[fic] Still Crazy After All These Years [Prussia/France, previous Prussia/France/Spain]
Title: Still Crazy After All These Years
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Prussia/France, previous Prussia/France/Spain, implied various threesomes
Warnings: shameless smut of various kinds; oral, intercrural, anal
Wordcount: 3,634
Summary: for the prompt - Prussia/France - sex in the kitchen. There is implied Bad Friends Trio since I can't resist that apparently, but the bulk of the story is pure Prussia/France goodness. Because there isn't enough of these two in fandom, and I can't think of why.
I actually have 3 other fics I wanted to post, but I'm debating on finishing them or de-anoning them under names. At any rate, I am so glad to have written 63 fills total for the kink meme, and countless more fics off-meme. Please enjoy, and I hope to work on more prompts in the future!
Spain was late, even by France’s standards, which were already uncivilized according to Prussia’s definition of punctuality. By the time he remembered to check his phone and call them back, they had downed too many drinks of an alcoholic nature to be very angry at him, although they tried. There was much vehement cursing on Prussia’s part, coupled with overdramatic bawling from France, and while Spain apologized profusely, he had the vague feeling they had stopped listening to him some time ago.
“Look, I’m sure you guys can have fun without me,” he interrupted during mid-wail.
“C’est impossible!” France declared promptly, snapping to attention. “How can I possibly have fun with only this ill-tempered ruffian for company?! No, Spain, you must come at once and save what is left of this night from being ruined any further.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Prussia retorted, loudly enough for Spain to hear. “I’m loads of fun! But I guess an old fart like you wouldn’t know!”
“…What did you just call me?”
Spain listened to the sounds of scuffling through the phone and smiled to himself. It sounded like Prussia and France were already finding ways to entertain themselves without him there. At any rate, he had enough of playing mediator every time the three of them got together and the other two inevitably started squabbling, so this would be the perfect opportunity to let them sort their feelings out and discover what they honestly thought of each other. And Romano claimed he wasn’t observant, of course he was! Spain hung up and resolved to call them the next morning to see how things went.
“H-hey, he hung up on us!” Prussia snatched France’s phone away and redialed Spain’s number correctly on the second try. The image that popped up on the background screen was a very flattering view of a particular green-eyed matador’s best assets, and Prussia narrowed his eyes, suspecting his own image would be much less flattering. Probably a candid shot of him wearing lederhosen during that one Oktoberfest they were to never speak of again. France attempted to retrieve his phone, practically crawling over Prussia in his effort, so that when Spain next listened to his voicemail, he heard only an incoherent shout and a crash of what must be two bodies falling off a couch and onto empty bottles of wine and/or beer.
The two nations gingerly picked themselves off the floor, careful to not embed any more shards of glass into their bodies. The wine, a bottle of good quality Bordeaux, thankfully did not break, but the beer bottles Prussia brought over from his favorite brewery did not stand up to their combined weight, and several pieces of brown glass now tinkled onto the carpet around Prussia’s feet.
“Fucking fuck,” Prussia muttered, wincing because it was his back that got the brunt of the glass. Fortunately, he was a little too buzzed to feel any pain at the moment, although that just meant everything would hurt like hell in the morning. France had meanwhile cut his hand and both of his knees when he landed and was now grumbling to himself about the ruined state of the carpet and his expensive designer slacks.
“Well, I hope you’re happy,” the two of them said at the same time.
As France’s first aid kit was in the kitchen, they tended to their wounds there. Prussia had to ask if it was because France injured himself while cooking, and France glared at him witheringly before replying that it was there for certain guests who happened to be less talented in the culinary arts and were prone to accidentally setting a pot of boiling water on fire.
“Okay, I get it, you know your way about a kitchen, sure.” He wasn’t about to ask why England of all people was visiting France, much less trying to cook something, even thinking about it made his eyelid twitch.
They took a look France’s hand first, as the cut on his palm started bleeding. After rinsing his hand under the faucet and dabbing the gash with a bit of alcohol not meant for drinking, France subjected himself to Prussia’s bandage-wrapping technique, which was actually not that terrible, not after years and years of practice.
“Not too bad, huh?”
France flexed the fingers of his injured hand and nodded, apparently satisfied. “Thank you, darling. Now take off your shirt, let me see your back.”
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Prussia protested, but he peeled off his ratty t-shirt after France gave him one of his signature pointed looks and then turned around to be inspected. For some reason, he could feel the other’s gaze on his back, and when warm fingers brushed over the skin of his shoulderblades, he nearly jumped. Nearly being the key word.
“Well, what’s the damage?” he asked, irritated.
