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Crush	By : CyreliaJ Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 6476 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own hetalia or any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Crush
- 1
Note: written originally for the kink meme started in like 2011 I think. Never finished it til today. Ended up having to just rewrite it since the parts weren't meshing. Didn't change the plot but it's a definite overhaul. Warnings for allusions to n/c-ish stuff in the past, a lot of weird geographical and historical references, violence, super graphic sex, and way more pages dedicated to a BJ than necessary. And looong very loong for a PWP lol. C&C welcome. Enjoy!
The soft boots make little noise as Austria walks across the main courtyard. The sound of the wind is far more noticeable in his ears as the cool September breeze blows past him. Without the cars and the tourists, it’s actually quite easy to forget that it’s 2014 and not 1745 when he starts his ascent up the old stone stairs following the scattered edelweiss away from the main part of the castle. It’s always been far too easy to get lost in the massive castle and even when it belonged to the Hapsburgs he himself refused to set foot in the seat of the Hohenzollern royal family. “C’mon specs, think of it as an early birthday present. I’ll even throw in that cake you like, yeah?”
   Prussia had also insisted that he wear the uniform he hasn’t thrown on in over two hundred years and it makes him wonder exactly what sort of “present” he’s going to receive. This is one of only three days of the year that Burg Hohenzollern isn’t open to visitors and he enjoys the absence of the people as the faint sunlight casts shadows through the narrow stairwell. He runs a gloved hand along the old stone wall, wondering how on earth Prussia had sweet talked his boss into letting him use the castle like this. But then again it occurs to him as he sees the bright light at the end of the stairway that Prussia probably didn’t ask.
   Austria takes a moment to look at the massive castle stretched out in front of him as he walks along the wide parapet and approaches the iron doorway. The first thing he notices is all the foliage; his clothes are definitely going to get stains. He’s never cared for the outdoors- especially this area that might have once been the garden- but as he looks out over the forest below he can’t help but appreciate the view and dressed in the old uniform it’s so easy to get lost in time. It’s especially timeless when he sees Prussia looking out over the thick stone wall in the dark blue coat and tri corner hat. The red cloak is around his shoulders and the uniform is just as he remembered it down to the boots. He’d expected something of that sort when Prussia had demanded he pull this old outfit out from storage. Austria can’t help the sense of nostalgia when he walks through the stone archway and finally catches Prussia’s attention.
“Does his Royal Highness know-”
“You know... in five days Prague is gonna fall to my army,” Prussia interrupts him with that cocksure grin, a hand on his hip as he turns around. Ah, so no preliminaries then. Austria snorts disdainfully.
   “We’ll take it back. Do you really think an upstart like you can stand against the might of the Austrian Empire?” Austria watches him circle and he catches the faint gesture for the start of the scene as his fingers move almost imperceptibly. The word is Germany. Cute.
“Ha! Big words from a sissy loser who didn’t even have the sense to bring a sword.” Austria crosses his arms and shoots him that look from head to toe as if to say he’s not impressed even when Prussia’s hand caresses the hilt of the large walloon sword. “Didja think we were just gonna sit around and play cards?”
“If you think you’re going to intimidate me with a weapon that’s probably too heavy for you to wield properly then...” his eyes go wide and he trails off when he sees France step out from behind the tree and he almost calls it right there.
“What, is he doing here?” he practically snarls in Prussia’s face instead but finds his attention pulled to France again when the bronze barrel raises right in his face. He recognizes the espinole immediately.
   “The castle’s been ours for some months now, monsiuer aristocrat.” France answers with that arrogant smirk and a toss of his hair. “You couldn’t tell by the heavenly smell of French food?” Austria looks from the gun barrel to France’s face and swallows down a retort hard. He doesn’t even see Prussia cross the distance between them with an arrogant swagger.
“So you were dumb enough to come here alone huh?” Prussia laughs and grips Austria’s face painfully. It surprises him but not enough for him to react with anything more than a glare and a frown. Austria’s eyes flicker briefly sideways; an infuriating tell of his excitement already. He forces himself to look back at Prussia hard, bristling in irritation.
“Perhaps I merely thought the great Kingdom of Prussia was man enough to face me alone,” he snaps back slapping the hand away.
   A part of him expects the hard backhand to his face in retaliation and yet his head still rocks to the side when it comes. Austria stumbles and is forced to take a step back to keep from falling. He can taste the blood as his teeth cut his lip and he refuses to use a white gloved hand to wipe it off. He will not give in to such indignity even as the blood runs down the side of his mouth.
