Dear readers,
This may be a trigger for some. I advise you to not read if you are under the age of 18. Noncon-dubcon-con. Germany(crazy in the beginning)xFemAmerica! I know that this is a slightly harder pairing to find. So, I wrote this piece. Please review! Thanks.
OoOoOo
December 11th, 1944. 3:30 pm.
America watched wide-eyed as the German charge d'affaires in Washington handed American Secretary of State Cordell Hull a copy of the declaration of war.
The blonde nation geared for war. Her attitude shifting from her shock at the attack of Pearl Harbor into a steady building rage. She'd tried to stay out of the fight. Had honestly made the attempt, and now the war was literally being brought to her.
America knew when the draft went out, heard the wails of the mothers that would lose their sons. Wives that would lose their husbands. The children left without fathers.
She knew the moment her soldiers touched soil in a foreign country and died, so far from her own shores.
She dawned her uniform, watching as her people put for a herculean effort to protect her. The bombs, the planes, the guns, and the rations that were so carefully accounted for.
With steely determination in her normally happy eyes, she answered the call of her people. The challenge thrown down in their blood.
America went to war.
OoOoOo
December 16th, 1944
He captured her at the battle of the Bulge. Purely by accident. The Germans, crazy bastards that they were, threw 250,000 soldiers into the initial assault. America stared with grim determination at the 14 German infantry divisions, guarded by five panzer divisions, against her 80,000 American soldiers. Their assault came in early morning at the weakest part of the Allied line, an 80-mile poorly protected stretch of a hilly, woody forest. Germany was with them.
Fate had not been on her side.
He'd been able to force her men to retreat, due to the vulnerability of her thin-spread and isolated units. Even the weather conspired against them as the thick fog that prevented Allied air cover from discovering German movement descended over them.
They'd dragged her from the bodies of her soldiers, as she'd stayed behind to try and save them. It was just her luck that Germany happened to be there. His blue eyes were eerily deranged as he smiled down at her coldly.
"Look what was found in the 'Mist'." He chuckled to himself, and ordered her brought to his tent.
There he'd beaten her soundly while she cursed his ancestors, people, and existence all the way back to the beginning.
The next day, he had her transported along with the remaining prisoners to a location she couldn't name. America tried to keep the spirits of her men up, and they grew very protective of her, often glaring at the stray eyes of the SS soldiers. She kept their hopes alive with talk of home and loved ones. She gave them a will to keep going.
They were her reason for existence.
One night, she was roughly grabbed from a sound sleep and brought inside to see Germany. His eyes hard and they pierced her to the quick. She was ready for him, now. She launched herself at him, trying to take him down, but he punched her firmly in the midsection.
America coughed, and stomped on his boot hard enough to break bone. Germany grunted in pain and back-handed her. Her already bruised face, gave way and her lip split. Blood oozed sluggishly as she spat in his face, tears of anger clouding her eyes. She sneered at him, the blood and spittle trailing down his face.
It stained her teeth a sickly sort of orange-yellow against the white and blood.
Germany let loose a dark chuckle, wiping it off with the back of his hand a leer. "Such a little antagonist," he said with cruel amusement.
"You started this," she snarled at him, refusing to back down even though he had her cornered.
His face turned carefully blank, and he pulled her toward him. His breath was warm on her face as he stared at her, searching for something.
She met his stare and held it, refusing to back down.
Germany 's eyes danced with his malice and America kept silent, waiting for him to strike. He shoved her toward his desk, she stumbled and fell hard upon it. He took her arms and bent them painfully behind her back, grinning all the while.
He leaned against her, letting her feel just how strong of a nation he really was. His lips were just centimeters away from the side of her face, as he hummed in a pleased manner to himself.
She hated the way he made her burn at his touch. His tongue licked a path down her cheek. She made an attempt to bite him, but he slapped her ass painfully. She could feel his excitement when she yelled at him.
"Go fuck yourself, you Nazi bastard." She shouted enraged.
"Why ever would I do that?" He asked lowly, seductively, "When I have you?"
America's eyes widened and thrashed against him in earnest.
"Oh please," he whispered in obvious amusement, "continue to struggle."
