The knife was cold against the base of his neck, and though Prussia refused to shiver, he couldn't stop the tiny bumps that rose along his arms and down the small of his back. The chilled edge moved downwards, scraping along the line of his shoulder blade until without warning it turned into the sharp sting of a cut. Prussia let out a hiss that was more surprise than pain, body tensing as he fought not to move.
He was surprised when a hand stroked soothingly down his skin, starting between his shoulders and sweeping down the curve of his back, fingers dipping under the waistband of his jeans to press against the vertebrae at the very base of his spine. It was an unnecessary gesture, but the way the lingering pain mixed with the gentle touch felt nice and Prussia let himself sink into it, the muscles of his chest and arms relaxing.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then the knife was back, and this time Prussia was ready and didn't make a sound as the blade dug into his skin, carving another line under the first. The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Switzerland made a noise somewhere between intrigue and satisfaction, and it crossed Prussia's mind to wonder who else knew that the other nation's fondness for weapons didn't stop at border defense. The stray thought was chased away when a line of fire scored across the opposite side of his back, deeper than before and hard enough to make him bite back a sharp breath.
"More." Prussia's voice was tight, strained with growing arousal and the effort of holding himself still. It had been so long since he'd done this, not since the humans who'd loved him and were loyal to him because they were his and a part of him. When they would carve their devotion into his skin with the same weapons they used on his enemies.
Pain flared again on his back, piercing through the memories, followed by a series of short, burning lines down his flank. Before he could catch his breath, the knife curved, crossing his spine to zigzag in the space between his ribs. The sharp sting seeped into every part of him, casting a haze over his mind and dulling his thoughts, and he couldn't stop the low moan that broke past his lips.
The blade froze against his skin, sharp point hovering tantalizingly against the small of his back.
"Enough?" Switzerland asked, the rough tones not enough to mask the hint of concern hiding beneath.
Careful not to move below the neck, Prussia turned his head so his cheek was resting against the cold floor, relishing the contrast to the blaze radiating off his back and the warmth coiling further below. He gathered up the tattered shreds of his thoughts and spoke, a mocking, "Thought you were gonna make me scream," that didn't come out nearly as scathing as he'd intended, voice raspy with need.
There was no reply, but the knife struck again and Prussia had to strain not to cry out, though whether in pleasure or pain even he couldn't say. It didn't stop, and each new touch of sharpened steel burned against his skin one after the other, adding to the heat building heavy between his legs. He could smell the tang of blood in the air, taste the echo of it on his tongue. It made his head spin, world narrowing to a fine point.
Through it all, Switzerland's hand never wavered and despite the fog of arousal and the relentless buzz of pain, Prussia had to admire his skill with a blade.
It continued relentlessly, the sharp lines blurring together and leaving him needing more. As each cut split his skin and stripped his self-control it became harder and harder to keep from rutting against the ground to relieve the ache consuming his body. Only the knowledge that he had to keep absolutely still kept the last shreds of his willpower in place, kept his hips from seeking the friction and relief he desperately needed.
The knife veered deep into his side, and Prussia let out a loud gasp, unable to keep from arching away at the unexpected intensity. Warmth blossomed from the wound, and he breathed heavily as it passed, eyes clenched tightly shut against the agony and arousal washing over him in waves.
A terse, "Sorry," broke through the haze.
"It's fine," Prussia mumbled. The initial piercing sting was dying, leaving only a pleasant humming against his skin that made the other too-shallow cuts fade into the background. "You can go that deep again," he added, voice coming out gravelly and rough.
But instead of the knife, Prussia felt hands circle his waist, sliding against his skin to fumble with the front of his jeans. He lifted his hips to give better access, fighting against the need to push himself into Switzerland's hands as they worked his pants open. A groan built in his throat as his jeans and boxers were tugged down, fabric brushing over sensitive flesh and fingernails scraping harsh lines into his legs. Prussia bit his lip to stifle the sound. The clothes bunched around his ankles and he moved to kick them away and free his legs, but a hand on the skin of his calf stopped him.
"No. Keep it like that."
"You kinky fuck," Prussia replied. But he let his legs go still.
