Right, so then op!anon got a plot bunny. ^_^;;;;; And is convinced Gil has epic denial issues. Really, it's amazing he never invaded Egypt, given how much time he spends down there.
--- His head hurts.
Prussia slumps unceremoniously on his (okay his brother’s) couch and sighs, pressing an ice pack to his head. Maybe antagonizing Hungary while she was cooking hadn’t been such a good idea, but the cookies were worth it. Prussia grins.
God she’s always been beautiful when she’s angry. The thought of it sparks the heat that’s been building in him since she rounded on him in her kitchen. It reminds him of the days when they used to fight, to really fight, in the midst of the angry battlefield and he groans.
He could imagine her in his mind, her wild hair tangled in the wind, blood streaking her face, her hair, her body, that wild, terrifying grin, and her eyes dark with battle-lust and heady with adrenaline. He palms himself roughly through the thick fabric of his pants, stirring his growing erection, imagining that fury was all his. She wouldn't be gentle, and he doesn’t want her to be. It isn’t her kindness he wants, it was her passion, her righteous, furious passion as she conquers him. He can imagine her fierce kisses, and he bit his own lip, enjoying the sting he knew she would leave behind. He can imagine her nails on his chest as he scraped his own down it, leaving raised red scratches in the pale skin and he gasps, feeling himself harden further under her(his) grasp.
She would toy with him, he imagines. He toyed with her so often in the past, toyed with what she cared for, toyed with what she loved, and he knew she wouldn't be merciful. He rubs himself furiously, the image of her doing the same, rubbing him quickly to the brink, painfully clear in his mind. She would drive him to the very edge and then stop, or maybe she would release him from the confines of his pants (he does so, and god does it feel good) only to clamp her hand around the base of his cock and refuse him any sort of release. God she would make him whimper and writhe and she would love it.
---
His head hurts.
Prussia slumps unceremoniously on his (okay his brother’s) couch and sighs, pressing an ice pack to his head. Maybe antagonizing Hungary while she was cooking hadn’t been such a good idea, but the cookies were worth it. Prussia grins.
God she’s always been beautiful when she’s angry. The thought of it sparks the heat that’s been building in him since she rounded on him in her kitchen. It reminds him of the days when they used to fight, to really fight, in the midst of the angry battlefield and he groans.
He could imagine her in his mind, her wild hair tangled in the wind, blood streaking her face, her hair, her body, that wild, terrifying grin, and her eyes dark with battle-lust and heady with adrenaline. He palms himself roughly through the thick fabric of his pants, stirring his growing erection, imagining that fury was all his. She wouldn't be gentle, and he doesn’t want her to be. It isn’t her kindness he wants, it was her passion, her righteous, furious passion as she conquers him. He can imagine her fierce kisses, and he bit his own lip, enjoying the sting he knew she would leave behind. He can imagine her nails on his chest as he scraped his own down it, leaving raised red scratches in the pale skin and he gasps, feeling himself harden further under her(his) grasp.
She would toy with him, he imagines. He toyed with her so often in the past, toyed with what she cared for, toyed with what she loved, and he knew she wouldn't be merciful. He rubs himself furiously, the image of her doing the same, rubbing him quickly to the brink, painfully clear in his mind. She would drive him to the very edge and then stop, or maybe she would release him from the confines of his pants (he does so, and god does it feel good) only to clamp her hand around the base of his cock and refuse him any sort of release. God she would make him whimper and writhe and she would love it.
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