APH: Sucker Love (Part 3)
Title: Sucker Love (Part 3)
Author: me!
Rating: R
Characters: Prussia, Canada
Summary: for prompt #47, "every you, every me". Prussia thinks this can't be for real; Canada is scared it is.
Notes: loosely based on Placebo's, "Every You Every Me".
Warnings: excessive swearing (sorry guys), hinted onesided Can/Am. Pussy-Prussia, violence.
Part two here!
Prussia won't admit he's worried about Canada, because he's not. It's just weird - he expects the North American brothers to be the less jaded of the countries, prone to excess and energy but certainly not as fucked up as the old men of Europe. And he certainly doesn't expect Canada to be harbouring a secret sado-masochistic fetish that coincides with intense internal anger. What happened to the shy doormat France likes to tell him about? As Canada takes a swing at Prussia's face, the ex-nation blocks his fist, counters with a hit to the gut; wheezing, Canada goes down. Prussia shoves him face down onto the living room floor.
"C'mon kid, I'm the mother-fucking Prussian empire." he crows triumphantly, shoving his toe under Canada's stomach and flipping him over. "You'll have to do better than that!"
"Were." Canada corrects with a wince, that same shit-eating grin crawling over his features. "You were the mother-fucking Prussian empire."
Prussia kicks him in the face. Canada howls, twists on the floor as Prussia circles him, chuckling.
"You're a real piece of work, you little shit." he says conversationally as Canada struggles for breath - Prussia can see the blond's erection, heavy against the front of his jeans. "You act like a little fucking angel everywhere else you go, you practically shit rainbows, but now here you are in your very own Fight Club. Why can't you use these moves on your retard brother, huh?"
If it had been anyone else, Prussia would have missed the tenseness in Canada's jaw, the way the kid stilled, hand over his face to stop up his bleeding nose.
"What, you like being his passive little bitch?" Prussia half-jokes, and quiets when there is no answer. "Oh, seriously? You've got all this anger, you don't take it out on him? Unless...you really do like it?"
"Prussia, shut up." Canada mumbles, voice decreasing in volume.
"Aw," giddy with anger and amusement (and maybe a little annoyance because who the fuck looks happy when his brother is walking all over him??), Prussia talks over him. "Lookit that, you're your brother's favourite doormat. Congratulations Matt, I bet you must be real proud. Bet you get a thrill out of that, huh?"
"Shut up." Canada's voice is barely a whisper now and Prussia never stops to think that maybe these fights are Canada's way of crying out for something besides long, lonely World Meetings and the awful feeling of not having a voice.
"Hell, I bet you keep wishing he'll stop and notice you." Prussia's eyes catch a framed photo of the brothers on the mantle, America's arm around Canada, the northern nation's face tilted up with a poorly concealed look of adoration.
"Or," Prussia presses his foot down on Canada's stomach as the blond attempts to struggle away, "I bet you want to get up the courage to ask him to do this with you. Hm? Bet you've wished it was his cock in your - "
Canada lashes out, kicks Prussia's knee out sideways and the ex-nation falls in a flurry of swears. Almost immediately Canada is straddling his torso, face red with shame and eyes bright.
"Shut up." he hisses through clenched teeth, punching Prussia in the face. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" each outburst is spaced with a punch and Prussia's vision temporarily goes blurry. Canada's punches slow until he is merely perched on top of Prussia, breathing heavily.
"You don't know anything." Canada says, voice thick. "You - you have no fucking idea what I have to deal with, so just shut up - "
Prussia moans, licks up the blood that has bloomed from his nostrils, snatches Canada by his sweaty, tangled hair, and drags him down for a kiss. He is hard and ready, but Canada is unresponsive against his mouth, hands limp at his sides. Prussia rolls them over, splays Canada out on the floor - the kid's eyes are still angry and wet, and Prussia leans down to gently bite the bridge of his nose.
"Kid, that was so hot." he purrs. "C'mon, let's fuck."
