I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 2/8
anonymous
June 14 2009, 21:51:26 UTC
But never mind that, Italy has made himself all pretty and wants praise for it - who wouldn't? - and Prussia isn't one to disappoint.
"Of course I like it. You look hot!"
Now Italy looks down at his toes and bites his lip and he's so damn adorable that Prussia just wants to fuck him trough the carpet right this moment.
Only... He throws a look at the clock and winces. The black hands move steadily forward, tick-tock, no time for play today.
While Prussia is generally pretty disinterested in rules, he knows how important this deal is for West and, hey, the environment? It's full of cute birds and bunnies and whatnot, so he's all for saving it too. Prussia did always prefer horses to cars anyway, except really cute little cars but those are coming back into vogue (just like he said, hah!) so that's all well and good.
"I guess I should go home then," Italy says, his hair-curl drooping slightly "if Germany and Prussia are busy. Maybe I can come back tonight?"
Yes, that would be for the best. The words are on Prussia's tongue, honestly, they are! Only at that moment Italy bends over to retrieve his clothes and then he turns around for his underpants, Prussia glimpses that sweet arse beneath the shirt and gnnh!
There's probably a jam at the highway at this time of the day anyway. Yeah.
Italy does not manage to evade (fair enough, it's hard to be awesome) when Prussia jumps him and they fall together, one with a squeak of fright and the other with a rather deranged grin on his face.
"Prussia?" Italy looks adorably confused beneath him and it's all he can do to keep the mad giggle back when his fingers touch the now silky-smooth balls and feels how Italy stiffens slightly beneath him.
"You know," Prussia whispers and fully enjoys the sudden tenseness of the body beneath him, "this is all Russia's fault."
"Ve?"
"Mmyep, I used to have loads more self-discipline before him and the other wankers messed everything up." Well, no, actually he didn't. But back then he had his own set of bosses to stop him, and West, bless his little macho-brain, really can't hold Prussia back.
"I don't understand, Prussia," Italy says and squirms temptingly beneath him. "But that feels, uhn, good."
"You betcha it does." When they lie like this, it's so very easy to lean in and just lick Italy's ear a little. It always makes his eyes go wide and soft, Prussia has discovered, and he likes that so much he just has to do it again. Yum. Sure Italy's food is decent, but nothing is as delicious as the moaning nation himself.
"I'm just letting you know," he whispers and lets his finger play over the smooth, lovely skin, feeling Italy's cock grow firmer in his hand, "that you can't really treat me like West..."
"No?"
"No." He lets his grip go a bit too firm while raising himself off the floor. Italy positively quakes beneath the red-eyed spirit of a dead nation and Prussia thinks his pants are going to explode any minute now.
"Because, you see, if you go waving that cute little ass in front of me..." Italy groans beneath him, fumbling fingers reaching to free Prussia's cock of their own volition. "And then show yourself off like this... You little slut, all primped and ready to fuck, what the hell did you want me to do, huh?"
He never finds out what Italy originally planned for them to do, because he finally manages to unbutton Prussia's trousers. Since he, despite West's please, still avoids underwear whenever possible, this means he is free to grind himself against Italy. So he does, very much enjoying the feeling of their cocks sliding against each other. When those lovely hands that look so deceptively soft and can be so mercilessly teasing come up and cradle his face, when Italy smiles blindingly at him, well the fact is that Prussia thinks he deserves a medal for even remembering that they are in a bit of a rush.
They kiss. Prussia attacks Italy with vigour, trying to match the movement of their lips to the frantic pace of their rutting. Only Italy meets him with slower, deeper kisses, mouth opening to take in his tongue and tempt it to remain in that soft place just a little longer. Again and again, until he lies on top of the Mediterranean nation and his head is spinning with lust.
I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 3/8
anonymous
June 14 2009, 21:52:42 UTC
"Prussia doesn't have to be in such a hurry," Italy murmurs against his lips. His hands play in Prussia's hair and the joy in his smile is endless like the ocean. A warm and welcoming ocean, far removed from the grey sea he remembers hitting upon his own borders.
Only, what was it now? Something clamours for his attention at the back of his head. It sounds suspiciously much like West demanding that they stop messing up his office so he ignores it completely. Instead, Prussia removes his hand from the lovely position between them and hugs the other close. They roll over until the surprised Italy finds himself on top and Prussia's hands are just moving down to grab that pert little ass he saw far too little of earlier, when he becomes aware of the uncomfortable paper... beneath his shoulder... Oh damn. Fucking crap and Stalinist five-year plans, the papers! The meeting!
"Ahh, shit, Italy! Hang on a moment."
Since Italy is currently nuzzling Prussia's cheek and humping against him, it takes a while for his protest to register. He looks curiously hurt and if that doesn't make his heart ache suspiciously he doesn't know what could.
"What's the matter?"
"Actually," we really shouldn't fuck now because I bet West will be here in less than half an hour, "we do have to hurry. Company's coming, remember?"
Italy thinks for a moment and Prussia figures that it's good thing that he's part of this unholy little trinity. Because, seriously, brawns and beauty the other two may have covered, but between his muscle-bound brother who is a slave to his rulebooks and Italy, who could make dimwitted into a fashion statement? They don't have brains for shit.
"Ohhh, right!" Italy nods as the memory penetrates his lust-fogged mind. "I'm sorry Prussia, you're right! We should hurry." Then his kisses return with renewed intensity and Prussia figures that now is a perfect moment to grab Italy's ass and, wouldn't you know? It's just as awesome as he imagined it.
It also, unfortunately, proves too good to be true when Italy yelps and squirms away from his searching fingers. "What is it now?" he asks, pressing himself against Italy with an ever-increasing urge to just fuck something. "We can't futz around too much."
"Vee," Italy whines and squirms more, "I don't want to go too fast, it hurts! And we don't have any lube either."
Prussia thumps his head against the carpet. Goddamn. Little. Cock-tease. "Why in the world did you come here without lube, idiot!"
"Sorry?"
