[fic] Tranquilize part two/?? [Germany/France, Prussia]
Title: Tranquilize
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Germany/France, Prussia; soldiers/France
Warnings: non-con and dub-con
Wordcount: 2,291/??
Author's Notes: Reposted from the kink meme with edits. For the prompt - Germany/France with the occupation of Vichy leadin' to some Stockholm syndrome lovins. Bonus: Germany develops feelings for France as well eventually.
This is the really, really bad part, just so you know. Thank you for reading this fic and bearing with me, I appreciate it.
[ ...part one: tranquilize...]
Out of nowhere, Prussia appeared through the doorway in front of them, still in his SS officer’s uniform and grinning his death’s head grin.
“Brother! Just the person I needed to talk to!” he called out over the noise of conversation, and frowning, Germany strode over to see what he wanted. France went to follow him when he caught a glimpse of two familiar figures lurking in the doorway. He turned quickly, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face, but he could still feel the soldiers’ cold pale eyes on him, their purpose here as plain as if they were shouting it.
His heart pounding loudly, France sought to remain calm. He was good, he was obedient now, no longer the same wild-eyed fugitive who resisted arrest when Prussia first caught up with him after the signing of armistice. But his body began to move on its own, and before long, France was pushing through the crowd as swiftly as he could, trying to find somewhere to hide out of sight, though his gorgeous dress was too tight around the hips and his heeled shoes not meant for running.
What a coward, a part of him thought hysterically, no wonder England and the rest did not come to his rescue when the planes and tanks destroyed the last of his defenses. But that voice in his head was immediately quelled, and then all he could think of was finding Germany, Germany who still wanted him when the others did not…
One of the soldiers was stalking after him now, shouldering past the girl with dark hair, while the other went back through the hall to cover his flank. France knew this movement, had seen it before on the battlefield when the panzers first rolled through, and a wave of nausea from the memory almost made him stumble.
The two soldiers soon forced him out into an abandoned corridor, and he stood there alone in the darkness, trying to stifle a sob so they would not hear his distress. A hundred years ago, he knew he could have easily killed a half dozen men of their class without getting one strand of hair out of place, but now he was weakened, starved, and so, so frightened.
“Did you miss us? It has been a while, hasn’t it?” the taller one asked, and he did not look even winded from the chase.
“We almost didn’t recognize you. You look so different, wearing clothes, without your legs spread.”
“Stay back,” France warned, his voice too high and trembling to sound threatening. “I will tell Herr Weilschmidt, h-his brother…”
They paused and then chuckled as if this was a particularly funny joke, and he could smell the whiff of beer on their breaths even at this distance.
“You won’t need to tell them, they already know.”
France stared at them helplessly, unable to speak because of the bile rising in his throat. The two of them grabbed him and marched him out into the courtyard, bent him over the back of a lovely wooden bench. He found his voice then, but before he could say anything, someone pressed a gun to the back of his head.
“We will shoot you if you try to scream, but you are free to moan all you want.” The soldier hiked his skirts up, gloved fingers digging into his thigh, and France could hear them talking through the roaring of the blood in his ears - how he must be so tight now, they were going to tear him apart like the filthy slut he was, he should be grateful that they even wasted their time fucking him, and on and on, as if he were not even there.
----
Even with the silencer, the gunshot sounded too loud in Germany’s ears, but the orchestra was playing a waltz loudly enough to conceal the sound of the girl’s body crumpling to the floor. Prussia went over and prodded her with a boot to make sure she was dead, and then clapped his brother on the back in congratulations.
At that moment, the two soldiers came back, dragging France in between them. Germany took one look at him and uttered a curse under his breath.
“Brother, can’t you keep your dogs under control?” he hissed, torn between maintaining authority and running to France’s side.
Prussia laughed, a harsh, sharp sound. “They did what they had to do, what you apparently were too soft to do.”
This answer did not seem to appease Germany, and Prussia shrugged, indifferent. “Look, it’s in the past now,” he said, sparing France only the briefest of sneers. “We won’t take much longer here, and I’ll be back later with the report.”
He motioned his men over to help drag the bodies of the resistance out, and they released France, who fell to his knees in silence.
Watching the three of them leave, Germany knelt down beside him. “I am sorry you had to be part of this. It was not my intention.”