Canada makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat, and lifts his arms to allow Prussia to peel off his shirt, examine with delight the dark bruises that litter his neck and chest from his months of handiwork. He pins Canada's wrists to the floor with ease, admiring the stretched, taut body beneath him.
Prussia slips into Canada easily, ignoring the unusual tenseness in Canada's muscles, something other than pain or anger. He is halfway to a very satisfying orgasm when he looks down and chances a glance at Canada's face.
The younger nation is not responding; his head is to the side, eyes clenched shut, eyelashes wet. Between their bodies, his erection has gone soft. Major warning.
Prussia, though his body screams at him to continue, reluctantly lets go of Canada's wrists. The kid slowly relaxes his face, opens his eyes. He looks absolutely miserable, Prussia realizes, and he wonders when that happened. Hardly believing himself he pulls out, erection dripping, and crouches there, waiting.
"Get out." Canada says, quietly. Prussia stares.
"What?" he asks, unsure, giving a loud, nervous laugh. "Kid, what did I say? C'mon, I was just messing with you."
"Get out, Prussia." Canada repeats, refusing to look at him. "We're done for today."
When Prussia finally manages to dazedly stumble to his feet, dress, and tie his jacket round his waist to hide the remnants of his erection, Canada is still sitting naked on his living room floor, a little calmer but eyes unfocused, staring in the direction of the mantle.
Prussia pauses, looks over, as if staring at the kid would help change his mind.
"Look Canada, I - "
"Goodbye, Prussia." Canada's voice is airy but Prussia wisely takes that as his exit cue.
--
The rule is that Canada calls Prussia, and never the other way around. Usually Canada calls twice, maybe three times a month; never less and usually never more.
It has been two months and Prussia is irritable. He keeps his phone in his pocket and denies the fact that he checks it every hour. Or every half hour. Same difference.
Germany watches Prussia out of the corner of his eye now, something he was prone to do prior to Prussia and Canada's meetings, looking for all the world like Prussia is about to throw himself over the stove or jump out a window.
"Brother," Germany says one day, when they are both driving home from grocery shopping. "Maybe you should take another vacation."
"What?" Prussia snaps, turning from the window. Germany doesn't even flinch.
"When you were taking those trips to...ah..." Germany searches for the name, on the tip of his tongue, and for once Prussia doesn't offer it up. "...wherever you were going, you were much happier. You didn't complain. I was worried about you, before. Maybe you should take another trip?"
"Fuck you." Prussia snarls, violently turning back to the window, and takes out his phone to check it again.
"Language." Germany reminds him, and swiftly blocks when Prussia attempts to chuck his phone at his little brother's head.
For all of Germany's well-meaning if slightly irritating speech, Prussia figures what he needs is some confrontation. What he figures is, he'll go to Canada's house, and he'll either give the kid a piece of his mind for making him walk out unfinished last time, or they'll fuck. Personally Prussia is hoping for the latter, but beggars can't be choosers (he is a bit miffed that Canada had the audacity to tell him to get out, much less that he actually listened. If that had happened during his reign as an empire, the kid would've been appropriately fucked until Prussia was done, and then Prussia would've probably stolen his TV on top of everything. He was, unfortunately, a little out of practice).
So that's really why he found himself in front of Canada's door. Not because he missed the kid, or the fucks, or really the whole satisfied feeling he got when he remembered he was the only one who ever got to touch that body - because he was mother fucking Prussia and no half-assed, barely born country was going to tell him to get out without some serious consequences.
When Canada opens the door, he is half-turned back towards the hallway, laughing at something - when he sees that it's Prussia, his genuine smile drops immediately, and his eyes go wide. Then they narrow.
"Prussia." he says, with forced cordiality. "I didn't call you."
"Nope." Prussia says, and shoves past Canada into his house. "Is this a bad time? Cause we need to talk..."
"This is a bad time!" Canada has gotten hold of Prussia's jacket and is now pulling him backwards, back towards the door. One glance at his face and Prussia can tell the kid is inwardly panicking.
"Yo, I know you're just dyin' to take my clothes off," Prussia says slyly as he allow himself to be pulled towards the blond. "But you and I have some really important things to discuss..."