“I am surprised you aren’t screaming and writhing in agony,” France answered dryly.
“Heh, that must be because of how awesome I am.”
“Of course.” France wet a piece of cotton with alcohol and began dabbing haphazardly at Prussia’s back, over shallow scrapes not deep enough to bleed yet but which had already started blooming an angry shade of red. By the way his fists clenched, knuckles whitening from the tension, even that seemed to hurt and France paused, concerned.
“Are you all right?”
Prussia let out his breath in a huff and snarled, “Just hurry up, will you?”
At last, France set the cotton and bottle of alcohol aside, and relieved, Prussia glanced over his shoulder at him.
“What about you? How are your knees? Wait, no, let me see.”
Before France could respond, Prussia had whirled around and yanked his trousers down with a triumphant cackle, and France was forced to slip out of his shoes and slacks before he tripped on them.
“Get your pretty ass on the counter, France, Dr. Beilschmidt will check ya out.”
When France shot him a stony glare, Prussia simply hauled him up bodily and sat him on the marble counter top, unsurprised to see that he had gone commando tonight.
“Geez, do you ever wear underwear?”
“Not when I am expecting a night of passionate love-making,” France replied saucily.
“So, you pretty much never wear underwear.”
Chuckling, France gave him a coy look from under his eyelashes. “Correct! And you two have never let me down before on that regard, so what else would I expect, hmm?”
But it was only Prussia tonight, and not even France could be sure his considerable powers of seduction added to Prussia’s repressed but ever present horniness would result in sex. Not without Spain there to ease their tensions and soothe their egos, so to speak.
Prussia seemed to be thinking the same thing, or at least he seemed to be thinking about something, judging by how intently he was staring at the part of France’s groin that peeked through the hem of his shirt. Ever so casually, France spread his legs just a little wider, the edge of his shirt riding up a little further from the movement, and on cue, a faint flush appeared on Prussia’s pale cheeks, and he averted his eyes.
“Shameless hussy,” he grumbled, but he rubbed gently at France’s bony knees anyway. “We nearly broke our necks, and yet you still want to fuck.”
France’s answer was to rub the heel of his foot against the front of Prussia’s fly, against the hardness he knew he would find there. Prussia made a strangled noise halfway between a yelp and a groan, turning even redder, and France laughed again, a throaty, honeyed sound.
“I can’t help but notice you have the same idea, mon cher.”
“If you want it now, why don’t you just say so?” Prussia asked, his nervous breathlessness belying the smug tone of his voice.
“My dear, I would never defile the sanctity of my kitchen with sex, no matter how awesome.”
Prussia just rolled his eyes in disbelief. “I bet you’ve fucked no less than twenty people in your fancy kitchen, don’t lie.” Reaching into the first aid kit, he pulled out the tube of lubricating jelly and even more convincingly, a condom packet, shoving them in France’s face triumphantly. No better example of Gallic foresight in preparing for every eventuality except the most useful one.
Well, Prussia had his own special foresight, and so far, things could not have worked out better for him. Gleefully, he grabbed at France’s designer shirt, the soft dove-grey one with its eye-watering price that could not fit on the tag, ready to rip it right off, but France, probably sensing this danger, latched on to his wrists warningly.
“No foreplay for your best friend?” he asked with a cute yet somehow threatening pout.
“What, you mean all that wasn’t foreplay?!” Prussia was getting a little antsy now, his erection starting to strain against the inside of his jeans urgently. “Look, there’s no fucking way I’m going to kiss you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, so just deal with it.” His renewed effort to strip France met with firmer resistance than he ever recalled from a Frenchman, which wasn’t saying much.
“But don’t I deserve a little romancing, Prussia?” France pleaded winsomely, as his fingernails dug into the skin of Prussia’s wrists. “Your friend of so many years, through hell, hurt and hunger. I mean, no one else bothers to put up with you and your, ah… technique.” That is, no one else besides Spain.
As loathe as he was to admit it, Prussia had much to thank France for in regards to sex. Taking his virginity, for one. Not only that, the last time they were alone like this, without Spain or England or Germany or Austria or North Italy or America, or well, he can't be arsed to think of everyone they've shagged together... The last time must have been during the occupation. He hated to think that was the last memory France had of just the two of them. It wasn’t right.
So Prussia moved his hands away from the front of France’s shirt, cupping his chin instead, looking straight into those heavy-lidded blue eyes. Had he ever been this close to him? He didn’t recall that France ever had freckles across the bridge of his nose resistant to any state of the art skin treatment, never noticed how long his lashes were. And underneath the overwhelming aroma of wine was a heady, intoxicating scent that reminded him of the crunchy sugar bits on top of the crème brulee he always liked watching France flambé, combined with a hint of rose and tobacco and musk that defined the other nation in his olfactory memory.
