Fanfiction- Cigarettes on a Dirty Floor
Summary: De-anon from the kinkmeme! For an anon who wanted WWII Prussia/Poland smut.
Content: Mild violence. PWP. There's no actual penetrative sex but if there were, Poland would totally top.
‘You were totally better as my Duchy.’
Prussia snarls and lashes out, and Poland ducks, but his reflexes are slow these days and Prussia’s hand cuffs him round the side of the head. It’s not a hard blow, but it’s enough to overbalance him and he ends up sprawled on the once-pristine floor of his home.
‘Shut up, Poland. God, I can’t deal with your shit now.’ Prussia runs a hand through his hair and sighs as Poland sits up.
‘Yeah, cause it’s you who’s the victim here-’
‘Occupied nations should learn their place,’ says Prussia, but the usual bite his words have is missing, replaced with a weariness which is strange to see on his face. He crouches down and pats Poland’s pockets, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He fumbles with the lighter for a moment and Poland sniggers.
‘Hey, don’t you, like, have your own? Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be relying on me for stuff. Unless you totally enjoyed being my bitch that much, Prusy Królewskie.’ Not his best retort, Poland’s willing to admit, but he gets tired so easily these days and looking at Prussia’s face is like, totally not helping.
‘Why don’t you ever learn to shut up?’
‘I’ll learn to shut up when you, like, stop being such a bastard who thinks he can control everyone else. You don’t even have a country yourself anymore. You’re like, your brother’s little lapdog these days, and your totally uncool boss is from Austria. Remember that?’
Prussia’s face scrunches up in anger and he reaches down to grab at Poland’s wrists, seeming surprised when he feels how thin they are.
‘Hey, ouch. I’m not a cigarette tray, Prusy, get off.’
Prussia drops Poland’s wrists and holds his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Your fault. And your stupid skin put my cigarette out.’ He flicks the butt onto the floor.
Normally Poland would complain at someone ruining his fabulous floor -hand-laid, it took him and Liet (well, mostly Liet) weeks to do back when they were still talking- but it’s filthy already and he doesn’t see the point. Speaking of filth…
‘Is there, like, a point to you being here other than to pollute my house with your ugly face?’’
Prussia doesn’t reply, absentmindedly brushing down the front of his uniform, which reminds Poland he’s still sitting on the dirty floor. His uniform may not be the most fabulous piece of clothing that he’s ever owned, but it’s his. It’s Polish, and he still has it. It still means something and he should totally not be disrespecting it by getting it dirty like this.
He attempts to stand, but suddenly he’s swaying on his feet and Prussia’s looking at him with mild concern, which would totally make Poland snigger if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on not falling over.
Prussia takes his elbow, and Poland bats him away: ‘Get off, Prusy; I’m not, like, a damsel in distress or whatever.’
Prussia looks vaguely insulted. ‘Yeah, whatever, Poland. Stop deluding yourself into thinking I care about you. I would totally kick your ass like back in the old days if I thought you could take it.’
Poland snorts. ‘Hello, earth to Prusy. It was, like, me and Liet kicking your ass back then and you know it.’
They’ve been unconsciously leaning closer to one another throughout this conversation, Poland realises when their noses brush. It’s a strange feeling, and Poland’s heart starts beating faster (he puts it down to adrenaline) but neither of them pulls away.
‘Yeah, well, where’s your precious Liet now?’ Prussia sneers. ‘Shouldn’t have tried to steal his capital, should you?’
‘It was mine!’ Poland hisses through clenched teeth. ‘Back before you, like, stole my land!’
‘And you took mine after the Great War. Eye for an eye, heh?’ Prussia sniggers and Poland has to fight the urge to hit him in the face.
‘I’m surprised you read the Bible anymore, Protestant.’
‘Hey.’ Prussia looks mildly affronted. ‘I think you’re forgetting who it was that converted your little heathen kingdom.’
‘I was Christian in 966, before your stupid little order was ever created, Prusy. Are you like, actually that stupid?’
Prussia is silent for a few seconds. They’re still nose to nose, and Poland can taste Prussia’s breath, surprisingly sweet.
‘You forget,’ Prussia hisses, ‘I am still the one in control here.’
