A/N: Here's your requisite double-warning about non-con.
WARNING: non-con.
Thank you, and have a nice day.
# # #
Summer, 1989
Most people believe Germany to be an orderly, disciplined nation of few words. Germany would agree with them.
What they don't know, however, is that Germany isn't outwardly silent because the inside of his head is: oh, no, far from it. Germany's head is a never-ending whirl of images and voices and Germany hates every single one of them.
Since the end of the war, Germany has worked hard. He works and works because otherwise there's nothing but a head full of voices and the profound ache inside at being separated, divided into two. If he'd let himself, he would have done nothing over the past few decades other than lean up against the wall in Berlin like a useless fucking sack of respiration (which is what he still is, but at least he can work). It's still hard to leave West Berlin for long periods; everything feels like an ache. Prussia can't leave… and, strangely, nor can he.
Germany is a good worker. He is very observant. He has put these skills to use and now his economy is back in shape and his power is growing. He is no longer starving, though he does make sure to take physical activity in large doses because otherwise he would get fat and most everything about him is terrible enough as it is.
Germany doesn't know how it's possible for things to be going so well, but him to be feeling so awful. He wishes it would stop, but has no idea how to make it. Surely England doesn't hate himself, nor France; America couldn't possibly what with how he always goes on about how awesome he is. Prussia certainly didn't. Italy didn't seem to.
Privately, though, Germany thinks he deserves to feel bad. He has let everybody down so many times. He can't even be trusted to govern himself. All he is good at is working at turning the cogs in the machine.
He doesn't tell anybody about this, though. Instead, he works to the bone and gets up early again so he doesn't have to think about it. Don't think; just be. He doesn't tell anybody about this; instead he just goes home at night, has a beer, masturbates to the porn that the world scorns him for liking before going to bed and doing it all over again.
He doesn't tell anybody about this. The only voice he hates more than the ones in his head is his own.
# # #
Germany really doesn't actively think much about the Treaty of Versailles, but he dreams of it. Often. First there was the blinding fury at being excluded from the talks and then the fear when helpless realization set in; even if Germany had wanted to take up arms in WWI again, he was unable to do so. This was bad enough as it were.
It was the ratification, though, that still haunts Germany's dreams.
Prussia had a grim look on his face as both he and Germany were lead through the halls. Germany remembers the carpet as blood red, but is not sure if the color is accurate or even if there was carpet. (He could simply be projecting.) The air of the hall was chill, though, and heavy as if the very atoms of the universe were dragging on Germany's body, heavier than the chains he was not wearing but might as well have been.
They were surrounded by flat-faced French soldiers, who were walking them through the glorious French palace. "The last time I was here, it was when Wilhelm I was crowned German Emperor," Prussia said, voice somewhat quieter than usual.
Germany flicked his eyes over in Prussia's direction; Prussia was looking at him with something akin to a fond smile, which wasn't helping the knots in Germany's stomach and didn't mesh with the situation at all. He tightened his lips and felt sweat roll down his temple.
"It was when you were reborn," Prussia commented absently, as if Germany didn't know. "A much more pleasant occasion than now, I must say."
Yes, Germany would definitely agree. While this was his first time… participating in the inevitable aftermath of European wars in this way, Prussia had certainly spoken enough on the subject for Germany to be utterly terrified at the prospect.
Not to mention, considering what he and Prussia had done to Russia… the image of Russia's insane purple eyes bulging with pain as his mouth incoherently screamed to the heavens as Germany thrust in and out and in and out of the bloody, gaping hole that Prussia had opened with such relish… at the time, it had been exhilarating.
Now, Germany was literally concerned about pissing himself. He was here to be used and hurt. The Allies wanted to make him scream; make him bleed. In another situation this may have been anger inducing, but since it was actually going to happen it was frankly terrifying. He merely hoped he wouldn't disgrace himself further by begging.
Prussia made a snorting noise in the back of his throat, that confident smirk so oft-seen during trainings appearing on his face. His eyes looked like two bright spots of blood in the setting sun. "West," he said, voice low.
Germany managed to turn his head, trying to force his features into impassiveness. This never worked very well, at least not with Prussia. Germany seemed decent at making the rest of the world think he was a lifeless block of wood.
"That was supposed to be a joke," Prussia said with his lip ticked up. "West, this won't be pleasant, but it also won't be forever. It probably won't last more than a half-hour, to be honest. You remember with Russia."
Yes, Germany did remember, and was desperately trying not to. The soldiers lead the pair to the Hall of Mirrors, beautiful and resplendent in red and pinks with the setting sun… but to Germany everything just looked soaked in blood. Soaked in blood like the trenches, and soaked in blood like this room was about to be.
Soaked in his blood. There was a single wooden table set up in the middle of the giant, gaudy hall, and Prussia sighed like he was about to tackle a pile of extremely dull paperwork before approaching the table, and… starting to strip.