She began to panic, trying to tamp it down. She needed to escape. Had to get out of here.
"That Hitler bastard has made you crazy!" She sneered haughtily, hoping to push him to the point where he would beat her senseless, instead of this.
He slapped her ass again, even harder.
"Fucker!" she snarled in pain. Her blue eyes were murderous and she continued to taunt him. "I bet you go down for him, don't ya? That's why you have to try and force yourself on prisoners. You sick, degenerate, fuck!"
His face was next to hers as he grabbed her by her hair, roughly pulling it upward.
"Ah!" She shouted in pain.
"Such a filthy mouth," he whispered with dark intent. "Do all American's spew such filth? Or is it only you, little girl?" He hummed in his throat, and licked her neck slowly. "Go 'down' hm? What an excellent suggestion. Let's put that mouth of yours to good use, shall we?"
She knew exactly what he was getting at and it wasn't fucking happening.
She thrashed, ignoring how it hurt her to try and yank her head away from his unforgiving fist in her hair. He openly sneered at her attempts to free herself. He yanked her off the desk and shoved her onto her knees.
She barred her teeth at him.
"No teeth," he warned her grimly.
"I'll fucking bite it off." She promised him with fury blazing from her words.
Germany chuckled, a low and dangerous sound. "Will you?" He placed his hand under her chin, as she shied away from him as far as she could go. Which wasn't far.
Her eyes promised pain and a thorough ass kicking if he tried anything.
"You bet your ass."
"Hm," He grabbed his gun, and pointed it at her head.
America glared up at him, unflinching. German grinned widely, and she felt a lead weight in her stomach. Sometime bad was going to happen.
"Prussia!" Germany shouted.
The door opened after a few moments, revealing the albino nation. America swallowed, her moth still holding the salty tang of blood. Her blue eyes narrowed at the newest fucker she'd have to beat into submission the moment she got a chance.
"Yes?" He asked, his eyes carefully avoiding America's burning stare.
"Bring me one of the prisoners," he said with a smile that could have rivaled the devils.
Her gaze swung to him, mounting terror welling in her stomach. Damn. He was going to use her soldiers. That devious little prick.
"Fuck you," she snarled, trying to charge at him from the floor.
He brought stars to her eyes with the force of the blow of his gun to the side of her head. America dropped like a ton of bricks, her legs suddenly having given out. She could feel the sticky warmth of more blood. Her ears were ringing.
She blinked, trying to get the vision of two Germanys to clear.
The door opened soon after, dragging a young man that couldn't have been more than two days past nineteen. America grit her teeth, ready to throw herself in front of the soldier if she had to. The man had been beaten within an inch of his life. His arm and one leg were obviously broken as Prussia dragged him forcefully into the room.
"Don't say a word soldier," she commanded forcefully.
The man's eyes widened and he looked instantly concerned for her well being. His brown eyes frightened and equally furious. He nodded, fighting back against the pain.
America felt a burst of pride for the young man. She had such brave 'sons'. Her people would not be so easily broken, and she took solace from them.
Germany cocked the gun, and pressed it against the man's temple.
"Now, I think we were in the middle of something," he said coyly with a touch of wickedness to his words.
America mentally swore up a storm, her eyes hard and unforgiving as she openly challenged him. "Go to hell." She hissed.
Her soldier laughed. It was the last thing he ever did. Without mercy, Germany shot him in cold blood. His blood mixed with hers as America stared at his corpse with wide eyes.
Something in her snapped. She lunged for Germany again, only to receive another sound blow.
"I'll fucking kill you," she raged.
"Nein," he stated, nearly panting, "you'll just get your 'fucking' as you so eloquently put it."
He grabbed her roughly by her hair again. Shoving her toward his crotch. His other hand still clutching the gun tightly between cruel fingers. He gave a toothy smile, his eyes slightly crazed.
"Get to it. Or are you too stupid to know what to do without instruction?" He taunted, pressing the gun to her temple.
"Fucker," she said calmly, "You'd better just shoot me, because I am not-"
"Oh, I won't shoot you, America." His eyes nearly smoldered in unrepentant enjoyment. "I'll shoot every one of your pitiful little soldiers. Right. In. Front. Of. You." He promised.
