Summer 1992
Germany closed the door to his - their - house, leaned against it, and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the headache to go away. He'd had worse headaches before, of course, and it wasn't as though anything truly terrible was going on at the moment… but he knew he was prone to stress.
Carefully toeing out of his dress shoes and putting them in the closet, he walked into the house and was immediately hit with the smell of savory, cooking things. His body took this moment to remind him that the last thing he'd consumed was a cheese Danish for breakfast with his coffee; he couldn't remember if he'd finished it.
No wonder he was headachy. And whatever it was being cooked smelled good. He peered into the kitchen; nobody there, but the smells of perfectly singed meat and barely-cooked onion were so enticing it was painful. The kitchen was at least clean, though, which satisfied something deep within Germany. Yes. Delicious food somewhere, and a perfectly clean kitchen to boot. Perfect. Almost. Except for the fact that the food was not in his mouth and this was a major problem.
"In here," Prussia's voice called from the living room. "I can practically hear your stomach going off."
Germany followed the voice to the living room, where Prussia was laying on the leather couch, his head propped up by the arm. On the coffee table before him was Germany's largest oak cutting board, boasting a mouth-watering array of foods. Thick onion slices sweating with butter, salt, and basil; two tomatoes sitting astride a pile of salt and pepper, begging to be sliced and dipped; braised brown mushrooms savory with pig fat and paprika; a whole loaf of crusty dark rye that was obviously there to be torn into with the hands sitting next to a gigantic hunk of hard white cheese and a glass bowl of oblong black-and-green olives; the obligatory pile of wurst with mustard.
When Prussia did cook, he tended to do it simply and then eat it off of a surface with a knife. There's just something about simple food, Prussia had told him once, spearing a mushroom with a blade and tugging it off with his teeth, something primal. Sure, Prussia could wine and dine with the best of them if he felt like it was worth his while… but that wasn't what he did by choice.
At any rate, Germany felt himself go lightheaded at the sight. Prussia chuckled and sat up, casually dressed in brown slacks and a white polo compared to Germany's suit. "Go slip into something more comfortable," Prussia said, waving him in the direction of the bedrooms. "It'll be here when you get back."
Swallowing a mouthful of saliva, Germany nodded and headed to the bedroom, carefully divesting himself of the expensive suit and hanging it up, replacing it with a pair of sweats and a black ribbed tank. He appeared back at the entrance to the living room promptly, drawn to the food like a fish on a hook.
He walked in to see Prussia with a hunk of cheese on the end of his fighting knife - it wasn't even a kitchen knife - and putting it in his mouth. Mute, Germany watched him chew and Prussia looked up with a cackle. "It's like you need a written invitation," Prussia said, and motioned him over, shifting to sit against the arm of the couch again, spreading his legs slightly. "Sit here," Prussia instructed.
Germany was more than happy to obey, sitting between Prussia's split legs and moving with his guidance; after a moment Germany was slouched down, his head resting against Prussia's chest, one of Prussia's arms crossed somewhat-firmly over Germany's body, as if there were danger of him slipping down.
In reality, since Germany was bigger than Prussia nowadays there wasn't any such danger but the position was familiar; Germany remembered it from when he was small. He smiled a little bit at the ridiculousness of it, but was quickly distracted by a black olive being put to his mouth. The order was clear: Germany opened his mouth to allow it in.
Mmm. He closed his eyes, chewing his way around the pit, prying the savory, succulent, buttery flesh away, and felt Prussia's hand cup under his mouth.
"Spit," Prussia ordered. Germany's eyes flicked up and he raised a brow at Prussia before obeying, letting the pit fall into Prussia's palm.
"Thanks, Mother," Germany said, his first words of the evening.
"Ksesese," Prussia chortled, dropping the pit back onto the cutting board. "Eat." The hand came back a moment later with a torn heel of the rye bread dipped in mustard with the cheese - it was smoked gouda, Germany discovered - and soft onion. The portion was far too big for Germany's mouth: he bit off what he could, and the rest went to Prussia.
And thus they went through the rest of the food, silent: Prussia combining the food in different arrays - onion-wurst-olive, olive-mustard-cheese, cheese-bread-salt-pepper, mushroom-olive-cheese, bread-wurst-onion-mustard-mushroom - and Germany obediently consuming. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. Eventually, Prussia reached for a tomato and bit into it straight like it was an apple before reaching over to salt and pepper it and lowering it to Germany's mouth. Sticky juice ran down his chin when Germany bit, which Prussia casually wiped up with his fingers.
By the time the food was gone, Germany was stuffed and half-insentient, head lolling back against Prussia's chest mindlessly as he opened his mouth for more.
Prussia hummed. "If you sit up, you get beer," he said, causing Germany's eyes to pop open. The cutting board was empty, with only stray crumbs, pepper granules, and smears of mustard to indicate food had once been there.
While Germany was very comfortable, beer was a good enough reason to do most anything, so he sat up… but did not move away from Prussia. This, of course, sandwiched Prussia between the sofa and Germany's larger body, which made Prussia grumble.
"Big oaf," he said, and Germany could hear him swigging from a bottle behind him before handing it over: pilsner.
Germany hummed and took the bottle from him, taking his own long draught and sighing. "Thanks," he said, voice a bit dry to address the 'oaf' title, but more in reference to the meal.
Prussia snorted, and Germany felt two thin arms wind around his middle. "If you forget to feed yourself, then the responsibility is mine," he said, one hand patting Germany's slightly-protruding midsection. "You always did turn into a bear when you weren't fed proper, and you always forgot to feed yourself when left to your own devices. You haven't changed a bit, West."
Germany sighed, shoulders slumping. At that, thin, long fingers reached up to press into his shoulder muscle, causing a soft gasp.
"Another problem is the state of affairs today," Prussia went on, soliciting his opinion whether Germany wanted it or not, as per usual. "I say you lot need to have a few wars to loosen things up. Not modern wars… none of that bombing nonsense… but I'm sure you'd feel a lot better about things if you got to go thrash Austria with a sword every now and again. You should try it. Therapeutic."
Germany's teeth bit on a groan as wiry-strong hands squeezed just outside of his neck. "I don't think… I don't think I could get away with that, Brother," he said, struggling to keep his voice even. "If… I started beating the neighbors up… might… not… look very… ah… I don't think…"
"Yes, don't think," Prussia encouraged, his pianist's fingers - though Germany had never seen him touch a piano - pressing a firm and pleasant line parallel to Germany's spine on either side. Germany arched like a cat. "Gets you in trouble more often than not."
That might have gotten a scowl out of Germany if it hadn't of been accompanied by a kiss behind his ear and a squeeze on his naked upper arms. Prussia laughed, and continued his efforts, reaching under Germany's shirt so his hands touched warm bare skin. After a couple minutes of those fingers working his flesh like clay, Germany simply stripped off the tank because it was just in the way, leaving his top naked but for the gray-and-blue iron cross at his neck.