‘Please, as if you could ever control anything.’
‘I partitioned you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ Poland snaps, ‘But I fixed that, didn’t I? I’m Poland; I can totally get over this! I-‘ His words are interrupted by a coughing fit, right in Prussia’s face.
Prussia leans back and wipes the saliva from his face. ‘Ew, not cool.’ He looks at his hand and sees the clear liquid tinged with red. Eyes widening, he looks back up at Poland.
Poland scowls and looks away. ‘I’m like, totally fine. I don’t need your help.’
Prussia looks vaguely lost and Poland can practically see the thoughts dancing like silver fish behind his eyes. Gilbert has never been very good at keeping his emotions to himself, joy and anger flitting across his face for all to see. Poland is much better at keeping his thoughts under wraps, at presenting a smile to the world.
He doesn’t have to prove anything to Prussia, he thinks, but he leans in and bites the other nation’s nose anyway.
Prussia looks up at him, bemused, and Poland scrunches his nose and hits Prussia across the face.
‘What the fuck, Poland?’ Prussia screeches, and Poland always finds it funny how his voice rises a couple of octaves when surprised, but then Prussia’s swinging back at him, and it’s a fight now, one that’s making Poland forget how his bones ache and how his children are dying and how he coughs up blood at the most inopportune moments, really.
Prussia’s fist makes contact with his face, but Poland darts round and give a kick to the back of Prussia’s kneecaps and an elbow to the back of his neck and then Prussia’s the one on the floor.
Poland smirks at him. ‘Doesn’t it like, totally remind you of Grunwald?’
Prussia wipes his bloody nose and is silent. This war’s affected him too, Poland realises, for all his talk of being in control. Neither of them are the ones pulling the shots in this war anymore, and although Poland knew that in an abstract way, it sinks in at that moment just how different everything is these days. Prussia takes advantage of his sudden motionlessness to grab his legs from behind and then they’re both on the floor, rolling and throwing punches.
Poland grabs Prussia’s hair and pulls- Prussia yanks his head back and accidentally bangs it on the floor and Poland is left with a handful of silvery strands.
‘Ow, fuck, Poland, I think my scalp is bleeding, you fight like a girl.’
‘I don’t think Hungary would be very, like, happy to hear that.’
‘She’s on my side now,’ Prussia says, ‘not yours.’
‘It’s not your side,’ Poland retorts, and that’s enough to start their fight again, punching and kicking, both fighting as dirty as they know how, adrenaline the only thing keeping Poland going.
Neither is really surprised when Prussia swoops in for an open-mouthed kiss, teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. Warfare used to be like this, one-on-one with the enemy, Poland thinks, always knowing who it was you were fighting, with perhaps a greater intimacy possible than any alliance ever made in peacetime.
‘Fuck,’ Prussia swears into his mouth, and they’re both half-hard now, on the floor of Poland’s ruined hallway, still rolling in the dirt, and Prussia’s fumbling with Poland’s uniform trousers, making Poland hiss and buck up into the other’s hand.
His cock springs free, and Poland grinds against Prussia’s still clothed erection, grinning when Prussia moans and finally pulls his own trousers down.
Prussia takes himself in hand, stroking, and Poland watches his face shift and change, eyes closing and mouth opening in a silent gasp. He’s not been forgotten, and Prussia grips both their cocks in one hand and twists just so, and hey, he’s gotten much better since the 15th century, Poland thinks.
In only a few minutes, they’re both panting where they sit, Prussia’s strokes more and more erratic, both their hips jerking uncontrollably until Poland leans up, licking across Prussia’s cheek and biting his lower lip, drawing blood.
‘Hey, what was that fo- fuck, Poland,’ Prussia gasps, as his grip on them loosens and Poland takes over, playing with his slit, then squeezing them both together again, pumping with more speed and precision, in a new rhythm designed to make them both swear silently under their breath, neither wanting to show any weakness before the other.
They both lean for a kiss at the exact same moment, continuing their previous fight with teeth and tongues, with the taste of iron and gunpowder in their mouths, neither willing to give into the other, their cocks pulsing in Poland’s hand heavily, hot even despite the lack of heating in the house.
