Note: There's a couple references to the Cleaning Prussia game. They're not necessary for the story, but I'd recommend you check it if you haven't already, because it's great!
Contains: knife play, blood play, some violence
Prussia hummed in contentment as he tightened the last tiny screw into place. Straightening up from his hunched over position, he rolled his shoulders back, twisting at the waist to work out the stiffness in his muscles. It was no wonder his body was protesting; he'd been at this all day, an array of rags, tools, and cleaning oils spread around him in a loose semicircle where he sat cross-legged on the floor of the garage.
It wasn't the most welcoming part of the house—the various toolboxes, workbenches, and walls of shelving not enough to get rid of the starkness of concrete walls and floor—but Prussia found the clean lines and cavernous space comforting, and he wasn't ready to break from it yet.
Picking up the knife he'd just put back together, Prussia examined it with a critical eye, a wide smile stealing across his face. There was nothing as satisfying as a newly cleaned weapon.
Nothing except for using it, he corrected ruefully.
Something in his chest tightened at that, the smile freezing on his face until it was more of a grimace. He shook his head briskly as if to physically send the thought flying. His days of fighting and conquest were long over and wishing they weren't was a mental path he didn't want to walk right now. Not when he was having such a good day.
And it was a good day. Just him and his favorite weapons, and sometimes that was all a guy needed.
Prussia focused on the knife in his hand. It was a favorite for carrying in public – a midsize folding blade with a matte black finish— and he was paying careful attention to ensure all the moving parts were in top working order. Adjusting his grip to get a solid hold, Prussia flicked the blade open with his thumb, opening and closing it several times at varying speeds to test the movement. It was perfectly smooth now that the buildup of dirt and dust had been removed, each individual part cleaned and oiled to his exacting standards.
Good as new. No, better than new.
A knock at the door leading into the house almost made him jump.
"It's open!" he called, not pausing in his examination of the knife.
The weapon felt good in his hand. Solid and comfortable and a part of him, the way all his weapons did ever since he could remember. Carefully, he ran his thumb along the sharpened blade, relishing the thrill that swept through him at the action, the way his breath hitched and his heart sped up. That too, had always been with him.
Footsteps echoed from near the door, and he wondered what West was doing back so soon. His brother was supposed to be gone all day, celebrating some kind of private fifty year anniversary with France, now that the publicity part had died down. Prussia thought it was cute that his little brother was getting along so well with one of his closest friends. Well, mostly cute. The rest of him wanted to go out and shoot something so he wouldn't have to think about how bitterly it stung not to be a part of stuff like that anymore. With effort, he pushed it away (today was a good day) and hoped nothing had gone wrong between the two of them.
A voice rang out from the doorway, just beyond his line of sight. "High quality steel with a thumb hole opener. Compression locking mechanism – very strong. Not bad for a folding knife."
That wasn't West.
In less than a second Prussia had his feet under him in a crouch, head whipping around and knife raised before he realized he recognized that voice.
"Switzerland." His eyes confirmed it, and his hand dropped to his side as he stood. "What are you doing here? West isn't home."
Switzerland's hand halted on its way to his own hip, no doubt for whatever mini-arsenal he was carrying at the moment, but stopped when Prussia's knife snapped closed with a muffled click. "I'm not here for your brother," he answered, giving a barely there smile that Prussia would have called shy on anyone else; on Switzerland, he wasn't sure what to call it.
Prussia frowned, but Switzerland's clothes seemed to back up his words. The loose jeans and navy blue t-shirt didn't exactly scream business meeting. But it still didn't answer his question. Prussia raised an eyebrow and debated bringing the knife back up, unsure what was going on here and not liking the feeling one fucking bit. Before he could decide either way, or form a question more intelligent that 'What?' or 'Huh?' Switzerland's voice broke him out of his thoughts.
"What were you doing on the floor?" Switzerland scowled in obvious disapproval, eyes darting back and forth between where Prussia had been sitting and the high table and stool directly behind him that was his usual work area.
Prussia shrugged a shoulder. "Wanted a change of scenery."
It was true. After he'd finished cleaning his entire collection of guns, he'd thought the floor sounded like a nice change. Unfortunately, it wasn't near as comfortable as it looked and he wasn't planning to stay down there for much longer, though he kept that bit of information to himself.