“Is that all you know? Violence? Primitive brutality? I will never submit to an animal like you.” This is not how this works. It’s just supposed to be you and me and... This isn’t-
“You’re right, Gilbert,” he hears France comment to Prussia. It doesn’t escapes Austria’s notice that the weapon is still trained on him. God, tell me that thing cannot possibly be loaded. What were you thinking asking him here anyway, you fool? “There is a certain... je ne sais quoi to seeing one’s enemy so beautifully defiled.”
“Ain’t it though,” Prussia drawls as he crosses the distance between them. “Especially when one’s enemy is such a high falutin little pain slut... with a sweet ass.” He slaps Austria’s behind with an exaggerated lustiness and just grins wider at the answering glare.
   “How dare you-” He trails off, practically spits- except that would be far beneath him to speak so uncouthly. How dare you bring him here. How dare you bring him into this How dare you- Austria’s head is rocked hard enough to the side with another slap to make his neck crack. He tastes even more blood in his mouth and readjusts his glasses proudly swallowing it. He licks his lips, eyes indulging once more in that sideways dart as the warm salty blood slips down his throat. Austria gives another subtle little lick, eyes falling to half mast as the tip of his tongue pokes the mole. He can feel the blood drying and caking on his neck. He takes a slow breath and looks at the ground with unfocused eyes as Prussia speaks.
   “Here’s how it’s gonna work, bitch,” Prussia informs him casually as he draws the Swiss made sword and circles him. “Your tight ass is gonna cooperate so Francis can lower the weapon and join me.” Austria is still as Prussia draws the tip of the blade down his cheek with just enough pressure that he can feel the blood welling to the surface beneath pale delicate skin and feel the heat of the sting waiting to bite like a serpent’s kiss. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning but he can’t keep his eyes from closing nor contain the hitch of breath as Prussia continues. “You’re going to suck and fuck until I’m fucking finished giving you a taste of German unification. And not just that… I’m going to do whatever I want with you with my little friend here whether you like it or not. ‘Cause in case you haven’t noticed, bitch, your army ain’t here and neither is Arthur or Elizaveta. You understand me?”
   Prussia keeps that slow circling and Austria feels the sword point scratch with practiced precision a red welt down the side of his neck cleaving the cravat in two until it scrapes the fabric of his jacket. He opens his eyes, shifting from one foot to the other to hide the shiver as the blade point passes down his spine to the small of his back as if Prussia would angle it just so and run him through the sharp steel cleanly shoved through his stomach. Austria fingers curl into his thighs at the memory of the hot stabbing death that threatened as Prussia had jerked it violently back out of him so the blood would spatter the white flowers. Austria swallows and keeps his breath calm and regulated trying to read anything as he watches France. I hate you. You know that I hate you. And you hate me, Francis. so why the hell he’s brought you here to this I don’t understand. Austria nonetheless feels the lick of his pulse skip, pick up with precision as he sees his own violet eyes reflected in the barrel. He looks at France’s mouth curled in that cruel smile and wonders why such a licentious bastard must have such sensuous- Be silent, you fool. You utter fool you’re playing right into this nonsense when you should be-.
   Austria barely keeps from jumping as Prussia slaps his rear with the flat of the blade. He turns his head the smallest amount he can manage as if he might see Prussia behind him with his peripheral vision. But he doesn’t want to lose sight of France and almost loses control of himself when Prussia lifts his jacket murmuring about inspecting the goods. So help me you’d never dare this is Liz was here. Neither of you. You’d never dare to-
“...inspecting the goods, right, Francis?” The heat comes to his face. It only grows when France approaches and lifts his chin with the long barrel of the gun.
“Perhaps you should speak more slowly for him. The Austrians are known for having their head in the clouds, after all.”
   “And the French,” Austria grits, pulling his head back from the gun, “are nothing but unshaven drunkards.” France snorts and taps the barrel to his cheek just hard enough to be… Austria diverts his eyes to the ground taking a deeper breath than he intended as the side of his face throbs with blossoming warm pain.
“Oh, was that me? It must be all the drink gone to my head.” Prussia laughs and Austria tenses when he feels Prussia’s hand roughly squeezing his backside.
“Don’t. Touch me.” His voice is affected with the right amount of clipped affront but he can feel the tightening in his stomach when Prussia pinches particularly hard. He shoots a furious glare to France ignoring the gun entirely. “And don’t you think for one moment that I will allow you even half that-”
   Austria’s rant is cut short when Prussia’s sword blade drops and comes back with a quick slice through the soft material of the jacket. He can hear the clean rip of fabric, feel the tip graze the back of his right thigh nearly ripping the pants as well. And it’s soon followed by a second cross cut, th fabric falling to the ground ruined.