France continued staring dumbly at the girl, the one with the dark hair he had winked at earlier in the evening. She had been part of the plot, working for the resistance, but she backed out at the last minute to save herself and her lover. Prussia killed her anyway; a spy was too much of a liability to keep alive.
It was a needless death, Germany had thought, though he did not question his brother’s action. But they would have to find another translator to replace her, since the ministry would miss her services.
“You know this would not have happened if everyone had cooperated as directed,” he continued stoically, and though France gave no indication that he had heard, the words still needed to be said. “Understand that once we purge the undesirables and eliminate the resistance within you, you will be at peace. You will become strong without these… anomalies to hold you back. It will hurt at first, but you will thank me later. This is for the best. This is for you… for us.”
Tears were rolling down his cheeks unabated, but France finally nodded in acknowledgement, and Germany gathered him in his arms, pressing his lips to his disheveled hair with surprising tenderness. “You must be tired. Let’s go back.”
France got to his feet with the tiniest of grimaces, refusing any assistance, and awkwardly, Germany drew out a handkerchief to dab at his tear-streaked face, aware of the dead girl’s eyes seemingly staring at him, accusing him of causing this pain though he played no direct part. Suddenly exhausted, he wished for Prussia to come back with his men so that this body could be taken away, but more than that, he wished France would stop smiling at him so expectantly, as if they were just a loving couple returning from a wonderful night out on the town. The sensual, secret curve of his lips, the lowered lashes and demurely tilted chin - that mockery of a smile chilled his blood much more than the corpse’s gaze ever could. Averting his eyes, Germany replaced the handkerchief and then took off his jacket to drape it over France’s bare shoulders, falling back into the routine of a gentleman gratefully.
They said nothing as they left the strains of music and conversation behind, walking hand in hand. Instead of stopping at France’s rooms, Germany led him back to his own suite, closing the door behind them for a moment of privacy. France took one look around the room, and promptly sat down on the bed, while Germany had to refrain from asking him to sit elsewhere.
“Here, drink this,” he said, offering France a glass of water laced with enough sedatives to knock out a regiment. France accepted the glass unquestioningly, gulping the water down without regard for grace or style.
There was a brief silence as he regarded Germany with glassy blue eyes, pupils dilated with the darkness and the drugs, the black uniform jacket sliding off his shoulders. As though his legs were made of lead shot, Germany cautiously approached him, kneeling down on one knee and taking one of France’s feet in his hands, surprised to see how delicate it looked resting between his square palms. He slid one thumb over the ankle, then undid the buckle and clasp of the shoe, setting it gently on the rug before repeating with the other foot. France seemed to have stopped breathing completely, and Germany glanced up in alarm, wondering if perhaps he might have given him too much medication. But then he took another breath and another, his cheeks coloring pink, which served to make Germany blush in return. Despite his initial discomfort, he continued stroking France’s calf with one hand, knuckles brushing against the back of his knee soothingly, patiently, and with a rustle of satin, the other nation sank back into mattress, sighing in surrender.
Hating himself for it, for becoming aroused at the sight of France like this, yellow hair splayed over the covers, eyes rimmed with bruising black, lips smeared with blood red scarlet; beaten, manipulated, abused, but still smiling for him… He is only a whore, only a slut, he told himself firmly, he loves this, he needs this, and other false words, over and over until they sounded true, as true as everything his boss had told him.
Surprisingly, his hands did not falter as they unbuttoned the beautiful red gown, sliding it off of France’s unresisting body and onto the floor, until he was clad only in the corset, the garter belt, the rest of the lacy undergarments. For his part, France seemed only too happy to undo his tie, his dress shirt, the buckle of his belt, the fly on his slacks, a breathless little laugh escaping from his mouth whenever Germany startled at his touch like a virgin.
Through the ripped hose Germany could see the bruises forming on France’s skin, four bluish purple marks against the pale backdrop of one thigh, and his breath hitched, his hands pausing in their fumbling caresses. His mind reeled back from the sight in revulsion, but that disgust was nothing compared to the urgent heat suddenly pooling in his groin.
And France was still smiling at him, thoroughly unashamed, even glorying in the attention, his legs parted and open, ready. Only for him now, if he would but take what was offered.
Germany hesitated, torn, and so France made up his mind for him, one leg hooking around his waist, pulling him inexorably closer. He reached forward, long cool fingers brushing over the bulge in Germany’s undergarment, petting and stroking and then drawing him out, caressing so sweetly at the heavy throbbing cock dripping precome into his hands, as if readying it for the pleasure that awaited.
