Russia/Prussia/Germany 2/2
anonymous
February 21 2010, 03:19:53 UTC
America had been an jerk, his head full of communist conspiracy theories and his mouth full of accusations against France's and England's too liberal ways. Germany had went back to the USSR's house. He had prepared himself to beg.
"Here you are, West Germany."
Russia's happy voice was even icier than the air in this house. Lithuania had locked the door behind him and the blond could feel the small nation's self-hatred through the wood. He was stuck in here. The communist had planned this.
"What do you think you're doing ?" Germany said.
As far as he knew, the other nation was just trying to intimidate him. America was a bastard, but he wouldn't let him harm the western part of Germany. It was for his own interests.
"Hush! You do not want to wake him up, right ?"
The Russian was sitting on the bed, petting strands of grey coloured hair spiking out of the sheets. Panic grew in his stomach as he recognised his brother's frame on the mattress of the Soviet's bed. The damned smile was still on his face.
"West ?"
Prussia's eyes shot open. He got up, not even reacting as Russia's arm closed around his waist. His torso was covered with scars, new ones he clearly hadn't gotten on a battlefield.
Germany froze. What did Russia do to him ?
"West, what are you doing here ?" "I -"
I'm sorry ? I can't get you out of here ? I failed to help you, once again ? The blond did not finish his sentence. He watched Russia's lips as they brushed the albino's neck.
"He wants to take you away from me. That's the reason why he's here," the taller nation breathed against the exposed skin, making his brother wince. "You do not want that to happen, don't you, my beloved East ?"
No answer came out of his mouth. His red, once fierce and proud eyes refused to meet his brother's blue ones.
Germany's hands clutched the doorknob. He just wanted to get out.
"West Germany, are you planning on quitting us ?" the Soviet asked. "You know it's locked."
Russia smiled in his own cat-like manner. His gloved fingers touched the scars and the Prussian trembled. He did not stop him.
"Brother..." the blond said, trying to ignore the way the other's whole body begged for the tall man's touch. "Just tell me this isn't real."
The hands moved down, slowly, and Prussia bit his lips. The Russian's smile grew wider.
"It is, West Germany," he responded, the nation almost panting under his caresses. "East, tell your brother who you belong to."
Germany didn't flinch. This wasn't real. The former empire, his eyes half-lidded, only gave him an broken smile.
"I'm sorry, West."
***
Every year, Russia sent him tapes. They arrived by the mail, in a brown envelope. They showed Prussia (no, East, because that was the name Russia moaned every time) and for barely forty years, that was the only news he ever got from the other side of the wall.
Germany did not watch them, did not felt aroused as his own beautiful brother spread his legs like a whore. He did not hate himself for doing so. Pavlov wasn't Russian for nothing.
"Here you are, West Germany."
Russia's happy voice was even icier than the air in this house. Lithuania had locked the door behind him and the blond could feel the small nation's self-hatred through the wood. He was stuck in here. The communist had planned this.
"What do you think you're doing ?" Germany said.
As far as he knew, the other nation was just trying to intimidate him. America was a bastard, but he wouldn't let him harm the western part of Germany. It was for his own interests.
"Hush! You do not want to wake him up, right ?"
The Russian was sitting on the bed, petting strands of grey coloured hair spiking out of the sheets. Panic grew in his stomach as he recognised his brother's frame on the mattress of the Soviet's bed. The damned smile was still on his face.
"West ?"
Prussia's eyes shot open. He got up, not even reacting as Russia's arm closed around his waist. His torso was covered with scars, new ones he clearly hadn't gotten on a battlefield.
Germany froze. What did Russia do to him ?
"West, what are you doing here ?"
"I -"
I'm sorry ? I can't get you out of here ? I failed to help you, once again ? The blond did not finish his sentence. He watched Russia's lips as they brushed the albino's neck.
"He wants to take you away from me. That's the reason why he's here," the taller nation breathed against the exposed skin, making his brother wince. "You do not want that to happen, don't you, my beloved East ?"
No answer came out of his mouth. His red, once fierce and proud eyes refused to meet his brother's blue ones.
Germany's hands clutched the doorknob. He just wanted to get out.
"West Germany, are you planning on quitting us ?" the Soviet asked. "You know it's locked."
Russia smiled in his own cat-like manner. His gloved fingers touched the scars and the Prussian trembled. He did not stop him.
"Brother..." the blond said, trying to ignore the way the other's whole body begged for the tall man's touch. "Just tell me this isn't real."
The hands moved down, slowly, and Prussia bit his lips. The Russian's smile grew wider.
"It is, West Germany," he responded, the nation almost panting under his caresses. "East, tell your brother who you belong to."
Germany didn't flinch. This wasn't real. The former empire, his eyes half-lidded, only gave him an broken smile.
"I'm sorry, West."
***
Every year, Russia sent him tapes. They arrived by the mail, in a brown envelope. They showed Prussia (no, East, because that was the name Russia moaned every time) and for barely forty years, that was the only news he ever got from the other side of the wall.
Germany did not watch them, did not felt aroused as his own beautiful brother spread his legs like a whore. He did not hate himself for doing so. Pavlov wasn't Russian for nothing.
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