"You're very strange," was the reply, though the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying to fight a smile.
Abruptly, Switzerland changed topics. "You should do something about your security," he continued, flashing a disapproving frown at Prussia. It made his eyebrows scrunch together and the teeny-tiny part of Prussia not bristling at the implied insult thought it made him look kind of cute. "I just walked right in here. I could have attacked you and you'd be defenseless. I expected better from you and Germany."
A harsh staccato laughter bubbled up in Prussia's throat and he did nothing to stop it. He brought the knife up and flicked it open in the same smooth motion, angling it so the black finish caught the light in a deliberate message. "Defenseless? Then you don't know me at all," he volleyed back, voice pitched low. Laugh melting into a sneer, he added, "I'd like to see you try."
Switzerland didn't rise to the bait, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "Neutral, remember." His expression was stone, and it made Prussia want to hit him, to see if there was anything underneath.
The thought made him smile, sharp and wide. "No need for politics. Just a friendly fight. Don't you get tired of sitting back and watching everyone else have all the fun?"
The unflappable expression didn't falter. "Are you talking about me or you now?"
Prussia froze, assessing Switzerland with a new level of respect. He didn't know the other nation all that well, hadn't been expecting something so pointed and (as much as he hated to admit it) accurate. But he supposed maybe sitting back and watching had its advantages after all. Not that it mattered, he wasn't about to be talked down to in his own house.
Throwing a grin across the open space, Prussia took a step forward. "Are words all you've got? Or are you scared to fight me for real?" he taunted.
"Scared? Of you? Don't be absurd." Switzerland made it sound like an insult. "That's not why I'm here though." He scuffed a foot against the bare floor, the thumbs of both hands hooking into the front pockets of his jeans, suddenly seeming embarrassed about something.
Prussia barely noticed. How dare that Swiss asshole invade his home, call his security substandard, and insult his retired status. He fucking unified Germany, raised his brother into a strong world power, and he deserved some god damned respect. "You should be," he spit out through clenched teeth.
It was a bad idea, a stupid idea, but Switzerland's words brought back all the shitty things Prussia was trying not to think about today, so he stopped thinking and just reacted, springing forward from his back foot and crossing the space between them in an instant, knife outstretched. He had no intention of doing any damage (he knew better than to cause an international incident and fuck anyone who said otherwise), he only wanted to send a message, catch that smug bastard off guard and wipe the condescending expression off his face, so even as he landed he was pulling the strike.
Just as quickly, Switzerland jumped back, dodging the already slowing knife and buying time to draw his own. Sneaking past Prussia's defenses, he struck out in retaliation, sharp edge coming uncomfortably close to undefended skin.
Prussia twisted, avoiding the blade and lashing out with his other hand, fist flying at the long column of Switzerland's throat. Just as quickly, his hand was blocked, leaving them face to face.
"Fuck you. You don't know anything about me," Prussia said, lips curling in a snarl.
Switzerland made a huffing noise, chin raised to stare him in the eyes. "I know enough. I know you don't think before you act."
Whether that was meant to be mocking or a statement of fact, Prussia had no fucking clue, but the silver glint of steel at the edge of his vision rearranged his priorities. It was his turn to jump back as Switzerland's knife passed by too close for comfort. "Planning only takes you so far," he countered, catching his breath once he landed.
Not waiting for a response, he feinted to the left before throwing himself in the opposite direction and sweeping his knife across in a tight arc aimed at Switzerland's stomach.
Switzerland wasn't fooled and easily skirted the attack. "I know you're loud and you think too much of yourself."
Prussia grinned fiercely, pivoting so they were face to face again. "Aw, I'm blushing. But yeah, I call that confidence. You should try it sometime."
"My history speaks for itself," Switzerland responded curtly, eyes narrowed in concentration.
In the blink of an eye, Switzerland lunged, knife arm flying forward. Running on instinct, Prussia sidestepped to the left and caught him by the wrist, using their momentum to twist, come up behind him, and wrench Switzerland's knife arm behind his back until he was forced to bend forward. The blade neutralized, Prussia followed up with an elbow to his unprotected kidney. Switzerland grunted, but didn't hit the floor as hoped, instead retaliating by slamming the heel of his sneaker onto Prussia's shoeless toes.