"Matt, who is it?" someone calls from the living room, and Prussia stops, one hand on Canada's elbow, ready to pry him from his (really expensive) jacket.
America peers around the corner. "What the hell?" he demands. "Why's that guy here?"
A smile slides across Prussia's face. Canada suddenly looks a million times more nervous.
"No reason," he mumbles, a shy, sweet little thing again, "He was just leaving - right, Prussia??"
Prussia ignores him. "Oi, farm boy, I was actually just about to have a talk with your brother. If you're interested in knowing what he's been up to the past couple months, though, stick around!"
Canada is bright red, something Prussia feels proud of. America is staring incredulously at his brother.
Finally, Canada lets go of Prussia's jacket and says, in a small voice, "It's okay, Alfie. Can you go into the kitchen? I need to talk to Prussia for a second."
Warily, America gives Prussia one more suspicious look, but obediently retreats farther into the house.
Feeling quite triumphant, Prussia turns back to Canada, proudly. "So, anyways, as I was saying - "
Canada strikes him across the face, loose fist colliding with his cheek bone. The force of the hit makes Prussia twist from his torso, spluttering with indignation (and maybe a little bit of pain because damn if anyone tried to say the kid didn't have any strength).
Canada is breathing heavily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands, face red. "Are you trying to humiliate me in front of my brother?? I thought we agreed - nothing personal. No family involved. How would you feel if I came over to your house and started acting like that in front of your brother?!"
"Shit!" Prussia hisses, touching his face. "You didn't have to hit me, you little fag! Overreacting, much?"
"Don't you dare call me a fag." Canada snaps. "You don't have any right."
"Yeah? Here I come over to talk to you, real gentleman-like, and instead you punch me? How did I know you were busy sucking up to your brother?"
"What is with you and my brother?" Canada demands, voice barely above a harsh whisper, conscious of his guest. "What do you have against him that makes you say these awful things?"
"Because..." Prussia stops. Canada looks at him, really looks at him, and he looks so tired and upset and angry that it makes Prussia want to punch him in the face. Prussia rolls his eyes, squashes down something inside him that offers, Yeah, look, this was sort of your fault...
"Look, I'm just trying to understand why you're doing all this...with me."
"Understand?" Canada repeats, incredulously. "Why do you need to understand? I asked you if you would do this and you said yes. There's nothing to understand." When Prussia is silent, Canada presses, "What, you would prefer I paid you...?"
"Hell no!" Prussia spits. "I ain't no whore!"
Canada motions for him to shut up - there is brief, sudden movement in the kitchen. Prussia wonders how much America can hear.
"Then what does it matter to you?" Canada continues. "Why do you care so much?"
Prussia grits his teeth. "I don't care, okay?" he snaps. "Christ, I just want to get back into routine, okay? If you're not going to call me then at least let me know you'll be away for a while, so I don't have to suffer fucking blue balls while you're out doing whatever the hell you do. Okay?"
Canada, startled, nods his head. "Okay." he agrees, adding, "Sorry."
Prussia rubs his forehead tiredly. "Yeah, yeah, you will be sorry." he mutters, then awkwardly reaches out to pat the kid on the shoulder. "Go snuggle with your brother or whatever the hell it is that you two do."
Canada manages a bewildered but grateful smile, but he makes no move to open the door for Prussia, who has to awkwardly maneuver himself out of Canada's house again.
After he is gone, America ventures out of the kitchen, absolutely puzzled. "Do you guys hang out?" he asks. Canada shrugs, reaches out to lightly tuck the tag on America's t-shirt back against his neck.
"It's...complicated." he replies. America laughs.
"Haha, yeah? Well, be careful, little bro." America wraps a jovial arm around his shoulder. Canada laughs.
"Not that little." he quips, the usual butterflies he gets when his brother touches him battering around inside him. Sighing, he tilts his head to rest against America's arm. The knuckles of his fist ache. The butterflies recede.
--
A week later, Prussia's cell rings.
"Want to 'watch a movie'?" Canada asks, quietly. Prussia can't help the grin that breaks out across his face.