He is thiiis close to start yelling at Italy and probably make the little wimp run away and cry to West later, when the church bells start ringing the hour. The sound, and the reminder they give Prussia about how limited their time is right now, gives his libido the strength to force down his temper. And, hey, Italy will be smooth and shaved tonight too, so he can fuck him then, right? If, and that's a big if, West lets him get to that pretty ass... But beggars can't be choosers and Prussia has decided that he will fuck and he will do it now, so he'll just have to adapt.
"Okay." From Italy's point of view, there's something almost scary about Prussia's sometimes lightning fast mood changes. Like now, when he stops stroking Italy in that nice, tingly way and instead abruptly rises and drags him up. At least he's stopped trying to poke him in the butt with unlubed fingers.
"This is what we'll do," Prussia tells him, "you, on the desk now!"
"Ehve?"
Germany's desk is large and old, like most of his furniture. Hand-made from oak, with a leather inlay with little gilded patterns on the edge and a multitude of drawers where Germany can sort his papers and desk utensils in exactly such perfect order as he wants them. Italy has always found it a little scary in all its oppressive orderliness, but Germany likes the bulky thing enough that he personally carted it from Berlin to Bonn and then back again. Never in his life would Italy dare to touch the millimetre-precision pattern of Germany's work items. Absolutely, under no circumstances whatsoever, would he suggest some kind of illicit activity to take place on the actual desk!
I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 4/8
anonymous
June 14 2009, 21:54:05 UTC
Prussia, however, lacks all such scruples. He sweeps the desk clear with one arm - papers go flying, pens scatter and the monthly calendar with photos of dogs jumps high into the air before it twirls down again, where it is crushed into a sad little heap beneath Prussia's bulky shoe.
Italy lands down on the desk with a loud smack of flesh against leather and he is on the verge of complaining again, when Prussia presses close, bends him backwards and proceeds to kiss his breath away.
"Soo," he drawls, "can you imagine what West would say if he saw you now?"
Italy pales and almost looks as if he wants to run away. Can't have that, nope. So while Prussia kicks off his boots and trousers, he keeps Italy pinned to the desk and proceeds to tell him exactly what he- er, West- would think about the gorgeous man lying spread like a feast.
"You look so lovely like this, Italy. Come on, smile for me? I know my brother, see, and he'd be all over your pretty, smooth cock."
"Really?"
"Ohh yeah... Spread your legs a little, hm?" When Italy seems less likely to flee in panic from an imaginary Germany's wrath, Prussia even dares to let go of his hands and start playing with his cock again, working it back to full hardness. It looks really good like this in Prussia's hand and he's never really noticed just what a lovely shape Italy's balls make when they go firm and heavy with arousal.
"It's like fucking in the car, I think," he muses, "You know you're really not supposed to, so it becomes twice as fun." They did that last week, actually. Despite Italy setting off the horn by mistake and Germany almost kicking the parking brake loose, it was very entertaining. Since then, Germany has also for some reason he refuses to reveal dug up his magazines with vintage cars (not that they were vintage when those magazines were printed) and Prussia has found dog-ears at the pages with the big Americans that West has previously claimed to detest. Prussia on the other hand is determined to have them both in a Trabant. Somehow, they'll fit and if not, West can just tear the roof off or something. Good thing about Trabis, they're easy to modify.
"Oh yeah, and I have to take you on the hood some day..."
Italy raises his head and blinks at him in confusion. "Hood?"
"Never mind. Just - you look great. Hot." He really does, too, and that he is naked from the waist down and laid out for Prussia to enjoy on uptight West's desk is just an added bonus. "I could spend hours telling you how awesomely sexy you look right now, Italy, if we just had the time." Haha, he actually blushes! The man can lose his clothes at the drop of a ravioli, but he goes all red and squirmy when praised. "You're so cute I could just eat you right up." He throws a glance at the clock, shite, ten minutes gone already and they've barely done anything yet, how did that happen? "I think I have to do that right now, in fact."
Then Prussia creeps down between Italy's legs and pretty much swallows him whole. The sound Italy makes at that is just fucking sweet and Prussia discovers another advantage to his new look - no hair to interrupt the blowjob. Not that Italy had much more than a little fuzz before, but it was enough to notice. So Prussia takes a moment to fist his cock while gently sucking on his balls, because West pointed out to him that Italy likes that even more than when they play with his hair. (And how fucking unfair isn't that, Prussia wants wank-hair too! Would make meeting much more interesting if he could play with that right under everyone's nose) Italy babbles in his own language and when Prussia carefully nips him with his teeth, he mewls in a way that makes his own balls grow almost uncomfortably tight.
"That's right, all wet and slick now..." Prussia climbs on top of Italy and even if he'd actually prefer just turning the little bitch around and fuck his ass until he comes screaming beneath him, he's already learned that Italy doesn't like it quite that rough. A shame, really, but then not everyone can be as tough as him. Sucks to be them!
"Ve, is this really a good idea?" Italy manages to gasp when Prussia spits on his fingers and it becomes obvious what he's planning. "Has Prussia made himself ready at all?"
I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 5/8
anonymous
June 14 2009, 21:55:24 UTC
"I'll have you know," Prussia says while he tries to align Italy correctly, "that all my ideas are awesome!"
Then he sits down and almost kinda regrets it. Possibly he used to be more resilient when he was younger or a lot more horny, but either way it seems he's forgotten just how much it hurts when you're in a hurry.
"Fuuuuck," Prussia groans, but refuses to stop moving, pushing downwards though it feels as if someone is driving a bloody stake into him. Italy squeezes his hand and looks all worried, but his cock is still hard inside of Prussia and that's the important bit right now. It burns even worse the last bit, but Prussia manages to take all of Italy inside until he can just sit on him and rest for a moment. His shirt feels all clammy with sweat suddenly and for some reason Italy looks a bit blurry beneath him.
"Oh, Prussia..."