Prussia licks along the edge of Poland’s ear, nibbling as he does so, and the surprise causes Poland to gasp and shift his grip. Prussia swears and bites down on the pale shell of Poland’s ear, blood running into his mouth.
Both are gasping now, the sensations too much as Prussia leans down and licks across the tip, and Poland is so close, his cock pulsing and tightness in the bottom of his stomach and when Prussia dips his tongue into the slit he can’t take it anymore, and comes on Prussia’s face, continuing to jerk them both.
Prussia moans when Poland’s come hits his face, the warmth sliding down his cheek and into his mouth, the smell and the taste causing him to go over the edge and spill his seed on Poland’s hand.
They lie still on the floor for a few moments, recovering, then Poland snorts and nudges Prussia.
‘I totally won.’
‘What are you talking about,’ Prussia huffs. ‘You came first.’
‘Yeah, but you were totally my bitch. Just like always.’
Prussia snorts. ‘We could still flatten you, Poland. Don’t forget that.’
‘Yeah, but, like, then who would you get to come on your face?’
Prussia’s eyes darken, and he pulls Poland closer to him, grabbing a chunk of Poland’s hair and using it to wipe his face.
‘Poland is a Nazi occupied country. You’re really not making this any easier for yourself.’
After Prussia leaves, Poland picks himself up of the floor. There’s really no excuse for his house to be like this. He’s going to clean it, he’s decided, the way he always did in the past when there was something he didn’t want in it. And if that something keeps coming back in, then he’ll just have to get rid of it again until it learns that he’s his own country. Regardless of the aching bones and the pain in his chest, regardless of the fact this could be his last battle, he’s going to keep fighting until his last breath.
historical notes:
This takes place sometime in the early 1940s, after Hungary joined the axis.
The Battle of Grunwald- fought on 15 July 1410. The alliance of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania defeated the Teutonic knights. Most of their leadership were killed or taken prisoner.
When they talk about taking each other's land, they're talking about the Partitions of Poland and Prussian territory ceded to Poland in the Treaty of Versailles
Ugh, I actually changed the ending three times. I'm still not happy with it, but it'll do~
Content: Mild violence. PWP. There's no actual penetrative sex but if there were, Poland would totally top.
‘You were totally better as my Duchy.’
Prussia snarls and lashes out, and Poland ducks, but his reflexes are slow these days and Prussia’s hand cuffs him round the side of the head. It’s not a hard blow, but it’s enough to overbalance him and he ends up sprawled on the once-pristine floor of his home.
‘Shut up, Poland. God, I can’t deal with your shit now.’ Prussia runs a hand through his hair and sighs as Poland sits up.
‘Yeah, cause it’s you who’s the victim here-’
‘Occupied nations should learn their place,’ says Prussia, but the usual bite his words have is missing, replaced with a weariness which is strange to see on his face. He crouches down and pats Poland’s pockets, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. He fumbles with the lighter for a moment and Poland sniggers.
‘Hey, don’t you, like, have your own? Pretty sure you’re not supposed to be relying on me for stuff. Unless you totally enjoyed being my bitch that much, Prusy Królewskie.’ Not his best retort, Poland’s willing to admit, but he gets tired so easily these days and looking at Prussia’s face is like, totally not helping.
‘Why don’t you ever learn to shut up?’
‘I’ll learn to shut up when you, like, stop being such a bastard who thinks he can control everyone else. You don’t even have a country yourself anymore. You’re like, your brother’s little lapdog these days, and your totally uncool boss is from Austria. Remember that?’
Prussia’s face scrunches up in anger and he reaches down to grab at Poland’s wrists, seeming surprised when he feels how thin they are.
‘Hey, ouch. I’m not a cigarette tray, Prusy, get off.’
Prussia drops Poland’s wrists and holds his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Your fault. And your stupid skin put my cigarette out.’ He flicks the butt onto the floor.
Normally Poland would complain at someone ruining his fabulous floor -hand-laid, it took him and Liet (well, mostly Liet) weeks to do back when they were still talking- but it’s filthy already and he doesn’t see the point. Speaking of filth…
‘Is there, like, a point to you being here other than to pollute my house with your ugly face?’’
