[50 Prompts] Need
Title: Need
Author/Artist: dappledwings
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Prussia/Austria, mentions of Austria/Hungary
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Completely unbeta'd pwp.
Summary: Prompt 045. Need. Prussia doesn't feel like he's needed anymore.
Words: 3,609.
Read the rest of the list here.
I'm sorry, this didn't turn out the way I wanted it. I think I rushed it towards the end.
Being sent here with a note from West, Gilbert feels a little hurt. It feels like Ludwig wants to be rid of him, his moping, withdrawn self. Yes, they have been rejoined, but Prussia still doesn’t feel right. He feels inadequate, like he is slowly disappearing into nothing. He supposes he is. He is no longer East, no longer Prussia. He is no longer fearsome. He is no longer needed. He has been broken and changed by Russia, and it hurts all the more for that. Austria had given him a sorry look when he came in, but Gilbert responded with a sharp glare. Who did that nancy think he was, feeling all sorry and feeling pity for such an awesome country? He was still strong, still himself. And he set out to prove that as soon as he was invited into Austria’s practice room.
Prussia twiddles his thumbs. Crosses his legs. Gets bored and changes legs. All the while, he watches the shoulders of Austria tense and he grins. He’s succeeded in winding him up, not that it really took much. Finally, the pianist stops abruptly, turns the bright blue eyes on the grinning maniac. (It all feels forced to Gilbert. Just to be the eternal pain he always was is taking a lot of effort he doesn’t have within his thin, malnourished body.)
“Would you stop that?” he snaps, tense as ever, and Prussia thinks that the uptight snob just needs to relax. He doesn’t say so, just smiles innocently at the musician, and places both his feet flat on the floor again, back straight and hands folded in his lap.
Roderich gives him a thin smile that looks like it hurt (almost like it hurts for Gilbert to be Prussia at the moment), and turns away again, back to the piano. A rich melody, which contrasts sharply with the way the snob acted before, seems to curl tendrils around the room- though cold and empty other than a piano and some cushioned chairs round the edges, lit by candelabras- which has become home to the Austrian.
Fidgeting again, Prussia tries to make as little noise as possible, but Austria is already riled up, and those ears must be pretty damn sensitive if he can hear that. “Stop that at once, Gilbert!” It’s a command this time, and before he can stop himself, Gilbert is on his feet, staring up at the Austrian with a harsh glare.
“I take orders from no one, bitch, because I am just that awesome.” Red eyes hold blue, the reflection from the lenses of the glasses only slightly distracting. He doesn’t really feel what he just said, the venom not there. Gilbert feels like he said it simply because it was what he used to say. There is tension between them for a moment, before it diffuses, and Gilbert turns away first- away from the searching blue eyes that are telling him that they don’t believe that he meant that, not even one little bit- back to his previous seat. Though this time, he is intent on making as much noise as possible. “Play on,” he invites, with a toss of the hand, “I want to hear what you got.” There is a somewhat malicious smirk playing about his lips.
This time it is far harder to wind Austria up, the shoulders staying relaxed under the blue coat he insists on wearing. He is getting further into the music now, delving with his whole soul. Until Prussia deliberately stays making a pattern of noises out of time with the playing, when Roderich immediately tenses, nearly to the point of snapping, clearly unable to concentrate any longer.
Being the closest to someone- when they are angry, that is- is not a good idea, supplies Gilbert’s mind. It is something he should know instinctively by now anyway (violet eyes stare at him with a callus cruelty, as Gilbert defends Toris from the huge man), and it is a second too late, because Roderich already has him by the collar. A huge amount of strength keeps him pinned (at least, that is what Prussia will tell himself later, instead of accepting that he simply froze).
“I told you to stop. Making. Those. Noises.” A feral growl seems to leave Austria’s throat- very unbecoming of a gentleman, but Prussia has clearly tried his patience. A wave of choking fear rolls off of Gilbert, but it is soon lost when his mind tells him that there is no way that anyone else could have pitched that growl at that particular pitch. It doesn’t stop the fear though, it clogs his vocal cords. There is no other way of saying this (because by God he wants it), so there is only a whimper of assent from Gilbert that signifies Roderich has won. This seems to spur the man on to crash their lips together, and Gilbert makes a choking sound. Against his lips, he feels Austria smirk. He’s won, taken the victory, and he knows it.
