a/n: thank you Daisies, spekularyon, Tamer Lorika and minoki for your lovely reviews! note of explanation here: even though this is an AU, country names are being used because man, somehow i find the name 'gilbert' not quite serious enough, no idea why, so yup. and man, currently in my head, pairings (apart from Austria/Prussia) can go any way, so yup!
Canada awakens to find his wrists bound again, just like the day before. And the day before the day before and... He doesn't remember and he doesn't want to remember. He winces as he tests the shackles only to be disappointed, finding that once again, they are bound as tight as before. He is blindfolded and he wonders if the fact that he has yet to see his captor is a good thing. He doesn't like attacking people, he wishes that the hunger would eat him and not drive him to eat others but he knows it is impossible. Perhaps it is this part of him that his captor is seeking to exploit, but he doesn't know for sure. He doesn't even know what is it exactly that his captor wants except that the vicious cycle of being drained of power and being forced to feed again was taking its toll on his sanity.
His thoughts drift to one cool evening by a river, when he felt fingers all over him, teasing him and a hot tongue over him, licking his tip, tracing his slit, threatening to breach the entrance of something that could not be entered by the appendage. He gulps as he thinks of the hot, lingering caress and how his hips jerked forward repeatedly, seeking more contact with the feral heat...
"America," the word is torn from Canada's lips as he feels tears rushing to his eyes. He knows his brother will come for him, he doesn't know when but he just knows he will because America is America, but as for whether he would be able to save him... Canada dreads the answer for he knows that he is now his captor's familiar, there is nothing America can do that will allow him to break the bond. He rests his head against the wall of the dungeon, letting the all too familiar sense of resignation to his fate wash over him once again.
"Canada," a husky voice echoes throughout the dungeon and Canada freezes immediately. Panic and fear assaults him at the same time and he finds himself shrinking back against the walls of the dungeon.
France enters the dungeon, taking in the delicious sight of his familiar, wrists chained to the walls, blindfolded, a few thin, red lines snaking across his alabaster abdomen.
"No, please, no," Canada finds himself repeating under his breath as the sound of the footsteps get louder and France's fingers find their way to his jaw, lifting his chin upwards.
"Ah, mon petit lapin. You complain too much," France's voice drops a notch lower as he bends lower. His fingers wander about his familiar's bare skin, finding his nipples, rubbing against it before spreading Canada's legs apart with the jerk of a knee and he cries out as a rough fingertip finds his entrance. The digit enters him slowly, easing past the tight ring of muscle.
"You're already so wet and ready for me," France's breath on Canada's earlobe feels like scalding hot water poured on his skin. He pulls his finger out of his familiar and forces his mouth open without warning, pushing the finger in. Canada starts licking the digit, slicking it up without being told to do so because he knows that if the finger was lubricated, it wouldn't hurt as much when France puts it in again. "So you really like the taste of me inside you," he laughs and Canada shivers, wondering how such beautiful laughter could be filled with so much cruelty. France removes his finger and Canada braces himself, holding his breath without knowing it but it never comes. Instead, France positions the tip of his cock at Canada's entrance and in a single thrust, sheathes himself within his familiar.
Canada opens his mouth to scream but instead, France thrusts his tongue into the wet heat, movement of the appendage mimicking his thrusting. Sometimes he hits Canada's prostate, making him moan in pleasure. Most of the time, it just hurts. There's a tiny piece of rope tied around his cock, making his release something that takes forever to come and without any stimulation, without the friction... Canada tries to bring back the memory of America going down on him when France hits that magic spot within him again, again and again and again and again, oh it feels so good and suddenly he pulls out, causing Canada to whimper from the loss of contact only to be met with the sickening sensation of hot liquid spilling all over his face, overwhelming him.
"Ahh, mon petit lapin," France purrs. "You look magnificent."
Canada whimpers, cheeks burning from the humiliation, but he doesn't speak. He has learned not to reply, because if he keeps his mouth shut, the suffering will be over in a matter of seconds before the hunger takes over. When it happens, he doesn't have to think, he doesn't have to remember, he can forget...
"Beg, mon cheri," France murmurs, voice low and seductive. His fingertips ghost over Canada's aching cock, barely touching the sensitive tip.
"Please," Canada whispers, broken. "Please, please, pleasepleaseplease," his voice is reduced to a soft, whining sound, desperately seeking the moment when his mind will go blank as France brings him to completion, mouth covering the appendage, tongue swirling over it, sucking, draining him.
France's lips leave Canada after a while, smiling in satisfaction. Canada's blindfold is removed and his eyes are now glassy, the colour of midnight blue as he shifts restlessly against his bonds, eagerly awaiting the hunt. With a snap of his fingers, the shackles holding Canada down fall apart.
"Now go feed, mon petit lapin."
Germany rests his head on England's lap as the emerald eyed witch runs his fingers through his familiar's hair. The sandy blonde watches the flames in the fireplace lick at the logs, consuming each one slowly but surely and he thinks of America... And Canada. He doesn't remember much about America's brother, except that the lad was rather shy, behaviour completely incongruent with him being a wendingo. Who could have taken a wendingo like him as a familiar? Unless the witch was out of his or her mind, of course. England shudders as he thinks of how the balance of power between witch and familiar could easily be upset and finds himself thinking of how America rejected his offer to be his familiar, as well as how he came back to him that night. This time, the memory is hardly pleasant and England sighs again, causing Germany to look up at him, a questioning expression in his blue eyes.