"You're one to talk," Switzerland shot back, trailing the tip of the knife lightly along Prussia's calf for emphasis.
Prussia made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a rasp, and from the corner of his eye saw Switzerland's t-shirt drop to floor.
A weight settled on his thighs and then the knife was back, tip resting solidly against the cleft of his ass. The blade slowly made its way downwards and Prussia's breath caught, going completely still as adrenaline surged through him and pushed the fuzziness away in a burst of alertness. His body thrummed wildly, like a drum pulled too tight, the need to keep calm and not move warring with the renewed instinct to get the fuck away and defend himself.
This was not part of the plan. What the fuck was that crazy Swiss bastard doing? That was a delicate fucking area!
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Prussia demanded.
There was no response, but Switzerland had already proven his steady hand, and so against his better judgment Prussia let him trace the blade along the seam of his most private of areas. There was enough pressure that he could feel the metal nestled against his skin, but not enough to cut. It felt fucking amazing, and Prussia used every bit of control he still possessed to hold himself in place, suddenly glad for the weight of Switzerland's body restraining his legs.
After what seemed like forever, the blade hovered between his thighs before withdrawing completely, and Prussia allowed himself a heavy breath.
The weight on his legs let up and then there was nothing.
Prussia's patience sucked at the best of times (except when he was planning war strategies) and it didn't take long to wear thin now. He didn't know where the knife was, but this sitting still and waiting shit wasn't his style. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced behind him.
Switzerland was sitting nearby, eyeing him with a curious expression. One hand repeatedly opened and closed the knife, the other hovered over Prussia's skin uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure his permission to touch extended beyond the cold bite of metal.
Prussia didn't know what to think about that so he didn't, swallowing the discomfort in his throat to flash a cocky smile and a wink over his shoulder. "I know the view is good from up there, but come on, I don't have all day."
To prove the point, he wiggled his ass, and was rewarded with a scoff. But that strange look was gone from Switzerland's face and he was smiling that little half smile that Prussia was beginning to think was the closest he got to a real one, so he counted it as a win.
"Don't be absurd," Switzerland countered. "The view's not that impressive and you clearly do have all day."
That was bullshit. If there was one thing Prussia knew, it was that he had a great ass. But all the shifting around was making it hard to concentrate, so he ignored the slight against his assets and set his mind to more important stuff. Like getting Switzerland's stupid pants off. Because fuck if Prussia was going to be the only one naked here.
The cuts on his back pulled and throbbed as he twisted around, threatening to steal his concentration all over again, but he marshaled his strength and he pushed the sensation back so he could get to work, popping the top button and yanking the zipper all the way down. Switzerland got the hint pretty quickly, pushing to his knees to shove the unwanted clothing down over his hips to pool on the floor, eyes sweeping over Prussia's body as he did so.
With the clothes out of the way, it was plain to see that Switzerland was as ready to go as he was, and Prussia grinned. Shaking off his own jeans from where they still tangled around his legs, he laid them on the floor to use as an impromptu cushion (a pretty crappy one, but better than nothing). Mirroring the kneeling position, Prussia took them both in hand, nearly slumping at the rush of relief it brought.
Switzerland jerked against him, biting his lip and reopening the wound from earlier, knife hand reaching out to steady himself against the unmarked top of Prussia's shoulder.
At the glint of the blade, Prussia froze, carefully watching the knife out of the corner of his eye. The rest of his attention was on the tiny droplet of red welling up against the pale pink of Switzerland's lip. With effort, he drew his focus back to the weapon.
"Put that shit down before someone gets hurt." Prussia may not have been a model of self-restraint and caution, but he knew a bad idea when he saw one.
Apparently, so did Switzerland. He set the knife aside without protest, the edge of his mouth turning up in a way that looked slightly embarrassed. It made the blood smear across his lip.
Prussia moved without thinking, lunging forward to seal their lips together, nipping and sucking and drawing the wound into his mouth. A low groan came from in front of him and Prussia took it as his cue to continue, pushing his tongue into Switzerland's mouth and stroking roughly up and down with the hand on their cocks, not bothering with grace or finesse or any of that other frilly bullshit that isn't needed when you're both bleeding and naked on the ground and so hard you can't think straight.