Prussia knows how to take a punishment though, and he’ll accept it. It is part of being awesome, he tells himself, knowing when you need to take things like a man. Though his response when Austria pries his lips apart with a clever tongue is far from manly. Something more along the lines of a soft moan and almost a melting across the chair. It almost surprises himself- he was expecting that the next time he was kissed this forcefully, he would burst into tears. He would want to escape. He was hoping there wouldn’t be a next time, especially not when spurred on by violet eyes.
When Roderich pulls back, away from Gilbert, an almost obscene strand of saliva connects their lips. Gilbert follows it with his eyes, to Austria’s lips. He is telling him something, as long white fingers brush his chest through his shirt, which Prussia currently doesn’t comprehend. Neither does Gilbert.
Forcing himself to his senses for a moment, there is a splutter, before Gilbert’s mouth will work. The demanding Austria almost surprises him- not like it really should, but it does. There is discipline there, which he supposes is needed for music, like it is for fighting- and Gilbert is reminded by the uncomfortable chafing of his clothing that it is a huge turn on. “What was that? I missed it.”
Disbelieving blue hues turn on Prussia. “Well, pay more attention!” Gilbert thinks Roderich needs to stop snapping, and that still doesn’t answer his question. But Austria has already moved on, beginning to undo the buttons on Prussia’s shirt, rubbing the cloth onto Prussia’s skin. It leaves him nearly speechless again, but he keeps his wits about him.
“What did you say?” For a moment, Gilbert fears that he sounds like Austria with all the tetchy snapping and the frustrated tone in his voice, but Austria shows exactly how far off the mark Prussia was for that fear.
“You didn’t pay attention! I’m not telling you!” Gilbert also fears it just got a little bit more childish, which is rather a shame with the far more adult grinding of crotches that is going on, the position on the chair only slightly less obscene than one of those adult magazines Gilbert sees stashed in strange places.
Everything stops with a sharp intake of breath when Roderich lets the cloth of Gilbert’s shirt loose, to reveal his stark white chest. Gilbert twists uncomfortably in the intensely blue gaze, that examines the scars (more recent than not) and traces the outline of the prominent ribs. Prussia feels faintly surprised that Austria didn’t realise when he was rubbing the cloth before. There is a moment where Gilbert fears that Roderich will lose his nerve, stumble away from him, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, the long fingers extend towards Gilbert’s chest, tracing bones through the skin. It is almost unbelievable that Gilbert has gained weight recently- he looks half starved. Not that any of the communist countries fare much better. Russia himself is becoming almost horribly gaunt, eating less than the Baltic countries. But Prussia ate less than them too. Being a ‘favourite’ may have left you with little dignity, left you violated and terrorised, but at least it ensured you food.
“He did this.” There is no need for Roderich to expand on who ‘he’ is, they both know. They both understand. They know and accept exactly what happened, even if it is Gilbert with the nightmares. There is only the faintest nod from Prussia. Confirmation on what is already known. That is all it is.
Another few moments pass while Gilbert squirms under the eternally blue gaze, until finally, he meets his eyes with Roderich. “Can we just get on with it? It’s over, done with. We don’t need to inspect any of…” A moment passes, and Gilbert looks down at his body with distaste before gesturing. “… This.”
Roderich nods shortly, presses a lingering kiss to Gilbert’s sternum, and feels the heart pounding with each throb underneath his lips. When he looks up again, Gilbert is eyeing him curiously, with a somewhat openly confused gaze. There is a more serious look on Roderich’s face; he will not be made to take this as lightly as Prussia would like him to. He can’t help but take it this seriously. He feels a burning desire to destroy a country right now. How can he not savour Gilbert’s body, allowing the man freedom with every touch, lighting fires that are not because of some terrifying Pavlovian response?
Moments later, the burn dies to a dull ache, making his stomach sink like a stone. This will be the first time in a long time that Gilbert will have any choice in the proceedings, it hits him, unless he took up another lover from the eastern bloc. Somehow, Roderich thinks that this will not have been allowed by the eternally jealous Russia.
And so it is, that by Prussia’s commands, Roderich gets naked very quickly. Gilbert is spread in front of him (at some point they slid off the piano stool to the floor. It was a mutual agreement), legs parted, with a slightly tense look on his face. Somewhere in the proceedings he has ended up losing his trousers too (no underwear though- that made Roderich smile with the hope that this could still be the same Prussia that has ravished him so many times before. It’s a quiet hope that goes largely unnoticed). Taking his own fingers into his mouth, Roderich sucks on them, and watches the way that Gilbert tenses further. There is a sense of fear radiating off the white-haired nation. And so it is decided, almost instantly. The Austrian can take it- it’s not as if Hungary doesn’t enjoy strapping on something similar in size to Prussia’s penis. And it’s not like Prussia hasn’t had sex with him on numerous occasions. Once Austria was taken pressed against the piano- he shoots a look in its direction, mentally apologising for that.