The French soldiers hadn't left, and made no move of surprise. Apparently they knew what was going on.
So that left the only unprepared one as Germany. Great. This wasn't helping matters. He stared blankly at his disrobing brother - Prussia tossed his travel clothes impatiently at the French soldiers, who picked them up and set them to the side.
Prussia looked strangely at him. "Come on, West, let's get this over with so we can go home," he encouraged, motioning to Germany's clothes, as if Germany should already know what to do.
Ashamed, embarrassed, and terrified, Germany's far-too-heavy arms slowly reached up and tried to undo the buttons on his shirt, but his hands were shaking far too much to be useful.
Understanding suddenly dawned on the now-entirely-naked Prussia. "Here, I'll help," Prussia said, reaching forward and undoing the buttons at Germany's throat. "West, sometimes I forget how you don't have the memories of the Holy Roman Empire," he said with a shake of his head and a trademark bark of laughter. "This is all very traditional multi-European-power politics. After the fighting's over, the losers get all trussed up and put on a table where the winners come and gloat for a bit, have a little fun with you… and then it's all over and you get 'em back next time."
Germany did not understand how Prussia could be so cavalier about this, but then supposed that he would have to be… given how many wars he'd been in and how old he was. He was naked in front of enemy human soldiers, about to be 'trussed' - whatever that meant - and then raped and managed to talk about it like he was heading to the general store for sundries.
"West." Prussia's voice grew serious, and Germany's eyes snapped obediently over. "West, I need to hear you say something."
Germany wet his dry lips with an even drier tongue. "I d-don't know what to say," he managed, wincing as his voice wobbled.
Prussia sighed, and tugged Germany's shirt off before reaching down and undoing his pants; before Prussia had the chance to tug them down, Germany's hands moved of their own accord to keep them up and keep his naked vulnerability hidden from the French soldiers, who were obviously starting to get impatient.
"West," Prussia said, voice a little stern. "This is going to happen. Besides, we've just spent the last few years shitting in trenches and living like animals while watching men get their guts literally shot out. What is having sex in a damned ugly French castle compared to that?"
Well, when it was put like that it almost made the whole charade seem reasonable, but at least while shitting in a trench Germany could do something. It didn't matter that he was in a fancy room with ancient mirrors and a polished table. What mattered was that he was going to be stripped naked and then summarily used.
There was no honor in this, and, again, normally this would have infuriated him. Now it was absolutely terrifying. Mute, he stared at Prussia, his hands still clutching the band of his pants like it was his only lifeline. He could feel sweat beading on his naked back.
Prussia groaned, his eyes pinching shut. "This is going to be so much worse than normal, I can tell," he muttered, clearly disgusted by Germany's open weakness and Germany wanted to say I'm sorry I can't help it but his throat felt like rusty hinges swollen shut. Germany started to shake, shame starting to pour through him even before this had started.
"West, West," Prussia went on, his hands lifting from Germany's pants for a moment. He took a deep inhale. "Look. This used to be a little more difficult for me as well; I wasn't always so awesome about it," he said, clearly trying to ease Germany somehow. "If… if it gets too bad, just hyperventilate and pass out like you would for any other kind of torture, all right? Remember your training?"
Yes, Germany certainly did. It was rather difficult to forget practicing how to hyperventilate yourself out of your brother whipping you under the pretense of 'training.' He had never had to actually use that particular skill before, but, like most things Prussia had taught him about combat, he supposed it was coming in useful.
Regrettably.
Germany managed to nod, feeling awkward and worthless and pathetic and terrible and anguished and ashamed - and was it possible to hyperventilate oneself out of emotional torture, as well? Prussia didn't seem to care about this, and the bored French soldiers obviously didn't. Why was he the only one? His eyes dropped to the floor.
"West, it's your first time - that you remember - and thinking about unpleasant things is always worse than doing them," Prussia told him. Germany was obviously doing a terrible job at concealing his emotions. (Unsurprisingly. He was terrible at everything else, so why not?) Prussia sighed again and rubbed his forehead. "Though, to be honest, I wouldn't have picked a fuckdamned world war to be your first time on this end of it… we could have started off a little slower, but, well, it is what it is. Now," and here Prussia looked slightly up into Germany's eyes, since Germany was slightly taller, but with the haunted depths of that red gaze just inches away Germany felt infinitesimally small and scared, "come on, little brother, let go."
Fingers still shaking, Germany forced them to release and Prussia dragged Germany's lower half free of clothing, stopping to tug off his shoes and then toss his clothing back over to the soldiers. Once Germany was naked, Prussia turned around and put his hands behind his back, clearly offering them to be bound. He nodded at Germany.
Germany felt like his entire body was either too heavy or too floaty, and simply turned around, his hands automatically mirroring his elder brother's motions; he felt the soldiers come up behind him and manacles were screwed onto both wrists, with three links of chain - Germany had gently caressed them with his fingertips to count, to have something to focus on, something real - and thicker manacles went around his ankles, these with a bigger chain.