When he could hold back no longer, Germany was forced to move, and it shamed him how easy it was to do, not even any preparation required after the other men had had their way. It shamed him how good it felt to press through that first slight resistance, only the faintest tug at the skin of the head, how good it then felt to slide in all the way, France’s body arcing up and welcoming him eagerly until he could not push in any further. He would do so if he could, make their bodies become truly one, but for now he savored the sensation of being this deep inside, the sound of France moaning under his breath as he tried to keep himself tight… how absolutely ravishing the other looked as he was being taken like this, being possessed and claimed. The last of his guilt giving way to something even more potent, Germany pulled back a little and then thrust forward sharply into that too-wet heat, clenching his teeth around the growl of pleasure that threatened to escape from his throat. With France’s lovely whorish cries encouraging him, practically begging him for more, he drove into him again and again, hips moving in a hard, relentless rhythm so that the bed rocked with each movement. It was too much, and yet not enough, and even as he came, groaning helplessly, Germany knew for a certainty that he would need more, everything that France could give him, and he would still not be satisfied.
As he pulled out and rolled onto his side, he sought to suck air into his lungs, letting the sweat cool rapidly on his overheated skin, feeling absolutely drained but never better. He looked over at France, who was blinking sleepily, his gaze somewhere far away, his attention wherever the sedatives might have taken him. Horrified, Germany realized then at some point in time, the other nation had bitten through the skin of his lip, hard enough so that it bled and dripped down the side of his face, staining the white pillowcase below.
-----
He had no idea where he was when he first woke up, and it took him a while to focus on the ceiling above, the clean sterile surroundings that was not his own pretty boudoir. His body seemed particularly reluctant to obey his brain’s commands to move, and he gave up after a few minutes, closing his eyes once more. Lying there, he could smell a familiar cologne lingering in the warm sheets, and underneath that the faintest hint of sex and blood barely masked by the scent of soap. He could make out the rumble of Germany’s voice in the room next door, and he listened for a few minutes, lulled back to sleep by the sound before the worst of his nightmares had a chance to draw him back in.
[to be continued...]
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Germany/France, Prussia; soldiers/France
Warnings: non-con and dub-con
Wordcount: 2,291/??
Author's Notes: Reposted from the kink meme with edits. For the prompt - Germany/France with the occupation of Vichy leadin' to some Stockholm syndrome lovins. Bonus: Germany develops feelings for France as well eventually.
This is the really, really bad part, just so you know. Thank you for reading this fic and bearing with me, I appreciate it.
[ ...part one: tranquilize...]
Out of nowhere, Prussia appeared through the doorway in front of them, still in his SS officer’s uniform and grinning his death’s head grin.
“Brother! Just the person I needed to talk to!” he called out over the noise of conversation, and frowning, Germany strode over to see what he wanted. France went to follow him when he caught a glimpse of two familiar figures lurking in the doorway. He turned quickly, letting his hair fall forward to hide his face, but he could still feel the soldiers’ cold pale eyes on him, their purpose here as plain as if they were shouting it.
His heart pounding loudly, France sought to remain calm. He was good, he was obedient now, no longer the same wild-eyed fugitive who resisted arrest when Prussia first caught up with him after the signing of armistice. But his body began to move on its own, and before long, France was pushing through the crowd as swiftly as he could, trying to find somewhere to hide out of sight, though his gorgeous dress was too tight around the hips and his heeled shoes not meant for running.
What a coward, a part of him thought hysterically, no wonder England and the rest did not come to his rescue when the planes and tanks destroyed the last of his defenses. But that voice in his head was immediately quelled, and then all he could think of was finding Germany, Germany who still wanted him when the others did not…
One of the soldiers was stalking after him now, shouldering past the girl with dark hair, while the other went back through the hall to cover his flank. France knew this movement, had seen it before on the battlefield when the panzers first rolled through, and a wave of nausea from the memory almost made him stumble.
The two soldiers soon forced him out into an abandoned corridor, and he stood there alone in the darkness, trying to stifle a sob so they would not hear his distress. A hundred years ago, he knew he could have easily killed a half dozen men of their class without getting one strand of hair out of place, but now he was weakened, starved, and so, so frightened.