Author: me!
Rating: R
Characters: Prussia, Canada
Summary: for prompt #47, "every you, every me". Prussia thinks this can't be for real; Canada is scared it is.
Notes: loosely based on Placebo's, "Every You Every Me".
Warnings: excessive swearing (sorry guys), hinted onesided Can/Am. Pussy-Prussia, violence.
Part two here!
Prussia won't admit he's worried about Canada, because he's not. It's just weird - he expects the North American brothers to be the less jaded of the countries, prone to excess and energy but certainly not as fucked up as the old men of Europe. And he certainly doesn't expect Canada to be harbouring a secret sado-masochistic fetish that coincides with intense internal anger. What happened to the shy doormat France likes to tell him about? As Canada takes a swing at Prussia's face, the ex-nation blocks his fist, counters with a hit to the gut; wheezing, Canada goes down. Prussia shoves him face down onto the living room floor.
"C'mon kid, I'm the mother-fucking Prussian empire." he crows triumphantly, shoving his toe under Canada's stomach and flipping him over. "You'll have to do better than that!"
"Were." Canada corrects with a wince, that same shit-eating grin crawling over his features. "You were the mother-fucking Prussian empire."
Prussia kicks him in the face. Canada howls, twists on the floor as Prussia circles him, chuckling.
"You're a real piece of work, you little shit." he says conversationally as Canada struggles for breath - Prussia can see the blond's erection, heavy against the front of his jeans. "You act like a little fucking angel everywhere else you go, you practically shit rainbows, but now here you are in your very own Fight Club. Why can't you use these moves on your retard brother, huh?"
If it had been anyone else, Prussia would have missed the tenseness in Canada's jaw, the way the kid stilled, hand over his face to stop up his bleeding nose.
"What, you like being his passive little bitch?" Prussia half-jokes, and quiets when there is no answer. "Oh, seriously? You've got all this anger, you don't take it out on him? Unless...you really do like it?"
"Prussia, shut up." Canada mumbles, voice decreasing in volume.
"Aw," giddy with anger and amusement (and maybe a little annoyance because who the fuck looks happy when his brother is walking all over him??), Prussia talks over him. "Lookit that, you're your brother's favourite doormat. Congratulations Matt, I bet you must be real proud. Bet you get a thrill out of that, huh?"
"Shut up." Canada's voice is barely a whisper now and Prussia never stops to think that maybe these fights are Canada's way of crying out for something besides long, lonely World Meetings and the awful feeling of not having a voice.
"Hell, I bet you keep wishing he'll stop and notice you." Prussia's eyes catch a framed photo of the brothers on the mantle, America's arm around Canada, the northern nation's face tilted up with a poorly concealed look of adoration.
"Or," Prussia presses his foot down on Canada's stomach as the blond attempts to struggle away, "I bet you want to get up the courage to ask him to do this with you. Hm? Bet you've wished it was his cock in your - "
Canada lashes out, kicks Prussia's knee out sideways and the ex-nation falls in a flurry of swears. Almost immediately Canada is straddling his torso, face red with shame and eyes bright.
"Shut up." he hisses through clenched teeth, punching Prussia in the face. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" each outburst is spaced with a punch and Prussia's vision temporarily goes blurry. Canada's punches slow until he is merely perched on top of Prussia, breathing heavily.
"You don't know anything." Canada says, voice thick. "You - you have no fucking idea what I have to deal with, so just shut up - "
Prussia moans, licks up the blood that has bloomed from his nostrils, snatches Canada by his sweaty, tangled hair, and drags him down for a kiss. He is hard and ready, but Canada is unresponsive against his mouth, hands limp at his sides. Prussia rolls them over, splays Canada out on the floor - the kid's eyes are still angry and wet, and Prussia leans down to gently bite the bridge of his nose.
"Kid, that was so hot." he purrs. "C'mon, let's fuck."
Canada makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat, and lifts his arms to allow Prussia to peel off his shirt, examine with delight the dark bruises that litter his neck and chest from his months of handiwork. He pins Canada's wrists to the floor with ease, admiring the stretched, taut body beneath him.