Prussia's chains were clinking as he tested the make of the manacles. "Definitely French," Prussia said with rolled eyes. "He probably makes the world's best restraints, for obvious reasons."
Germany didn't reply. He couldn't. And then the world went black as the blindfold went over his head. His very flesh went icy-hot with pure terror.
It was at this point that Prussia started to talk incessantly, and about absolutely nothing at all… something about how it was a shame they wouldn't be able to enjoy French architecture while they were enjoying French hospitality and something about food and… Germany doesn't remember. He was grateful, though, for the constant stream of familiar, friendly voice as something to make anchor on in his weakness.
Human hands guided him to the table, turned him around, and maneuvered him so that he was laying on his back, bound hands pinned under him, forcing his chest up and chin back. The table shifted and Prussia was arranged right next to him.
Germany felt like dinner, or like a science experiment, or an engine about ready to be ripped apart… it was only with every ounce of his military control that he wasn't shaking so hard that the table vibrated.
"West? Answer me," Germany realized Prussia had said, when the stream of meaningless conversation ended.
Germany swallowed. "Yes, Brother?"
"We're going to be all right," Prussia said, voice low. "Don't forget that."
At this point, the door opened, and Germany's body went rigid; the room filled with familiar-and-yet-hated voices: England and France.
Germany's memories fragment a bit here: Prussia's comment about the missing America (his voice was very distinctive and clearly not there) being harshly cut by England barking something and the sound of flesh-on-flesh; somebody probably slapped Prussia, which made Prussia laugh and ask the receiver if he could have some more.
Thin fingers touched his soft cock, then, causing Germany to seize up as the fingers casually manipulated the appendage as if they'd never touched such a thing before. Germany's balls slowly started to retract into his body as horrible, horrible goosebumps ran up and down and over and across his skin.
France - it was definitely France - said something with the lilt of a question on it, but Germany was too busy listening to the roar of blood in his ears to answer. The fingers pinched the tip of his cock and a pained cry escaped Germany's throat as his body jolted with negative sensation.
Prussia's voice, then, like a whip, attempting to draw attention. He could hear France and England responding, saying something, but Germany was too scared, too weak, too worthless to even pretend to not care about this.
This would be used against him, he knew. And probably against Prussia.
This was all Germany's fault. And just like he couldn't win the war, he couldn't win this, either. He couldn't even control himself.
Everybody else kept talking while Germany kept breathing. He could hear somebody step to the other side of the table, behind him; suddenly there were four hands on him… two cruelly playing with his sex while the others reached forward and grabbed Germany's nipples roughly in an angry pinch.
Germany's body arched up off the table in agony, a strangled noise escaping him.
Prussia's voice again, clearly agitated.
"-Oh, but that's the idea," France said, one of the few sentences Germany's mind was forced to remember. "The idea is that you - and he - can't do this ever, ever, again." This time, when the calloused fingers pinched his nipples causing a second terrible spike of pain to arrow through his body, Germany felt a cry of anguish leave him, loud and sharp.
"This isn't even that bad," England grumbled from above him. "Especially considering."
Germany was grateful for the blindfold. He felt his eyes flood with tears.
Pathetic, he thought to himself as his legs were lifted over his head. You are so-
Pain. Pain that started from between his legs and seemed to roll out to the ends of his toes and to the end of the world. Pain that tore him in half; he thought he would split. Germany wasn't even sure of the noise he released - he felt it more than heard it - but it was hardly human.
Prussia's voice was yelling somewhere and Germany's existence narrowed to the terrible rhythm that had started without his permission and these noises kept on escaping him, these terrible, terrible broken sounds-
"West!" he finally heard over everything, Prussia's voice, clearly heavy with distress, and Germany wasn't aware if he were receiving the same treatment or just couldn't bear to listen any longer to his little brother's pathetic cries. "Use your training, West!"
It wasn't hard to obey such an order. Dropping his mouth open Germany gave himself to ragged gasps of air that quickly accelerated as colors exploded behind his closed eyelids like fireworks, the fireworks of defeat as the roaring in his ears became cannonfire and the pain, the pain went away-
Nothingness.
Germany's next sensation was stickiness. Stickiness and pain, along with the familiar smell of old blood. He was laying on his side on a hard surface - which was a good thing, considering that his ass felt like it had been impaled on a red-hot spike. He was still naked, but something was draped over him. His head rested on flesh.
After a few wary moments, Germany's eyes slit open, and he found himself staring at Prussia's naked stomach.
"Have a good sleep?" Prussia asked from above him. Both he and Germany were on the floor, Germany laying on his side with his head resting in Prussia's lap. The restraints were gone. Prussia was still completely naked, but Germany had some sort of thin cloth tossed on him… it seemed like a tablecloth.