He'd like to answer, to say something cocky and prove that he's fine - which he is, totally, he just needs a little breather - but the words somehow won't come. Then Italy proves that buried beneath the pasta, there rests some intelligence, because he reaches for Prussia. It is evident that Italy was born to practice the art of love, even his hand-jobs can turn Prussia and Germany into helpless, whimpering heaps of pleasure le and he turns the full skill on Prussia now. It helps more than he'd like to admit.
Prussia gulps air as if it's going out of style, and slowly begins to thrust, in tiny jerks of his hips, against Italy's hand. He gets an encouraging noise for that and the other hand, which holds his own in a tight grip squeezes encouragingly.
"Okay... So some of my ideas, hnn, might need a little bit of work. Sometimes," he admits. To lift himself off Italy hurts almost more than the initial frantic push down, because it's a more delayed kind of pain and he knows he'll have to repeat the whole thing because giving up? Not an option. But as he balances on his knees, making sure not to let Italy's cock accidentally slip out of him because fuck if he knows if he'd manage to put it back in, he applies more spit and tries to breath deeply, to relax. Prussia takes a certain grim satisfaction from how even little Italy hasn't whined about how it (probably) stung a bit on his side too.
"Again?" he asks and Italy nods hesitantly. It's easier the second time, easier yet the third time and by the fourth Prussia can finally stop digging his nails into his own thigh.
"It- I think it feels better now, Prussia," Italy gasps beneath him and he nods and wipes some grime out of his eyes.
"Definitely better. You can, move ah, a little now." Italy does, though he holds his breath and seems terrified of hurting Prussia. He needn't have worried, though, because now Prussia's starting to get into it. "There, yeah, there!" he encourages, feeling the burning fade to a more pleasurable heath.
Ohhh, but this is it. This is what he remembered. When you don't feel like you're actually going to be ripped apart, but there is a raw, almost frightening pleasure deep inside. Balancing just on the edge between bliss and agony, when every movement releases a new cascade of sensations.
He shivers. Italy begins to carefully thrust into him and after the first awkward movements where Prussia struggles not to lose his balance and Italy is still scared of hurting him, they find a rhythm, can move together. Their hands are still clutched and Prussia rests his other hand on Italy's chest, feeling his heart beat so strong beneath his hand. Now, finally, they're doing it properly. Every time Prussia bears down on Italy, every fucking time he feels filled to bursting. It hurts, no question about with that, but he's hurting so goddamn good that he just wants more. Italy is throwing his head from side to side, such a sweet little bastard, just listen to him pray to his god and lover with moans and cries and that hard, swollen cock. His hand keeps on working Prussia cock and they move faster, soon reaching a frantic pace.
I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 6/8
anonymous
June 14 2009, 21:57:21 UTC
Prussia hasn't prayed for a good many years, but he too can't stop the wordless supplications from escaping when the feel of Italy's cock moving inside of him threatens to blow his sanity to pieces. They are driven as much from lack of time as from a need to just do it, harsh and thoughtlessly rough and their movements grow more eager with each thrust.
It's a struggle to keep his eyes open, but he loves to watch his partners. He feels triumph surge through him when Italy's eyes are only slivers of white beneath twitching eye-lids, when his mouth fails to form words but every line of his body, every breath and movement begs for more. The tiny sound his nails make as they scrape furrows in West's sombre desktop sound like victory fanfares in Prussia's ears and the knowledge that this little mark of them will remain here even after they've snuck away is just too much to contain inside when he's already being split open like this. He cries out as he climaxes, bending forward and staining Italy's stomach and shirt with come.
Seems as if Italy likes to watch too; only moments later he thrusts up a final time, before growing tense and then he comes inside Prussia, all breathless and sweet like the pretty little thing that he is.
He has to lean forward to support himself a little, hands resting on each side of Italy's head and they're grinning at each other because this? This was really fucking awesome and they know that a certain Someone would just hit the roof if he found out. That makes it even more theirs, a little secret and lots of bits naughty and it's even more exciting like that.
It is while Prussia is still kneeling on the desk, Italy buried to the hilt inside of him, that he becomes aware of a slight scraping sound from behind. It's almost as if someone is trying to unlock the office door, which is just stupid because the door isn't even... locked...
"West!" "Germany!"
They scramble to separate in acute panic and Prussia scans the room for his clothes and- holy shit, why didn't Italy stop him from throwing everything off the bloody desk? They'll never clean this up in time!
He's halfway into his trousers when the thought hits him that maybe West isn't alone! And, oh god, his brother will kill him and stop fucking him and he'll probably be exiled to bloody Bavaria!
"Ludwig," he cries, "is that you?" The sounds stop abruptly and he hopes that West has brains enough to realize that something is wrong.
Italy is crawling around on the floor, trying to gather up the papers. Prussia nearly has an aneurysm when he realises that the scatterbrained nation hasn't gotten his fucking pants on yet and he's just about to help him with that when the door opens a smidge and West squeezes inside.
Prussia isn't the most easily embarrassed of nations but even he can't help feeling a bit stupid as icy-blue eyes lock onto him with cold fury. The entire room reeks of sex, he realizes, and even if he'd managed to get Italy into his clothes it wouldn't have mattered because there's an obvious gob of something whitish on his khaki shirt. That Prussia can feel his own clothes stick to him with while something sticky trickles down his leg doesn't exactly make things better.
"What the hell are you doing?" West hisses. He has closed the door and presses back against it as if he's forcing himself not just stretch out his hands and strangle his two lovers.
"I have the minister of environment and two UN representatives waiting in a conference room not twenty steps away and when I come here to get the briefs you promised on your honour to bring me I find you two- Oh my god, Italy! Don't smear come on my spreadsheets!"
"I..." Prussia can't find the words. What is he supposed to say? That he didn't think they'd go at it for that long, that he just couldn't help himself? The arguments that seemed so overwhelming when his cock was hard and his balls were full seem a lot less important now that Germany is gathering papers in furious silence and Italy shamefacedly drags on his trousers, not even bothering to show off his new "haircut".
"Sorry, Germany! We're so sorry!" Italy manages to contain his tears, though his lower lip trembles dangerously. "We didn't really think..."