No, he was sure he had never been this close. He would have remembered it.
Sliding his fingers through long silky locks, Prussia pressed his lips against France’s mouth, using a tender sort of delicacy he reserved only for cuddling the most adorable of adorable little chicks. But France eagerly welcomed him, and that kiss was like the first breath of air a drowning man takes; incredible, sublime, perfectly natural, God’s miracle. If Prussia had any doubts about his own ability to kiss, which he did not because he was great at everything, but let’s say he did, then France’s confidence in his national past time more than made up for it.
Then Prussia moved in between France’s thighs, one hand sneaking down to grope and squeeze at various gropeable and squeezable parts of the other’s anatomy. France made a delighted squealing noise and wrapped his arms about Prussia’s shoulders, leaning heavily into a very sensitive vital region.
Okay. He kissed France on the mouth without gagging. That was enough foreplay, time for fucking.
Even though France’s head hit the marble countertop with a loud thunk, and Prussia knocked over a basket of perfectly innocent onions onto the wooden floor, they were too absorbed with the act of trying to suck off each other’s face to really care. In between kisses, Prussia managed to unbutton France’s shirt without damaging it too much, but eventually he stopped his kissing, and France had to open his eyes in curiosity.
“What, have you never seen me naked before?” he asked, a smile curving his lips as he stretched out luxuriously, as to better display his body under the lights.
Prussia snorted, but the faraway look in his crimson eyes did not quite disappear. “The entire world has seen you naked before, France. Nah, I was just… thinking.”
“It looked like you were reminiscing,” France murmured kindly.
“Yeah… I was remembering… when we were young, and you tricked Spain and me into thinking you were a girl!”
“Ah, I didn’t trick you, you two assumed wrongly!”
“Says you! But you’ll pay for crushing my childhood dream by revealing your actual gender!” Laughing evilly, Prussia pulled open one of the drawers on the island and retrieved a vegetable peeler, waving it about.
“No, you wouldn’t dare!”
Fortunately for France’s vital regions, Prussia used the instrument to pry open the cap of the lubricant instead of sticking it into something fleshier. Once the cap popped open, he squirted some jelly onto his hand, rubbing the slippery substance between his thumb and forefinger while France squirmed restlessly under him, the cold of the marble seeping into his skin.
“All right, let’s go.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss France as he slid one finger into him, giving him a quick nip on his lower lip to distract him. France hummed happily into the kiss, letting his legs fall open, pleased to realize that Prussia still knew his body very well, inside and out. It only took him a few more strokes to find that spot, and France groaned aloud for Prussia’s benefit.
“Got it!” he muttered victoriously, and then pulled back, pressing kisses all over France’s throat, his chest, his stomach. Just when he was about to open his mouth to fix this issue of his partner not yet becoming fully aroused, France brought his foot up to connect with the side of his face.
“Ow, what the hell, France?” Prussia protested. “I’m trying to suck you off here!”
“You will not!” France snapped frantically. “I am not going to subject my beautiful Eiffel Tower to your inexpert ministrations.”
Prussia scowled, wrapping his fingers about the base of France’s cock and giving it a squeeze, making him gasp. “Well, you’re not going to jerk yourself off with a cut on your hand. Just shut up and let me do this, okay? I’m not going to bite. Really.”
France’s protests were cut off sharply when Prussia took him into his mouth and began sucking him energetically. It was a sloppy business, all tongue and saliva and no style, and Prussia had to coordinate both hands before France even started responding, but eventually he did, nasty little criticisms in French changing into gasps and moans and hitched breaths growing ever louder, unsteadier.
The sound of France enjoying himself got to Prussia, and he abruptly left off his blowjob to unbutton his fly and pull his too-tight jeans down. Sighing in relief as his aching cock sprang free, he scrabbled for the condom, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth and then rolling it down over his erection.
“Prussia, please,” France whined, voice thrumming with neediness, thighs spread and angled upward so that he could see everything, see just how ready he was. “Take me, hurry, please.”
Throat dry, Prussia didn’t even bother replying, but bumped the head of his cock up against France’s hole, then grabbed his hips, heaving his legs up over his shoulders. When Prussia entered him, stretching, filling him slowly, France could not help but cry out in pleasure, back arching off the countertop. But that was nothing compared to what it felt when Prussia actually started moving, driving into him confidently, all of his focus on just the two of them, what each of them liked and wanted.