Prussia slips into Canada easily, ignoring the unusual tenseness in Canada's muscles, something other than pain or anger. He is halfway to a very satisfying orgasm when he looks down and chances a glance at Canada's face.
The younger nation is not responding; his head is to the side, eyes clenched shut, eyelashes wet. Between their bodies, his erection has gone soft. Major warning.
Prussia, though his body screams at him to continue, reluctantly lets go of Canada's wrists. The kid slowly relaxes his face, opens his eyes. He looks absolutely miserable, Prussia realizes, and he wonders when that happened. Hardly believing himself he pulls out, erection dripping, and crouches there, waiting.
"Get out." Canada says, quietly. Prussia stares.
"What?" he asks, unsure, giving a loud, nervous laugh. "Kid, what did I say? C'mon, I was just messing with you."
"Get out, Prussia." Canada repeats, refusing to look at him. "We're done for today."
When Prussia finally manages to dazedly stumble to his feet, dress, and tie his jacket round his waist to hide the remnants of his erection, Canada is still sitting naked on his living room floor, a little calmer but eyes unfocused, staring in the direction of the mantle.
Prussia pauses, looks over, as if staring at the kid would help change his mind.
"Look Canada, I - "
"Goodbye, Prussia." Canada's voice is airy but Prussia wisely takes that as his exit cue.
--
The rule is that Canada calls Prussia, and never the other way around. Usually Canada calls twice, maybe three times a month; never less and usually never more.
It has been two months and Prussia is irritable. He keeps his phone in his pocket and denies the fact that he checks it every hour. Or every half hour. Same difference.
Germany watches Prussia out of the corner of his eye now, something he was prone to do prior to Prussia and Canada's meetings, looking for all the world like Prussia is about to throw himself over the stove or jump out a window.
"Brother," Germany says one day, when they are both driving home from grocery shopping. "Maybe you should take another vacation."
"What?" Prussia snaps, turning from the window. Germany doesn't even flinch.
"When you were taking those trips to...ah..." Germany searches for the name, on the tip of his tongue, and for once Prussia doesn't offer it up. "...wherever you were going, you were much happier. You didn't complain. I was worried about you, before. Maybe you should take another trip?"
"Fuck you." Prussia snarls, violently turning back to the window, and takes out his phone to check it again.
"Language." Germany reminds him, and swiftly blocks when Prussia attempts to chuck his phone at his little brother's head.
For all of Germany's well-meaning if slightly irritating speech, Prussia figures what he needs is some confrontation. What he figures is, he'll go to Canada's house, and he'll either give the kid a piece of his mind for making him walk out unfinished last time, or they'll fuck. Personally Prussia is hoping for the latter, but beggars can't be choosers (he is a bit miffed that Canada had the audacity to tell him to get out, much less that he actually listened. If that had happened during his reign as an empire, the kid would've been appropriately fucked until Prussia was done, and then Prussia would've probably stolen his TV on top of everything. He was, unfortunately, a little out of practice).
So that's really why he found himself in front of Canada's door. Not because he missed the kid, or the fucks, or really the whole satisfied feeling he got when he remembered he was the only one who ever got to touch that body - because he was mother fucking Prussia and no half-assed, barely born country was going to tell him to get out without some serious consequences.
When Canada opens the door, he is half-turned back towards the hallway, laughing at something - when he sees that it's Prussia, his genuine smile drops immediately, and his eyes go wide. Then they narrow.
"Prussia." he says, with forced cordiality. "I didn't call you."
"Nope." Prussia says, and shoves past Canada into his house. "Is this a bad time? Cause we need to talk..."
"This is a bad time!" Canada has gotten hold of Prussia's jacket and is now pulling him backwards, back towards the door. One glance at his face and Prussia can tell the kid is inwardly panicking.
"Yo, I know you're just dyin' to take my clothes off," Prussia says slyly as he allow himself to be pulled towards the blond. "But you and I have some really important things to discuss..."