A curious thing, that cross: he had stopped wearing the original one at the end of the last major war, it having mysteriously disappeared after shirking his black dress uniform for the last time. There was no cross during the occupation years, and Germany had assumed it was lost forever. Upon reunification, however, all he remembers is opening his underwear drawer and finding it staring him in the face, but, like many things, changed: gray-and-blue rather than black-and-silver.
Germany isn't particularly superstitious, but he knows a sign when he sees one and he wears it now, under his clothes: a new incarnation of what once was and still exists, just differently. The cross beat lightly against Germany's bare sternum as Germany undulated slightly with the touch of Prussia's hands.
Prussia (who still wears the black cross; Germany isn't sure how he was able to keep it through his own occupation but Prussia doesn't talk much about the occupation years and Germany doesn't ask) wasn't a masseuse by any means, but Germany spent his life wound like a clock so a professional wasn't necessary. Soon his muscles were yielding like heated butter and Germany's head dipped down, panting as knots released their grip and lactic acid shivered like dying poison through his blood. He had to brace himself against the couch cushions.
Finally, when Germany was limp and could barely keep himself supported, Prussia pulled Germany back against his chest and let him rest there so the warmth would keep the muscles loose. Germany floated, sighing when Prussia's hands brushed over Germany's muscled, bare chest, reaching up to toy fondly with Germany's gray cross.
"You must want something," Germany mumbled absently to the air. That was the only thing that made any sort of sense.
"Ksesesese," came the trademark chuckle from above. "You know me so well."
Germany popped an eye open. "I'm listening."
Prussia hummed, his hands going down to work on Germany's bare arms once again - clearly, he was focused. "I got a phone call from America today, did I tell you?"
"Obviously not, since you got it today," Germany responded, both of his eyes open, becoming a little more alert. "What did he want?" More to the point, why did he call you and not me?
Prussia was, admittedly, more or less out of commission as an independent nation these days. Germany sometimes worried about how well Prussia was actually handling it, but the fact that he still existed was a positive sign. He did have his uses: Prussia was surprisingly good at dignitary dinners, where he could tone down his more naturally-bawdy attitude to pleasingly dark humor with dashing manners; Germany felt like an awkward block of wood in comparison. Prussia would often pitch in to help with bigger tasks, but Germany was careful not to give him anything too menial.
Not to mention, personally, Germany would be devastated to lose him. Privately, he wondered if that were the real reason Prussia stuck around.
However, that didn't make it any less alarming that a nation - much less America - would be contacting Prussia over him.
Prussia patted his arm. "Worry not, West; it wasn't anything political. Not that I could blame him for wanting to talk to the older, wiser, awesomer one, ksesesese."
Germany exhaled. "Well, then what?"
Prussia hummed and took the beer bottle back from Germany, as Germany had let it idle for too long. "It's about our upcoming trip."
Right. Next month, Germany and Prussia were slated to go and visit America's house. Or one of his houses. Apparently he had several. This was more exciting than the normal diplomatic trip since… it was the first time Germany had ever been to North America, and the first time for Prussia in a couple hundred years. During their long separation, Germany hadn't left his own lands since there had been too strong of a magnetic pull to the east to even consider leaving; now there were no such barriers.
"And?" Germany asked, getting somewhat impatient.
Prussia snorted, the hand with the beer going around again so Prussia could press the bottle up against Germany's mouth and tipping up until Germany had a good few swallows, his body involuntarily shivering with pleasure at the malty, yeasty, bubbly, blessedly alcoholic liquid stroking him on the inside while Prussia pressed the cool material of the cross into his skin on the outside.
"Well, first of all, he seems to know quite a bit about your sexual predilections," Prussia said, voice going a bit dry. He lowered the bottle from Germany's mouth. "For example, one of the first things out of his mouth was an apology to you, but he didn't think a conference call would be a way to handle this and that scene etiquette involved asking the dominant partner first. He obviously wasn't talking about politics."
Germany's tongue ran over his lips. "Uh," he said intelligently. Scene etiquette. Dominant partner. A flush rose over his cheeks. "Yes. He knows." No sense dodging.
"…and how many other nations know?" Prussia asked, voice going a bit prim, causing Germany to squirm. "It's not exactly becoming for a world-leading nation. Not that I mind at all… far from it… but you don't want the others to… not take you seriously."
Well, it was a well-known fact that Germany was into leather, thanks to the chatty mouth of a particular Italian that Germany liked more than he probably should. However, the general assumption (that Germany had done absolutely nothing to counteract) was that Germany got off on wrapping up some unfortunate in leather, barking orders, and inflicting sadistic punishment when orders weren't met.
…this was far from the truth, and one of the other major advantages to Prussia sticking around. With his brother back, Germany could finally get true satisfaction in the form of giving up control and giving in to the desire to please… and there was no way Prussia would hold it against him politically. It was sexual and nothing more - Germany did, in fact, enjoy being actually powerful on the world stage - but Germany was well-aware how such leanings could be bad for business.
"America's the only one who knows directly," Germany said, looking over his shoulder to try and judge how irritated Prussia actually was. (He really, really hated when his brother was upset with him. He always had.) "He… figured it out right before reunification."
Prussia didn't look pleased. "And you never let me know this because?"
Oh, no. Germany's eyes dropped involuntarily. "I… never thought… it was important."
Prussia's nostrils flared, and with the red-eyed glare it was difficult not to feel a bit intimidated. "So you've just been… letting him dom you without telling me? Germany, I'm not expecting you to be monogamous and I know damn well you aren't, but that's a little different."
"He hasn't ever," Germany said quickly, starting to get the urge to drop to his knees, that you-are-being-displeasing quiver starting to rattle inside. Also, the only time that Prussia called him by his nation name was when he was irritated; not a good sign. "…other than once, but it wasn't what we do and it was prior to reunification. Since then, I haven't had sex with him. He hasn't been around nearly as much and most of the time I see him it's in a group setting."
Prussia leaned back, and looked thoughtful. "That's what he said," Prussia said, the irritated look relaxing a bit, thankfully. "And he hasn't told anybody."
"As far as I know he hasn't," Germany replied, carefully leaning back into Prussia. "If he had… you would think we would have heard something about it by now."
Prussia didn't put his arms around Germany the way the younger would have liked, but he did allow the lean. "He asked if we would like to scene with him."
Uh. "Scene with him how?" Yes, Germany liked submissive sex acts, but the idea of America dominating Prussia was all sorts of strange (and if he were dominating Germany too, it crossed into the realm of 'frightening'. Yes, they were friends now, but fifty years ago they weren't, nation memories were long, and sex with that sort of power tint in it was not enjoyable).