The hand on his shoulder tightened, nails digging into his skin and pulling him forward as Prussia deepened the kiss. He reached out to tangle fingers in coarse blonde hair, closing his hand into a tight fist to force Switzerland's head back and keep it there. Switzerland growled and grabbed at his wrist, but Prussia retaliated with a hard thrust of his other hand and a swirl of his finger over and around the tip of Switzerland's cock.
It worked, and Switzerland went from struggling to gasping, thrusting his hips into Prussia's hand and letting his head fall back even more. The fingers digging into Prussia shoulder curled into claws and raked over his chest.
Leaning down, Prussia scraped teeth along Switzerland's neck, his other hand never slowing its assault as he stroked and twisted and sent them both racing towards the edge.
His concentration was slipping and Prussia felt himself reaching the limit of his control. It was all too much – his hand on his cock, the iron tang of blood in his mouth, skin and muscle against his teeth, and the pain breaking in waves across his back at the slightest movement– so when Switzerland added a hand to his own, calloused fingers running and sliding along both their lengths, it was more than he could take.
With a rough cry Prussia jerked and shuddered, a spasm wracking his body from head to toe, his own warmth flowing over his hand and against his skin. His mind swam and his eyes clenched shut, even as he strained through the haze of release to bring Switzerland along with him. He felt disconnected from the rest of his body but it must have worked, because not soon after he heard a short gasp and a long breath, and then silence.
The urge to lie down and flop onto his back was overwhelming but Prussia resisted, knowing he'd get a nasty surprise if he tried. He contented himself with slumping against Switzerland's chest, ignoring the muffled grunt he got at the action even as a pair of hands settled on his hips in return.
The only noise in the room was the two of them panting, until even that quieted down into little more than a slight whooshing of air.
Now that the frenzied moment had passed, their entwined position felt way too intimate. Feeling uncomfortable, Prussia disentangled himself and sat back on his heels, settling into a cross-legged position on the floor. He hadn't been able to get a good look at Switzerland earlier, but now the view was unobstructed and he let his eyes wander up and down, staring unabashedly. Switzerland didn't have his height, but he more than made up for it in muscle, no doubt the product of a hard life of constant readiness. It was a good look on him, Prussia decided.
Switzerland caught his eye and Prussia smirked, feeling awkward but determined not to show it.
They stayed that way, locked in an uncomfortable gaze, until Switzerland cleared his throat and glanced around the room. "So, where's your first aid kit?"
The question caught Prussia off-guard and he scrunched his nose in confusion, though a part of him was grateful to have something to talk about instead of the uneasy staring. "Huh?" he asked.
Switzerland crossed his arms over his chest. "I refuse to believe with you and Germany living in this house that you don't keep a first aid box somewhere."
Oh. The cuts on his back. The pain from them still lingered, shooting out at unexpected moments whenever he moved. If he hadn't just gotten off, he'd being getting hard again. But it needed to be taken care of, if for no other reason than to make sure he didn't get blood all over the furniture when he went back into the house. That shit was such a pain to clean.
He brushed the question aside, suddenly preferring the strained silence. "I'll take care of it later."
Switzerland gave him a disdainful look, the edges of his mouth turning down sharply. "Don't be stupid. You can't reach back there."
Prussia knew that, but refused to budge. "Whatever. I'll get West to do it."
"You shouldn't wait that long. Why are you being such a stubborn idiot?"
The question brought him up short and it came to Prussia that though he didn't mind Switzerland taking a knife to his back for sex—had enjoyed it, even— the thought of letting him that close once it was over made the space between his shoulders itch.
On second thought, the itch was real, a remnant of the blood no doubt trailing down and drying on his back. Shit, he really did need to get that cleaned up. Not to mention he would only look weak if he kept up the protesting when it was obvious he couldn't do it himself.
"Fine," he conceded, the words dragged from his throat. "Bathroom. Grey box under the sink." Switzerland looked at him, eyes narrowed, and Prussia continued before he could voice the question. "Any bathroom."