She started to tremble, not wanting to hear the deafening sound again. She couldn't sentence her men to certain death for her pride. They would doubtlessly be tortured, but there was a chance, as long as they lived, that rescue could come.
She needed to get as many of her boys home as possible.
With shaking fingers she reached for his breeches, starting to unbutton them. Her face pale and she tried desperately to think of home and country. She freed his growing length, trying not to see the face of the soldier that had just perished.
She can feel his eyes on her, and she loathes him with every fiber of her being for doing this to her. If he makes a fucking joke or bratwurst comment, she will bite the damn thing off no matter what he does to her later.
She doesn't want to look at it, and closes her eyes. and opens her mouth. Her hands wrap around his member and he lets out a hiss of approval.
Bastard.
Her tongue threatens to retreat back into her esophagus in order to avoid feeling the taste of him. The scent of him is slightly musky and it makes her feel sick to her stomach. She starts to move her head back and forth.
Germany still has a fist in her hair and he starts saying something in German she can't understand. She doesn't want to. She tries to block all this out with the fast beating of her heart. He pushes himself deeper into her mouth, and she chokes slightly. She can hardly breathe as he thrusts into the moist cavern.
It takes all she has not to bite him, knowing what he is forcing her to do. However, he's gone crazy since Hitler has changed the will of his people. Germany is not himself, but even that cannot forgive his twisted sadism. He wants to hurt her.
And, he is doing a damn fine job of it. She can feel his length twitch and harden in her mouth. She finds herself hoping it will be over soon as she commands her to use her hands. To really make him enjoy it. She hates him.
She wants to bring him low, like he's doing to her, but she cannot take the blood on her hands. America takes a breath, steeling her nerves as she pleases him with her mouth. She has him groaning and thrusting rhythmically. He's got to be close, because her jaw is aching like fire.
She is forced to swallow a large amount of saliva to keep from gagging further.
Suddenly he pushes her off him roughly. America cries out as he lands on her heavily. She tries to take a swing at him, but he laughs and holds her hands down with just one of his own.
He's tearing at her clothes. She screams obscenities at him. She calls him a piece of shit, a coward, a bastard, and every name she can think of, trying to buck him off.
Germany holds onto her tightly, guiding himself into her. America howled in rage and shame as he pauses at her entrance. An evil sneer on his face. He leaned down and kissed her, grinding against her subtlety.
She gasps in outrage, and humiliation. The bastard.
He takes his time, forcing her body to respond even as her mind and mouth scream against him. His fingers invade her depths. He strokes, pinches, and rubs in places that have her clamping her thighs together to keep him out.
No.
Please No.
She prays for help, for anyone to stop him. To her horror and shame, she feels herself growing slick. Their eyes lock and she goes to spit at him again, but he captures her mouth. America bit him, hard. Germany reared back, smiling through the blood trickling down his lips.
America thrashes under his hold, trying to dislodge him, but he's using his weight to keep her pinned down. His lips smear blood over her neck and she screams in frustration and helplessness. She wants him to stop.
His fingers keep up their play with a vengeance and America feels her breath come out in short pants.
NO.
She tries clamping her thighs together again, but to no avail. He is everywhere at once, his hand, lips, and tongue defile parts of her flesh.
Forgive me. She pleaded silently in her head while her thoughts screamed at her for responding at all. She felt the heat pooling in her loins, terrified of what he'd say. she couldn't even close her eyes without seeing him doing this to her.
Silence, deafening silence broken only by their panting breaths.
Germany said nothing. He aligned himself, and pushed into her with a slow thrust. His one hand holding her arms above her head, and his other fondling her as he rutted against her.
Her slick folds accepted him readily even as she tried to pull herself away from the situation. He was a Nazi bastard, raping her. She wouldn't feel this. Couldn't afford to feel this.
He was deliberately trying to get her to climax, she knew it. It would be a chance to further degrade her. She tried to ignore the clenching feeling inside of her, the rubbing of his fingers against her most sensitive spot. She tried to block out the German he gutturally whispered in her ears.