Prussia doesn’t reply, absentmindedly brushing down the front of his uniform, which reminds Poland he’s still sitting on the dirty floor. His uniform may not be the most fabulous piece of clothing that he’s ever owned, but it’s his. It’s Polish, and he still has it. It still means something and he should totally not be disrespecting it by getting it dirty like this.
He attempts to stand, but suddenly he’s swaying on his feet and Prussia’s looking at him with mild concern, which would totally make Poland snigger if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on not falling over.
Prussia takes his elbow, and Poland bats him away: ‘Get off, Prusy; I’m not, like, a damsel in distress or whatever.’
Prussia looks vaguely insulted. ‘Yeah, whatever, Poland. Stop deluding yourself into thinking I care about you. I would totally kick your ass like back in the old days if I thought you could take it.’
Poland snorts. ‘Hello, earth to Prusy. It was, like, me and Liet kicking your ass back then and you know it.’
They’ve been unconsciously leaning closer to one another throughout this conversation, Poland realises when their noses brush. It’s a strange feeling, and Poland’s heart starts beating faster (he puts it down to adrenaline) but neither of them pulls away.
‘Yeah, well, where’s your precious Liet now?’ Prussia sneers. ‘Shouldn’t have tried to steal his capital, should you?’
‘It was mine!’ Poland hisses through clenched teeth. ‘Back before you, like, stole my land!’
‘And you took mine after the Great War. Eye for an eye, heh?’ Prussia sniggers and Poland has to fight the urge to hit him in the face.
‘I’m surprised you read the Bible anymore, Protestant.’
‘Hey.’ Prussia looks mildly affronted. ‘I think you’re forgetting who it was that converted your little heathen kingdom.’
‘I was Christian in 966, before your stupid little order was ever created, Prusy. Are you like, actually that stupid?’
Prussia is silent for a few seconds. They’re still nose to nose, and Poland can taste Prussia’s breath, surprisingly sweet.
‘You forget,’ Prussia hisses, ‘I am still the one in control here.’
‘Please, as if you could ever control anything.’
‘I partitioned you, didn’t I?’
‘Yes,’ Poland snaps, ‘But I fixed that, didn’t I? I’m Poland; I can totally get over this! I-‘ His words are interrupted by a coughing fit, right in Prussia’s face.
Prussia leans back and wipes the saliva from his face. ‘Ew, not cool.’ He looks at his hand and sees the clear liquid tinged with red. Eyes widening, he looks back up at Poland.
Poland scowls and looks away. ‘I’m like, totally fine. I don’t need your help.’
Prussia looks vaguely lost and Poland can practically see the thoughts dancing like silver fish behind his eyes. Gilbert has never been very good at keeping his emotions to himself, joy and anger flitting across his face for all to see. Poland is much better at keeping his thoughts under wraps, at presenting a smile to the world.
He doesn’t have to prove anything to Prussia, he thinks, but he leans in and bites the other nation’s nose anyway.
Prussia looks up at him, bemused, and Poland scrunches his nose and hits Prussia across the face.
‘What the fuck, Poland?’ Prussia screeches, and Poland always finds it funny how his voice rises a couple of octaves when surprised, but then Prussia’s swinging back at him, and it’s a fight now, one that’s making Poland forget how his bones ache and how his children are dying and how he coughs up blood at the most inopportune moments, really.
Prussia’s fist makes contact with his face, but Poland darts round and give a kick to the back of Prussia’s kneecaps and an elbow to the back of his neck and then Prussia’s the one on the floor.
Poland smirks at him. ‘Doesn’t it like, totally remind you of Grunwald?’
Prussia wipes his bloody nose and is silent. This war’s affected him too, Poland realises, for all his talk of being in control. Neither of them are the ones pulling the shots in this war anymore, and although Poland knew that in an abstract way, it sinks in at that moment just how different everything is these days. Prussia takes advantage of his sudden motionlessness to grab his legs from behind and then they’re both on the floor, rolling and throwing punches.
Poland grabs Prussia’s hair and pulls- Prussia yanks his head back and accidentally bangs it on the floor and Poland is left with a handful of silvery strands.