I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 7/8
anonymous
June 14 2009, 21:59:30 UTC
"That's painfully obvious," West says, not even looking up from his work. "I just." He sighs and shakes his head, completely ignoring Prussia's muttered excuse. "Can't you, for just one day, stop acting like oversexed rabbits?" There is a mutual shuffling of feet and awkward fumbling with various garments.
He manages to get a window open and Italy slinks over to him, possibly seeking protection but somehow making Prussia feel like they are a pair of naughty children about to be disciplined by their tutor. "West, ah, fuck..." He gives Italy a helpless glance and shrugs. "We didn't really plan to. You know?"
"I know only one thing." Germany says and gives him a truly withering glare that would really hurt Prussia if he wasn't such a steel-willed bastion of stoicism, "I'm currently wondering why I'm even trying to have a serious relationship with a pair of idiots like you!"
They are saved from trying to think up an answer to, preferably one which doesn't involve tears and clinging to Germany's feet begging for forgiveness, only by a careful knock on the door. All three nations go stone-still, though Prussia can tell from the slight tremble in Germany's hands that his little brother is probably contemplating nationcide.
"Mr. Germany? Is everything alright?"
"Y- yes, one moment please," Germany answers. His eyes frantically search the room for any nook to hide Prussia and Italy in but find none, of course, for Germany prefers his room uncluttered. The bookshelves are open and don't hide any secret entrances, the two cabinets are full of files while the desk drawers are, regrettably, too small.
Nowhere to hide and only one door out... Prussia feels the spark of an idea take hold of him. Perhaps, if they can do nothing else to save the situation, they can at least show that they are sincerely regretful?
"Hey, Italy," he whispers, "you're not afraid of heights are you?"
"Ve?" The Mediterranean's face is an image of misery when it turns to Prussia and he feels a stitch of pain in the, lately far too sappy, muscle inside his chest. There's just something about Italy looking sad that hurts, dammit. Also, Prussia is coming to realize that for some reason the cute little fool is half-convinced that Germany and Prussia will just up and abandon him some day. Prussia, of course, knows that he is far too awesome for such fears, ahahaha! That he tries his best to keep West and Italy happy these days has nothing to do with that, he's just such a caring guy. Yep, that's him, too bloody selfless and considerate for his own good.
"We'll be out of your hair real before you know it," Prussia assures Germany in a hushed whisper, while carefully putting a hand on Italy's shoulder, "and we'll cook you something great tonight."
"Prussia, what are you talking about?"
If Germany is to have any chance to smooth this over, he has to open the door in a few seconds, Prussia figures. Which is why he sweeps Italy up, bites his tongue when certain parts of his anatomy argue that this was a really fucking bad idea right now, and fires off his most awesome grin at West's quizzical frown.
"Anyone ever told you what Russia considers parachuting?"
"What?"
With that, Prussia puts a boot on the window sill - aaargh - and then he pushes off, a move that earns at least a double aaargh. It seems as if Italy has figured out what is about to happen before West, because he puts one arm around Prussia's neck while reaching for the window with the other, giving them the needed leverage to get up in the window. For a moment they balance precariously on the sill and he knows Germany is running towards them because brotherly intuition rocks that way (also he can kinda see a reflection in the open window). Then Italy lets loose a small whoop, and while it wavers a little, he at least tried, and Prussia laughs because sometimes when you're about to do something really fucking awesomely stupid, such as jumping out from the fourth floor of an office building to impress your angry brother, you just have to laugh common sense in the face.
Then they are falling. Italy is screeching in his ear and the pavement looks very hard and uncomfortable, but fuck, if he breaks a leg Germany just can't throw him out, now can he?
I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 8/8
anonymous
June 14 2009, 22:01:41 UTC
"Oh, Mr. Germany! I'm sorry, we just wondered if something was wrong..."
"No, no, it is nothing. It merely seems as if the window blew open and scattered my papers, but I think I have gathered them all."
"Splendid, splendid. Although, it must have been quite the fierce wind! Hoh, it looks like you had a veritable storm in here."
"Ah, yes. Unusual at this time of the year. Perhaps it has something to do with the climate change?"
"I certainly hope not, though who knows these days? Well. Shall we...?"
"Yes, of course. One moment please, I'll just close here. Better avoid any further accidents, right?"
"My, my, what is that crowd outside?"
"Crowd? Oh, that. Ah."
Germany smiles to himself and closes the window. The throng of people is already beginning to break up; two figures slowly make their way from the centre of it towards the nearest subway station. The taller one is visibly limping, but he is supported by a brunette whom Germany knows has a most unlikely strand of hair, which has probably creased badly in fright, so he is not too worried.
"It is nothing, probably only buskers or some other fools that disturb the traffic," he reassures his minister. "Has my secretary already brought you coffee?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, thank you."
-- The End --
Er, maybe this didn't fit the request that much. Sorry, anon, hope you're not disappointed... but I'm planning to write Prussia and Italy have their own *facepalm-why me* moments and I'll try and make them fit your request better!
Re: I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 8/8
anonymous
June 15 2009, 02:39:34 UTC
You wrote a sequel to that fic! ♥ This was both hot and amusing. And I loved Prussia's line about what Russia considers parachuting. I really hope there'll be more of this series from you ♥
Re: I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 8/8
anonymous
June 15 2009, 10:12:15 UTC
=_= so hot. sad it's still seme!italy, but i know tht's what you prefer. somehow i can't complain, since it was still good. damn you.
sweet and hot and terrifyingly IC and everything... and i feel for poor germany who has to put up with those two sex crazied nations. (and now i worry if gilbert really broke a leg... o.o)
Re: I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 8/8
anonymous
June 15 2009, 17:23:46 UTC
EEEEEEE~! IT'S A SERIES!
Ah, I love these three the way you write them. This is just so frantic, and unexpectedly sweet at a couple of points, and hilariously in-character, and oh poor Ludwig. Also, I lol'd at the term "nationcide". And "what Russia considers parachuting". XD Great stuff.