"Täubchen," he groaned against her skin as he quickened his pace. His mouth on her neck, and he bit the place where he pulse pounded wildly.
America bit her lip so hard that she reopened a split. She would not make any sort of noise to urge this bastard on. She wouldn't.
Molten heat kept pooling, and soon her thighs were trembling from something other than invasion. She tried to picture someone else doing this with her. Her mind conjured up the images of the allies, trying in vain to find country to block out this defilement with.
No, not now. She could feel the faint whips of pleasure invading her staunch attempts to ignore him. It was coiling low in her belly. Stretching, tightening, readying to snap.
"Stop," she bit out, squeezing her eyes even more tightly shut.
He chuckled against her ear, it sounded almost fond. She recoiled at the sound, trying to shift away from him, but only succeeding in making him thrust harder. The ache had started to build again, insistent and unrelenting.
"Schöne Versuchung," he purred gutturally, causing her body to slicken even further as the undeniable heat he caused coursed through her veins.
Her mind became clouded as she tried to sort through what little German she knew, tried to take her focus off the terrible pleasure. Too much. No. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
"No," she denied as her core clenched, unable to deny the sensations any longer.
Germany grabbed her face and kissed her as he gave her thrust after relentless thrust. She felt the moment his seed flooded her, and she felt her eyes water in dismay.
He removed himself from her, leaving her spent and trembling on the floor.
His icy blue gaze landed on her with a satisfied sneer.
"Clean yourself up America," he said with distaste as he straightened his own appearance and tucked his cock away. "You reek."
She flipped him off as he opened the door, and left her in the tatters of her pride.
OoOoOo
January 25th, 1945
He had her for three weeks steadily. In different positions and in different ways. He tied her to his bed and ravished her there. He made her ride him on his chair while the radio played in the background. She'd listened intently to the propaganda, firmly believing in her heart of hearts it couldn't be true. Germany's people could not be winning the war. America actually began to hope for times when he would call her into his office, and if she argued with him quickly, or took her time in submitting to him; he wouldn't even notice he'd left the radio on.
A vicious cycle.
He woke her up more than once by thrusting hotly into her. Those times were the hardest for her, because she would still be slick with his essence from earlier. He was a beast that was slowly crushing her ability to fight against him.
Shame and hope were eating her alive.
Shame for every time she found pleasure in his ministrations and debauched couplings. Hope because each day might be the last time.
So many times he found release in her that she lost count. She loathed that he nearly always had her body responding to his ministrations. Her orgasms were the largest destroyer of morale for the strong nation. He whispered words she didn't quite understand, always with a gentle hand. His pleasure was seeing her bend, knowing the mental torture was far worse for causing her pain.
Though he enjoyed plenty of the physical. He bound her in more ways than one as he drove himself to the hilt, his words dripping with lust and as she shuddered against him. His bright eyes always wanted to watch the moment she descended into coital bliss. America hated him for it. He forced her to look at him.
Always.
She had to look at him when it happened. There was always something guarded in his eyes but he watched her reach completion every time he was able. He rarely forced her onto her stomach anymore, he wanted to see her face.
She felt herself breaking under his onslaught of psychological warfare. She was wearing thin and her mental defenses were weakening. She was not always able to stave off her peak of pleasure. When she did, it left him furious and cold for at least a day.
He fed her, and allowed her to bathe, but she was never permitted away from him. When Germany was called away for yet another strategy meeting, he left her under Prussia's red and apathetic stare.
She tried pleading with Prussia to release her. She even went so far as to tempt him with allying with the United States or even England.
He's spat at her and declared that he didn't want his 'brother's' little whore or her cast off England. She'd been forced to stay quiet in her growing solitude because Prussia promised he would allow some extra rations for her imprisoned soldiers, provided she shut up.
America tried to lure him into conversation, to find out what was going on in the world outside her gilded cage. She did not touch Germany's bed unless she absolutely had to. Too many memories of it already. She ate little, and though she hoped to lure a mouse or cat with her scraps, she never found any.
If only she were able to send some sort of message?
She wasn't sure if her people even knew she was missing. Knowing of her was the highest security clearance. She'd posed as a nurse to even make it near the front lines. However, she'd gone against the warnings of common sense, needing to be 'in the trenches' so to speak, with her men.