Prussia snorted. "I had the same reaction. He suggested that both you and he take submissive roles and I dom. That's… the only reason I'm bringing this up, really. I was prepared to shoot 'im down because I don't like to sub and I don't have interest in handing you over to him just because he asked nicely… I was going to tell him he had a fuckdamned amount of nerve to bring it up at all but… I admit the idea as he presented it is… intriguing."
Germany supposed he should be offended at Prussia's remark about 'not handing him over,' as he was his own nation and could make his own decisions about how he wanted to have sex and with whom, but instead it just made him feel warm inside. Protected. He rested his head back against Prussia's shoulder, and, happily, Prussia draped an arm over his front and started to play with Germany's gray iron cross again.
"He… volunteered to submit to you?" Germany asked after a moment, staring at the ceiling. "Even just as a sex act, that's…"
"Highly unorthodox, considering how he's the most powerful nation in the world right now and I don't technically exist," Prussia finished, his fingers moving over the points of the cross absently. "But he was the one that brought it up. I told him I'd talk it over with you."
Germany was quiet for a moment, parsing through his thoughts. "I don't think he's ever been raped," Germany said quietly after the pause. "When I surrendered to him at the end of the war, he seemed to know nothing about… standard protocol. I had to tell him."
There was a pause, and then Germany's head bounced as Prussia's chest shuddered with laughter. "Keseseses! Are you serious! You told him to rape you? West, really."
Germany's face went red. "I couldn't take it anymore! He was so oblivious and it was obviously going to happen at some point; I just wanted to get it over with."
Prussia was still laughing. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall. Russia needed no such prompting. And did he?"
Germany opened his mouth and then closed it, tipping his head back to look at Prussia's amused face. "…we had sex," he said. "It wasn't anything like after the Great War, though. He didn't hurt me, and he used lubricant. I… did get off." At this, he turned his head away; even after all these years and everything that had happened since 1945, he still wasn't sure to what to think about that particular encounter. It was a mix of gratitude and shame.
Prussia reached up a hand and brushed it soothingly through Germany's hair; neither Prussia nor Germany liked thinking about any of this much. Germany closed his eyes and sighed at the touch. "Well, then it's safe to assume he hasn't been on the bad end of it before… I can't imagine much would have changed to impact his nation sex experiences since the end of the last big war… so that would make sense. If you don't have anything to fear from not being in control, then you don't have anything to fear." The hand stroking Germany's hair came down to rest on Germany's shoulder. "So. What do you think?"
Germany shifted. "I trust you," he said after a moment. "I know you run good scenes. And I've had sex with America before… he's never been bad to me in sex, even when he should have been. If you're in charge… it could be fun. And if he's submitting to you… he's going to keep his mouth shut about it." Probably. Maybe. America'd kept his mouth shut about Germany, at least. Though, a part of him wouldn't be surprised if America happily went off at the mouth about having kinky sex with Prussia, likely to try and piss England off. (Pissing England off seemed to be one of America's favorite hobbies, and, well, watching him do it was one of Germany's.) "If… you also want to do it, it… could be interesting."
Prussia chuckled again, the hand at his shoulder going up to cup Germany's chin, tipping it back to expose his neck. "Sweet little brother," Prussia purred in Germany's ear, causing all of the hair on Germany's body to stand at attention. "So very trusting." There was a light scrape against Germany's adam's apple: the blunt point of the gray iron cross.
Germany whined, letting the noise echo into the empty house, his body thrilling at the freedom to do so. He could feel a soft shiver go through Prussia's body in response to the sound before the cross lowered from Germany's throat and Prussia's hand released him.
"Brother," Germany said, once he'd caught a breath, turning around on the couch to look at Prussia's pale face, one corner of his thin lips curving up and Germany's body suddenly ached with need - all of this talking about sex and scenes. "I-"
"Are you drunk?" Prussia asked, the first questions of the ritual beginning.
"No," Germany said, relief washing over him. "I'm not drunk."
"Do you want to submit?" Prussia went on, lacing his fingers in front of him.
"Yes," Germany replied. "I want to submit." Saying the words always made him shiver since they were raw, far too honest… but Prussia had always said that if Germany couldn't even bear to say the words, there was no way Prussia was going to dominate since that wasn't consent. So Germany said them.
At first it had been awkward. Now it turned him on.
That got a smile out of Prussia, a smile like a cat about to get all the cream. "Darling little brother," Prussia purred, and Germany felt his blood start to heat up - Prussia very rarely used endearments when he wasn't domming. "Such a prize; my prize. I had all the world at one point, I'll have you know, and I still wanted… I gave it all away; had it torn from me, and now I have you."
Pinpricks and jolts of arousal singed Germany's nerves at those words, and he turned around on the couch so he was laying on his stomach, slightly below Prussia; Prussia ran a firm hand through Germany's hair and Germany tipped his head toward the touch. "Brother," Germany nearly moaned in response, and fluttered his eyes closed. "Anything, Brother."
"Anything, hm?" Prussia asked, red eyes going heavy-lidded and indulgent, and anticipation built in Germany's stomach like a fire being stoked with kindling. "Hm… well. Anything. What would you like, little brother, hm?" A hand went through Germany's hair again, and Germany shivered at the touch of nail. "What would be your pleasure tonight?"
Oh, there were so many things and Germany almost wanted to force Prussia to make the decision, but he knew trying to pass responsibility entirely onto Prussia would only serve to make Prussia irate. Prussia liked to have Germany ask for it, liked to crack into Germany's head like a nut and pull out the forbidden fruit. Germany wet his lips and panted once, twice. "Boots," he said after a moment. "Boots, and… the crop. Gloves."
Prussia hummed, though there was a chuckle in it. One of his fingers traced Germany's cheekbones. "Authority kink," he murmured softly, making Germany's body heat up. "My God, little brother, you're so perfect it hurts. No wonder America wants this. The whole world would, if they knew." His hand went down to Germany's chin, and his grip went firm. "And if I allowed it."
The possession in Prussia's voice made Germany shudder with pleasure and he gasped as Prussia's other hand reached down and under the loose elastic of Germany's sweatpants, cupping the yet-soft cock and balls in a warm and authoritative hand, causing Germany to gasp and his eyes to lock with Prussia's, breathing shallowly.
Prussia's hand released Germany's chin, and reached down to pick up Germany's gray cross, keeping the gaze locked. Prussia opened his mouth. "Ahhh," he intoned, implying that Germany should open his mouth, too. Germany obeyed, and Prussia slid the gray cross between Germany's lips and pressed it into his tongue like he were a priest giving communion. Germany's mouth closed over the tang of metal, feeling the chain holding the cross brush his lips and chin. Prussia smiled.
"Go wash," Prussia instructed. "Go wash… and trim yourself down here a bit, would you?" Prussia's fingers brushed against Germany's pubic hair meaningfully, causing a light dusting of a blush over Germany's cheeks. "Don't bother to dress yourself when you return."