Oh, and did I mention how moltenly hot this is? That, too. Excellence, anon, once more!
Re: I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 8/8
anonymous
June 16 2009, 04:06:09 UTC
OH MEIN GOTT!!! A sequel- ahhhhhhhh!!
I was so excited I started squirming & squealing- even if no one else could share the joy at least I got it out of my system.
The mentions of Russia, shaved!Italy & "smell of sex"- so many details to love in the fic [So was /not/ expecting pained!uke!Prussia & nervous!seme!Italy]! I absolutely adore your Prussia characterization [aww environmentally friendly & small car loving Gilbert <3] & even if we didn't see much of Germany this time around what there was was simply AWESOME.
Love each and everyone of your fills, and can't wait to read more <3333
Re: I'm afraid my lovers are out of their fucking minds 8/8
anonymous
June 24 2009, 02:37:13 UTC
I...I love you. I know you know this already, but... Love you. And I love seme!Italy, by the way. YOU MADE ME A BELIEVER. Also, I ended up drawing fanart for the last story. Both made me lawl hard. Goodness.
"Of course I like it. You look hot!"
Now Italy looks down at his toes and bites his lip and he's so damn adorable that Prussia just wants to fuck him trough the carpet right this moment.
Only... He throws a look at the clock and winces. The black hands move steadily forward, tick-tock, no time for play today.
While Prussia is generally pretty disinterested in rules, he knows how important this deal is for West and, hey, the environment? It's full of cute birds and bunnies and whatnot, so he's all for saving it too. Prussia did always prefer horses to cars anyway, except really cute little cars but those are coming back into vogue (just like he said, hah!) so that's all well and good.
"I guess I should go home then," Italy says, his hair-curl drooping slightly "if Germany and Prussia are busy. Maybe I can come back tonight?"
Yes, that would be for the best. The words are on Prussia's tongue, honestly, they are! Only at that moment Italy bends over to retrieve his clothes and then he turns around for his underpants, Prussia glimpses that sweet arse beneath the shirt and gnnh!
There's probably a jam at the highway at this time of the day anyway. Yeah.
Italy does not manage to evade (fair enough, it's hard to be awesome) when Prussia jumps him and they fall together, one with a squeak of fright and the other with a rather deranged grin on his face.
"Prussia?" Italy looks adorably confused beneath him and it's all he can do to keep the mad giggle back when his fingers touch the now silky-smooth balls and feels how Italy stiffens slightly beneath him.
"You know," Prussia whispers and fully enjoys the sudden tenseness of the body beneath him, "this is all Russia's fault."
"Ve?"
"Mmyep, I used to have loads more self-discipline before him and the other wankers messed everything up."
Well, no, actually he didn't. But back then he had his own set of bosses to stop him, and West, bless his little macho-brain, really can't hold Prussia back.
"I don't understand, Prussia," Italy says and squirms temptingly beneath him. "But that feels, uhn, good."
"You betcha it does." When they lie like this, it's so very easy to lean in and just lick Italy's ear a little. It always makes his eyes go wide and soft, Prussia has discovered, and he likes that so much he just has to do it again. Yum. Sure Italy's food is decent, but nothing is as delicious as the moaning nation himself.
"I'm just letting you know," he whispers and lets his finger play over the smooth, lovely skin, feeling Italy's cock grow firmer in his hand, "that you can't really treat me like West..."
"No?"
"No." He lets his grip go a bit too firm while raising himself off the floor. Italy positively quakes beneath the red-eyed spirit of a dead nation and Prussia thinks his pants are going to explode any minute now.
"Because, you see, if you go waving that cute little ass in front of me..." Italy groans beneath him, fumbling fingers reaching to free Prussia's cock of their own volition.
"And then show yourself off like this... You little slut, all primped and ready to fuck, what the hell did you want me to do, huh?"
He never finds out what Italy originally planned for them to do, because he finally manages to unbutton Prussia's trousers. Since he, despite West's please, still avoids underwear whenever possible, this means he is free to grind himself against Italy. So he does, very much enjoying the feeling of their cocks sliding against each other.
When those lovely hands that look so deceptively soft and can be so mercilessly teasing come up and cradle his face, when Italy smiles blindingly at him, well the fact is that Prussia thinks he deserves a medal for even remembering that they are in a bit of a rush.
They kiss. Prussia attacks Italy with vigour, trying to match the movement of their lips to the frantic pace of their rutting. Only Italy meets him with slower, deeper kisses, mouth opening to take in his tongue and tempt it to remain in that soft place just a little longer. Again and again, until he lies on top of the Mediterranean nation and his head is spinning with lust.
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Only, what was it now? Something clamours for his attention at the back of his head. It sounds suspiciously much like West demanding that they stop messing up his office so he ignores it completely. Instead, Prussia removes his hand from the lovely position between them and hugs the other close. They roll over until the surprised Italy finds himself on top and Prussia's hands are just moving down to grab that pert little ass he saw far too little of earlier, when he becomes aware of the uncomfortable paper... beneath his shoulder... Oh damn. Fucking crap and Stalinist five-year plans, the papers! The meeting!
"Ahh, shit, Italy! Hang on a moment."
Since Italy is currently nuzzling Prussia's cheek and humping against him, it takes a while for his protest to register. He looks curiously hurt and if that doesn't make his heart ache suspiciously he doesn't know what could.
"What's the matter?"
"Actually," we really shouldn't fuck now because I bet West will be here in less than half an hour, "we do have to hurry. Company's coming, remember?"
Italy thinks for a moment and Prussia figures that it's good thing that he's part of this unholy little trinity.
Because, seriously, brawns and beauty the other two may have covered, but between his muscle-bound brother who is a slave to his rulebooks and Italy, who could make dimwitted into a fashion statement? They don't have brains for shit.
"Ohhh, right!" Italy nods as the memory penetrates his lust-fogged mind. "I'm sorry Prussia, you're right! We should hurry."
Then his kisses return with renewed intensity and Prussia figures that now is a perfect moment to grab Italy's ass and, wouldn't you know? It's just as awesome as he imagined it.