This is where it had gotten her.
OoOoOo
February 18th, 1945
Something inside her was twisting, no longer fearing being locked away by Germany forever. His touches became less and less unwelcomed and America feared she was descending into madness right along with him.
There were moments where he was almost gentle and kind. Those were the moments she had the hardest time fighting against. Each day brought yet another 24 hours where she'd had not contact from her allies, and only the words of Germany to cling to.
She rebelled against him, as often as she could, before he threatened the lives of her soldiers once more. He made her pay in blood, sweat, tears, and sex. For whatever reason, he hadn't killed her yet. America wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
She starts trying to get any information she can gleam from his office. The papers, all writing in some sort of code, one she knows England has cracked and it causes her to miss him desperately, tell her next to nothing. However, there are maps, and drawings on some of the papers. Little scratches that mark territory.
When Germany catches her, because she was so absorbed she didn't hear him. He bends her over his desk and fucks her without mercy.
America can only howl her pain and pleasure in between panting breaths. Her eyes fixated on papers she cannot even read. When at last he is satiated, she attempts to wiggle out from under him, but he turns her around and starts the whole thing over again. She claws at his back, trying to hold onto something when everything is slipping from her grasp.
Later that night, she tries to ask him about her soldiers. His eyes are hard but he bites her shoulder with enough force that he leaves a bruise. He no longer allows her in his office at all, and cuts her off from the radio.
America bides her time.
OoOoOo
March 7th, 1945
There is something budding between them. Between the days where she never sees him and the nights where he won't leave her alone. He is constantly stressed and his eyes gleam with a paranoid air, as if the walls are closing in on him at any moment.
This is the first day she finds herself actually starting to worry what happens to Germany, and when he falls asleep, remains awake.
When he whimpers from dreams she knows all too well, she presses her body against his and shares the comfort of holding him. In the moonlight, he is not so menacing and she is not afraid of him. He doesn't look like the sadistic prick she's come to know and she cautions herself not to entertain those thoughts.
The war between them we very much real, and America can feel it in her bones, that it is coming to a close. It just has to be. She can sense her people somewhere near her. Not just her soldiers, but in Germany. She can feel them as she presses against his skin. Their will beckoning to her and her blue eyes look up at his wincing face.
Somehow, she just knows they've made it into the country.
They cannot go on like this.
OoOoOo
April 12th, 1945
She physically feels her president die, and it brings tears to her eyes. She remains motionless on the floor, not daring to move or speak.
Roosevelt.
She knows the instant he passes and it is like a shot to her heart. Was he killed by the Germans? Was he safe on her soils? She could not tell that much, only that he is gone and now Harry Truman succeeds him.
Still she mourns his passing as she rocks herself back and forth.
When Germany finds her, hours later, he seems to know what troubles her. His blue eyes are unreadable as he wraps her in his arms as she cries.
This night, he kisses away her tears and helps her not think of anything but him.
OoOoOo
May 7th, 1945
He'd been furious when he entered the bedroom that night. Tension in his shoulders an air of defeat about him. America swallowed, scarcely believing Germany could ever even look like that. Not when he made her body burst into flame with his tainted touches and kisses.
He gave her a look that told her a wealth of information. Though only one part had her changing thoughts. It was time to say goodbye, wasn't it? Would he kill her? Would he forgive her if she left? Should she care?
Her blue eyes slowly lifted to his, she looked so vulnerable but there was need in her eyes. He was a raging beast, barely controlled. She could tell he wanted to lash out, wanted to make something hurt and bleed. However, she simply didn't want it to be how they parted. Not after all of this. She reached for him, her lips pressing against his softly.
He stood, trembling in her embrace, and pulled back. His eyes were wild and he was breathing harshly. America traced the line of his jaw with a delicate touch. No words needed to be spoken. Not assurances given. She would bend this night, if only to save them both from madness. He dipped his head toward hers, kissing her again. Slowly, languidly, and with the same amount of heat as their first night together.
