[Fanfic] - Flicker and Fade (1/1)
Fandom: Hetalia
Contains: unknown consent (dubcon), asphyxiation, humiliation, voyeurism
Characters and Pairings: Prussia/Austria, England
Length: short
Summary: “Austria on his knees was one of Prussia’s favorite things.” Set during the Seven Years War.
This came about from the aph anon meme after a discussion of kinks and characters.
“You’re doing it wrong. Harder.” The mocking tones of England’s voice rang out from across the room.
“Can’t you see I’m a little-” Prussia grunted as an elbow from Austria caught him in the stomach, and he turned away to face the other source of his annoyance.
“I didn’t say you could fight back, did I?” His hands around Austria’s neck tightened, tendons straining beneath his fingers.
“Don’t blame me for your ineptitude at this.” Austria’s voice was no more than a hoarse croak.
How that aristocratic fuck managed to speak was a mystery, and one Prussia wasn’t interested in solving. His hands squeezed mercilessly and he smiled at the strangled noises that were his only response.
“Finally. That’s more like it.” England again, that arrogant fuck. He’d be next if he didn’t watch his mouth.
“Shut up,” Prussia responded, not making the same mistake of looking over at him again. He knew what he’d find in any case: his ally sprawled over the finest furniture of Austrian craftsmanship, the blood and grime of his tattered uniform staining the precious upholstery. A leer on his face and a hand on his cock as he watched them.
Fucking beautiful is what it was, but not nearly as gorgeous as the sight below him. Austria on his knees was one of Prussia’s favorite things.
Austria’s eyes were wide, glinting bright in the reflection of the room’s many chandeliers. His mouth gaped open as he fought for the air Prussia denied him, even as his hips jerked uselessly in arousal he no longer tried to hide. Prussia had almost bound his hands but it was just so much damn fun to watch him fight. Even better to watch him lose.
Prussia nudged his shin against the bulge in Austria’s pants, delighting in the way the usually refined nation practically rutted against him before getting control of himself. “Liked that did you,” he mocked.
Austria glared hatefully back at him.
Prussia smirked, enjoying the sight and the way his own arousal simmered just under the surface. “Get yourself off. Before you faint or not at all.”
For a moment, Austria didn’t move, and Prussia inwardly cursed him, his stupid empire, and his prissy fucking self-control. He nudged at the bulge again and felt the thrill of victory in the tight vibration of a trapped moan under his hands, even as Austria began to move against him, rutting against Prussia’s filthy uniform pants.
Prussia laughed, and heard England do the same.
If Austria noticed, he gave no indication. His eyes were glazed, body trembling as his thrusts got quicker and shorter. He’d be panting, Prussia knew, short and shallow gasps of air if he’d been able to.
He pressed his thumbs sharply into the vulnerable flesh of Austria’s neck just as the other nation jerked once and shuddered like a wire pulled taut, slumping into Prussia’s body until he was held up solely by the hands clamped around his neck.
Prussia let him fall to the floor, hand absently smoothing down an errant strand of sweaty black hair. Disgusted with himself and hoping his companion hadn’t seen, he plucked the glasses from the unconscious nation’s face, pocketed them, and strode jauntily towards the couch.
Contains: unknown consent (dubcon), asphyxiation, humiliation, voyeurism
Characters and Pairings: Prussia/Austria, England
Length: short
Summary: “Austria on his knees was one of Prussia’s favorite things.” Set during the Seven Years War.
This came about from the aph anon meme after a discussion of kinks and characters.
“You’re doing it wrong. Harder.” The mocking tones of England’s voice rang out from across the room.
“Can’t you see I’m a little-” Prussia grunted as an elbow from Austria caught him in the stomach, and he turned away to face the other source of his annoyance.
“I didn’t say you could fight back, did I?” His hands around Austria’s neck tightened, tendons straining beneath his fingers.
“Don’t blame me for your ineptitude at this.” Austria’s voice was no more than a hoarse croak.
How that aristocratic fuck managed to speak was a mystery, and one Prussia wasn’t interested in solving. His hands squeezed mercilessly and he smiled at the strangled noises that were his only response.
“Finally. That’s more like it.” England again, that arrogant fuck. He’d be next if he didn’t watch his mouth.
“Shut up,” Prussia responded, not making the same mistake of looking over at him again. He knew what he’d find in any case: his ally sprawled over the finest furniture of Austrian craftsmanship, the blood and grime of his tattered uniform staining the precious upholstery. A leer on his face and a hand on his cock as he watched them.
Fucking beautiful is what it was, but not nearly as gorgeous as the sight below him. Austria on his knees was one of Prussia’s favorite things.
Austria’s eyes were wide, glinting bright in the reflection of the room’s many chandeliers. His mouth gaped open as he fought for the air Prussia denied him, even as his hips jerked uselessly in arousal he no longer tried to hide. Prussia had almost bound his hands but it was just so much damn fun to watch him fight. Even better to watch him lose.
Prussia nudged his shin against the bulge in Austria’s pants, delighting in the way the usually refined nation practically rutted against him before getting control of himself. “Liked that did you,” he mocked.
Austria glared hatefully back at him.
Prussia smirked, enjoying the sight and the way his own arousal simmered just under the surface. “Get yourself off. Before you faint or not at all.”
For a moment, Austria didn’t move, and Prussia inwardly cursed him, his stupid empire, and his prissy fucking self-control. He nudged at the bulge again and felt the thrill of victory in the tight vibration of a trapped moan under his hands, even as Austria began to move against him, rutting against Prussia’s filthy uniform pants.
Prussia laughed, and heard England do the same.
If Austria noticed, he gave no indication. His eyes were glazed, body trembling as his thrusts got quicker and shorter. He’d be panting, Prussia knew, short and shallow gasps of air if he’d been able to.
He pressed his thumbs sharply into the vulnerable flesh of Austria’s neck just as the other nation jerked once and shuddered like a wire pulled taut, slumping into Prussia’s body until he was held up solely by the hands clamped around his neck.
Prussia let him fall to the floor, hand absently smoothing down an errant strand of sweaty black hair. Disgusted with himself and hoping his companion hadn’t seen, he plucked the glasses from the unconscious nation’s face, pocketed them, and strode jauntily towards the couch.