Germany wasn't sure how to answer, so he simply looked up. Like Germany figured he himself was, Prussia's lower half was covered in blood. Germany had no idea how the man was even sitting at this point, but Prussia just cackled and ran a hand through Germany's hair, apparently as unaffected as ever.
"We'll get 'em back," Prussia told him confidently. If Germany had been able to move, he would have curled up in a little ball. Instead, he simply gave into weakness (again, like you always do) and hid his head in his brother's thigh, trying to control the sudden urge to bawl like an infant.
Prussia rested a hand on the back of Germany's head, and they remained until their entourage came and picked them up.
This is where that particular nightmare ends, and Germany wakes up alone in his bed gasping and shivering with a shamefully wet face as his hands uselessly grope for an older brother who isn't there.
# # #
While the original Great War was harrowing enough, it's the second one that hangs like an albatross around Germany's neck; one that he knows will never go away and can never be ignored. As is his duty, Germany tends this terrible garden of his own brutality with care, keeping up appearances and keeping it in check. It frightens him, though, it truly does.
The dream from this period that haunts him, though, isn't one full of ash or blood or bombs. It's not an event he's ever apologized or atoned for, because in the grand ledger of his crimes it's not a crime at all. It breaks his heart, though, not that there's anybody around to care.
It was clear by the 15th of March '45 that operation Spring Awakening had been an utter failure. Too ambitious. Germany's men hadn't had enough supplies or manpower to pull it off, and a retreat to Vienna seemed inevitable. Miserable, hungry, and exhausted, Germany managed to make it back to the tent that he shared with Prussia. Slumping on his cot, Germany carefully removed the jacket with the skeleton key emblem on it and drape it over the end of the bedroll. He bent down to remove his boots.
At that moment, Prussia walked in, his head half-bandaged up from an unfortunate encounter with shrapnel earlier in the day (the medic had told Prussia that he was fortunate to be alive; Prussia had cackled and asked, really?), and a small package of something in his right hand, that he dropped on the grass floor.
Germany looked over and saw a bottle of vodka peek out from the cloth pile, and raised an eyebrow at his brother.
Prussia chuckled and sat down on his own cot. "Went foraging. Dead men don't need alcohol or cigarettes any longer," he said with a cheerful shrug. Reaching down, he picked up the cloth bundle - it was a vaguely familiar field gray, and when Prussia shook it out… it was a Volksstrum uniform, one of the civilian army.
Germany raised an eyebrow. "How did you get that uniform?" he asked, confused. As far as Germany was aware, it was just Panzer divisions and their own Leibstandart in this area.
Prussia shook his head and waved his hand, indicating that it was unimportant. "Take off your clothes," he responded instead, pointing between his legs.
Oh. A warm, giddy rush went through Germany's body at that as he stood and carefully stripped - his body was beaten and ugly these days, but Prussia never seemed to mind - and went to go kneel in the grass between Prussia's legs.
He'd reached forward for the clasp of Prussia's uniform pants, but Prussia had stopped him with a shake of his head, instead electing to pet Germany's sweat-and-dirt-matted hair back absently, blunt nails brushing lovingly against Germany's skull.
They were losing, they were hungry, they were dirty, tired, disgusting, dressed in what would be the uniforms of history's most reviled military unit; but when Germany thinks of love, this is the moment that breaks him.
Prussia looked down at him like that for a few long moments, as if trying to commit Germany's filthy and confused face to memory, a small smile playing up on his lips. When Prussia moved, it was to disrobe himself completely; Prussia was as beaten, bruised, and thin as Germany himself was. It made Germany feel awful.
Prussia lay down on his side and motioned for Germany to follow him onto the cot; with two of them on it the fit was tight, but manageable. Closing his eyes, Germany let himself partake in resting his face against his brother's shoulder; truly, a luxury in these dark days. Their bodies pressed together, flush and perfect.
Prussia let the silence linger for an unusual amount of time, before tipping Germany's head to the side and speaking in a voice so quiet Germany could hardly believe it was Prussia's. "Don't say anything," Prussia's voice murmured. "Listen to me, West. The Volksstrum uniform is for you. You are to wear it and desert camp tonight."
Germany obeyed and was silent; his response to that was evident enough in the way his body seized.
"Shh," Prussia intoned, his hand going through Germany's hair again in a calming motion. "You know as well as I do that the war is over. This Spring Offensive was the last major push."
…Germany nodded.
"Eventually we'll end up collapsing back on Berlin, where we'll likely end up being overrun by Soviets," Prussia said. "When that happens, I do not want us to be together. The worst thing that could happen to us is both getting captured by the Soviet Union."
Germany swallowed. Yes, like the majority of his men, he was well aware that the Soviets had more than a few axes to grind and the idea of becoming a Soviet POW was not appealing in the least. Germany turned his eyes up to Prussia, though, and shook his head.