It also, unfortunately, proves too good to be true when Italy yelps and squirms away from his searching fingers.
"What is it now?" he asks, pressing himself against Italy with an ever-increasing urge to just fuck something. "We can't futz around too much."
"Vee," Italy whines and squirms more, "I don't want to go too fast, it hurts! And we don't have any lube either."
Prussia thumps his head against the carpet. Goddamn. Little. Cock-tease. "Why in the world did you come here without lube, idiot!"
"Sorry?"
He is thiiis close to start yelling at Italy and probably make the little wimp run away and cry to West later, when the church bells start ringing the hour. The sound, and the reminder they give Prussia about how limited their time is right now, gives his libido the strength to force down his temper. And, hey, Italy will be smooth and shaved tonight too, so he can fuck him then, right? If, and that's a big if, West lets him get to that pretty ass...
But beggars can't be choosers and Prussia has decided that he will fuck and he will do it now, so he'll just have to adapt.
"Okay."
From Italy's point of view, there's something almost scary about Prussia's sometimes lightning fast mood changes. Like now, when he stops stroking Italy in that nice, tingly way and instead abruptly rises and drags him up. At least he's stopped trying to poke him in the butt with unlubed fingers.
"This is what we'll do," Prussia tells him, "you, on the desk now!"
"Ehve?"
Germany's desk is large and old, like most of his furniture. Hand-made from oak, with a leather inlay with little gilded patterns on the edge and a multitude of drawers where Germany can sort his papers and desk utensils in exactly such perfect order as he wants them. Italy has always found it a little scary in all its oppressive orderliness, but Germany likes the bulky thing enough that he personally carted it from Berlin to Bonn and then back again.
Never in his life would Italy dare to touch the millimetre-precision pattern of Germany's work items. Absolutely, under no circumstances whatsoever, would he suggest some kind of illicit activity to take place on the actual desk!
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Italy lands down on the desk with a loud smack of flesh against leather and he is on the verge of complaining again, when Prussia presses close, bends him backwards and proceeds to kiss his breath away.
"Soo," he drawls, "can you imagine what West would say if he saw you now?"
Italy pales and almost looks as if he wants to run away. Can't have that, nope. So while Prussia kicks off his boots and trousers, he keeps Italy pinned to the desk and proceeds to tell him exactly what he- er, West- would think about the gorgeous man lying spread like a feast.
"You look so lovely like this, Italy. Come on, smile for me? I know my brother, see, and he'd be all over your pretty, smooth cock."
"Really?"
"Ohh yeah... Spread your legs a little, hm?"
When Italy seems less likely to flee in panic from an imaginary Germany's wrath, Prussia even dares to let go of his hands and start playing with his cock again, working it back to full hardness. It looks really good like this in Prussia's hand and he's never really noticed just what a lovely shape Italy's balls make when they go firm and heavy with arousal.
"It's like fucking in the car, I think," he muses, "You know you're really not supposed to, so it becomes twice as fun."
They did that last week, actually. Despite Italy setting off the horn by mistake and Germany almost kicking the parking brake loose, it was very entertaining. Since then, Germany has also for some reason he refuses to reveal dug up his magazines with vintage cars (not that they were vintage when those magazines were printed) and Prussia has found dog-ears at the pages with the big Americans that West has previously claimed to detest.
Prussia on the other hand is determined to have them both in a Trabant. Somehow, they'll fit and if not, West can just tear the roof off or something. Good thing about Trabis, they're easy to modify.
"Oh yeah, and I have to take you on the hood some day..."
Italy raises his head and blinks at him in confusion. "Hood?"
"Never mind. Just - you look great. Hot." He really does, too, and that he is naked from the waist down and laid out for Prussia to enjoy on uptight West's desk is just an added bonus.
"I could spend hours telling you how awesomely sexy you look right now, Italy, if we just had the time."
Haha, he actually blushes! The man can lose his clothes at the drop of a ravioli, but he goes all red and squirmy when praised.
"You're so cute I could just eat you right up." He throws a glance at the clock, shite, ten minutes gone already and they've barely done anything yet, how did that happen? "I think I have to do that right now, in fact."
Then Prussia creeps down between Italy's legs and pretty much swallows him whole. The sound Italy makes at that is just fucking sweet and Prussia discovers another advantage to his new look - no hair to interrupt the blowjob. Not that Italy had much more than a little fuzz before, but it was enough to notice. So Prussia takes a moment to fist his cock while gently sucking on his balls, because West pointed out to him that Italy likes that even more than when they play with his hair. (And how fucking unfair isn't that, Prussia wants wank-hair too! Would make meeting much more interesting if he could play with that right under everyone's nose)
Italy babbles in his own language and when Prussia carefully nips him with his teeth, he mewls in a way that makes his own balls grow almost uncomfortably tight.
"That's right, all wet and slick now..." Prussia climbs on top of Italy and even if he'd actually prefer just turning the little bitch around and fuck his ass until he comes screaming beneath him, he's already learned that Italy doesn't like it quite that rough. A shame, really, but then not everyone can be as tough as him. Sucks to be them!
"Ve, is this really a good idea?" Italy manages to gasp when Prussia spits on his fingers and it becomes obvious what he's planning. "Has Prussia made himself ready at all?"
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Then he sits down and almost kinda regrets it. Possibly he used to be more resilient when he was younger or a lot more horny, but either way it seems he's forgotten just how much it hurts when you're in a hurry.
"Fuuuuck," Prussia groans, but refuses to stop moving, pushing downwards though it feels as if someone is driving a bloody stake into him. Italy squeezes his hand and looks all worried, but his cock is still hard inside of Prussia and that's the important bit right now. It burns even worse the last bit, but Prussia manages to take all of Italy inside until he can just sit on him and rest for a moment. His shirt feels all clammy with sweat suddenly and for some reason Italy looks a bit blurry beneath him.
"Oh, Prussia..."