“Heh, whaddya know, you’re tongue still ain’t as sharp as-“
“What is the matter with you, you filthy reprobate?!” Austria whirls to face him back momentarily, foolishly to France. “How dare you even think to ruin a jacket that has more value than your miserable-” Again, Austria is unable to finish speaking. Fingers grip his hair hard- it has to be France it has to be him and that only makes the soft rush of breath that escapes him all the more shameful as he closes his eyes. Austria feels his head jerked back stopping his breath entirely as his throat pulses wild, the gun barrel being traced along his Adam’s apple.
   “You always did have such a mouth, little prince,” France murmurs as the cold bronze taps the hollow of his throat. It brings a tickling cough that nearly chokes him and his hands go up wildly to try and pull France off so that he can regain his composure and breathe. “Oh such a mouth…” Every cough, every spasming rack brings a tug to his scalp, an arch to his back and he nearly falls backwards gasping for air. Damn you. Damn the both of you for making me… He can feel the coughing pink tinged spit on the side of his face and pride of his uniform wars with the dignity of his person until he wipes the back of his hand across carefully, spots swimming in his vision like small exploding stars. He closes his eyes hoping it will stop only making the dizziness worse. “Perhaps we might find a better use for that mouth of yours.”
   Austria hisses as Prussia executing the precision of centuries of practice slides the blade sharp enough to slice a single strand of hair between his legs, easily cutting the fabric of white pants covering his thigh but not enough to hit skin he feels the blunt edge caress his sac and it takes every measure of self control to hold his breath and not move lest the blade cut the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
“Let’s start here, shall we?” Austria feels the gun barrel pressed to his lips, the cold metal almost making him jump as Prussia teases that sensitive juncture. Austria’s hands are still locked and shaking half intertwined with France’s fingers threading his hair. “Go on and kiss it, like a good little prince.” He tries not to think about the hot breath coming from the man he despises almost as much as Prussia or that rather blatant suggestion as he closes his mouth tightly trying to turn his head away. The grip on his hair tightens and the more he tries to free himself it seems the tighter France holds him.
   I had no idea you were this strong. I had no idea you were strong enough to… Stop it. Stop such a libertine line of thought this isn’t something you should be enjoying. Prussia moves the sharp sword blade back, the tip poking a small red welling of blood to his inner thigh and he gasps a faint telling hitch of breath.
“You know, Francis, if you really want him to go along maybe I should tell you about his-”
“Be silent, you…” Austria squirms as Prussia scrapes a shallow scratch, trying to squirm away feeling himself half wanting to convulse at the sensation. Alright just a little… just a little won’t... Austria swallows and feels France loosens his fingers as he kisses the tip of the gun barrel. And though it is not asked of him he kisses down the side of the cold metal, dropping his arms back to his sides, seeing the small prints of his lips dotting the brass. He does not, he tells himself, do it because it excites him but rather…Austria hears France whisper a soft murmur in his ear, that grip slackening to release him entirely.
   You really are a drunken fool, aren’t you? Even Gilbert has more resolve than that you swine. Perhaps he should have warned you… Austria turns his head away with a small victorious smile and pokes a small taste of brass leaving a small pink stain before he thinks to wonder exactly where Prussia is. He thought he heard the sword resheathed and sees nothing out of the corner of his eye. He gives another serpentine flicker of tongue and now France is the one who gives the breathless hiss lowering the gun. Austria is halfway to shoving an elbow in his gut when he feels his arms seized from behind Prussia’s strong arms curled tightly around both his biceps. He twists and hears the embarrassing growl from his own throat before Prussia wrenches him back into submission. France blinks in surprise as if he really hadn’t expected Austria to do more than prettily push him away and blush. Austria makes sure his face shows just how much he hates him.
   “I warned ya, buddy. “ He hears Prussia laugh jerking him backwards violently as he tries to kick out. “I warned ya that this was gonna get dirty.” Prussia licks the shell of his ear freezing him. Austria can smell the sharp tang of sweat and wonders what Prussia was up to prior to his arrival to make him smell so and he thinks it’s disgusting and wonderful and just so... male. That hot breath, that hardness pressed against him forces Austria to shake his head and collect himself jerking his head away as best as he can from the broad tongue licking the side of his face. “See, this little schlampe… he likes it rough.”
“You’re nothing but swine, the both of you,” Austria practically snarls as he struggles again nearly dislocating his own shoulder. He feels the wrench as Prussia keeps him held, breathing hard, dropping his eyes as that swim of head hits after the pain. “Let go of me,” he says far more softly.
   He doesn’t see the look that passes between Prussia and France- doesn’t see the uncertainty from France and the quick shake of the head from Prussia. What he feels are those fingers digging in half stopping the flow of blood, both arms throbbing, his shoulders pulled tight as if he were pound to rock and Prussia is just so solid… He chooses to watch France. Watching France makes that heat coil into anger rather than anything else.