"Matt, who is it?" someone calls from the living room, and Prussia stops, one hand on Canada's elbow, ready to pry him from his (really expensive) jacket.
America peers around the corner. "What the hell?" he demands. "Why's that guy here?"
A smile slides across Prussia's face. Canada suddenly looks a million times more nervous.
"No reason," he mumbles, a shy, sweet little thing again, "He was just leaving - right, Prussia??"
Prussia ignores him. "Oi, farm boy, I was actually just about to have a talk with your brother. If you're interested in knowing what he's been up to the past couple months, though, stick around!"
Canada is bright red, something Prussia feels proud of. America is staring incredulously at his brother.
Finally, Canada lets go of Prussia's jacket and says, in a small voice, "It's okay, Alfie. Can you go into the kitchen? I need to talk to Prussia for a second."
Warily, America gives Prussia one more suspicious look, but obediently retreats farther into the house.
Feeling quite triumphant, Prussia turns back to Canada, proudly. "So, anyways, as I was saying - "
Canada strikes him across the face, loose fist colliding with his cheek bone. The force of the hit makes Prussia twist from his torso, spluttering with indignation (and maybe a little bit of pain because damn if anyone tried to say the kid didn't have any strength).
Canada is breathing heavily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands, face red. "Are you trying to humiliate me in front of my brother?? I thought we agreed - nothing personal. No family involved. How would you feel if I came over to your house and started acting like that in front of your brother?!"
"Shit!" Prussia hisses, touching his face. "You didn't have to hit me, you little fag! Overreacting, much?"
"Don't you dare call me a fag." Canada snaps. "You don't have any right."
"Yeah? Here I come over to talk to you, real gentleman-like, and instead you punch me? How did I know you were busy sucking up to your brother?"
"What is with you and my brother?" Canada demands, voice barely above a harsh whisper, conscious of his guest. "What do you have against him that makes you say these awful things?"
"Because..." Prussia stops. Canada looks at him, really looks at him, and he looks so tired and upset and angry that it makes Prussia want to punch him in the face. Prussia rolls his eyes, squashes down something inside him that offers, Yeah, look, this was sort of your fault...
"Look, I'm just trying to understand why you're doing all this...with me."
"Understand?" Canada repeats, incredulously. "Why do you need to understand? I asked you if you would do this and you said yes. There's nothing to understand." When Prussia is silent, Canada presses, "What, you would prefer I paid you...?"
"Hell no!" Prussia spits. "I ain't no whore!"
Canada motions for him to shut up - there is brief, sudden movement in the kitchen. Prussia wonders how much America can hear.
"Then what does it matter to you?" Canada continues. "Why do you care so much?"
Prussia grits his teeth. "I don't care, okay?" he snaps. "Christ, I just want to get back into routine, okay? If you're not going to call me then at least let me know you'll be away for a while, so I don't have to suffer fucking blue balls while you're out doing whatever the hell you do. Okay?"
Canada, startled, nods his head. "Okay." he agrees, adding, "Sorry."
Prussia rubs his forehead tiredly. "Yeah, yeah, you will be sorry." he mutters, then awkwardly reaches out to pat the kid on the shoulder. "Go snuggle with your brother or whatever the hell it is that you two do."
Canada manages a bewildered but grateful smile, but he makes no move to open the door for Prussia, who has to awkwardly maneuver himself out of Canada's house again.
After he is gone, America ventures out of the kitchen, absolutely puzzled. "Do you guys hang out?" he asks. Canada shrugs, reaches out to lightly tuck the tag on America's t-shirt back against his neck.
"It's...complicated." he replies. America laughs.
"Haha, yeah? Well, be careful, little bro." America wraps a jovial arm around his shoulder. Canada laughs.
"Not that little." he quips, the usual butterflies he gets when his brother touches him battering around inside him. Sighing, he tilts his head to rest against America's arm. The knuckles of his fist ache. The butterflies recede.
--
A week later, Prussia's cell rings.
"Want to 'watch a movie'?" Canada asks, quietly. Prussia can't help the grin that breaks out across his face.