Before long, he started screaming, and Prussia wasn’t keeping his voice down either, groaning and cursing as he slammed into him again and again. Even after all of the men who had plowed France’s ass before, he still felt deliciously tight, and Prussia had to give thanks for that fine ass clenching snugly around his cock, squeezing down each time he thrust in, the sound of skin slapping against skin accompanying their cries and moans. Blindly, he crashed his mouth against France’s, reaching for his length, pumping it firmly, trying to get him to come first.
France did, still screaming, and Prussia followed soon afterward, body trembling as he came, letting the pleasure surge through him and then slowly recede. They laid on the kitchen island for a few minutes, sweat drying on their cooling skin, a pleasant stickiness on their stomachs as evidence of France’s orgasm, and then France started nuzzling at Prussia’s cheek, his uninjured hand curling through white hair.
“No, no cuddling, not here, anyway,” Prussia said, somewhat regretfully, pulling out of France and sliding the used condom off his cock. He stumbled over his discarded jeans and an onion that had somehow rolled there, but managed to toss the condom into the trash bin without further incident.
“Oh, you actually used the condom?” France asked blandly, watching him. “A pity. I would have liked something of yours still inside me after you left.” He caught Prussia’s terribly fascinated stare and continued, smiling. “I had always fantasized being alone in my room, long after you’ve gone home, and missing you, I would reach down, like this, and tease myself… before pushing in, like this, to where your cock had been… I’d feel your hot cum on my fingertips, and I would pull them out… and then taste you. Like this.”
There was a soft pop as he took his finger out from between his lips, and mesmerized, Prussia wiped at the drool threatening to collect on the corner of his mouth.
“G-get to your room, you slut,” he growled. “I’ll fuck you and fill you up, and you won’t forget about me for a week.”
“Good,” France purred in a sultry voice.
Half-drunk with post-coital bliss, the two helped each other to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed with happy sighs.
“S’best that Spain wasn’t here tonight,” Prussia confessed sleepily. He linked his fingers with France’s, and his smile was surprisingly shy and tender, heartbreakingly genuine. “I… kinda liked having you all to myself.”
“Me, too…”
[epilogue]
Prussia woke up crammed onto one side of the bed, tucked around France who was close to falling off the edge. Apparently they had gotten too used to sleeping with a third person. His back stung and ached now, but at least he could feel a much more pleasant sort of ache down in his groin. It looked like France was still sleeping, so Prussia draped one arm over his waist, smiling when France made a sleepy noise and reached up to pull his arm closer about him. A helpless romantic even while unconscious.
He was pretty sure France wouldn’t mind if he took care of his morning erection, and carefully, he maneuvered himself in between France’s thighs.
“Mmm… Prussia?” France murmured drowsily.
“Just keep your legs together,” Prussia whispered, sliding his hand over France’s hipbone encouragingly. He had already topped France off last night after two further sessions that had the bed creaking and the windows rattling, and there was no need to make a further mess by trying to come inside him again. Hell, he probably didn’t even have much cum left to ejaculate by now.
France chuckled softly and rubbed his thighs together enticingly, and Prussia groaned and began thrusting, savoring the feel of firm flesh pressing all around his hard cock. He was just about to ease into a good rhythm when a cheerful ringtone blared out, and with a frustrated sigh, he pulled away and grabbed France’s phone from the bedside table.
“Whadya want?” he snapped.
“Good morning!” answered a lilting accented voice.
“We’re a little busy, Spain, can you call back?”
“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to make sure you two haven’t killed each other.”
France had turned over and started mouthing sleepily at the seeping wet tip of his prick, and Prussia wasn’t sure how much longer he can hold out, seeing his cock being worshiped and pleasured by those plump pink lips and tongue.
“N-no, we haven’t…” he stuttered, voice shooting up an octave as France applied a little pressure with his teeth. “Not ye-yet.” Then a much softer, “Fuck, France, stop it!”
“What was that?” Spain listened for another minute, grinning widely at the obscene sounds coming from the other line.
After a while, France picked up the phone and said in his most sensual tone, the kind that would have ignorant female tourists dropping their panties on the spot, “Prussia can’t come to the phone right now. Can I help you?”
Prussia watched blearily as France laughed and began answering in Spanish, too dazed from his latest orgasm to bother translating or even taking the phone back. They had no secrets between them anyway, so it didn’t matter what he said, as long as it was all about how awesome the nation of Prussia was in bed.
When France hung up, Prussia asked, “What was Spain doing that was so much more important than hanging out with us?”
“It is none of your concern, darling,” France reassured him. He grinned and ran a finger over Prussia’s chest, circling his left nipple. “Now… where were we?”
“Gott, you’re gonna wear me out like this.”