"I can't desert," he whispered, barely putting a touch of voice to the words. "I-I… loyalty, honor…"
Prussia rolled his eyes so hard Germany was surprised they didn't clank together, and then slid two motor oil-flavored fingers in Germany's mouth. "No talking," he ordered again. "If your mouth needs to do something, suck."
Germany's mouth obediently started working around Prussia's fingers.
"And forget honor and loyalty," Prussia continued, once Germany had been pacified. "This is war. Those things don't exist." He shook his head and looked at Germany with a pained expression. "What I'm about to tell you is not a lie."
Germany didn't speak and didn't stop sucking, but a pit of dread opened itself up in his stomach.
Prussia sighed. "It hasn't been released yet, but Hitler is going to enact something called the Demolition of Reich Territory Decree," he started slowly, his fingers moving slightly in Germany's mouth to encourage his sucking and soothe. "Basically, he wants to destroy all of our infrastructure to prevent the Allies from getting their hands on it. Since he can't have us, he doesn't want anybody to have us. He wants to kill us."
Germany's body froze, and the sucking stopped. Prussia moved his fingers meaningfully and Germany instantly started up again.
"He has also issued an order to Sepp," Prussia went on, relentlessly. "Even though us and the 6th Panzer group have been outnumbered, undersupplied, and dying in droves in an attempt to pull off this oh-so-brilliantly-concocted plan from our dear boss, we apparently haven't been good enough and thus he wants to strip us of our armband titles to shame us. Thankfully, Sepp's got some sense and isn't going to enact the order, but that's what honor and loyalty gets you in the modern era, West. Destroyed and shamed. Now, if we had Old Fritz at the helm things would undoubtedly be more awesome, but, well… we don't."
Germany thought that he could literally feel his heart breaking into a hundred little pieces. Thousands, maybe. Bursting like the shrapnel currently buried in Prussia's head.
"So, in the face of this, we have to act in our own interests," Prussia said, voice reasonable. "If we do as we're ordered, the Soviet Union gets two shiny German playthings and…" he shook his head. "I already know it's not going to be a picnic for me, but if you're there also it will be an absolute shitshow and, fuck, I don't want to deal with that."
…because I'm weak and pathetic, Germany mentally added, his mouth still latched onto Prussia's increasingly-wrinkled and soft fingers.
Prussia sighed. "I don't see how we're going to avoid occupation this time 'round, either," he continued. "At minimum, it's going to be England, America, and the Soviet Union, but I have a hard time believing that French bastard is going to keep his too-long nose out of his share of the pie. However, since both he and Tommy have been nearly as destroyed as we are… it's going to be the America vs. Soviet Union show. I would suggest you find America. He seems to have the softest touch and definitely has the biggest wallet. Or, at least, if I were you, that's what I'd do." Here, his lip ticked up, amused.
With his mouth full of fingers and under orders not to speak, Germany simply looked up and gave Prussia's hip a weak little tug toward him.
Prussia always could read him like a book. He chuckled. "Nah, we can't both leave. It would be far too obvious. Plus, this way I can pretend to be infuriated and send the hounds in the wrong direction to give you more of a head start. Though, you'll be shot for desertion if caught so… try not to do that, hm?"
Prussia leaned forward and kissed Germany on the forehead, and Germany was certain he'd shattered into pieces. He parted his lips and Prussia removed his very-warm, very soft fingers, dragging a trail of saliva behind him.
"Brother," Germany whispered, the word broken.
"Shh, I know," Prussia said, trailing his warm fingers down Germany's spine. "But we're going to be all right. Don't forget that."
A tear found its way across Germany's cheek, and Prussia's lips kissed it away. Why is it, Germany had thought miserably, I'm so terrible with words and yet so wonderful at crying?
"Open," Prussia intoned quietly, the warm fingers resting above Germany's cleft. Germany nodded against Prussia's shoulder and bent a leg, stretching himself.
Military sex never was particularly easy, but having been stationed in the same SS group made it considerably simpler than it might have otherwise been. Being officers gave both Prussia and Germany the right to independent quarters, but they were able to explain bunking together due to being brothers. Of course, getting caught would probably have been the end of the world due to not only it be perceived as homosexual but incestuous… the threat of this wasn't nearly enough to stop it from happening, though. The only comfort in the whole world was found in Prussia's arms, and Germany helped himself to it whenever possible.
And now, this would be the last time. Prussia's slick fingers carefully penetrated Germany's by-now-very-experienced hole, and Germany sighed, his cock stirring to attention even without being touched.
It was the intimacy more than anything. Prussia smiled, feeling Germany starting to perk to attention against him. "Beautiful, strong West," he said, voice so low as to be barely audible.
…Germany hardened immediately with a gasp, and spread his legs, pushing more against Prussia's fingers and looking down. Prussia was only slightly hard, but the other man was chuckling softly at how quickly Germany had risen to attention at the praise.
"Good boy," Prussia intoned, and the warm feeling that sluiced through Germany's veins at that was more intoxicating than vodka. "Let's move to the ground, though… the cot will make too much noise. I'll lay down, you can service me with your mouth, and I'll get you nice and ready for me."