That was West's fault. His brother's defense against the uncertainty of which room an injury would occur in, and thus which bathroom would be closest, was solved by putting supplies in all of the bathrooms. Not that Prussia was complaining. The best contingency plans were the ones that were the most flexible.
Switzerland chuckled, apparently coming to the same conclusion on his own. Hitching his pants back up, he got to his feet and plucked an unused rag off the worktable. Cleaning himself off with a couple quick swipes, he tossed it over to Prussia to do the same. After finding and putting on his shirt, he disappeared inside the house.
Waiting on his ass for assistance sucked, so Prussia stood, redressed (not bothering with his shirt for obvious reasons), and began to tidy up the space he'd been using to clean his knives before Switzerland dropped by and the afternoon took a completely different turn. Not that he regretted it. He felt fucking great, still tingly and fuzzy and relaxed, and enjoying the pleasant feeling of pressure emanating from the cuts on his back.
His discarded knife was lying near West's car, and he carried it back to his workbench to check for damage and to finish cleaning later. Grabbing a couple more rags, he threw them over the space where he and Switzerland had just been. That would need a thorough mop up, which he'd also do later. What required immediate attention was Switzerland's knife.
Picking it up from the floor, he took the opportunity to examine it more closely. It was similar to his own, good steel and solid construction, though unlike his, there was a spring to make opening it a bit less work. It was also a centimeter or two larger, and without the black coating that Prussia liked both for its aesthetics and the extra protection it gave the blade. Smears of blood clung to the metal, standing out in stark contrast to the shiny silver.
Prussia was more than a little surprised that Switzerland had left the weapon behind, that he would let himself be unarmed outside his own home. Then again, it was just as likely he had another weapon or five tucked away in the jeans he was wearing, so Prussia didn't give it too much thought.
Sitting down on the high stool at his worktable, he picked up a fresh cloth, added a touch of oil, and began cleaning the blood –his blood—from the knife. The work was relaxing and he'd managed to get most of it off when he heard the door open.
Switzerland approached carrying a familiar box. The question of what took so damn long was answered when Prussia caught sight of a bandage peeking out from under the sleeve of his dark blue t-shirt, the same spot Prussia had cut earlier in their fight.
Well, he thought, if that bastard was going to be anal about this whole stupid first aid thing, at least he was consistent.
Giving the knife a few last strokes with the cloth, Prussia wiped the blade dry and snapped it shut, offering the weapon back to its owner. "Good as new." Then he frowned, rethinking that. "Well, as good as can be on short notice. You'll want to go over it again on your own."
Switzerland's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, brow crinkling as he stared in confusion before quickly collecting himself and accepting the knife, tucking it away in his front pocket. "That was nice," he said, one hand reaching up to scratch behind his neck. "Um, cleaning it, I mean. Thanks."
Prussia preened. "It's a good knife," he offered. "Shouldn't stay dirty."
The half-smile was back, and with a soft thud, Switzerland placed the box of aid supplies beside Prussia's elbow and motioned towards the wall next to the work table. "Turn around so I can take care of these."
The warm feelings fled as Prussia bristled at being told what to do, especially in his own house. "I know how this works," he snapped.
"Then start acting like it," Switzerland responded, matching his tone of voice exactly.
There wasn't much Prussia could say to that, so with a scowl, he did as directed.
Switzerland didn't give him any stupid warnings like, 'hold still' or 'this might hurt a bit,' which suited Prussia just fine. He merely opened the box, prepped the supplies, and began.
The first touch of the damp cloth against the skin of his shoulder burned and he bit back a hiss, staying still and silent as Switzerland cleaned each of the cuts one by one. The initial shock of pain gave way to repetition and it didn't come as a surprise to Prussia when he found himself enjoying it. Letting out a long sigh, he slumped forward slightly as the cloth continued to make its way down and across his back.
All too soon, the sting faded and the cloth was replaced by strong, steady hands taping strips of gauze over the worst of the injuries with painstaking precision. With a final tap to his arm, it was done and Prussia straightened up on the stool, turning to watch as Switzerland placed each of the items back in their proper places, then closed the box.
"There," Switzerland said, unnecessarily. "I'm done."