“That’s what you get for calling me old,” France said teasingly before kissing him.
Author: etre_sans_age
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Prussia/France, previous Prussia/France/Spain, implied various threesomes
Warnings: shameless smut of various kinds; oral, intercrural, anal
Wordcount: 3,634
Summary: for the prompt - Prussia/France - sex in the kitchen. There is implied Bad Friends Trio since I can't resist that apparently, but the bulk of the story is pure Prussia/France goodness. Because there isn't enough of these two in fandom, and I can't think of why.
I actually have 3 other fics I wanted to post, but I'm debating on finishing them or de-anoning them under names. At any rate, I am so glad to have written 63 fills total for the kink meme, and countless more fics off-meme. Please enjoy, and I hope to work on more prompts in the future!
Spain was late, even by France’s standards, which were already uncivilized according to Prussia’s definition of punctuality. By the time he remembered to check his phone and call them back, they had downed too many drinks of an alcoholic nature to be very angry at him, although they tried. There was much vehement cursing on Prussia’s part, coupled with overdramatic bawling from France, and while Spain apologized profusely, he had the vague feeling they had stopped listening to him some time ago.
“Look, I’m sure you guys can have fun without me,” he interrupted during mid-wail.
“C’est impossible!” France declared promptly, snapping to attention. “How can I possibly have fun with only this ill-tempered ruffian for company?! No, Spain, you must come at once and save what is left of this night from being ruined any further.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Prussia retorted, loudly enough for Spain to hear. “I’m loads of fun! But I guess an old fart like you wouldn’t know!”
“…What did you just call me?”
Spain listened to the sounds of scuffling through the phone and smiled to himself. It sounded like Prussia and France were already finding ways to entertain themselves without him there. At any rate, he had enough of playing mediator every time the three of them got together and the other two inevitably started squabbling, so this would be the perfect opportunity to let them sort their feelings out and discover what they honestly thought of each other. And Romano claimed he wasn’t observant, of course he was! Spain hung up and resolved to call them the next morning to see how things went.
“H-hey, he hung up on us!” Prussia snatched France’s phone away and redialed Spain’s number correctly on the second try. The image that popped up on the background screen was a very flattering view of a particular green-eyed matador’s best assets, and Prussia narrowed his eyes, suspecting his own image would be much less flattering. Probably a candid shot of him wearing lederhosen during that one Oktoberfest they were to never speak of again. France attempted to retrieve his phone, practically crawling over Prussia in his effort, so that when Spain next listened to his voicemail, he heard only an incoherent shout and a crash of what must be two bodies falling off a couch and onto empty bottles of wine and/or beer.
The two nations gingerly picked themselves off the floor, careful to not embed any more shards of glass into their bodies. The wine, a bottle of good quality Bordeaux, thankfully did not break, but the beer bottles Prussia brought over from his favorite brewery did not stand up to their combined weight, and several pieces of brown glass now tinkled onto the carpet around Prussia’s feet.
“Fucking fuck,” Prussia muttered, wincing because it was his back that got the brunt of the glass. Fortunately, he was a little too buzzed to feel any pain at the moment, although that just meant everything would hurt like hell in the morning. France had meanwhile cut his hand and both of his knees when he landed and was now grumbling to himself about the ruined state of the carpet and his expensive designer slacks.
“Well, I hope you’re happy,” the two of them said at the same time.
As France’s first aid kit was in the kitchen, they tended to their wounds there. Prussia had to ask if it was because France injured himself while cooking, and France glared at him witheringly before replying that it was there for certain guests who happened to be less talented in the culinary arts and were prone to accidentally setting a pot of boiling water on fire.
“Okay, I get it, you know your way about a kitchen, sure.” He wasn’t about to ask why England of all people was visiting France, much less trying to cook something, even thinking about it made his eyelid twitch.
They took a look France’s hand first, as the cut on his palm started bleeding. After rinsing his hand under the faucet and dabbing the gash with a bit of alcohol not meant for drinking, France subjected himself to Prussia’s bandage-wrapping technique, which was actually not that terrible, not after years and years of practice.
“Not too bad, huh?”
France flexed the fingers of his injured hand and nodded, apparently satisfied. “Thank you, darling. Now take off your shirt, let me see your back.”
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Prussia protested, but he peeled off his ratty t-shirt after France gave him one of his signature pointed looks and then turned around to be inspected. For some reason, he could feel the other’s gaze on his back, and when warm fingers brushed over the skin of his shoulderblades, he nearly jumped. Nearly being the key word.
“Well, what’s the damage?” he asked, irritated.
“I am surprised you aren’t screaming and writhing in agony,” France answered dryly.