Germany nodded once, and carefully got off the cot, not moving far so Prussia wouldn't take his fingers from inside of him. He knelt in time with Prussia sitting down, on his hands and knees and bending over to take Prussia's cock in his mouth, carefully sealing his lips around it and soundlessly starting to bob his head. He knew he wasn't as good at this act as others… almost all of his experiences with it had been furtive, silent encounters with his brother. Oh, how he longed to slurp and suck and drool and groan for Prussia, to make Prussia lose his mind, loosen his tongue, and tell Germany how much he loved him, loved his mouth, loved his tongue, loved him.
He could feel Prussia's thighs tightening beneath him with the pleasure, though, so at least he was somewhat-adequate at oral sex (far more than he was at the art of war, apparently). Prussia's hand reached up to gently stroke at the backs of Germany's dirt-streaked thighs as one finger became two.
Germany's body shivered with the burn, but he kept absolutely silent, his head bobbing up and down like soldiers marching off to battle.
"Lovely," Prussia whispered, and, oh, if he didn't stop talking Germany was just going to come right then. "So lovely. Dear West, I will miss this terribly, as much as it would be more awesome not in a fucking tent."
Germany had to reach up with a hand and squeeze the base of his cock, otherwise he would have had an accident. He would have moaned, but his military discipline took over and all he did was exhale a little louder than usual.
Prussia hummed quietly, and Germany shivered when he felt Prussia half sit-up and his lips brush along the thin curves of Germany's ass, dragging the chapped skin of his lips along the sensitive sitspots, letting a rough tongue taste the soft whiteness as his fingers scissored against Germany's sensitive insides.
Taking another stuttered inhale, Germany released Prussia's cock from his utilitarian movements and bent down, twisting his head to gently take one of Prussia's balls in his mouth. The scent of sweat and musk and dirt was almost overpowering here, but Germany didn't care at all.
Judging by the muffled noise that Prussia emitted, Prussia clearly approved of his efforts. "Wonderful, beautiful West," Prussia panted.
Germany could have died in this moment and he wouldn't have cared at all. In fact, on his worse days he remembers this and wishes he had. He let his very, very soft moan vibrate through Prussia's testicle and worshipped the way his brother's body bent with the sensation.
Prussia shifted again, and split Germany's cleft wide open, removing his fingers. Germany barely had time to take a breath before a tongue went there - this wasn't unexpected, as their encounters often didn't have any kind of lube on hand. (They actually had used motor oil once… once.)
The sensation, though, was always so overpowering. Lightning shocks of pleasure radiated from Germany's hole to the tip of his sex to the tops of his spine to the ends of his toes. His tongue gently rested against Prussia's ballsac, warming it before pulling away to lap at Prussia's cockhead.
"Fuck," Prussia groaned quietly against Germany's asscheek, letting his teeth sink into the softness there for a moment before returning to his work, fucking the younger with a clever, practiced tongue. After a moment, he began pushing fingers back inside alongside his tongue, causing Germany's body to shudder with sensation.
When Germany took Prussia's cock in his mouth once more, Prussia's hand reached out to brush back Germany's dirty blond hair, to stroke him like an obedient dog… Germany tipped his head up into that touch, trying to remember it for all time.
(Sometimes, when desperately lonely, Germany will try to stroke his own hair. It's never the same.)
While he was trying to imprint the feeling of his brother's hand into his mind for all eternity, Prussia's other hand hit that special place inside, causing Germany to gasp and loosen up. Prussia chuckled quietly.
"Are you ready, West?" he asked. Germany nodded, releasing Prussia's cock and rolling onto his back.
…this part was one of the best parts. Germany made sure to look at his brother's face when he spread his legs.
Those red eyes would lock to the secret places between Germany's legs, and then travel slowly up and down his body, no matter how beaten and marred it was. He would wolfishly smile in approval. Germany would leak like an excited puppy.
Germany's nipples perked, his face flushed; he lifted his legs to his brother, who would slide forward and take Germany's knees over Prussia's shoulders.
Prussia smiled, let his fingers toy just a little more with Germany's entrance as he twisted his head and kissed Germany's inner thigh for a reverent moment before gently sliding in.
Germany took the intrusion silently, tipping his head back and letting the slight sting even out into the warm familiarity of sex with Prussia.
He wasn't sure when this was going to happen again, if ever, so he took a shuddering breath and made sure to catch his brother's eyes.
Prussia was looking down at him, his albino-white hair splaying around his skull like a halo, blood-red wells of his eyes reflecting Germany's spread body. "My brother," he said quietly, as his hips started to piston in and out in that mechanical, sure rhythm that Germany knew his own heart beat with.
"Brother," Germany whispered, and this time when his eyes overflowed he wiped the wetness away himself and gave himself over for this one last time.