Germany's eyes flicked to the open curtains, which made Prussia chuckle. "Ksesesese, you think that I'd share this with the neighbors? They'll be closed when you get back."
At this Germany nodded, rising slowly to his feet, Prussia removing his hand from Germany's sweats, Germany keeping the gray cross between his teeth, the taste of iron embedding itself into his tongue.
Prussia nodded toward the bathroom. "Go."
Germany went.
# # #
In reality, Prussia thought while he gathered up the necessary materials, West hadn't needed to trim his pubic hair. His little brother was already extremely fastidious about hygiene (he wasn't quite as bad as Austria about it, but nearly): Prussia had merely brought it up to throw him slightly off kilter and make him blush.
The conversation with America earlier had been… interesting. At first there had been the shock that America apparently knew so much about West and his proclivities, and Prussia had proceeded to bite America's head off over being so presumptuous.
What Prussia had really worried about, of course, was America having taken advantage of his standing during the occupation years. (…though, if America had, the realistic part of Prussia wouldn't have expected otherwise.) However, America had assured him that this was not the case and encouraged him to ask West about it. West appeared to corroborate America's claims, even when Prussia had gotten slightly terse with West - something he'd always known West couldn't stand, ever since West was hardly as high as Prussia's hip and even then desperate for positive feedback. So America's story appeared to be true. West was a terrible liar.
If all was as both America and West claimed and a spade was indeed a spade… this upcoming vacation was going to be even more entertaining than he'd originally thought. Particularly since West and America appeared to be absolutely adorable when it came to nations and sex. Seriously. West had to tell America to take his due after losing the deadliest war in history and America was polite enough to use lube? Adorable! Prussia could pinch both of their cheeks, but would, indeed, rather pinch their asses if given the chance.
This was going to be amazeballs to fuck with, as far as Prussia was concerned. However, first things were indeed first, and he had an obedient and horny little brother to deal with.
The jackboots were in the back of his closet. He still kept them shined up and supple, mostly for this purpose; however, he had noted that they were starting to come back in fashion again, or at least he'd seen some men on motorcycles sporting them. Funny, how the world changed like that. The gloves were up in a box in his closet: jet black, and luxuriously soft with mink oil. Unlike jackboots, which could carry unwanted connotations, fine leather gloves never went out of style.
These he took out, as well as a riding crop with a long wooden handle. This was a genuine riding crop, used to encourage trained horses, but Prussia found himself encouraging West with it more often these days than anything with a bridle.
Come to think of it, Prussia thought West might look quite fetching with a bridle. Something to bring up on another day. It was good not to let him get too comfortable.
Bringing those and a few other choice items with him, Prussia returned to the living room where he carefully picked up the empty beer bottle and the cleared cutting board, taking the board into the kitchen where it could be washed later. (He would just have to ensure that West didn't see it before the festivities started, otherwise there would be a very unsexy housework detour. If there was one thing West couldn't stand other than his elder brother's displeasure, it was dirty dishes.)
Thus cleared, he moved the coffee table from the center of the living room and sat down on the couch to wait, crossing his legs. The boots and other accoutrements were hidden behind the couch. Oh, wait. He stood up and closed the curtains. No need to start things off with West in a snit.
It took another fifteen minutes (Prussia figured West had to be measuring every single one of his pubes, Christ), but West arrived, bringing the scent of freshly washed human and Berlin-after-rain with him, the gray iron cross still in his mouth. If he was surprised to see no boots and no gloves, his expression didn't show it.
Prussia allowed a small smile to cross his face, taking in his handsome brother's naked, muscular form and how obediently he held the piece of metal between his teeth like a bit. Yes, a bridle would definitely need to be brought up in the near future. "Kneel," he said, pointing to the rug in front of him.
Wordless due to the cross in his mouth, West stepped forward and obeyed, sliding down in a cascade of creamy flesh. Prussia had to swallow a mouthful of saliva. Leaning forward, he reached out and grabbed the edge of the gray iron cross, pulling it slowly from West's mouth; West released it.
"How's it taste?" Prussia asked absently, watching West swallow a couple of times.
"Like metal," West answered lowly, like a completely imagination-less thing.
"Hm, let me try, then…" Prussia said, and leaned forward, taking West's mouth, sampling it like he might a glass of wine. West responded with the perfect amount of yield; enthusiastic enough to move with Prussia's cues and convey desire, yet completely willing to allow Prussia to utterly dominate.
Willing wasn't even the word for West's submission, Prussia thought absently. Desirous was better.
As for West's mouth, he appeared to have kept the cross in his mouth during his ablutions; it was like kissing the barrel of a gun, with that unmistakable metal tang dominating soft inside of cheek and smooth teeth.
As Prussia explored West's metallic taste, one of his hands snaked down to feel close-cropped pubic curls between West's legs and baby-smooth thighs; he had shaved there. Prussia could also feel West's cock jerk with his fingers so close to it and rubbing against sensitive, recently-exposed skin; Prussia removed his hand and felt a disappointed vibration from West's throat. Prussia chuckled and pulled away.
"You taste like a weapon," Prussia purred into that blue gaze just beginning to separate from reality. "My beautiful, well-maintained, weapon. I command you."
"Yes," West said, the syllable barely audible, a breath, a plea. His beautiful blue eyes fluttered closed, and Prussia leaned forward, manipulating West's head so he could kiss each eyelid.
"Keep them closed," Prussia instructed, and rose to go to the box behind the bed. Unsurprisingly, West's eyes were obediently shut when Prussia returned, so he wasn't able to see the long strip of silk that Prussia wound around his eyes several times, but he definitely felt it. "Is it too tight?" Prussia asked after tying a snug knot.
West shook his head. "No," he said, the white strap of silk like a fallen, constricted halo, blinding its owner. "No, it's… it's fine."
"Fine" was probably not the word for it, what with West's cock starting to perk and his breath clearly starting to speed up a bit. Good. Time to shift into higher gear. Prussia leaned forward so his lips were brushing West's ear.
"I want to bind you: your hands before you, and your feet together. The safeword is 'black forest cake.' Say it."
It was obvious West wasn't entirely gone: the choice of his most famous baked good to appear at international potlucks as safeword caused West to chuckle. "Hungry for dessert? 'Black forest cake.'"
Prussia chuckled in reply, and pressed a kiss against West's temple, running a hand through West's golden hair; West sighed and leaned his head into the touch, as sweet and loving as ever. Prussia took a moment to savor this: during the dark days in the coal mines and forests of the USSR, he promised himself he would never take it for granted ever again, never exploit it, never gamble it.
"Not at the moment," Prussia said, smoothing the roughness out of his voice. "You'll just have to do."
West's head tipped slightly: Prussia hated to admit it, but he was as bad at hiding his feelings from West as vice-versa. West turned his blind head and nuzzled it against Prussia's.
