and threw Canada against a tree. “Yeah,” he said. “I'm not surprised.”
The impact knocked the breath out of him, and Canada started to laugh. Then Prussia was on him, laughing too, and they were rolling around in the dirt. Canada got an elbow between them and jabbed Prussia in the ribs; he heard a harsh, German curse. Before he had time to gloat, he'd caught one in the eye-- it hurt enough that gasped and lashed out, pushing Prussia off him, and pinning him face down in the dirt. The man's arms were twisted under him, Canada's weight against his hips keeping him from levering himself up with his legs; “Shit,” he said, “You got strong. Or I'm kind of a pussy now that I don't have any land.” Canada was too busy getting his breath back to answer.
Then, suddenly, Prussia was straining up against him, trying to shove him off; he got close too, before Canada slammed him back into the ground, hard. Prussia made a little pain noise in the back of his throat, the first one Canada had heard from him. Shit. Prussia laughed. “Nice hard-on, kid.”
Canada jumped up, mortified, and started backing away. “I-- I didn't--”
He barely saw Prussia move. One minute he was standing, and the next he was lying on his back in the dirt, heading ringing but not hurting yet. Prussia's grin made him want to punch him in the face. “You don't let the other guy up until he's unconscious or dead,” he said. “Usually the guy who's losing the battle starts to run out of energy once enough of his children die--” Canada shuddered at the callous way Prussia said it, “--but in our case, we're just gonna have to beat the shit out of each other.” And he punched him in the face. Canada's ears were ringing, and Prussia's next words sounded distant. “Guess you're not gonna find out what it feels like to win.”
Winning. Canada, ignoring the nausea building-- his healing rate had always been really fast, like his brothers, he didn't think he'd ever had a concussion in his life-- jerked up, suddenly, and found that his arms were free. He really was stronger, wasn't he? Prussia looked down at him in disbelief. “You son of a--” and then Canada was up, and throwing the other man across the clearing. The noise he made when he landed-- high, pained-- sent another rush of blood to Canada's cock.
He stood over the other man, and he kicked him, hard, in the ribs. Prussia gasped. Canada laughed. He did it again. God, it felt-- it felt good. He was drawing his foot back for a third time, when Prussia lunged up and grabbed his leg, twisting it until he fell, hard, on his side. Then Prussia was on him, elbow around his throat, choking off his air... he struggled and lashed out, but he didn't hit anything; Prussia was behind him. He rammed his elbow back, but Prussia just ducked out of the way, laughing. “Not in this life,” he said, and Canada remembered how many wars Prussia had fought in. He hadn't been around as long as England or France, but he'd been fighting constantly, since before he even had his sovereignty. Canada coughed, as his vision went dark. The last thing he felt was Prussia against his back, and he realized, dimly-- the other man was hard too.
It didn't take him long to come back to consciousness. When he did, the first thing he tried to do was jerk away, but he found he couldn't-- his wrists were pinned down. He couldn't move his legs either-- Prussia was on top of him? “I thought you said you let the other guy up when he passes out,” said Canada, still a little whoozy.
Prussia shrugged. “That's only if you're gonna get the hell out of there.”
“That's not what we're going to do?”
“No,” said Prussia, with a grin that bordered somewhere between shit-eating and terrifying. “We're gonna fuck.”
Canada was still buzzing with too much adrenaline to sputter. “You weren't going to ask me about this?”
“Fuck no,” said Prussia, grinding down against Canada's ass for emphasis. “You're the one semi-conscious in the dirt--”
“--I'm pretty conscious by now--”
“--so that makes me the one who makes the calls.” Canada didn't argue. It wasn't like he would have said no, and he wasn't the kind of guy who got worked up just because he hadn't been asked nicely. He would have had a heart attack before he'd even gotten his name.