Germany finds it easy to focus on sensation; the feeling of crushed grass beneath his back, itchy; the dull ache of the wounds on his back being agitated; the pounding of his heart in his throat and cock; Prussia massaging him from the inside out, his hands reverently moving on Germany's thighs, buttocks, and hips.
Finally, one of those hands moved out to take Germany's cock, and Germany exhaled shakily, drinking in Prussia's look of approval as Prussia worked him on the inside and from the outside.
"West," Prussia whispered, with such fondness in the tone that it wouldn't have sounded any better if he'd screamed it.
With a swallowed sob in response, Germany's head tipped back and he came, hard, feeling the wetness slap him on the underside of his chin before Prussia reached forward to block the spray with his other hand.
Prussia grunted, and hot pulses filled Germany's body: Germany hurriedly looked up to see his brother's face twisted in orgasm, strong white teeth biting into his lower lip.
When both were done, Prussia carefully moved, removing himself from Germany's body and setting the other down. Germany winced slightly, but sat, used to the sting after sex.
Prussia looked over at him for a moment before reaching forward and gently cupping Germany's jaw, guiding him over and pressing his mouth against Germany's.
(When Germany masturbates to this memory, this is where he comes.)
Germany barely moves, barely breathes until Prussia pulls back just a hair; he can feel his brother's stubble brush against his as he speaks. "Now, you're going to put on your current uniform, take the Volksstrum uniform, booze, and cigarettes… maybe you can barter them for food, I wasn't able to get any of that… change into the Volksstrum uniform when you're out of camp and head west until you find England's blue-eyed wet dream. Don't look back, and don't fail." Despite being naked, Prussia was still an excellent commanding officer.
Germany took an uncertain breath as if he were about to argue… but he knew he wasn't. Prussia raised an eyebrow. "When I give orders, I expect answers," he told Germany.
"Yes, Sir," Germany whispered.
Calloused fingers tipped up Germany's chin until twinned firestorms masquerading as eyes swallowed him whole. "Is that the tone of voice you use to address your superior?" Prussia asked, voice still quiet, but far more firm.
"No, Sir," Germany said, mirroring Prussia's tone instantly. Prussia smiled, and his hand brushed through Germany's hair, lingering on Germany's jaw. Germany leaned into it.
One perfect breath. Two perfect breaths. Three.
"Get dressed," Prussia commanded, at the end of the third exhale.
Germany obeyed, face blank as he slid on the Volksstrum uniform and then covered it with the SS one. (In reality it should have been impossible for Germany to do this, but he'd lost so much weight…)
Prussia nodded at his strategy. "Just make sure to throw the SS uniform in a large enough body of water with rocks to sink it… burning it would be better, but you probably don't want to risk the fire. Obviously, it will be harder to track you than to track a normal human, but since you're high-ranking, they will probably want to at least try. Keep moving for at least 24 hours. Don't stop, West. We'll see each other again."
The lump in Germany's throat was far too large for speaking. Picking up his knapsack, he threw in the cigarettes and vodka and slung it over the shoulder with his pistol… carrying his larger firearm could make him look suspicious to the others in the camp and… well, they would probably need the munitions, honestly. He stopped and turned around at the closed flap of the gate.
Prussia looked at him, paler than usual, thinner than usual… still entirely naked. Despite this, he stood straight and saluted. Not the Nazi salute; the regular army one. Germany felt his body return the favor in kind, before he turned around and walked into the night.
It had taken him seven days to get across Hungary, Austria, and Germany, barely sleeping. They had tried to track him for a while, but gave up. (It was difficult, very difficult to track a nation on their own land if they did not wish to be found.) Outside of Vienna he was able to ride on the back of a horse-drawn carriage for a few hundred kilometers with a group of refugees in return for his pistol and promise to help defend the group if necessary (most of the refugees were women and children); he left them outside of Nuremberg. They were heading south to Stuttgart; Germany could feel America further north.
From here, he got caught by patrols and executed as a deserter twice: the first time he was shot, and the second time he was hanged. Germany still remembers his vision graying out from a too-angled neck as spectators watched on uneasily.
After the first execution, he woke up divested of his vodka, having consumed the cigarettes himself to stave off hunger a while back. He supposed he was fortunate he still had shoes. After the second, he picked up an old WWI musket that had been rusted shut; one of the other hanging victims must have been carrying it. It was useless in terms of shooting anything (there wasn't even any ammo appropriate for it nearby), but Germany figured that it would be better than nothing if he had to fight hand-to-hand. He was really getting tired of his own people killing him.
However, this wasn't necessary. While heading toward Frankfurt, he followed an instinct that whispered west, west, west (sounding eerily like Prussia), finding himself outside of Nierstein.
It was here that he stepped out from behind a tree, beaten, bruised, half-dead from starvation and armed with a useless gun; it was here he fulfilled Prussia's final order to him and surrendered to England's very surprised blue-eyed wet dream.
But that is another story.