“Did you miss us? It has been a while, hasn’t it?” the taller one asked, and he did not look even winded from the chase.
“We almost didn’t recognize you. You look so different, wearing clothes, without your legs spread.”
“Stay back,” France warned, his voice too high and trembling to sound threatening. “I will tell Herr Weilschmidt, h-his brother…”
They paused and then chuckled as if this was a particularly funny joke, and he could smell the whiff of beer on their breaths even at this distance.
“You won’t need to tell them, they already know.”
France stared at them helplessly, unable to speak because of the bile rising in his throat. The two of them grabbed him and marched him out into the courtyard, bent him over the back of a lovely wooden bench. He found his voice then, but before he could say anything, someone pressed a gun to the back of his head.
“We will shoot you if you try to scream, but you are free to moan all you want.” The soldier hiked his skirts up, gloved fingers digging into his thigh, and France could hear them talking through the roaring of the blood in his ears - how he must be so tight now, they were going to tear him apart like the filthy slut he was, he should be grateful that they even wasted their time fucking him, and on and on, as if he were not even there.
----
Even with the silencer, the gunshot sounded too loud in Germany’s ears, but the orchestra was playing a waltz loudly enough to conceal the sound of the girl’s body crumpling to the floor. Prussia went over and prodded her with a boot to make sure she was dead, and then clapped his brother on the back in congratulations.
At that moment, the two soldiers came back, dragging France in between them. Germany took one look at him and uttered a curse under his breath.
“Brother, can’t you keep your dogs under control?” he hissed, torn between maintaining authority and running to France’s side.
Prussia laughed, a harsh, sharp sound. “They did what they had to do, what you apparently were too soft to do.”
This answer did not seem to appease Germany, and Prussia shrugged, indifferent. “Look, it’s in the past now,” he said, sparing France only the briefest of sneers. “We won’t take much longer here, and I’ll be back later with the report.”
He motioned his men over to help drag the bodies of the resistance out, and they released France, who fell to his knees in silence.
Watching the three of them leave, Germany knelt down beside him. “I am sorry you had to be part of this. It was not my intention.”
France continued staring dumbly at the girl, the one with the dark hair he had winked at earlier in the evening. She had been part of the plot, working for the resistance, but she backed out at the last minute to save herself and her lover. Prussia killed her anyway; a spy was too much of a liability to keep alive.
It was a needless death, Germany had thought, though he did not question his brother’s action. But they would have to find another translator to replace her, since the ministry would miss her services.
“You know this would not have happened if everyone had cooperated as directed,” he continued stoically, and though France gave no indication that he had heard, the words still needed to be said. “Understand that once we purge the undesirables and eliminate the resistance within you, you will be at peace. You will become strong without these… anomalies to hold you back. It will hurt at first, but you will thank me later. This is for the best. This is for you… for us.”
Tears were rolling down his cheeks unabated, but France finally nodded in acknowledgement, and Germany gathered him in his arms, pressing his lips to his disheveled hair with surprising tenderness. “You must be tired. Let’s go back.”
France got to his feet with the tiniest of grimaces, refusing any assistance, and awkwardly, Germany drew out a handkerchief to dab at his tear-streaked face, aware of the dead girl’s eyes seemingly staring at him, accusing him of causing this pain though he played no direct part. Suddenly exhausted, he wished for Prussia to come back with his men so that this body could be taken away, but more than that, he wished France would stop smiling at him so expectantly, as if they were just a loving couple returning from a wonderful night out on the town. The sensual, secret curve of his lips, the lowered lashes and demurely tilted chin - that mockery of a smile chilled his blood much more than the corpse’s gaze ever could. Averting his eyes, Germany replaced the handkerchief and then took off his jacket to drape it over France’s bare shoulders, falling back into the routine of a gentleman gratefully.
They said nothing as they left the strains of music and conversation behind, walking hand in hand. Instead of stopping at France’s rooms, Germany led him back to his own suite, closing the door behind them for a moment of privacy. France took one look around the room, and promptly sat down on the bed, while Germany had to refrain from asking him to sit elsewhere.
“Here, drink this,” he said, offering France a glass of water laced with enough sedatives to knock out a regiment. France accepted the glass unquestioningly, gulping the water down without regard for grace or style.