Prussia let his upper body go, still pinning him from the hips down, to strip off his shirt. Canada stared in wonder at the pinkish scars that criss-crossed his chest; not even France had that many (or at least, some of his had faded). His first instinct-- to struggle free and punch Prussia in the face-- was beaten down by the urge to touch them. So he reached out (why bother being shy when you were covered in blood and dirt and ass-first against some other guy's erection?), and he did, running his fingers down a particularly thick one on the man's left side. “Can you feel this?” he said.
“Just pressure,” said Prussia, shrugged. “I can't feel anything on my Grunwald one either.” Interested, Canada dug his nails in. Prussia didn't even twitch. Sitting up, he bit it. Still no reaction. “Like I said, kid, just pressure.” In the name of scientific inquiry, Canada bit the skin a few inches above the big scar. Prussia hissed, and pushed his face away. “You don't get to bite me till we fuck.”
Canada shrugged. “Then let's fuck.” Prussia stared. “What?”
Prussia shrugged, and shoved him back down by his shoulders, knocking the breath out of him. “Nothing. Take off your shirt.”
Warnings: Blood and sex. Glorification of war.
Summary: Canada had never lost a war-- but he had never really won one either.
Characters: Prussia, Canada
Year: Present
Part 1
They hadn't chosen a scenario, only a time and place: the next week, and a remote park in one of Canada's forests. Canada was half-afraid-- more than half-- that when Prussia showed up, he'd want him to pretend to be France, Germany, worse-- Russia. But when the man stepped out suddenly from behind a tree, he punched him in the face, without preamble. Canada stumbled, gasping, in shock. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hit. Without waiting for him to regain his balance, Prussia punched him again, and kneed him in the stomach. Canada fell to his knees, trying to breathe, and ducked away from Prussia's kick just in time. “Jeez, you're a pussy,” the other man said.
Canada narrowed his eyes, but didn't look up. The next time Prussia's foot shot out at him, he grabbed it, and twisted. Prussia felt to the ground with a curse, and Canada was on top of him, pinning him down by the wrists. He didn't really know how to fight, but on the other hand, he was a landed nation with a huge territory and 34 million children. Prussia hadn't had land since 1947.
The sound Prussia made was somewhere between a snarl and a laugh. “Brat,” he said, and managed to get a knee between them, getting Canada in the sternum. He gasped again, already wondering how he was going to explain the bruises. Before he knew it, Prussia was on his feet again. How did he do that?
Prussia laughed, and spit in the dirt next to him. Canada tried to get up, but Prussia kicked him back down, and kept him there was a boot to the chest. “Gotta do better than that, kid.”
Canada wheezed. “We don't usually fight one-on-one in this part of the world,” he got out.
“Well, there's your problem right there,” said Prussia, and kicked him in the chin. Canada spat blood, and then sucked on his tongue where he'd bitten it, fascinated. When was the last time he'd bled?
“How do you figure that?” he asked, lunging up, full of adrenaline from the metallic taste in his mouth.
“Well,” said Prussia, feinting with a fist to the left, and then crashing the other into the side of his head. Canada saw white. “Every once in a while, you need to get your aggression out.”
Canada threw a wild punch, and managed to clip the other man across the face. “I buy that,” he said.
Prussia grinned, wild and savage, and threw Canada against a tree. “Yeah,” he said. “I'm not surprised.”
The impact knocked the breath out of him, and Canada started to laugh. Then Prussia was on him, laughing too, and they were rolling around in the dirt. Canada got an elbow between them and jabbed Prussia in the ribs; he heard a harsh, German curse. Before he had time to gloat, he'd caught one in the eye-- it hurt enough that gasped and lashed out, pushing Prussia off him, and pinning him face down in the dirt. The man's arms were twisted under him, Canada's weight against his hips keeping him from levering himself up with his legs; “Shit,” he said, “You got strong. Or I'm kind of a pussy now that I don't have any land.” Canada was too busy getting his breath back to answer.
Then, suddenly, Prussia was straining up against him, trying to shove him off; he got close too, before Canada slammed him back into the ground, hard. Prussia made a little pain noise in the back of his throat, the first one Canada had heard from him. Shit. Prussia laughed. “Nice hard-on, kid.”