Agony roared up from the impact and Prussia let out a cry that was entirely too high pitched for his liking, but managed to get his knee up into Switzerland's stomach before that cheating asshole took advantage of the distraction to twist free.
They went back of forth across the garage –Prussia careful to keep them away from West's car on one side and his own workbench on the other—alternatively giving ground and attacking as they danced across the space. Switzerland handled the weapon like he was born with it in his hand. Which may not have been too far off, Prussia reflected, recognizing the easily familiarity from the way he himself fought.
Somewhere along the line, the anger and defensiveness he started out with drained away and Prussia realized he was having fun. The rest of those sissy fucks liked to talk out their differences these days, and it had been decades since he'd been in a decent fight with another nation.
Dodging a swipe from Switzerland's knife, Prussia regrouped and darted in with a low slash that was only deflected at the last second.
"You're a good fighter," Switzerland remarked between heavy breaths, chest heaving with exertion. Something flashed behind that indifferent façade, unexpectedly serious, before being buried just as quickly.
The praise caught Prussia by surprise, but not enough to miss the kick aimed at his front shin. He scuttled backwards, wanting to say something in kind (because it was true) but not wanting it to sound stupid or fake.
He caught a barely there quirk of Switzerland's lips and was startled to realize that the other was enjoying this every bit as much as Prussia was. "Not bad, yourself" he threw out, as they circled each other warily, looking for the next opening.
"Doesn't change the fact you talk too much." Switzerland barely spared him a glance as he said it, but Prussia wasn't fooled; he'd already caught a glimpse of what was under the irritable outer shell, and was determined to find it again.
"Says the guy doing all the talking," he replied with a wink, and lunged.
There was no response as Switzerland's knife darted out to parry the blow, following up with a well-aimed punch with his other hand. Prussia ducked and weaved, catching a lucky break as he popped up along Switzerland's undefended side, the other nation having miscalculated which direction Prussia was moving in.
Knife already in motion, Prussia barely had time to pull the swipe before it landed, scoring a shallow slash along Switzerland's right arm above the elbow. He paused, not knowing if he was expected to halt after first blood.
Switzerland rolled his shoulders and flexed his arm, lips pressed tightly together. He must have been satisfied with the results, because he nodded to himself and brought the knife back up in a defensive stance. "What?" he asked, frowning. "You think this is enough to make me want to stop?"
Prussia's own grin came back, wider than before, entire body feeling alive with the thrill of the fight. "Fuck no!" he replied, knife settling back into a defensive position.
Not giving him time to act, Switzerland threw himself forward, attacking in a flurry that even Prussia had trouble following. The whirlwind of motion didn't stop and before he knew it, Prussia was pressed up against the wall, disarmed, with Switzerland's knife against his throat and his other hand pinning Prussia's wrist.
He didn't dare to move, breath coming in shallow pants as he tried to stay as still as possible. The steel at his neck was cold and steady, and he could feel Switzerland's heartbeat pounding against his chest where they pressed together. A glint of red caught his eye; the cut from earlier. He licked his lips at the sight, and the widening of eyes opposite him indicated that the reaction didn't go unnoticed.
Mind racing, Prussia ran through his options. Switzerland was looking up at him like he'd won some kind of god damned prize, and that made him seethe. This wasn't over yet. Not even fucking close. He held back a sharp grin and prepared to move.
Before he could, the knife bit further into his neck and everything came crashing to a halt. Prussia froze, struggling to focus as the increased pressure lit up his body like a live wire, sending echoing twinges racing downwards to build low in his stomach. Shit, now was not the time for that. Not here, not now, and especially not with someone he barely knew. But at the same time, he became aware of a distinct hardness pressing against the front of his leg, and reconsidered. It was risky – that reaction was pretty normal in a good fight—but Prussia decided to hell with it, and fervently hoped he wasn't misreading the situation.
He locked his gaze back on to Switzerland's and didn't look away. The moment stretched, neither of them willing to be the first to speak or break contact. Just as the stillness became unbearable, Prussia slowly darted his tongue out to run along his lower lip.
Darkened eyes flicked downwards to follow the motion.
Almost immediately, Switzerland snapped his gaze back up, a faint blush rising on his cheeks as if only just realizing the slip and embarrassed at being caught out. A deep crease appeared between his brows, and the knife wavered.