There was a brief silence as he regarded Germany with glassy blue eyes, pupils dilated with the darkness and the drugs, the black uniform jacket sliding off his shoulders. As though his legs were made of lead shot, Germany cautiously approached him, kneeling down on one knee and taking one of France’s feet in his hands, surprised to see how delicate it looked resting between his square palms. He slid one thumb over the ankle, then undid the buckle and clasp of the shoe, setting it gently on the rug before repeating with the other foot. France seemed to have stopped breathing completely, and Germany glanced up in alarm, wondering if perhaps he might have given him too much medication. But then he took another breath and another, his cheeks coloring pink, which served to make Germany blush in return. Despite his initial discomfort, he continued stroking France’s calf with one hand, knuckles brushing against the back of his knee soothingly, patiently, and with a rustle of satin, the other nation sank back into mattress, sighing in surrender.
Hating himself for it, for becoming aroused at the sight of France like this, yellow hair splayed over the covers, eyes rimmed with bruising black, lips smeared with blood red scarlet; beaten, manipulated, abused, but still smiling for him… He is only a whore, only a slut, he told himself firmly, he loves this, he needs this, and other false words, over and over until they sounded true, as true as everything his boss had told him.
Surprisingly, his hands did not falter as they unbuttoned the beautiful red gown, sliding it off of France’s unresisting body and onto the floor, until he was clad only in the corset, the garter belt, the rest of the lacy undergarments. For his part, France seemed only too happy to undo his tie, his dress shirt, the buckle of his belt, the fly on his slacks, a breathless little laugh escaping from his mouth whenever Germany startled at his touch like a virgin.
Through the ripped hose Germany could see the bruises forming on France’s skin, four bluish purple marks against the pale backdrop of one thigh, and his breath hitched, his hands pausing in their fumbling caresses. His mind reeled back from the sight in revulsion, but that disgust was nothing compared to the urgent heat suddenly pooling in his groin.
And France was still smiling at him, thoroughly unashamed, even glorying in the attention, his legs parted and open, ready. Only for him now, if he would but take what was offered.
Germany hesitated, torn, and so France made up his mind for him, one leg hooking around his waist, pulling him inexorably closer. He reached forward, long cool fingers brushing over the bulge in Germany’s undergarment, petting and stroking and then drawing him out, caressing so sweetly at the heavy throbbing cock dripping precome into his hands, as if readying it for the pleasure that awaited.
When he could hold back no longer, Germany was forced to move, and it shamed him how easy it was to do, not even any preparation required after the other men had had their way. It shamed him how good it felt to press through that first slight resistance, only the faintest tug at the skin of the head, how good it then felt to slide in all the way, France’s body arcing up and welcoming him eagerly until he could not push in any further. He would do so if he could, make their bodies become truly one, but for now he savored the sensation of being this deep inside, the sound of France moaning under his breath as he tried to keep himself tight… how absolutely ravishing the other looked as he was being taken like this, being possessed and claimed. The last of his guilt giving way to something even more potent, Germany pulled back a little and then thrust forward sharply into that too-wet heat, clenching his teeth around the growl of pleasure that threatened to escape from his throat. With France’s lovely whorish cries encouraging him, practically begging him for more, he drove into him again and again, hips moving in a hard, relentless rhythm so that the bed rocked with each movement. It was too much, and yet not enough, and even as he came, groaning helplessly, Germany knew for a certainty that he would need more, everything that France could give him, and he would still not be satisfied.
As he pulled out and rolled onto his side, he sought to suck air into his lungs, letting the sweat cool rapidly on his overheated skin, feeling absolutely drained but never better. He looked over at France, who was blinking sleepily, his gaze somewhere far away, his attention wherever the sedatives might have taken him. Horrified, Germany realized then at some point in time, the other nation had bitten through the skin of his lip, hard enough so that it bled and dripped down the side of his face, staining the white pillowcase below.
-----
He had no idea where he was when he first woke up, and it took him a while to focus on the ceiling above, the clean sterile surroundings that was not his own pretty boudoir. His body seemed particularly reluctant to obey his brain’s commands to move, and he gave up after a few minutes, closing his eyes once more. Lying there, he could smell a familiar cologne lingering in the warm sheets, and underneath that the faintest hint of sex and blood barely masked by the scent of soap. He could make out the rumble of Germany’s voice in the room next door, and he listened for a few minutes, lulled back to sleep by the sound before the worst of his nightmares had a chance to draw him back in.
[to be continued...]