When her lips parted, it was as if the flood gates had opened and he had to touch her. His fingers caressed her curves, her breasts, and finally settled at the juncture between her thighs once more. She whimpered into his mouth and he greedily sought to coax more of those delicious sounds out of her.
He was pushing her back toward the bed. Allowing her to fall. He helped her tug off her clothes in a fevered rush. In between they exchanged kisses of need. His hands moved over he body, finding her slickened folds.
He tore his mouth from hers and placed light bites on her neck. He loved the feel of her against him. He felt elated, knowing that she was consenting to this. He groaned as she bucked against his hand. Every one of her little breathy moans went straight to his cock.
Germany, whispered words of ownership and devotion in the same breath. All of them in his native tongue, which America did not fully understand. She whimpered under him, trying to draw him closer with each passing moment.
His eyes watched every facial expression she made. Germany had memorized long ago what touches had her burning with passion and melting in his hands. He closed his lips around her nipple, as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive bud.
America arched and squirmed.
He wanted to be inside her, but not yet. No. He would make this last for her. An offering of sorts, because he could never apologize. He simply didn't have the words.
However, he knew the feelings were there as they had always been. Since the first day he made her bend to him. From the first time he'd put that sweet little mouth to work.
His eyes darkened further, as he vividly recalled the memories, until they were the most unforgettable shade of azure America had ever seen. His accent was causing heat to pool and she wanted desperately to rub her thighs together to ease the ache. Because she did ache.
"Please," she begged softly, nearly inaudible over the sound of the accompanying moan.
"I didn't hear you," he said lowly, a thinly veiled promise in his words. Words that had brought her to fulfillment and crushing depression numerous times.
America turned hard eyes toward him, allowing them to soften as she looked on the man who'd forced his way into her life, her bed, and her mind.
She loved him. She feared him. She wanted him. She despised him. Her only vice. Germany.
"Please!" She cried out, her body begging along with her tone.
He knew what she wanted, but refused it to her. His mouth gave her a satisfied smirk before he was crushing their lips together. He ground his pelvis against hers, reveling in the heat radiating from her. She was moving against him with her hips undulating, her hands fisted in the sheets beside her.
She felt like she was being overtaken.
Her wetness seeped into his breeches, and Germany couldn't care less. He couldn't get enough of the feel of her skin, the taste of her, and the sounds she made were driving him to the point of a lust so painful he'd have to slake it in her folds.
"You're going to satisfy me, woman." He growled with a lustful look.
America nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. There was a presence about him like this. She was a puddle of wanton need beneath his harsh and unforgiving stare. His mouth twisted into a knowing smile as he stroked her center. She let out a little sound of frustration.
He smirked at her, slowly slipping his hand inside the thin covering separating their skin to skin contact. His eyes were focused on her as his fingers teased her entrance. Germany swallowed reflexively. She was so ready for him, her body was excited from his touches.
She was responding of her own volition. He didn't need honeyed threats or promises of pain to have her wet to his touch.
She moved with his hand, the first time she'd ever done so without having to be broken down first. It was too much for him.
She made a circular motion with her hips, causing him to draw in a breath. She was trying to slip his fingers inside her core.
Greedy American. He thought fondly, as he continued to tease her, stroking her lust to new heights. Germany wanted her wild beneath him. No sense of duty or forced intimacy. Not tonight,
He felt powerful as he watched her moan for him, without artifice or guile. She sincerely wanted him to take her to the heights of pleasure. Germany slipped a finger inside her moist cavern and America gave him a satisfied cry.
"Germany," she said softly, her voice full of yearning. Her eyes betrayed her uncertainty and between them, that was perfect.
He marveled that for a loud nation, she was so quiet when she was laid before him, ripe for the plucking.
He wanted to wait longer. He did. He wanted to draw out their last time in such a way that she could never forget him. However, America looked at him with pleading eyes and was only able to mouth out 'You'. Her legs drawing up as she planted her feet on the bed. Her head rolled to the side, and she increased her movements.
He hurt with how hard the act of her letting go against his hand made him. He withdrew his fingers from her, and used both hands to rip her undergarment to shreds. America made a surprised gasp. Germany swore in his native tongue as he attacked the buttons on his pants.