"Bind me," he whispered, as focused on the goal as ever though his voice was touched with the sudden swell of emotion Prussia had let color the scene. "Please."
Prussia smiled, and rubbed a thumb against West's cheek. "Such a good boy," he said, loving the other's shiver at the somewhat-condescending praise. "Wait here."
When going to retrieve the leather restraints, the riding crop, and the gloves (which he currently pocketed), Prussia shook himself. He definitely needed to get a better handle on this otherwise the scene was going to have to stop if everybody got too overcome by emotion. Deep breath. In, out.
"Put out your hands," Prussia ordered when he came back, the usual note of steel back where it should be. This had the desired effect on West, who straightened up his spine and offered his hands out immediately. Prussia cuffed them, tightening the leather to where it would be firm but not restrict bloodflow; shifting behind West, Prussia did the same favor to West's ankles.
"Feel good?" Prussia asked, voice crisper than starched shirts.
"Yes," West answered innocently, and received a sharp smack from the riding crop on his hands for his pains, causing a yelp to escape from West's mouth.
"Yes, sir," Prussia corrected, a smirk appearing on his face. He whipped the crop through the air again so West would hear its ominous slice; West flinched at the noise, but this time the crop did not strike.
"Yes, sir," West repeated, a bit breathless, a little more flushed.
Much better.
With West appropriately trussed, Prussia hummed and traced the looped leather of the crop carefully down the bridge of West's nose, just the barest touch; West's pink lips parted and the leather traced those, too. Down that angled jaw, up the other side, around the ear.
West let loose a low noise - ears were sensitive, Prussia knew this. He smiled, and lifted the crop away from West's ear, raising it silently, before striking down, allowing the wood to whistle through the air again and landing a loud smack on West's right asscheek, hard enough to leave a pink lick.
West winced away from the sound instinctively, shoulder rising to protect his ear and then cried out at the sting to his behind.
Prussia tisked, the sound covering him pulling off his shirt. "What's this?" he asked, the same tone he'd used back in the day for interrogations. "All this wincing? That's not very obedient."
West's chest was rising and falling quickly - his cock was rising slowly. "No, sir," he responded, still perfectly trained to commands. Oh, how very lovely.
Prussia's own pleasure was beginning to stir, but he ignored it for the moment, tossing his shirt on the couch, twisting the riding crop between his fingers as he let West think about it for a second. "Lean forward," Prussia instructed. "On your forearms."
West's face flushed. "Yes, sir," he responded obediently, leaning forward as instructed, ass high up in the air, a soft, pale white marred only by the single pink sting Prussia had administered.
That would soon change. "How many do you think you deserve for disobedience, then?" Prussia asked, glad that he could keep the grin from his voice as West's body openly shivered once more. "Answer."
Prussia could hear a couple of sharp gasps as the nation below him started to shiver constantly in anticipation. "Ten, sir."
"Hmm," Prussia said, letting the edge of the leather tap thoughtfully against the white curve of West's left buttock. "Oh, very well. Ten it shall be. Hold still, now."
Another pregnant pause, where West was clearly starting to gasp for air before the first stroke landed with an expert flick of Prussia's wrist. Since West lusted after the crop so damn much, he'd had plenty of practice.
West's body jumped and he let loose a yip, which was adorable and sent shocks of pleasure straight through Prussia's body like a live current. "One, sir!" West said, completely unprovoked.
Prussia raised an eyebrow, and let a smile cross his features. "Oh, you want to count, do you? Want to make sure I don't slide a sneaky eleventh stroke on to it?"
"No, sir," West said, voice beginning to develop a pleading note. Obviously, Prussia knew that's not what West was worried about.
"Then what?" Prussia asked, tracing the leather loop teasingly over West's thighs, watching the goosebumps appear.
"I-I was acknowledging them, sir," West replied. Prussia couldn't see the other's face from this angle, but he knew it had to be bright red. Oh, perfect. So perfect. So beautiful, his brother.
"Hmm. Acknowledge away, then… but rather than counting, I would prefer to be thanked after a stroke. Since you went ahead and chose your own method without permission, the first shall not count, and we will start over again. Do you understand?"
By this point, Prussia was entirely hard. It was difficult not to be, and took more willpower than he was willing to admit not to start touching himself. West let loose a soft moan, and then nodded. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir," he responded, contrite, a note of misery in his tone.
It was about to become more miserable. "Good," Prussia said curtly, and this time when he struck the crop against West's presented backside, it was with the force of his arm, a truly punishing stroke that hit with a snap and left a dark red weal. Prussia loved his brother dearly and wouldn't ever truly hurt him, but, well, it wasn't as if West were going to break either and he did ask Prussia for the crop.
West cried out, clearly surprised at the strength of the stroke. "Thank you, sir!" he yelped, his back arching.
Prussia hummed in response and the cane went the other way, just as hard. Snap. "Thank you, sir!" West said, voice a little more pitched and louder. Prussia watched the way West's poor cheeks swayed and trembled with the hit.
Around the fifth stroke it was obvious that West's voice was starting to thicken with tears, so Prussia let up slightly for the last few, but only slightly. (If West truly wanted it to stop, anyway, he'd be crying out for baked goods.) When he was done, West's backside was cut through by bright pink and red lines, and West was clearly very sorry indeed, as his muted swallowed sobs were evidence of, as well as his voice: "Sir, I'm sorry, sir," West whimpered after thanking Prussia for the tenth and final stroke.
"Shh, shh," Prussia soothed absently, sliding on the leather gloves, knowing that West was too consumed at the moment to pay any attention to sounds other than his own soft tears. Prussia stepped forward, gently placing one of his gloved hands on West's upturned, red-streaked behind. "You did well. You did very well." Prussia gave the skin below his fingers a gentle squeeze.
This mollified West a bit, as Prussia felt the other shiver beneath his fingers and the sounds of distress lessened. Goosebumps rolled up West's spine, and Prussia's gloved finger followed the bumps, causing West to whimper softly and relax slightly.
"Spread your legs for me," Prussia instructed, and West's legs skated out as much as they could. (He did not acknowledge with a 'Yes, sir' as he should, but Prussia wasn't going to punish more at the moment; it was obvious West was well under and didn't require any more.) Prussia looked down and saw that West's now-exposed asshole was scrubbed a very meticulous pink as had been ordered.
"Beautiful," Prussia praised, allowing a finger to stroke along that pucker of skin and then down to gently tease the backs of West's balls. West whimpered again, at the word and the touch. "Do you want to please me, West?"
"Yes, sir, please, sir," West begged, voice naked with desire; Prussia could see the nape of his neck wet with sweat.
"Very good," Prussia said, turning his voice from steel and authority to deep and indulgent; West responded with a whimper and Prussia gave his punished ass an encouraging pat before placing the wood of the crop between West's open cheeks. "Close your legs and hold this for me," Prussia went on, his indulgent voice touched with good humor.