He'd like to answer, to say something cocky and prove that he's fine - which he is, totally, he just needs a little breather - but the words somehow won't come. Then Italy proves that buried beneath the pasta, there rests some intelligence, because he reaches for Prussia. It is evident that Italy was born to practice the art of love, even his hand-jobs can turn Prussia and Germany into helpless, whimpering heaps of pleasure le and he turns the full skill on Prussia now. It helps more than he'd like to admit.
Prussia gulps air as if it's going out of style, and slowly begins to thrust, in tiny jerks of his hips, against Italy's hand. He gets an encouraging noise for that and the other hand, which holds his own in a tight grip squeezes encouragingly.
"Okay... So some of my ideas, hnn, might need a little bit of work. Sometimes," he admits. To lift himself off Italy hurts almost more than the initial frantic push down, because it's a more delayed kind of pain and he knows he'll have to repeat the whole thing because giving up? Not an option.
But as he balances on his knees, making sure not to let Italy's cock accidentally slip out of him because fuck if he knows if he'd manage to put it back in, he applies more spit and tries to breath deeply, to relax. Prussia takes a certain grim satisfaction from how even little Italy hasn't whined about how it (probably) stung a bit on his side too.
"Again?" he asks and Italy nods hesitantly. It's easier the second time, easier yet the third time and by the fourth Prussia can finally stop digging his nails into his own thigh.
"It- I think it feels better now, Prussia," Italy gasps beneath him and he nods and wipes some grime out of his eyes.
"Definitely better. You can, move ah, a little now." Italy does, though he holds his breath and seems terrified of hurting Prussia. He needn't have worried, though, because now Prussia's starting to get into it. "There, yeah, there!" he encourages, feeling the burning fade to a more pleasurable heath.
Ohhh, but this is it. This is what he remembered. When you don't feel like you're actually going to be ripped apart, but there is a raw, almost frightening pleasure deep inside. Balancing just on the edge between bliss and agony, when every movement releases a new cascade of sensations.
He shivers. Italy begins to carefully thrust into him and after the first awkward movements where Prussia struggles not to lose his balance and Italy is still scared of hurting him, they find a rhythm, can move together. Their hands are still clutched and Prussia rests his other hand on Italy's chest, feeling his heart beat so strong beneath his hand. Now, finally, they're doing it properly.
Every time Prussia bears down on Italy, every fucking time he feels filled to bursting. It hurts, no question about with that, but he's hurting so goddamn good that he just wants more. Italy is throwing his head from side to side, such a sweet little bastard, just listen to him pray to his god and lover with moans and cries and that hard, swollen cock. His hand keeps on working Prussia cock and they move faster, soon reaching a frantic pace.
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It's a struggle to keep his eyes open, but he loves to watch his partners. He feels triumph surge through him when Italy's eyes are only slivers of white beneath twitching eye-lids, when his mouth fails to form words but every line of his body, every breath and movement begs for more. The tiny sound his nails make as they scrape furrows in West's sombre desktop sound like victory fanfares in Prussia's ears and the knowledge that this little mark of them will remain here even after they've snuck away is just too much to contain inside when he's already being split open like this. He cries out as he climaxes, bending forward and staining Italy's stomach and shirt with come.
Seems as if Italy likes to watch too; only moments later he thrusts up a final time, before growing tense and then he comes inside Prussia, all breathless and sweet like the pretty little thing that he is.
He has to lean forward to support himself a little, hands resting on each side of Italy's head and they're grinning at each other because this? This was really fucking awesome and they know that a certain Someone would just hit the roof if he found out. That makes it even more theirs, a little secret and lots of bits naughty and it's even more exciting like that.
It is while Prussia is still kneeling on the desk, Italy buried to the hilt inside of him, that he becomes aware of a slight scraping sound from behind. It's almost as if someone is trying to unlock the office door, which is just stupid because the door isn't even... locked...
"West!"
"Germany!"
They scramble to separate in acute panic and Prussia scans the room for his clothes and- holy shit, why didn't Italy stop him from throwing everything off the bloody desk? They'll never clean this up in time!
He's halfway into his trousers when the thought hits him that maybe West isn't alone! And, oh god, his brother will kill him and stop fucking him and he'll probably be exiled to bloody Bavaria!
"Ludwig," he cries, "is that you?" The sounds stop abruptly and he hopes that West has brains enough to realize that something is wrong.
Italy is crawling around on the floor, trying to gather up the papers. Prussia nearly has an aneurysm when he realises that the scatterbrained nation hasn't gotten his fucking pants on yet and he's just about to help him with that when the door opens a smidge and West squeezes inside.
Prussia isn't the most easily embarrassed of nations but even he can't help feeling a bit stupid as icy-blue eyes lock onto him with cold fury. The entire room reeks of sex, he realizes, and even if he'd managed to get Italy into his clothes it wouldn't have mattered because there's an obvious gob of something whitish on his khaki shirt. That Prussia can feel his own clothes stick to him with while something sticky trickles down his leg doesn't exactly make things better.
"What the hell are you doing?" West hisses. He has closed the door and presses back against it as if he's forcing himself not just stretch out his hands and strangle his two lovers.
"I have the minister of environment and two UN representatives waiting in a conference room not twenty steps away and when I come here to get the briefs you promised on your honour to bring me I find you two- Oh my god, Italy! Don't smear come on my spreadsheets!"
"I..." Prussia can't find the words. What is he supposed to say? That he didn't think they'd go at it for that long, that he just couldn't help himself? The arguments that seemed so overwhelming when his cock was hard and his balls were full seem a lot less important now that Germany is gathering papers in furious silence and Italy shamefacedly drags on his trousers, not even bothering to show off his new "haircut".
"Sorry, Germany! We're so sorry!" Italy manages to contain his tears, though his lower lip trembles dangerously. "We didn't really think..."
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"Can't you, for just one day, stop acting like oversexed rabbits?" There is a mutual shuffling of feet and awkward fumbling with various garments.
He manages to get a window open and Italy slinks over to him, possibly seeking protection but somehow making Prussia feel like they are a pair of naughty children about to be disciplined by their tutor.