Before Prussia could lose his nerve or decide what a shitty idea this was –except it wasn't shitty, his mind cut in; he'd keep the knife in sight so he couldn't be taken by surprise, so it was fine, and besides, it had been too fucking long since he'd done this—he tilted his head up. Not by much, just enough to get his point across.
The knife shifted against him as he moved, and it was all Prussia could do to bite back the groan that threatened to escape at the light scraping of sharpened steel against skin.
Switzerland eyed him intently, composure firmly back in place. "What are you planning? Don't think I can't tell you're up to something."
At that Prussia did let out a groan. An exasperated one. Was this guy for real? If Prussia's head wasn't already shoved up against the wall, he'd slam it against it in frustration. "Jesus fuck, are you always this dense?" Shoving Switzerland's knife arm away with his free hand, he took advantage of the surprise to yank his captured wrist free. Shit, he needed a cold shower and a beer.
Understanding flared behind Switzerland's eyes like a switch being flicked, and he flung Prussia back against the wall, his tight lipped expression taking on a distinctly feral edge as he brought the knife back up to rest just under Prussia's jaw.
Prussia stifled a sharp inhale at the shock of cold pressing against the underside of his chin, torn between the urge to close his eyes, or to keep aware and alert in what was still an unpredictable situation. Centuries of instinct won and he kept his gaze trained ahead.
"I see." A warm mouth was pressed to his ear, and a rough voice whispered, "Tell me you want this."
Again, Prussia tilted his head up in a silent answer. If that damned isolationist fuck didn't get the hint this time, Prussia was going to knock him on his ass.
A hand fisted in his hair, sending flares shooting through his scalp, and suddenly Prussia found himself staring at the ceiling as his head was violently wrenched back. A powerful thigh pressed itself between his legs, spreading them further apart as Switzerland's entire body pressed up against him.
"Not good enough," Switzerland said, voice pitched low. "Say it."
Prussia bristled, but nodded anyway, a short, brisk jerk of his head that pulled painfully at his hair. His eyes worked to focus downwards, determined not to look away as he spoke. "Yeah, I want it. Happy? Now fucking get on with it."
"Add impatient to the list." Despite the mocking words, Switzerland pressed the weapon harder against his throat, rough pressure that blossomed into a sharp prick of pain.
With a muffled grunt Prussia ground himself down on the jean clad leg pressed between his own, savoring the rush of relief it brought. The sting at his neck flared sharper and brighter, bringing him back to awareness, and he realized he must have pressed himself into the knife in his need to get closer.
"At least I'm not all talk and no action, unlike someone here," Prussia replied, ignoring the pain in his scalp and in his neck to pull harder against the hand fisted in his hair, until he could squarely meet Switzerland's eyes, his lips twisting into a wild grin.
Switzerland merely looked up at him, cold and assessing, though the quick fluttering of his breath and the way his pupils were blown wide ruined the effect somewhat.
Prussia bared his teeth wider, but made no other moves, curious to see where this was going and content to play along now that he was convinced it was going somewhere. Vaguely, he was aware of something tickling lightly against his neck and he realized it was blood, trickling down from the cut on his throat.
"Stop talking," Switzerland reprimanded, the gruffness in his voice not enough to hide his own eagerness. Prussia suppressed a laugh (because who knew that under the bitchy surface and the closely guarded privacy was this) knowing better than to voice it right now.
Green eyes left Prussia's face to follow the thin line of blood making its way down his throat to pool in the hollow above his collarbone. They flicked back up, intense and wild and untamed, and suddenly Prussia wanted it all.
Everything. The knife, the pain, the nation across from him holding him down as he cut deeper.
Switzerland must have felt it too because suddenly the hand in his hair tightened, dragging him down until they were at eye level. "If we do this, I'm not going to stop until I make you scream," Switzerland whispered into his face.
It took everything Prussia had not to snarl at him to get on with it already. He reigned himself in, refusing to look away, and answered, "You gonna talk at me all day or what?"
The corner of Switzerland's mouth curled up at that, and he released Prussia's hair to trail a hand downwards, over his temple and his jaw and his neck until he reached the top of Prussia's worn shirt, deftly flicking open each button. The knife wasn't far behind, trailing a long, slow line down his sternum as more and more skin was exposed, teasing and playing and leaving it frustratingly whole and unmarked.