It took West a moment, but he managed to figure it out: his legs closed and he tightened the globes of his ass to hold the implement in place. Prussia hummed in approval and started to walk away - he was going to retrieve the boots.
This, however, was thwarted by West, who got wind of his plan to walk away and quickly reached out - the boy's hearing had always been excellent - and grabbed at Prussia's ankle with his bound hands. "N-no, no, please, Prussia, don't-"
…okay, West had lost track of scene, maybe that had been a bit over the top. Shit. "West, West," Prussia said, sinking down to the floor, voice back to normal. "Okay, black forest cake. Black forest cake. I'm going to take the blindfold off for a second, here… we're going to pause."
West just shivered in reply, so Prussia undid the white blindfold and let it fall away, sitting down on the floor so his back could lean against the front of the sofa, tugging West to lean against him.
West's eyes were blank for a few moments as he winced and adjusted back to light, but when they did, his blues looked frantically up until Prussia looked down and smiled, reaching a hand up to brush West's hair back.
"I'm sorry," Prussia said, voice quiet and serious. "That was too much."
"I sh-should have used the safeword," West rasped, his body starting to openly tremble with adrenaline. "I-I'm s-sorry. But…" West swallowed, "…you sounded… stern and I wanted…" he shook his head. "To make it better, I don't… I couldn't see you, I didn't want you to leave…"
Prussia sighed, and made sure to give his brother a small smile. "The fault is with me; I pushed too hard… we don't usually do that sort of punishment scene. It's all right, it's not your fault." West looked up at him, worried, wet, reddened eyes and a trembling mouth and oh God damn it, Prussia. Prussia leaned forward and kissed West's forehead. "Do you want a drink of water?"
West shook his head, a couple of fingers hooking into Prussia's belt loops.
Prussia hummed. "Do you want to stay here and rest?"
West nodded.
"Do you want me to untie you?" Prussia figured that he should, but the keys to the restraints were sitting on the table, requiring Prussia to get up to retrieve them; West did not seem keen to have him move.
West shook his head, curling his legs up slightly. "I-I like the bondage," he said, voice quiet, looking down. "I d-don't want to stop."
A wave of skepticism went through Prussia at that. "It might be better if we do-"
West shook his head. "Just… no blindfolds?" he asked, voice quiet. "And… no more crop?"
Prussia exhaled through his nose. A large part of him wanted to refuse; he wasn't sure at this point if this was West or the subspace speaking, and he definitely wasn't confident in West's ability to safeword right now if necessary. His mouth twitched. "Let's rest for a bit, and then we can decide," he said, instead.
West looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead followed Prussia's inviting tug forward so that West's head was resting against Prussia's left shoulder, his back against Prussia's raised knees, and the rest of him curled up in a fetal position on the floor. Were West far smaller, it would have been similar to a cradling position for a child.
At this point, Prussia noticed that West was still holding the crop obediently between his buttocks. Prussia chuckled and reached forward, taking the crop with a tug. "Let go," he said quietly.
West's eyes opened as he obeyed, and then Prussia tossed the crop unceremoniously to the other side of the room. Prussia could feel West's smile against his shoulder; West's bound hands reached up and Prussia heard clinking as West snagged Prussia's black iron cross and held it in his cupped bound hands with his own twinned gray cross, curling and going slack.
Prussia smiled, and reached up onto the couch to tug off the throw blanket and drape it over West's nude form. West sighed, contented, and started to rub the two iron crosses together absently as Prussia gently ran fingers through West's soft hair. So beautiful, so trusting, Prussia found himself thinking like a skipped record. His heart swelled.
Being as old as he was, Prussia knew that nothing lasted forever and as even mighty Rome had disappeared, so would he. He'd always thought it would come at the end of a great battle, though, an explosion, a fiery and sudden death that would pay homage to his battle-grown and victorious past. He'd thought it had come at the end of the last great war. It hadn't. The world still had some use for him, apparently in the form of whispering Russian lessons in the cold dark of night into the ears of terrified young German ex-soldiers; apparently in the form of purposefully infecting prisoners in the infirmary to give them another two weeks out of the frigid, deathly winters; apparently in the form of watching the life ebb out of the eyes of hundreds, thousands of men.
Sometimes, the eyes of the Russians would flash pale purple before the last breath rattled out of the abused and starved body. On the bewildering train ride back to Moscow, when he'd stumbled out of the train and into Kursky station and, overwhelmed, into Kurskaya Metro, underground and surrounded by stout white pillars, when Russia was standing there, a knowing smile on his face, the first thing out of Prussia's mouth was the question that'd been buzzing around his head like carrion flies for a decade:
How could you do that to yourself? he'd croaked, parched and starved and haunted.
Russia's smile hadn't lessened, but he held out a bottle of something that Prussia wasn't sure was water or vodka. How did you? Russia asked simply, purple eyes older and wiser than the smooth face belied.
It was a question that Prussia had no good answer for. He didn't think he ever would, just like he didn't think he'd ever forget that first cool swallow of water from Russia's bottle.
West's eyes were closed still; his fingers still cradling the iron crosses. So sweet, this boy. And to think that when he'd been presented with this blue-eyed blond-haired infant in the Hall of Mirrors by Bismarck, he'd felt nothing but annoyance at the way the child had cried, terrified.
He'd grown up well, though. A solid mind. As good with figures and facts as he was with a gun, a sword, a cannon, or a bomb. Polite. A bit shy. And utterly and insanely devoted to crazy bloodthirsty Prussia, which was not wise but love never was a wise concept to begin with.
So, Prussia was still on this earth though technically he wasn't; he was thinner, smaller, and physically weaker than he'd ever been (he'd never fully recovered from the occupation period), watching his little brother grow healthy, strong, and hale. A bound Adonis in his arms, the golden dream re-achieved, the prosperity and power that Prussia had once held himself, only far less soaked in blood.
So this is how it will end, Prussia thought, his hand gently cupping the back of West's head. Out of all the things that haven't fucking killed me yet, I'm dying slowly of love.
Not very awesome. Prussia snorted quietly to himself and shook his head.
After a few moments, West's blue eyes slit open. "Wear the boots?" he requested softly. "Please?" West's face nuzzled softly against Prussia's shoulder in entreaty; Prussia could feel West's nose and felt a small smile turn his lips up. It reminded Prussia of their dogs when they wanted affection or table scraps.
Prussia hummed, not committing. "With trousers or without?"
"Without," West responded. "Just you, the gloves, the boots." Those blue eyes tipped up. "Please."
Oh, fuck. West shouldn't be so beautiful like this, bound, curled, fingers tangled in chain and iron crosses, blue eyes clear like a sunny cold day, blond hair slightly damp with sweat but still sweet from the shower. But he was, damn him.
He sighed. "Fine. But you're going to have to let me up, you know."