It is time for Gilbert to have a free show, which Roderich’s sure Gilbert won’t have had in quite some time. Austria slowly pushes one finger into himself, pressing lips close to Gilbert’s. When he sits back upright, he notices Gilbert is still tense, still watching Roderich’s face, as if waiting for Roderich to push them forcefully into him. Another slim finger slips in, and there is a hiss of slight discomfort. Prussia’s attention is drawn to where Austria’s fingers are, and gasps, quickly sucking his own. He knocks the hand away, watching with red eyes that seem even redder through concentration. Gilbert meets the blue, blue eyes that are almost hidden behind fogged up glasses, as he pushes his own finger in, gentle with it like Austria didn’t know Gilbert could be. It’s almost timid, but Prussia is keeping a gentle rhythm as he works his first finger in. His fingers are thicker, wider; in a way, more fulfilling almost instantly.
Roderich whines and gasps insistently when sparks fly through him. The intrusion is a weird feeling that he is sure he will never get used to, no matter how many times it happens. But he supposes that Elizaveta is used to it, so why can’t he be?
Breath stutters when he is pushed to the floor, over onto his back, and he finds himself staring into deep red eyes. Fingers are caressing his cheek in a strange moment where Roderich is sure Gilbert has forgotten himself. Gilbert thinks, shortly after this moment, that he has lost his mind.
Even so, another two fingers are added by Gilbert, and there is a drawn out hiss of pain from Roderich. It’s uncomfortable, and he tips his head to the side and his glasses off. He can’t see anymore, but no matter, they are knocked out the way, only a faint aura-like blur starting to surround Gilbert, though the hair fuzzes straight into an angelic halo. Then he drops his eyes between them, to where he feels two slightly damp patches on his stomach. The one higher up is Gilbert’s, because even if that ‘five meters’ thing isn’t true, it remains a fact that Gilbert’s penis is still longer than average. Roderich’s own cock twitches slightly with anticipation, and Roderich finds that he doesn’t care much about the simple fact that he’s just given away how much he wants this, because he wants it now. Gilbert however, only gives a slight smirk, as if he feels that more preparation is required. Or he doesn’t feel like he can dominate Roderich the way he should be doing by now.
There had always been a roughness about their relationship, Prussia being incredibly eager, more eager than he let on, and always pushing to top Austria. This has been broken, that indomitable spirit that used to hiss and spit whenever Austria topped him, reluctant to give in to the pleasure. Reluctant to just accept. The same spirit that used to mark a line across Austria’s shoulders, purple bite marks that Hungary would admire in the nights as Austria slipped his long, musical fingers inside her. Roderich knew she found them arousing, probably more so than the act of sex itself.
Everything had changed, so Roderich knew he shouldn’t be holding it against the poor nation. But he couldn’t help but feel the curls of pity and maybe a touch of anger inside him. Maybe he can revive that feral look in Gilbert’s eyes, watch Prussia awake from the walking stupor. He begins to wriggle and hiss, but that only brings a concerned look to Gilbert.
“Is it hurting? I’m so-“ A hand is clamped across Gilbert’s mouth and he twists indignantly. He tries to be free of the hand, but another one is brought across the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet the blue eyes. He swallows, nervous again.
“Just. Fuck. Me.” Vulgar language used by the aristocrat, and Gilbert’s mind is whining about its incongruence, but Prussia complies with a large smirk on his face and a twist of the fingers first. Or, begins to comply, by pulling himself off the Austrian and straddling the slim shoulders.
“Suck.” He orders, voice rough. The Austrian does as told, almost with relief in his expression. Gilbert can’t- won’t- explain that expression, holding back sounds of pleasure. Then Roderich does something rather devious with his tongue, and Prussia groans, grasping brown hair in his hands and tugging. “Stop. Otherwise I won’t be able to fuck you raw.” Prussia takes delight in the flash of expression across Roderich’s face. It is somewhere between overjoyed, pissed off and horrified. Then it is the same as always, and something inside him snaps. Perhaps it is the very threads that tethered him to sanity, or perhaps it is whatever obedience was beaten into him. Whatever it is, Prussia wants to make Roderich writhe and scream beneath him from sheer ecstasy. He wants to make that perfectly schooled expression slip and tumble from the aristocratic face.