"Is something the matter?" Germany asks and England wonders why he took a familiar without even considering America for it, but there is something about Germany that stirs up an odd, inexplicable feeling in his heart...
"No, there isn't," England shakes his head. Germany knows that he is lying but does not press the issue. "Say, love. Have you ever heard of the War Games?" the sandy blonde asks, staring at the flames again.
Germany shrugs. "Vaguely. Brother talked about participating in it once though," he finds himself saying before he can stop himself.
"Brother?" England raises an eyebrow.
Germany shifts uneasily. "I have a brother. He wasn't anyone's familiar, but now I'm not sure..." he trails off.
England nods slowly, waiting for Germany to continue.
"If its possible, I'd like to look for him," his familiar says slowly. "That is, only if it's fine with you," he adds hastily.
The sandy blonde wonders why he has an affinity with magical creatures with siblings. "Of course," he smiles wryly to himself. "As long as we find him before the Games begin."
"What will we be doing in the Games?"
"Witches start with one card each. They are allowed to fight, or duel, with anyone they choose and once a fight begins, neither side may walk away. When a witch loses, he or she must give up all the cards he or she has in his or her possession," England explains. "To advance to the next round of the Games, a witch must collect a specific amount of cards. This will go on until one witch comes into possession of all the cards distributed at the start of the Games, where he or she will thus be declared the winner."
"Do you have your eye on the prize?" Germany cocks his head to the right.
England laughs and shakes his head. "No, but I don't have any intention of losing."
"I see," Germany rests his head on the emerald eyed witch's lap again, causing England's breath to hitch. His familiar's head is pressed a little too close to a certain area... He sucks in his breath as Germany moves ever so slightly. Germany frowns, noticing how the sandy blonde has stilled beneath him. "England?" he asks softly.
"Could you shift your head a little?" England manages weakly as Germany shifts again, except it isn't quite the way he wants him to.
Germany's cheek comes to rest against England's arousal, causing the sandy blonde to moan. Realisation dawns on him as he undoes the fastenings on the emerald eyed witch's trousers with his teeth and England wonders where his familiar learnt how to do things like that. Within seconds, Germany frees the sandy blonde's cock and he settles himself in between his legs, placing his palms on his bare thighs, pulling his trousers lower.
"Germany, wait, you don't-" England begins but when Germany's fingers encircle his tip, the words he wanted to say get stuck in his throat and refuse to come out as his familiar caresses his cock, rubbing against the underside, going lower until his tongue flicks across his entrance, probing. The emerald eyed witch finds himself arching forward as Germany swirls his tongue at his entrance and moans as his familiar drops kisses as he returns to England's cock once more. The sandy blonde slips his hands in Germany's hair, pressing his head closer as his familiar takes him into his mouth, tongue working skilfully, causing England to writhe underneath him in sheer pleasure.
"Germany," England barely manages to speak in between pants. "I'm... Cl-" Germany's fingers apply just the right amount of pressure to the emerald eyed witch's perineum and with a strangled cry, England goes over the edge. When he opens his eyes, he is surprised to find that Germany swallowed his seed. "Germany, you..." he doesn't quite know what to say. His familiar is trembling with power in between his legs, with the same expression he had after the first time and the sandy blonde sighs, reaching forward to stroke his hair once again.
"It's alright," the emerald eyed witch whispers softly. "You'll get used to it."
Austria enters a small inn with Prussia following close behind.
"Hello," a feminine looking man greets the both of them. "Do you guys want a meal, a room, or both? I'm afraid there's only one room left, so you might have to share," he says worriedly.
"That's fine," Austria nods and the man brightens up immediately. There is something about his aura that creates an unsettling feeling within the brunette, but he can't quite place his finger on what it is...
"Finland," a baritone voice calls out and a tall blonde man appears from seemingly out of nowhere. He turns to look at Austria and Prussia, then looks at Finland again.
"S-Sweden," Finland's cheeks turn pink as he runs to the counter and produces a set of keys. "They're staying the night," he explains.
Sweden looks slightly uncomfortable. "My wife and I apologise for our lack of rooms."
Finland's cheeks flush darker and Prussia looks at the couple, slightly amused.
"This way please," the smaller man leads the violet eyed witch and his familiar down a small hallway to their room.
"You've been wanting to ask me a question for quite a while now," Sweden addresses Austria as the violet eyed witch enters the tiny bar.
"I'll concede that," the brunette settles down by the bar. "Are you a witch?"
Sweden produces a glass from behind the counter and begins to prepare a drink and Austria feels his lips twitch upwards, for the blonde seems to know what he wants without him asking. "Yes," Sweden answers as he picks out a few bottles, pouring small amounts into a shaker.
"Is Finland not your familiar?"
"He is my wife," Sweden shakes the metal container, brow furrowed in concentration.
"Well," Austria doesn't think there is a suitable reply to Sweden's words, so he shrugs.
"Do you believe in the power of love?" Sweden asks as he hands Austria his drink.
The brunette pauses for a while before his eyebrow twitches in realisation. He takes the drink. "No," he answers.
"To each his own," Sweden nods sagely.
Austria smiles briefly before raising his glass. "To each his own."
a/n: did anyone realise that the title witch fight came from the phrase 'bitch fight'? haha! anyway... review please?