"West, ah, fuck..." He gives Italy a helpless glance and shrugs. "We didn't really plan to. You know?"
"I know only one thing." Germany says and gives him a truly withering glare that would really hurt Prussia if he wasn't such a steel-willed bastion of stoicism, "I'm currently wondering why I'm even trying to have a serious relationship with a pair of idiots like you!"
They are saved from trying to think up an answer to, preferably one which doesn't involve tears and clinging to Germany's feet begging for forgiveness, only by a careful knock on the door. All three nations go stone-still, though Prussia can tell from the slight tremble in Germany's hands that his little brother is probably contemplating nationcide.
"Mr. Germany? Is everything alright?"
"Y- yes, one moment please," Germany answers.
His eyes frantically search the room for any nook to hide Prussia and Italy in but find none, of course, for Germany prefers his room uncluttered. The bookshelves are open and don't hide any secret entrances, the two cabinets are full of files while the desk drawers are, regrettably, too small.
Nowhere to hide and only one door out... Prussia feels the spark of an idea take hold of him. Perhaps, if they can do nothing else to save the situation, they can at least show that they are sincerely regretful?
"Hey, Italy," he whispers, "you're not afraid of heights are you?"
"Ve?"
The Mediterranean's face is an image of misery when it turns to Prussia and he feels a stitch of pain in the, lately far too sappy, muscle inside his chest. There's just something about Italy looking sad that hurts, dammit. Also, Prussia is coming to realize that for some reason the cute little fool is half-convinced that Germany and Prussia will just up and abandon him some day. Prussia, of course, knows that he is far too awesome for such fears, ahahaha!
That he tries his best to keep West and Italy happy these days has nothing to do with that, he's just such a caring guy. Yep, that's him, too bloody selfless and considerate for his own good.
"We'll be out of your hair real before you know it," Prussia assures Germany in a hushed whisper, while carefully putting a hand on Italy's shoulder, "and we'll cook you something great tonight."
"Prussia, what are you talking about?"
If Germany is to have any chance to smooth this over, he has to open the door in a few seconds, Prussia figures. Which is why he sweeps Italy up, bites his tongue when certain parts of his anatomy argue that this was a really fucking bad idea right now, and fires off his most awesome grin at West's quizzical frown.
"Anyone ever told you what Russia considers parachuting?"
"What?"
With that, Prussia puts a boot on the window sill - aaargh - and then he pushes off, a move that earns at least a double aaargh. It seems as if Italy has figured out what is about to happen before West, because he puts one arm around Prussia's neck while reaching for the window with the other, giving them the needed leverage to get up in the window. For a moment they balance precariously on the sill and he knows Germany is running towards them because brotherly intuition rocks that way (also he can kinda see a reflection in the open window).
Then Italy lets loose a small whoop, and while it wavers a little, he at least tried, and Prussia laughs because sometimes when you're about to do something really fucking awesomely stupid, such as jumping out from the fourth floor of an office building to impress your angry brother, you just have to laugh common sense in the face.
Then they are falling. Italy is screeching in his ear and the pavement looks very hard and uncomfortable, but fuck, if he breaks a leg Germany just can't throw him out, now can he?
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"No, no, it is nothing. It merely seems as if the window blew open and scattered my papers, but I think I have gathered them all."
"Splendid, splendid. Although, it must have been quite the fierce wind! Hoh, it looks like you had a veritable storm in here."
"Ah, yes. Unusual at this time of the year. Perhaps it has something to do with the climate change?"
"I certainly hope not, though who knows these days? Well. Shall we...?"
"Yes, of course. One moment please, I'll just close here. Better avoid any further accidents, right?"
"My, my, what is that crowd outside?"
"Crowd? Oh, that. Ah."
Germany smiles to himself and closes the window. The throng of people is already beginning to break up; two figures slowly make their way from the centre of it towards the nearest subway station. The taller one is visibly limping, but he is supported by a brunette whom Germany knows has a most unlikely strand of hair, which has probably creased badly in fright, so he is not too worried.
"It is nothing, probably only buskers or some other fools that disturb the traffic," he reassures his minister. "Has my secretary already brought you coffee?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, thank you."
-- The End --
Er, maybe this didn't fit the request that much. Sorry, anon, hope you're not disappointed... but I'm planning to write Prussia and Italy have their own *facepalm-why me* moments and I'll try and make them fit your request better!
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This was both hot and amusing. And I loved Prussia's line about what Russia considers parachuting.
I really hope there'll be more of this series from you ♥
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sweet and hot and terrifyingly IC and everything... and i feel for poor germany who has to put up with those two sex crazied nations. (and now i worry if gilbert really broke a leg... o.o)
(and this is the person who knows you :P)
i still loved it, damn it X3
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Ah, I love these three the way you write them. This is just so frantic, and unexpectedly sweet at a couple of points, and hilariously in-character, and oh poor Ludwig. Also, I lol'd at the term "nationcide". And "what Russia considers parachuting". XD Great stuff.
Oh, and did I mention how moltenly hot this is? That, too. Excellence, anon, once more!
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A sequel- ahhhhhhhh!!
I was so excited I started squirming & squealing- even if no one else could share the joy at least I got it out of my system.
The mentions of Russia, shaved!Italy & "smell of sex"- so many details to love in the fic [So was /not/ expecting pained!uke!Prussia & nervous!seme!Italy]! I absolutely adore your Prussia characterization [aww environmentally friendly & small car loving Gilbert <3] & even if we didn't see much of Germany this time around what there was was simply AWESOME.
Love each and everyone of your fills, and can't wait to read more <3333
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I hadn't dared to hope for a sequel. And I don't know how you manage to write something this hot and hilarious at the same time.
What a pair of utter dorks. Poor Germany, if he wasn't as big of a dork himself.
"nationcide", pfff.
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And I love seme!Italy, by the way. YOU MADE ME A BELIEVER.
Also, I ended up drawing fanart for the last story. Both made me lawl hard. Goodness.
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