West nodded, eager now that he was getting what he wanted. Carefully, West let go of Prussia's necklace and slid to his knees beside Prussia, saying nothing but the sentence 'please kiss me' written all over his expression.
Prussia let his eyes meet with West's for a moment, before smiling and leaning forward, pressing his lips to West's to oblige. West positively melted into it, his bound hands reaching up blindly for Prussia; Prussia's hands intercepted his and they held each other in this way for a moment until their lips separated.
Prussia's lip quirked and he rose, going behind the couch. "The things I do for you," he told the other as he stripped his lower half free of clothing and slid into the tall, just-below-knee boots, absently clacking the metal-ringed heel against the hardwood floor just to watch the small shiver that went through West's body at it.
"I appreciate them," West responded, blue eyes solid and sincere.
Prussia chuckled, sliding on the worn, soft, polished black gloves, smiling a little at how West's attention was instantly drawn to them. "I know," he responded, and walked out from behind the couch, taking a moment to dwell on how strange it still felt to be wearing these boots with nothing else other than a necklace and gloves; fetish personified, this was.
He could almost smell the arousal from West; his cock, having gone soft during the punishment was starting to rise again; his pupils started to eat away at that solid blue in desire as he stared hungrily up at Prussia, still on his knees and oh-so-perfect.
Prussia swallowed on his saliva. "You can show me how much you appreciate it now, though," he said, and slid one of the perfectly-polished boots forward meaningfully.
Almost instantly, West wrapped one of his bound hands around Prussia's outstretched ankle, and those pink lips attached to the instep of the leather boot, suction and tongue laving in huge, hungry, worshipful circles.
This was far from the first time that West had worshipped these boots in such a way: every time Prussia marveled at how arousing it managed to be even though he couldn't really feel anything from West's efforts. His cock was twitching by the time that West had started working his tongue along the seam between sole and upper; when West had curled his head to suck at Prussia's heel, needy. Prussia released a groan and wrapped a hand around his cock, thumbing at the head, eyes closing.
A distressed whimper from West caused his eyes to snap open; West was now sucking his way up the long shaft of the black leather boot, his teeth appearing every once in a while to scrape along the buttery-smooth surface, his bound hands firmly planted around Prussia's ankle to keep him in place.
Prussia tipped his head for a moment and figured out what West was probably whining about. "You'd rather have my cock in your mouth, is that it?" His free hand reached down and he cupped West's chin authoritatively, running a gloved thumb along the sharp line of his jaw. West groaned, and Prussia's eyes darted down; West was fully erect again. Prussia shivered and stroked himself.
"Yes, Brother," West replied, his eyes looking at Prussia stroking himself before darting up. "I-I really want it. Please."
Oh god fucking damn it it was so difficult to not prematurely ejaculate with West when he said such things so sincerely. His hand darted back to squeeze himself at the base, but he kept his facial reaction to a slight wince.
"You're only halfway done," he said like a total masochist, sliding the untouched leather boot forward and pulling away the one West had been working so delightfully: the leather shone with saliva like fine polish.
At the reminder, West went diligently back to work, this time pressing a cheeky kiss on Prussia's exposed knee before curling a hand behind the heel.
"Mind yourself," Prussia said, but allowed his smile to color the reprimand. He toyed absently with his cock, enjoying the different feel of leather against him as West sucked and licked and lost himself below, moaning at the taste of wet leather and want.
"You're hard, aren't you?" Prussia purred, looking down at the fucking masterpiece beneath him. "You're hard, and you want to touch yourself, but you won't… sweet, obedient little brother, so much self-control when you must be throbbing with need, your cock weeping with it…?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Prussia saw a drip of precome hit West in the thigh as West continued his diligent-bordering-on-frantic task. Prussia often wondered if West would simply come on command. It would certainly be worth exploring on a different day, but after what had happened earlier it was probably better to actually touch West this time.
West whimpered, and when his lips disconnected from the leather next, a barely whispered plea reached Prussia's ears: "Please, please," West was mouthing against the leather between sucks and kisses and soft squelched noises. "Please, please."
Prussia took a shuddering breath and it took a few thousand years of control not to lose it entirely. Finally, he gently lifted the boot and hooked West under the jaw with it, lifting and pushing back.
West moved obediently with the boot, his blue eyes meeting Prussia's as the boot guided him onto his back. Once he was there, Prussia took his time looking West over: pale skin, blown-out pupils, lips swollen with saliva and arousal from his sucking, flushed chest, nipples so tight they almost looked pained. His bound hands he held bent at the elbows and resting on his chest; with his ankles bound close together he looked almost demure, but for his obscenely engorged sex. The gray iron cross slipped off his shoulder and fell to the carpet, askew and undone. Prussia knew West loved to be admired; he let his eyes linger and his approval show openly on his face.
West's cock started to leak more after a few moments of silent scrutiny. "Please," West breathed once again.
Oh, finally, finally he could give into his brother's pleas. He nodded once. "As you wish," Prussia responded (and as I wish, frankly), and sat down on the edge of the sofa, spreading his booted legs so his sex rested exposed on the cushions, wincing slightly at the feel of leather against his balls.
Reaching forward, he picked up West's fallen gray cross and guided him up and forward like a dog on a leash with it. Aroused and nearly insentient, West followed, and maneuvered himself obediently and readily between Prussia's split thighs.
West looked up. "I love you," he breathed, so undone and raw, unspooled, strung out on arousal and leather and skin.
Prussia's throat tightened, and suddenly his eyes stung with tears. Completely unable to speak, he leaned forward, heard a slight clink, and pressed his lips to the younger's forehead, breathing through the sudden spike of emotion rendering him mute.
When he was sure he could pull back, he did slowly, and realized what the source of the clink was - West had Prussia's black iron cross in his mouth. He must have snagged it with his teeth when Prussia had leaned forward to kiss him.
Prussia swallowed once, twice. "What does it taste like?" he teased quietly.
West's eyes were locked on his as his lips worked around the metal: he released the cross. "It tastes like you," West said, voice just as quiet.
Leather and metal, brother and brother. Prussia's lip ticked up as he reached down, brushed a lingering drop of precome off his cock with his gloved finger, and gently placed the finger in West's mouth to suck, which West did. Once West had gotten up a decent amount of suction, he used his fingers to guide West down to his straining cock, where he pulled his fingers out of the younger's soft mouth and nudged his cock against those pink lips.
The lips automatically yielded and Prussia's eyelids fluttered as that talented mouth finally closed around his cock. This was far from the first time that Prussia had enjoyed the efforts of West's mouth, but Prussia had to admit that he had gotten far better at oral sex after reunification. He absently wondered if he had America to thank for that.
He also wondered how good America was at giving head. Well, perhaps he'd find out soon.