“Heh, that must be because of how awesome I am.”
“Of course.” France wet a piece of cotton with alcohol and began dabbing haphazardly at Prussia’s back, over shallow scrapes not deep enough to bleed yet but which had already started blooming an angry shade of red. By the way his fists clenched, knuckles whitening from the tension, even that seemed to hurt and France paused, concerned.
“Are you all right?”
Prussia let out his breath in a huff and snarled, “Just hurry up, will you?”
At last, France set the cotton and bottle of alcohol aside, and relieved, Prussia glanced over his shoulder at him.
“What about you? How are your knees? Wait, no, let me see.”
Before France could respond, Prussia had whirled around and yanked his trousers down with a triumphant cackle, and France was forced to slip out of his shoes and slacks before he tripped on them.
“Get your pretty ass on the counter, France, Dr. Beilschmidt will check ya out.”
When France shot him a stony glare, Prussia simply hauled him up bodily and sat him on the marble counter top, unsurprised to see that he had gone commando tonight.
“Geez, do you ever wear underwear?”
“Not when I am expecting a night of passionate love-making,” France replied saucily.
“So, you pretty much never wear underwear.”
Chuckling, France gave him a coy look from under his eyelashes. “Correct! And you two have never let me down before on that regard, so what else would I expect, hmm?”
But it was only Prussia tonight, and not even France could be sure his considerable powers of seduction added to Prussia’s repressed but ever present horniness would result in sex. Not without Spain there to ease their tensions and soothe their egos, so to speak.
Prussia seemed to be thinking the same thing, or at least he seemed to be thinking about something, judging by how intently he was staring at the part of France’s groin that peeked through the hem of his shirt. Ever so casually, France spread his legs just a little wider, the edge of his shirt riding up a little further from the movement, and on cue, a faint flush appeared on Prussia’s pale cheeks, and he averted his eyes.
“Shameless hussy,” he grumbled, but he rubbed gently at France’s bony knees anyway. “We nearly broke our necks, and yet you still want to fuck.”
France’s answer was to rub the heel of his foot against the front of Prussia’s fly, against the hardness he knew he would find there. Prussia made a strangled noise halfway between a yelp and a groan, turning even redder, and France laughed again, a throaty, honeyed sound.
“I can’t help but notice you have the same idea, mon cher.”
“If you want it now, why don’t you just say so?” Prussia asked, his nervous breathlessness belying the smug tone of his voice.
“My dear, I would never defile the sanctity of my kitchen with sex, no matter how awesome.”
Prussia just rolled his eyes in disbelief. “I bet you’ve fucked no less than twenty people in your fancy kitchen, don’t lie.” Reaching into the first aid kit, he pulled out the tube of lubricating jelly and even more convincingly, a condom packet, shoving them in France’s face triumphantly. No better example of Gallic foresight in preparing for every eventuality except the most useful one.
Well, Prussia had his own special foresight, and so far, things could not have worked out better for him. Gleefully, he grabbed at France’s designer shirt, the soft dove-grey one with its eye-watering price that could not fit on the tag, ready to rip it right off, but France, probably sensing this danger, latched on to his wrists warningly.
“No foreplay for your best friend?” he asked with a cute yet somehow threatening pout.
“What, you mean all that wasn’t foreplay?!” Prussia was getting a little antsy now, his erection starting to strain against the inside of his jeans urgently. “Look, there’s no fucking way I’m going to kiss you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, so just deal with it.” His renewed effort to strip France met with firmer resistance than he ever recalled from a Frenchman, which wasn’t saying much.
“But don’t I deserve a little romancing, Prussia?” France pleaded winsomely, as his fingernails dug into the skin of Prussia’s wrists. “Your friend of so many years, through hell, hurt and hunger. I mean, no one else bothers to put up with you and your, ah… technique.” That is, no one else besides Spain.
As loathe as he was to admit it, Prussia had much to thank France for in regards to sex. Taking his virginity, for one. Not only that, the last time they were alone like this, without Spain or England or Germany or Austria or North Italy or America, or well, he can't be arsed to think of everyone they've shagged together... The last time must have been during the occupation. He hated to think that was the last memory France had of just the two of them. It wasn’t right.
So Prussia moved his hands away from the front of France’s shirt, cupping his chin instead, looking straight into those heavy-lidded blue eyes. Had he ever been this close to him? He didn’t recall that France ever had freckles across the bridge of his nose resistant to any state of the art skin treatment, never noticed how long his lashes were. And underneath the overwhelming aroma of wine was a heady, intoxicating scent that reminded him of the crunchy sugar bits on top of the crème brulee he always liked watching France flambé, combined with a hint of rose and tobacco and musk that defined the other nation in his olfactory memory.