He doesn’t know it, but Roderich is feeling some form of pure joy just seeing that malevolent look, that look of pure, dominating lust. He feels some spark reigniting when he sees the red eyes glint with manic need. Roderich needs this as much as Gilbert does. Not that he’ll show any of this, of course, that would be making himself vulnerable.
There is a pregnant pause while they size up one another. Metaphorically speaking, of course. They eye and test boundaries through sight alone. If there was ever a moment in which to be even vaguely tender, it would be now. Prussia discards all thoughts of tender as soon as they occur and instead turns towards teasing, pressing his cock, flushed deep red, against the pink pucker. Austria fights to keep his face straight. It’s an inner battle, where Roderich wants to be just yelling at this white haired man to stop teasing and get on with it. But there is that permanent aristocrat that seems to be stopping him, is telling him not to react. The strange thing is, the less he reacts, the more he sees that manic glint in Prussia’s eyes. Perhaps the aristocrat wants that nation back as well.
Finally, when Austria breaks, Roderich starts to snarl something out, his face twisting with anger converted from energy. That’s the moment that Prussia chooses to push in, changing the snarl into a groan. It hurts, of course it does. The stretch and burn of his muscles complaining is painful, but he relaxes them as much as he physically can. Gilbert takes on the look of a scared rabbit and has the tremors of Latvia. He’s terrified of injuring Roderich, has not yet even begun to mark his shoulders in this primal act. Roderich grasps Gilbert’s shoulders, sucking lightly on the exposed neck just hovering in front of him. There is a gasp from Gilbert, almost like wonder. It seems to be a catalyst for something inside him. Prussia’s hips snap, Austria cries out.
Gilbert wonders for his sanity. He must be losing it if he is here, in the perfect position to nail Austria through the mattress (were they on a mattress in the first place), yet he can’t quite manage to bring himself to do it. For all his talk before, he knows now what pain feels like, especially when he’s been violated and reduced. He can’t do it. His mind seems to be conveniently forgetting all that Austria showed him before he was taken away, the joy of fighting for dominance (even the snob put up a good fight sometimes).
He should be pistoning his hips by now, hearing the guttural sounds fall from the Austrian’s mouth. Instead, it is all he can do to hold himself back. Roderich is squirming, and he’s terrified of hurting him, terrified, though those shoulders look simply delicious, like they should be edible, and his hips are twitching. He was stilled by fear before, and he can’t quite get his hips moving again. Then Roderich glares and Prussia lets out a low chuckle, twitching his hips more and more, until they are roughly jerking and the slap of skin can be heard above the heavy breaths.
It isn’t long, it doesn’t need to be, and Austria is squirming, lifting his back off cold stone tiles, his toes curling. On the hot skin of his chest, Prussia’s breath falls hotter, as he bends and bites, stubby nails dragging along Austria’s sides. Everything in him is coiled tightly, and the red eyes gleam at him, until he is nonsensical.
Everything within Austria tips until the stars explode behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes, everything within him tensing, everything within him frozen. Somewhere in his battered mind, he realises Prussia has come as well.
There is a short, sweet moment where they relax against one another, unable to move for the weariness in their muscles. Prussia’s forehead rests against Austria’s, and Gilbert and Roderich stare into one another’s eyes.
“Get off, Gilbert, you’re squashing me.” Austria complained in a low voice, as Gilbert smirked, moving slowly. His limbs felt uncoordinated and heavy, but he tried anyway. There was a content feeling that radiated through him, his body relaxed.
Finally, he’s clambered to his feet and started to find his clothes, pulling on his jeans slowly. “Just because you’re a pussy.” He shot across to the limp Austria who was still on the floor, though had already regained his underwear and his shirt.
There is a warm smile on Roderich’s face as he pulls himself off the floor, grasping the piano stool for support. His legs feel like jelly, like they don’t exist beneath him.
Everything pauses after Prussia pulls on his shirt, and it feels like there is something that needs to be said. “Thanks,” is muttered instead, and Austria blinks, finding his glasses. The white hair no longer looks like the halo it seemed like before. Prussia looks worn out. He looks weary and… old.
The moment passes, and Gilbert walks out the door.
Whatever it was that needed to be said hasn’t been. Roderich doesn’t have the reassurance he needs. They need different things though. Roderich suspects that Gilbert needs someone to make him feel real again.
Gilbert knows that he needs nothing more than a good, long warm shower and a cold beer. Well, even fading nations need to have their creature comforts every now and again. Oh, and a good war movie. That would be awesome.
He whistles all the way back to West’s house.