His blue eyes smoldered as he freed himself, and pushed against her entrance roughly. America whimpered, excited by the animalistic look on his face. She knew what was coming, and she wanted it with every fiber of her being.
He called her his darling as he sheathed himself fully inside of her. America pretended not to know what the word meant. It was too painful between them already. With tears pooling in her eyes, she greedily wrapped her legs around him. Germany loved to watch the sight of her on his cock, blue eyes wide, looking at him as if she'd break without him there.
He bit her neck, hoping to leave some evidence of their joining.
He groaned and gave himself over to moving inside of her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck while he answered the instinct as old as time to lay claim to her. He nipped lightly at her neck and shoulder.
She tightened around him, clenching at him as she moaned her pleasure in his ear. He loved the sounds she made when she was twisting beneath him. Silently begging him for more.
Such a proud country, reduced to this. He felt a shiver of excitement from it. He needed it. Craved it,
He never wanted to stop. He never wanted to let her go.
Germany sought her mouth. Her lips parted and he plundered her mouth as he rocked against her with a steady pace. His hand fisted in her hair, the other held her hip with a firm grip. More. He needed more of her.
He had to taste the very essence of her on his tongue, one last time. Just once more. It would hold him over for the endless nights without her.
Her legs around his waist, she used the position for some leverage as she tried to move with him. However, his iron hold on her hips made it nearly impossible to go as fast as she wanted. It was a slow sort of madness that was driving her insane. An incredible anticipation that she never wanted to end.
Germany preferred it like this. America begging him for every inch he gave her. Every inch she took. War should have been like this. With only their two bodies moving in tandem. No killing or bloodshed.
He wanted to make the moments of her in his lover's embrace last. Yet, with every wiggle of her hips, ever tightening of her silken muscles made it much harder to hold himself to that standard. He wanted to hear her cries of pleasure-pain as he brought her to the brink of an ecstasy only he could give her.
He ended the kiss, drawing a ragged breath as America moaned under him. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, bites intermingled, and with his hand in her hair. He pulled back on her golden locks, adoring the way she arched against him. She was giving him all of her and the affectionate act made him shudder in desire.
Moving his hands, he lifted her hips slightly, driving home and bringing them higher with every thrust. Germany nearly growled when her cries of pleasure became louder and America tried to push back against him more erratically. Finally, she was letting go of her hate of him. Finally she wasn't thinking about it first when she moved against him.
He ground into her roughly.
"Please," America begged hurtling toward her limit. She whimpered as the sensations intensified and his slow, hard, measured, movements were keeping her from getting there fast enough.
"Mein Schatz," he whispered to her with his voice laden with pleasure. abandoning all pretense of restraint as he drove into her over and over again. Each time just a bit harder. He wanted to brand the feel of him insider her on her memory. America moaned underneath him.
She felt so hot. The temperature in her body was spiking.
So close.
Almost.
"Germany," she gasped with glazed eyes as she climaxed. Her body instinctively clamped down on him as she rode out the waves of her pleasure.
His blue eyes saw it all and his cock most certainly felt her trying to milk his own release out of him. He thought she was gorgeous with her starry-eyed gaze and he could not hold back the need to grind against her. His fingers working their magic as he tried to extend her orgasm.
The feel of her was exquisite, and it left him slightly pained, knowing what was to come.
He knew he'd be forced to give her up. His mind rebelled against the very notion that they would ever be parted. Not when he was so deep inside her.
He was covered her mouth with his over and over. Almost more passionate and desperate with each passing moment as he thrust into her with animalistic lust. It was what he had hoped to hear, had longed to hear from her sweet mouth.
He couldn't... couldn't wait any longer. He ground against her, seeking his own release. America was moaning heavily under him, her gaze filled with adoration.
"I love you," she whispered against his lips.
OoOoOo
When Hitler committed suicide, something in Germany had changed drastically, and the will he represented of his people had also changed. His eyes no longer seemed menacing, but somber and filled with emotions she couldn't place a name to. However, she could sense regret and tiredness from him at all times.