Another button was opened and the knife followed, drawing an invisible line along his torso towards his stomach, and Prussia strained to keep each inhale and exhale of breath perfectly steady. A frustrated groan caught in his throat, almost undoing his efforts as the blade, warm with the heat leached from his body, skimmed his navel to follow the fine trail of colorless hair that disappeared below the waistband of his jeans.
Face never losing its intense look of concentration, Switzerland flicked aside the open edges of the shirt with the tip of the knife, and Prussia allowed himself to breath normally again. He shrugged his shoulders back and let the unbuttoned shirt slide down his arms and onto the floor.
Then he sprung, knocking the knife aside with one hand as he slid his left leg outwards, catching Switzerland's foot and knocking him off balance. Because if Switzerland wasn't going to get to the good part fast enough, then Prussia would.
They fell to the floor, knife skittering away out of reach. Prussia straddled the body beneath him, catching both sturdy wrists in his hands and leaning forward to pin them above his adversary's head.
Switzerland bucked and snarled, even as his eyes blazed with excitement. Not wasting any time, he whipped his head forward in a brutal attack aimed straight at Prussia's nose.
Prussia easily dodged to one side, slamming both captured wrists back to the concrete floor. There was blood spattered on Switzerland's face and it took Prussia a long moment to realize it was the same blood that had just been dripping down his own neck. It was a beautiful sight, and he leaned down to lick a long stripe up Switzerland's cheek, savoring the tang of iron on his tongue.
As his actions, Switzerland stilled beneath him, struggles melting into small grunts of appreciation. Collecting himself, he blinked up at Prussia. "This isn't what I expected when I came by," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes straining to focus at their close proximity.
Prussia grinned. "That's 'cause you're boring. You should learn to loosen up," he replied, smiling at the mental picture that brought to mind, especially considering the hardness pressing up near his ass, demanding attention. Still smirking, he ground down against it, and knew he hit the right spot when the expression beneath him went slack, Switzerland's chest heaving as his breath came a hell of a lot faster.
The knife was too far away to reach without loosening his hold, so instead Prussia leaned down and claimed Switzerland's mouth, tongue pushing past parted lips to lick along the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, anywhere he could reach. An answering tongue pressed back against him, demanding and insistent; Switzerland was a stubborn bastard, but so was Prussia and so he broke the kiss to catch a swollen lower lip between his teeth, biting down until the taste of copper flooded his mouth.
The action drew a gasp and a jerk of the hips from below. "I'm not boring." The words were heaved out the moment Prussia's teeth let go, as Switzerland struggled to catch his breath, sucking on his wounded lip.
Taking in the view below him—Switzerland pinned to the ground under Prussia's hips and hands, drops of blood still spattered across his face and mixing with the trickle of red trailing from his mouth—Prussia had to agree.
Before he had time to fully appreciate the sight, a leg hooked around one of his own and pulled, flipping their positions. Prussia's head hit the concrete with a crack. The room swam and he was vaguely aware of being flipped over onto his stomach. The coldness of the floor against his bare chest jolted him back to alertness, and he spared a thought to be thankful he kept his work area so meticulously clean. Pushing his arms flat against the ground, he went to lever himself up.
And stopped.
Something sharp and pointed was pressed against his back, sending a surge of adrenaline racing through his limbs, sharpening his senses until he could feel the pressure of the knife increase at each inhaled breath and pounding of his heart. Not far behind was a rising heat that had nothing to do with his instinct to fight.
A hand curled around the back of his neck and shoved him to the floor.
"Stay down." Switzerland spoke right into his ear from where he was crouched beside him.
All of his defensive instincts prickled at the vulnerable position even as his body responded with a wave of heat that sent his mind reeling. Prussia loathed defeat, fucking hated it with everything he had, but he was old enough to know that giving in wasn't defeat when it was something he chose. And so he shoved down the urge to fight back, stayed unmoving and didn't protest as Switzerland grabbed each of his wrists in turn and guided them down to his sides. Something stirred deep inside him as he let it happen, a thrill and uncertainty he hadn't felt in decades and hadn't realized he missed.
He let his forehead rest against the floor and closed his eyes. This was either going to be fucking amazing or one of his dumbest ideas ever, and right now Prussia couldn't care less which one he was heading towards.