Sweet Somethings
Prussia pushed Canada down with one knee and a smirk. He pulled off his tie. His hands slipped over his chest, teasing his nipples through the fabric and settling on the line of buttons. Prussia fumbled with them for a moment before cutting to the chase and tearing his shirt open with a growl.
Canada laughed breathlessly as Prussia tugged his shirt over his head. It caught in his blonde curls and the buttons and thread tangled in the strands. His hair floated around him like a halo.
"Ow. Ow, ow, ow," Canada complained. Prussia chuckled and nipped his earlobe.
"You like it, don't lie."
Canada snorted and smacked his chest.
"You're an asshole."
"Mmm," Prussia slammed him back down onto the carpet, "and you like it."
His hands wandered lower to grope the front of his jeans. Canada moaned and thrust into his grasp.
"Yesss…" He hissed.
Prussia unbuckled his belt and yanked his jeans and underwear off in one motion. He licked his hipbones, one after the other, and swirled his tongue in the slope of his bellybutton before manhandling him onto his bare stomach and sitting across the back of his legs.
His hands roamed over his backside and pinched. Canada snarled.
"Oh," Prussia laughed, "and are you going to tell me you don't like that? Slut."
Canada bucked underneath him and Prussia leered, considering the expanse of sun kissed skin and delicate freckles and the sweet tan lines low on his hips. He dragged his fingernails over the dips and ridges; the valleys and mountains of his land. He pressed his hands into the flush of carpet burn spreading across his back, and now his stomach.
Prussia kissed up his spine. He marked him between his shoulder blades; in that one spot he would never be able to reach on his own. Canada was his; his, his, his.
And Prussia was possessive as hell.
He pulled his hair and pushed him down and left bruises in his wake. Canada keened. Prussia preferred to be gentle with Canada and decorate him with soft kisses but sometimes Canada wanted to be taken, suddenly and without mercy; to be used and abused and used again. He wanted someone to treat him like a man for once; like a predator who needed to be subdued. Canada wanted to kick and wrestle and draw blood.
Prussia pinned his wrists to the carpet and bit the back of his neck.
It was quick and ruthless and aggressive, and when they were done, Canada finally let Prussia pull him into safety of his arms. He kissed each bruise in unspoken apology. Prussia ran his hands over his raw, pink stomach and the mess there.
Canada leaned into him and twisted to kiss the edge of his jaw.
"Thank you," Canada panted, "for this. For everything."
Prussia grinned and tightened his grasp on the other nation.
"Always," he promised.
And it was true. Prussia would always give Canada whatever he needed, whenever he needed it, even if he himself wanted the opposite. Canada was the centre of his world and he deserved everything that Prussia could possibly give him.
Even this. Especially this.
Author's Notes:
I threatened to come back and write the other side of the story; I just didn't expect to do it so soon. But love is love is love and it was fun to explore the different ways of expressing it. Sometimes, it's more about your partner, and what they want, than what you're comfortable with. It's about giving a little and getting a lot.
But really, I think these two lead a very active sex life and that they have probably tried everything at least once...
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