The Allies recovered her on May 7th, 1945. It was the night Germany set her free. He'd been forced to surrender to Italy unconditionally on the 29th of April; he had hidden America away until the bitter end. She could only speculate as to why, thought some part of her knew quite well.
When Hitler committed suicide, something in him had changed drastically, and the will he represented of his people had also changed. His eyes no longer seemed menacing, but somber and filled with emotions she couldn't place a name to.
He'd hastily bundled her up in a stolen U.S. uniform, similar to the one he'd destroyed in front of her months ago. The bed they'd shared had barley cooled when he shoved her out the door. His eyes were hard, and his parting kiss was bitter sweet.
He'd told her to go to the allies. He'd even given her his gun, making her swear that she'd be alright. America had promised him with trembling lips, and eyes filled with unshed tears.
She stumbled toward allied lines, pretending that she'd never been captured, but had moved from battle to battle. Her smile was forced as was the light in her eyes. She should have been elated, but she wasn't. She felt strangely caged, and not freed at all.
She'd heard enough of the details, those times he had bent her over his desk to alleviate his tension. Or how he'd made her listen to the propaganda that his people spewed while he had her screaming his name.
Her secret shame. Their last time together, when she'd whispered her love against his lips. She knew she was a fool.
A traitor.
Weak.
Wanton and desperate for his touch.
America didn't sleep for a long while after she was reclaimed by friendly forces. It took months before she stopped feeling the phantom touch of Germany against her skin every time she managed a fitful sleep. Her lips never dared breathe a word of what had passed between them, and they never would.
It was too much to speak of her tormentor. Her lover. Her crushing oppression. Her own personal demon.
Her beloved Germany.
OoOoOo
December 11th, 2014
If anyone ever knew what passed between them all those years ago, they would have thought her insane for being able to forgive him; let alone love him. However, that is exactly what America did. They had a fancy name for it now. Stockholm syndrome. Maybe that is what gripped her after all these years.
She couldn't say. Didn't want to. However, she could never remember that time without thinking of him. Like she is thinking of it now.
She watches him from across the room, wondering if he ever remembers it like she does. If he recalls their nights together, and how it didn't make sense why he'd kept her. Her blue eyes look solemnly at a glass of water in front of her. Her throat is tight at the painful and wonderful memories he brings.
Germany is business as usual, his eyes hardly ever sparing a glance her way. However, she can count the number of times he looks at Italy, and she secretly hates how pathetic she is.
"I'm impressed, America," France says from her right, and she manages yet another blinding smile in his direction. It's as false as it always has been since that fateful day Germany released her.
"About what, dude?" She asked is a carefree and easy manner.
"You have really been paying attention today," the other nation compliments with a touch of respect in his eyes.
She says nothing, but gives him a casual laugh.
Hands slam down in front of them, and America swings her blue eyes upward to see Germany towering over her. It makes another memory play out in her mind and she swallows back the overwhelming sadness it brings.
"If you could stop interrupting the meeting, we could finish on time and then you can chit-chat," he yells glaring at them.
Her fingers itch to touch him. She's missed him, will never admit it in the light of day, but she has. Something inside her was twisted by their time together and she does long for him still. She cannot help the crystalline tears that gather in her eyes, though she refuses to shed them.
So instead, she calmly nods and looks around the room as France gives a half-hearted apology.
Her blue eyes land on green, and she gives another easy lie of a smile. She waits for Germany to go back to the details at hand, watching as he gives the floor to Italy with an unnecessary amount of attention.
She was jealous of Italy. What a strange world. She thought with a small smile.
America was so wrapped up in her musings that she missed the look of heated longing sent her way.
OoOoOo
Germany watched the small, real, smile on her lips as she looked at Italy in amusement. He had no idea what was so funny, but with America it was sometimes hard to tell.
Whenever he looked at her, all he could see was the same spitfire from a nation that had helped stop the rampage.
The Allies had won the war, but America had won something else from him. Something that time could not replace. So many lives had been lost, but he'd clung to the one spot of light amidst the darkness, until he'd been forced to relinquish her.
It still left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he had not forgiven the allies for taking her from him.
Blue eyes met blue. America was looking at him. Their gazes met, clashed, warred, and held.
She would always be his treasure.