Prussia let his hand rest against the back of West's head as he bobbed and slurped and breathed wantonly through his nose, taking in as much of Prussia's scent as he could. Pleasure fizzled and danced along his nerve endings, and eventually Prussia had to let his feelings be known with a sharp groan. West pulled away to kiss reverently at Prussia's thin, soft thighs before running a tongue up along Prussia's shaft and kissing just under the glans, running a tongue over the tip and swirling.
"God, yes," Prussia moaned, throwing his head back. "Are you touching yourself, West? Don't you dare. I want you nice and hard for me when I touch you… wanting… so desperate, West, so perfect, yes, such a good mouth, ah, oh, little brother, yes, so good, ah-"
As a counterpoint to Prussia's babbling, West was openly mewling and groaning and even if he wasn't touching himself, Prussia could tell that his hips were starting to thrust into nothing; drool was sliding down Prussia's thighs as West redoubled his efforts and it was a hot wet mess of perfection and sex and lightening crackled along Prussia's spine and it was over, it was all so beautifully, perfectly over and he was dying, dying, living, dying and one gloved hand reached out to bury in one perfect head of tousled blond hair and ah-
Prussia goddamn nearly exploded into West's mouth, and the other swallowed and choked and drooled and kept on sucking until Prussia lost track of gravity and his vision swam with brightly-colored spots and he had to push the other away, as his sucking had obtained a mindless quality to it, and Prussia was too sensitive.
Prussia managed to look down far enough to see West's absolutely dazed expression, soft cock, and copious evidence of male orgasm all over Prussia's boots.
Prussia couldn't help it. He laughed, though the sound was off-kilter and woozy. "Did you come without being touched?"
West looked down, seemingly surprised. "I… yes, I suppose I… did."
Collapsing back against the sofa, Prussia chuckled. "That's one for the ages," he said, allowing his eyes to slide closed for a moment before straightening his spine and looking down at West, who was still on his knees, bound, and definitely still in subspace. All right. Time to get baby brother cleaned up and safely in bed.
First things first. He sat up and kissed West's forehead again, gently. "That was wonderful," he praised, when West focused on him again. "You did well." His hand went through West's hair, and he smiled.
"I-I liked it too," West said, shuffling a little closer on his knees. "I always do."
"Good," Prussia said, nodding. "Let's get cleaned up now, though, all right?"
West blinked, and then a flash of horror went across his face as his mind started to catch up to his oversensitized body. "I can't believe I just-"
"Don't worry about it," Prussia said, dismissing the apology about premature ejaculation before it got its awkward wheels beneath it. "You enjoyed yourself, I enjoyed myself. That's all that matters. But now, let's go to the bathroom. Quick shower, and then you should go to bed."
"I want to sleep with you tonight," West said, obediently holding his hands out to be unbound when Prussia motioned for them. "Please." When his hands were unbound, they went to grasp Prussia's thighs in a somewhat-disconcertingly-strong grip.
Prussia sighed quietly. Naturally, West got up earlier than Prussia did most days since West still had a job and Prussia was more or less retired, so West also went to bed earlier; Prussia wasn't even very tired yet. But he could tell by the expression on West's face and the near death-grip on his thighs that depositing West in his bed and leaving would not be a very good idea. (Or even possible.)
"As you wish," Prussia said, bending over to unlock West's ankles. "But if you start snoring, I'm outta there."
"I won't snore," West said, though West did indeed snore most of the time and it wasn't as though he had any control over it. West was simply trying to follow orders at this point, even the ones he couldn't. Sincerity was written all over his slightly-vacant face.
"Come on," Prussia said gently, his still-gloved hands reaching down to hook under West's shoulders and guide him to a standing position, where he stayed obediently while Prussia removed the gloves and boots, leaving them where they were for the time being. "We'll clean up later," he told West, stepping forward and motioning for him to follow.
It was testament to the power of subspace when West, who normally would have blown a gasket at the suggestion of leaving the living room covered with sex paraphernalia with the coffee table out of place, nodded and followed (very closely) behind without an argument.
Prussia started the shower and motioned West in with him, but cleaning them both took longer than normal since West kept on capturing his attention with needy kisses. The iron cross necklaces pressed into their bodies, pinned between hot, wet skin as their lips pressed together over and over and over.
Finally, Prussia managed to get the semen off well enough and towel-dried both himself off and West (also difficult with how grabby West was becoming), and lead them into West's bedroom (West was now holding his hand).
Prussia turned down the covers and motioned for West to get in with his non-held hand; West obeyed, but did not let go of Prussia's hand until Prussia was safely in the bed with him.
"You'll be here when I wake up," West said, more of a statement to the world as opposed to asking Prussia his opinion. West slid down into the blankets and put his hands on Prussia's hips as Prussia followed.
Prussia's lips turned up and he felt something sad stab him in the guts: maybe one day West would wake up and Prussia wouldn't be here; not because he'd decided to wake up and go make coffee, but because Prussia had finally gone the way of the ones before, the ones who no longer existed.
"I'll be here when you wake up," Prussia repeated, voice low.
"Good," West said, and leaned into Prussia, shifting until his forehead rested against his elder's bony shoulder, breathing in deep of the scent of human, earth, leather, and metal. "Good night."
"Good night," Prussia echoed again, stroking West's hair until the other's breathing evened out in sleep.
Still wide-awake, Prussia kept stroking West's hair. "I love you," he said to the sleeping body and the empty night air.
The next morning they awoke in the same bed, so intertwined that the iron crosses around their necks left twin imprints in both their bodies; different in color but indistinguishable when etched in skin.
# # #
HISTORICAL NOTES: Reeeeeally not that many, other than the iron cross representing the Bundeswehr did indeed become a gray and blue iron cross after East and West Germany reunited.
OTHER NOTES: Basically, I was having a hard time getting Prussia to cooperate with the next chapter in his story, which is basically about Russian POW gulags. I'm not sure when/if I'll write the bit about Germany and Prussia visiting America, but it is there.
For those who are interested, this work is part of a ever-widening arc based on WWII, and most of the stories are, uh, slightly more plotty and historically-rooted than this. If you are interested, here's the current chronological list:
December 8, 1940 [America/England, Lend Lease]
This Stupid War [America/Germany, end of WWII]
Prussian Nights [Russia/Prussia, end of WWII]
The Anglo-American Loan [America/England, the Anglo-American Loan]
Operation Little Vittles [America/Germany, Berlin Airlift]
The Walls Inside [Prussia/Germany, America/Germany, just prior to fall of Berlin Wall/after WWII]
(as-yet-unwritten) [Russia/Prussia, just prior to fall of Berlin Wall/after WWII]
(as-yet-unwritten) [Prussia/Germany, America/Russia, fall of Berlin Wall/collapse of Soviet Union]
The Black and the Gray [the 25 pages of porn you just read]
So, yes. Hopefully Prussia will cooperate now. You don't have to read any of these fics to understand any of the others.