No, he was sure he had never been this close. He would have remembered it.
Sliding his fingers through long silky locks, Prussia pressed his lips against France’s mouth, using a tender sort of delicacy he reserved only for cuddling the most adorable of adorable little chicks. But France eagerly welcomed him, and that kiss was like the first breath of air a drowning man takes; incredible, sublime, perfectly natural, God’s miracle. If Prussia had any doubts about his own ability to kiss, which he did not because he was great at everything, but let’s say he did, then France’s confidence in his national past time more than made up for it.
Then Prussia moved in between France’s thighs, one hand sneaking down to grope and squeeze at various gropeable and squeezable parts of the other’s anatomy. France made a delighted squealing noise and wrapped his arms about Prussia’s shoulders, leaning heavily into a very sensitive vital region.
Okay. He kissed France on the mouth without gagging. That was enough foreplay, time for fucking.
Even though France’s head hit the marble countertop with a loud thunk, and Prussia knocked over a basket of perfectly innocent onions onto the wooden floor, they were too absorbed with the act of trying to suck off each other’s face to really care. In between kisses, Prussia managed to unbutton France’s shirt without damaging it too much, but eventually he stopped his kissing, and France had to open his eyes in curiosity.
“What, have you never seen me naked before?” he asked, a smile curving his lips as he stretched out luxuriously, as to better display his body under the lights.
Prussia snorted, but the faraway look in his crimson eyes did not quite disappear. “The entire world has seen you naked before, France. Nah, I was just… thinking.”
“It looked like you were reminiscing,” France murmured kindly.
“Yeah… I was remembering… when we were young, and you tricked Spain and me into thinking you were a girl!”
“Ah, I didn’t trick you, you two assumed wrongly!”
“Says you! But you’ll pay for crushing my childhood dream by revealing your actual gender!” Laughing evilly, Prussia pulled open one of the drawers on the island and retrieved a vegetable peeler, waving it about.
“No, you wouldn’t dare!”
Fortunately for France’s vital regions, Prussia used the instrument to pry open the cap of the lubricant instead of sticking it into something fleshier. Once the cap popped open, he squirted some jelly onto his hand, rubbing the slippery substance between his thumb and forefinger while France squirmed restlessly under him, the cold of the marble seeping into his skin.
“All right, let’s go.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss France as he slid one finger into him, giving him a quick nip on his lower lip to distract him. France hummed happily into the kiss, letting his legs fall open, pleased to realize that Prussia still knew his body very well, inside and out. It only took him a few more strokes to find that spot, and France groaned aloud for Prussia’s benefit.
“Got it!” he muttered victoriously, and then pulled back, pressing kisses all over France’s throat, his chest, his stomach. Just when he was about to open his mouth to fix this issue of his partner not yet becoming fully aroused, France brought his foot up to connect with the side of his face.
“Ow, what the hell, France?” Prussia protested. “I’m trying to suck you off here!”
“You will not!” France snapped frantically. “I am not going to subject my beautiful Eiffel Tower to your inexpert ministrations.”
Prussia scowled, wrapping his fingers about the base of France’s cock and giving it a squeeze, making him gasp. “Well, you’re not going to jerk yourself off with a cut on your hand. Just shut up and let me do this, okay? I’m not going to bite. Really.”
France’s protests were cut off sharply when Prussia took him into his mouth and began sucking him energetically. It was a sloppy business, all tongue and saliva and no style, and Prussia had to coordinate both hands before France even started responding, but eventually he did, nasty little criticisms in French changing into gasps and moans and hitched breaths growing ever louder, unsteadier.
The sound of France enjoying himself got to Prussia, and he abruptly left off his blowjob to unbutton his fly and pull his too-tight jeans down. Sighing in relief as his aching cock sprang free, he scrabbled for the condom, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth and then rolling it down over his erection.
“Prussia, please,” France whined, voice thrumming with neediness, thighs spread and angled upward so that he could see everything, see just how ready he was. “Take me, hurry, please.”
Throat dry, Prussia didn’t even bother replying, but bumped the head of his cock up against France’s hole, then grabbed his hips, heaving his legs up over his shoulders. When Prussia entered him, stretching, filling him slowly, France could not help but cry out in pleasure, back arching off the countertop. But that was nothing compared to what it felt when Prussia actually started moving, driving into him confidently, all of his focus on just the two of them, what each of them liked and wanted.