Which was strange. Switzerland wasn't prone to extra words or idle conversation and it made Prussia realize that he didn't want this –whatever it was—to end. Maybe the feeling was mutual, he considered, and fumbled for something to say, anything that might extend the encounter that was quickly coming to a close.
He hit upon the perfect thing.
"So why'd you stop by anyway?" Prussia kept his voice casual, setting both elbows on the work table and resting his chin atop them. "You said before you weren't here for West. That only leaves me…." His voice trailed off in an unasked question.
What he wasn't expecting was for Switzerland's cheeks to flush, his arm almost knocking over the first aid box as he jolted to attention. He cleared his throat and looked away, then looked back.
Prussia said nothing, keeping their gazes locked as the silence stretched on. He wanted an answer and had no qualms falling back on old interrogation tactics to get it.
It worked, and Switzerland broke with a hurried, "I, um…I was dropping off something." His hand reached out to methodically straighten the grey box until it was exactly parallel to the edge of the table.
"Dropping off something." Prussia echoed. "But not for West." He paused, curious and slightly hopeful. "For me?" Shifting up in his seat, he lifted his head from his hands and stared intently.
It made no sense. What the hell could Switzerland have for him? Sure, Prussia sometimes helped out in the office when the workload was high, but that was a private arrangement with his brother. Nowadays he was mostly content to stay behind the scenes and let West take point.
Switzerland flushed brighter, even as his expression hardened. He mumbled something incoherent, a string of rushed syllables that Prussia couldn't begin to make out.
"I didn't catch one word of that. Speak up," Prussia demanded, irritated.
"I brought you a plant from my garden." The words were mumbled, but unmistakable.
Prussia beamed, annoyance forgotten. "You brought me flowers!"
"A flower!" Switzerland snapped. "Just one. Something new I'm cultivating. You liked my garden before, so I thought…" He drifted into silence and stared at the floor.
"Well, don't just stand there, show me!" Prussia burst out excitedly, causing Switzerland's head to snap back up.
Straightening, Switzerland pursed his lips together and answered, a tight, tense sounding "Fine, then."
It brought to mind a soldier set unerringly on a difficult course of action, and Prussia grinned at the thought. What seemed like forever ago, he'd seen Switzerland dressed for battle, and remembered the sight as being impressive. Well, except for those years with the ridiculous clothes, but whatever.
"I left it in the hallway. Come on." The words broke Prussia out of his old memories. Turning, Switzerland stopped to look back at him. "Can you walk?" he asked.
"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Prussia demanded. He'd dragged his beat up ass off so many battlefields over the centuries that he'd practically turned it into an art form. A couple shallow cuts weren't going to keep him down. "It's not like you broke my knees or anything. That might've been a problem." He jumped off the stool onto his feet, steadfastly ignoring the jolt upon landing that he most definitely didn't wince at, silently daring Switzerland to say anything.
He didn't, and Prussia's estimation of him went up another notch.
They re-entered the house and there was indeed a small ceramic-looking pot sitting in the corner by the front door, a single flower growing in the center. The bright splash of color contrasted sharply with the drab beige of the walls and immediately drew his eye. A simple black coat that Prussia didn't recognize was hanging from one of the pegs on the adjacent wall.
Switzerland shrugged into the coat, then stooped to pick up the pot with both hands. Turning around, he handed it to Prussia. "Here. For you." Seemingly as an afterthought, he added, "And you better take good care of it."
Prussia took the potted flower. It was bright and purple and pretty and it made him childishly happy to get an unexpected present. He didn't know why Switzerland was giving it to him, considering how fiercely he guarded everything within his borders. The whole situation left him not really sure what to say and not wanting to say the wrong thing to the normally prickly nation.
Fuck it, he decided, he would say what he wanted; he'd never changed himself to win anyone's favor, and he wasn't about to start now. "So," he asked, a playful grin pulling at the edges of his mouth, "the next time I come visit, you going to let me inside the house?"
Switzerland ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "You're nothing but trouble!"
"That's not an answer," Prussia replied, teasing.
A small but genuine smile broke through. "Try it and find out," he challenged.
Prussia laughed, intending on doing just that.