‘Ow, fuck, Poland, I think my scalp is bleeding, you fight like a girl.’
‘I don’t think Hungary would be very, like, happy to hear that.’
‘She’s on my side now,’ Prussia says, ‘not yours.’
‘It’s not your side,’ Poland retorts, and that’s enough to start their fight again, punching and kicking, both fighting as dirty as they know how, adrenaline the only thing keeping Poland going.
Neither is really surprised when Prussia swoops in for an open-mouthed kiss, teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. Warfare used to be like this, one-on-one with the enemy, Poland thinks, always knowing who it was you were fighting, with perhaps a greater intimacy possible than any alliance ever made in peacetime.
‘Fuck,’ Prussia swears into his mouth, and they’re both half-hard now, on the floor of Poland’s ruined hallway, still rolling in the dirt, and Prussia’s fumbling with Poland’s uniform trousers, making Poland hiss and buck up into the other’s hand.
His cock springs free, and Poland grinds against Prussia’s still clothed erection, grinning when Prussia moans and finally pulls his own trousers down.
Prussia takes himself in hand, stroking, and Poland watches his face shift and change, eyes closing and mouth opening in a silent gasp. He’s not been forgotten, and Prussia grips both their cocks in one hand and twists just so, and hey, he’s gotten much better since the 15th century, Poland thinks.
In only a few minutes, they’re both panting where they sit, Prussia’s strokes more and more erratic, both their hips jerking uncontrollably until Poland leans up, licking across Prussia’s cheek and biting his lower lip, drawing blood.
‘Hey, what was that fo- fuck, Poland,’ Prussia gasps, as his grip on them loosens and Poland takes over, playing with his slit, then squeezing them both together again, pumping with more speed and precision, in a new rhythm designed to make them both swear silently under their breath, neither wanting to show any weakness before the other.
They both lean for a kiss at the exact same moment, continuing their previous fight with teeth and tongues, with the taste of iron and gunpowder in their mouths, neither willing to give into the other, their cocks pulsing in Poland’s hand heavily, hot even despite the lack of heating in the house.
Prussia licks along the edge of Poland’s ear, nibbling as he does so, and the surprise causes Poland to gasp and shift his grip. Prussia swears and bites down on the pale shell of Poland’s ear, blood running into his mouth.
Both are gasping now, the sensations too much as Prussia leans down and licks across the tip, and Poland is so close, his cock pulsing and tightness in the bottom of his stomach and when Prussia dips his tongue into the slit he can’t take it anymore, and comes on Prussia’s face, continuing to jerk them both.
Prussia moans when Poland’s come hits his face, the warmth sliding down his cheek and into his mouth, the smell and the taste causing him to go over the edge and spill his seed on Poland’s hand.
They lie still on the floor for a few moments, recovering, then Poland snorts and nudges Prussia.
‘I totally won.’
‘What are you talking about,’ Prussia huffs. ‘You came first.’
‘Yeah, but you were totally my bitch. Just like always.’
Prussia snorts. ‘We could still flatten you, Poland. Don’t forget that.’
‘Yeah, but, like, then who would you get to come on your face?’
Prussia’s eyes darken, and he pulls Poland closer to him, grabbing a chunk of Poland’s hair and using it to wipe his face.
‘Poland is a Nazi occupied country. You’re really not making this any easier for yourself.’
After Prussia leaves, Poland picks himself up of the floor. There’s really no excuse for his house to be like this. He’s going to clean it, he’s decided, the way he always did in the past when there was something he didn’t want in it. And if that something keeps coming back in, then he’ll just have to get rid of it again until it learns that he’s his own country. Regardless of the aching bones and the pain in his chest, regardless of the fact this could be his last battle, he’s going to keep fighting until his last breath.
historical notes:
This takes place sometime in the early 1940s, after Hungary joined the axis.
The Battle of Grunwald- fought on 15 July 1410. The alliance of the Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania defeated the Teutonic knights. Most of their leadership were killed or taken prisoner.
When they talk about taking each other's land, they're talking about the Partitions of Poland and Prussian territory ceded to Poland in the Treaty of Versailles
Ugh, I actually changed the ending three times. I'm still not happy with it, but it'll do~