Before long, he started screaming, and Prussia wasn’t keeping his voice down either, groaning and cursing as he slammed into him again and again. Even after all of the men who had plowed France’s ass before, he still felt deliciously tight, and Prussia had to give thanks for that fine ass clenching snugly around his cock, squeezing down each time he thrust in, the sound of skin slapping against skin accompanying their cries and moans. Blindly, he crashed his mouth against France’s, reaching for his length, pumping it firmly, trying to get him to come first.
France did, still screaming, and Prussia followed soon afterward, body trembling as he came, letting the pleasure surge through him and then slowly recede. They laid on the kitchen island for a few minutes, sweat drying on their cooling skin, a pleasant stickiness on their stomachs as evidence of France’s orgasm, and then France started nuzzling at Prussia’s cheek, his uninjured hand curling through white hair.
“No, no cuddling, not here, anyway,” Prussia said, somewhat regretfully, pulling out of France and sliding the used condom off his cock. He stumbled over his discarded jeans and an onion that had somehow rolled there, but managed to toss the condom into the trash bin without further incident.
“Oh, you actually used the condom?” France asked blandly, watching him. “A pity. I would have liked something of yours still inside me after you left.” He caught Prussia’s terribly fascinated stare and continued, smiling. “I had always fantasized being alone in my room, long after you’ve gone home, and missing you, I would reach down, like this, and tease myself… before pushing in, like this, to where your cock had been… I’d feel your hot cum on my fingertips, and I would pull them out… and then taste you. Like this.”
There was a soft pop as he took his finger out from between his lips, and mesmerized, Prussia wiped at the drool threatening to collect on the corner of his mouth.
“G-get to your room, you slut,” he growled. “I’ll fuck you and fill you up, and you won’t forget about me for a week.”
“Good,” France purred in a sultry voice.
Half-drunk with post-coital bliss, the two helped each other to the bedroom, flopping onto the bed with happy sighs.
“S’best that Spain wasn’t here tonight,” Prussia confessed sleepily. He linked his fingers with France’s, and his smile was surprisingly shy and tender, heartbreakingly genuine. “I… kinda liked having you all to myself.”
“Me, too…”
[epilogue]
Prussia woke up crammed onto one side of the bed, tucked around France who was close to falling off the edge. Apparently they had gotten too used to sleeping with a third person. His back stung and ached now, but at least he could feel a much more pleasant sort of ache down in his groin. It looked like France was still sleeping, so Prussia draped one arm over his waist, smiling when France made a sleepy noise and reached up to pull his arm closer about him. A helpless romantic even while unconscious.
He was pretty sure France wouldn’t mind if he took care of his morning erection, and carefully, he maneuvered himself in between France’s thighs.
“Mmm… Prussia?” France murmured drowsily.
“Just keep your legs together,” Prussia whispered, sliding his hand over France’s hipbone encouragingly. He had already topped France off last night after two further sessions that had the bed creaking and the windows rattling, and there was no need to make a further mess by trying to come inside him again. Hell, he probably didn’t even have much cum left to ejaculate by now.
France chuckled softly and rubbed his thighs together enticingly, and Prussia groaned and began thrusting, savoring the feel of firm flesh pressing all around his hard cock. He was just about to ease into a good rhythm when a cheerful ringtone blared out, and with a frustrated sigh, he pulled away and grabbed France’s phone from the bedside table.
“Whadya want?” he snapped.
“Good morning!” answered a lilting accented voice.
“We’re a little busy, Spain, can you call back?”
“Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to make sure you two haven’t killed each other.”
France had turned over and started mouthing sleepily at the seeping wet tip of his prick, and Prussia wasn’t sure how much longer he can hold out, seeing his cock being worshiped and pleasured by those plump pink lips and tongue.
“N-no, we haven’t…” he stuttered, voice shooting up an octave as France applied a little pressure with his teeth. “Not ye-yet.” Then a much softer, “Fuck, France, stop it!”
“What was that?” Spain listened for another minute, grinning widely at the obscene sounds coming from the other line.
After a while, France picked up the phone and said in his most sensual tone, the kind that would have ignorant female tourists dropping their panties on the spot, “Prussia can’t come to the phone right now. Can I help you?”
Prussia watched blearily as France laughed and began answering in Spanish, too dazed from his latest orgasm to bother translating or even taking the phone back. They had no secrets between them anyway, so it didn’t matter what he said, as long as it was all about how awesome the nation of Prussia was in bed.
When France hung up, Prussia asked, “What was Spain doing that was so much more important than hanging out with us?”
“It is none of your concern, darling,” France reassured him. He grinned and ran a finger over Prussia’s chest, circling his left nipple. “Now… where were we?”
“Gott, you’re gonna wear me out like this.”
“That’s what you get for calling me old,” France said teasingly before kissing him.