# # #
HISTORICAL NOTES:
TREATY OF VERSAILLES: The commonly accepted rhetoric about the "big treaty" between Britain, France, and Germany that ended conflict between these nations was that the terms exacted on Germany were extremely severe and the severity of these terms lead directly to WWII. However, there is some conflicting history to this view: many historians say that the Versailles Treaty was comparatively lenient in some ways, particularly since Germany wasn't actually occupied after the war. They also kept hold of a substantial amount of land, and according to some even the reparations weren't as crippling as most believe.
Additionally, it's a fallacy that WWI was ended by the Versailles Treaty alone. Most of WWI was settled by separate treaties, and the treaty that Germany had written up with the Soviet Union (Brest-Litovsk) was far more harsh than the treaty of Versailles was. The Versailles Treaty terminated the Brest-Litovsk treaty, however. (This is why England remarks that it "isn't so bad.") France was the one wanting to draw the most blood with the Versailles Treaty, as it was France who took the most damage from WWI and absolutely insisted on a) getting war reparations, and b) dismantling Germany so that it wouldn't be able to wage a war on the scale of WWI again. However, due to conflicting goals among the Allies (Britain didn't want things to be so harsh, wanting Germany as a viable trading partner), Germany was left deeply unhappy with the treaty and yet not nearly weakened enough to stop aggressions.
However, the main thing about the Versailles treaty was that it was perceived as very unfair to the Germans, and particularly the "War Guilt Clause" (where Germany was forced to take on the burden of guilt for starting the war) was seen as a violation of honor. (In this the Germans had a very good point; saying that WWI was entirely the fault of a single nation is a gross oversimplification.) In fact, this was considered so injurious that the German government actually wanted to start up WWI again, and the only reason they did not was because they physically could not. Basically, whether Versailles was fair or not is less the issue… but its overall reception was negative and it definitely contributed to making Germany fertile for Nazism.
America was originally part of the Versailles Treaty, but Congress never ratified it, nor did America ever join the League of Nations that Woodrow Wilson had created. The Americans officially ended hostilities with the Central Powers in 1921 by way of the Knox-Porter Resolution. This is why America isn't present in the scene.
THE SPRING OFFENSIVE: Operation Spring Awakening (6 Mar - 16th Mar 1945) took place in Hungary around Lake Balaton; this was where some of the last oil reserves available to the Axis were. However, it was a failure since Hitler was far too ambitious in planning, and the Germans had to retreat.
Both Prussia and Germany are members of the "1st SS Panzer Division Liebstandart SS Adolf Hitler," which has a skeleton key as the insignia. It originally started as Hitler's personal bodyguard, but eventually became a combat unit. They were involved in Spring Awakening, and some of them ended up fighting in the final battle of Berlin. (While Germany wears a uniform more similar to the Wehrmacht in the anime… frankly you'd think that if the nation personifications were going to be serving in Nazi German armed forces, they'd be involved with the party's direct forces and not the separate and more general armed forces.)
The "armband order" that Prussia mentions was given out by Hitler after the failure of Operation Spring Awakening, claiming that it was the troops' fault the operation had failed and revoking their titles. Sepp Dietrich, the field commander, was reportedly offended by this and did not pass on the order.
The Destruction of Reich Territory Decree was given out in March 1945, as Hitler didn't want German infrastructure to fall into Allied hands. This very likely would have ended up killing hundreds of thousands of extra civilians after the war for want of clean water alone. Albert Speer, another high-ranking Nazi, did not pass on Hitler's order to do this.
The motto of the SS was "My honor is loyalty," which is what Germany is weakly referring to before Prussia tells him it's a total load.
GERMANY'S YOUTH: The history of the German states is complicated prior to Bismark's unification in 1871. However, if you consider this when the current "Germany" character was formed, he is extremely, extremely, EXTREMELY young in both WWI and WWII in the eyes of nations. When WWI starts in 1914, he's only 43. When WWII starts in 1939, he's 68. To put this in context (in terms of the characters), assuming that you start America's development as a character with Europeans appearing on the American continent with serious intent, he's been around since the 1400s and would be over 350 by the time of the American Revolution. If you start America's development with Jamestown, he's 168.
While Germanic states have been around for millennia, since the adult Germany seems to be an entirely different character from the Holy Roman Empire character (and that there was so much political upheaval and war and what have you), I basically write Germany as an entirely separate character. This is a very long-winded way of saying, "this is why Germany apparently has little idea how Europe works after wars and also why he's slightly childish as a person." He had to grow up very fast. While he's been able to handle all of this extremely well as a nation… he's had some troubles with it personally, clearly. He looks very mature, but in many ways he truly isn't.
This story hooks in with some of the others I've written: the WWII scene leads into "This Goddamn Stupid War."
Anyway, this is a leadup to the fall of the Berlin Wall, which I promise will make the poor German characters a little happier than they've been in my works. I've been beatin' up on them a bit.