Canada jumped up, mortified, and started backing away. “I-- I didn't--”
He barely saw Prussia move. One minute he was standing, and the next he was lying on his back in the dirt, heading ringing but not hurting yet. Prussia's grin made him want to punch him in the face. “You don't let the other guy up until he's unconscious or dead,” he said. “Usually the guy who's losing the battle starts to run out of energy once enough of his children die--” Canada shuddered at the callous way Prussia said it, “--but in our case, we're just gonna have to beat the shit out of each other.” And he punched him in the face. Canada's ears were ringing, and Prussia's next words sounded distant. “Guess you're not gonna find out what it feels like to win.”
Winning. Canada, ignoring the nausea building-- his healing rate had always been really fast, like his brothers, he didn't think he'd ever had a concussion in his life-- jerked up, suddenly, and found that his arms were free. He really was stronger, wasn't he? Prussia looked down at him in disbelief. “You son of a--” and then Canada was up, and throwing the other man across the clearing. The noise he made when he landed-- high, pained-- sent another rush of blood to Canada's cock.
He stood over the other man, and he kicked him, hard, in the ribs. Prussia gasped. Canada laughed. He did it again. God, it felt-- it felt good. He was drawing his foot back for a third time, when Prussia lunged up and grabbed his leg, twisting it until he fell, hard, on his side. Then Prussia was on him, elbow around his throat, choking off his air... he struggled and lashed out, but he didn't hit anything; Prussia was behind him. He rammed his elbow back, but Prussia just ducked out of the way, laughing. “Not in this life,” he said, and Canada remembered how many wars Prussia had fought in. He hadn't been around as long as England or France, but he'd been fighting constantly, since before he even had his sovereignty. Canada coughed, as his vision went dark. The last thing he felt was Prussia against his back, and he realized, dimly-- the other man was hard too.
It didn't take him long to come back to consciousness. When he did, the first thing he tried to do was jerk away, but he found he couldn't-- his wrists were pinned down. He couldn't move his legs either-- Prussia was on top of him? “I thought you said you let the other guy up when he passes out,” said Canada, still a little whoozy.
Prussia shrugged. “That's only if you're gonna get the hell out of there.”
“That's not what we're going to do?”
“No,” said Prussia, with a grin that bordered somewhere between shit-eating and terrifying. “We're gonna fuck.”
Canada was still buzzing with too much adrenaline to sputter. “You weren't going to ask me about this?”
“Fuck no,” said Prussia, grinding down against Canada's ass for emphasis. “You're the one semi-conscious in the dirt--”
“--I'm pretty conscious by now--”
“--so that makes me the one who makes the calls.” Canada didn't argue. It wasn't like he would have said no, and he wasn't the kind of guy who got worked up just because he hadn't been asked nicely. He would have had a heart attack before he'd even gotten his name.
Prussia let his upper body go, still pinning him from the hips down, to strip off his shirt. Canada stared in wonder at the pinkish scars that criss-crossed his chest; not even France had that many (or at least, some of his had faded). His first instinct-- to struggle free and punch Prussia in the face-- was beaten down by the urge to touch them. So he reached out (why bother being shy when you were covered in blood and dirt and ass-first against some other guy's erection?), and he did, running his fingers down a particularly thick one on the man's left side. “Can you feel this?” he said.
“Just pressure,” said Prussia, shrugged. “I can't feel anything on my Grunwald one either.” Interested, Canada dug his nails in. Prussia didn't even twitch. Sitting up, he bit it. Still no reaction. “Like I said, kid, just pressure.” In the name of scientific inquiry, Canada bit the skin a few inches above the big scar. Prussia hissed, and pushed his face away. “You don't get to bite me till we fuck.”
Canada shrugged. “Then let's fuck.” Prussia stared. “What?”
Prussia shrugged, and shoved him back down by his shoulders, knocking the breath out of him. “Nothing. Take off your shirt.”