“Perhaps he is not so compliant as you thought, Gilbert,” France says vaguely and it almost tempts Austria to call it when France walks closer, looking at him warily. He opens his mouth but finds Prussia cutting him off just as he kicks out again, both feet neatly lifted off the ground terrifying him for a moment that Prussia will end up stupidly throwing him off the parapet. He hears the sound of the hat hitting the ground a dark chuckle in his ear.
   “See that’s just cause you don’t know how to deal with him… How we in the Prussian army know how to handle these types of little aristocrat bitches…. And this one… You wanna hear a dirty little secret Francis?” Austria breathes heavily, feeling the sweat on his brow start to plaster hair to his face, Mariazell sticking up in defiance of even that exertion as he shakes his head violently thinking that if the back of his head just happens to hit Prussia in his filthy mouth then they can swallow blood together.
“And what dirty little secret would that be, Gilbert?” France strokes his face mocking and Austria wonders what about his expression must seem different. He turns his face away recovering a modicum of dignity. You must appear like some sort of sybarite staring at him with your mouth open, with your lips half painted red and sticky like a common prostitute. He would deserve nothing less to have his miserable fingers bitten off and for Gilbert to think that I want any part of this is-
   Austria feels another stroke nearing too close to his mouth and it makes him draw very still against Prussia. He nearly backs up into him the closer that knuckles comes. Comes. Why does just that word right now make him- make his left leg tremble, make his breathing that much heavier? It makes it so that when France pulls back with that hateful smug expression Austria cannot stop from panting harder, biting that healing lip back to bloody. And Prussia just holds him tighter in response pulling every muscle, every ligament to its unbearable limit. Austria feels the flush from head to toe from feeling Prussia’s- he swallows hard, swallows more bloody salty just like… God his mouth is so dry all of a sudden in spite of that- Prussia’s manhood pressing against him more insistently from behind.
“You want it that badly, don’t ya? Heh, see he almost figured it out on his own and I didn’t even have to-“
   “Don’t...” his tongue is thick in his mouth and he wets his lips tasting more blood as he tries to talk without half moaning every other word like the whore Prussia derides him as. “Please...” Christ he sounds so wanton with that word! “You know Francis can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“You don’t believe that I am a gentleman, monsieur?” France seems almost offended and Austria thinks that he has a lot of nerve to feign offense when Austria is the one being held at their mercy. Austria turns his head to Prussia as best as he can half whisper hissing into his jacket collar in German “You know how feel about him how much I-“
“Do you trust me?” Three hundred years ago Austria would’ve laughed at the question.
“Yes.”
“Then shut the fuck up and enjoy your present.”
   Austria doesn’t lessen the tension of his body but there’s something about the way that Prussia speaks, something about that command that makes him squirm and draws his legs together to ease the shake of his leg. And it’s that moment that he does, that he feels his thighs rubbing together and gasps at the faint scratch that he feels. Oh God… Prussia had cut him. That sword had nicked with such careful precision that it isn’t until that fabric scratches the wound and opens it further that he feels the warmth blossoming out, hot, sweat making it sting, nearly drawing a whimper from him. A small hiccup escapes- the more he squirms the more it intensifies and he can feel his arms slacken in Prussia’s hold, feel painfully embarrassing jelly legs but worse of all is watching face staring at him with a hunger that should not make that warmth amplify.
   “Must you stare at me like?” Austria is silent when France brings a finger to his lips.
“Wouldn’t you say, little master that it’s a conqueror’s right to take in the sight of his prize however he wishes?” Austria’s eyes narrow but he doesn’t lash out. He pushes that finger away best as he can with his face and a toss of his head.
“You’ve conquered nothing but stone and mortar, pig and if you think for one moment that I will…” Austria remains steady when the gun is once more aimed at his head. There is only one small step back into Prussia that he silently curses his hands clenched tightly into fists. Austria can feel every inch of that hard length- those breeches never did hide anything- against his behind and his thighs rub together again, because there is no way that he will let them...
   You remember the last time you wore these clothes now, don’t you. Francis wasn’t here, it was just you and Prussia and that tree... God that tree... Covered in paint after that picture was finished, covered in dirt, in blood, he scratched, he clawed, he spit curses and screamed like he never had in his life when Prussia savaged him like a beast and that memory makes him squirm as if his back were being flayed by bark once more and Prussia was so deep- Stop it. Damn you, you have more control than that you cannot allow them to so easily-
“Mmm you are so delightfully profligate for such a stiff-” France chuckles softly at his own joke and Austria refrains from spitting in his face for no other reason than it would be beneath him “-little man. Or so that is what I’ve had chance to hear over the years.”
   “Little?” Austria smiles back at him nastily in spite of the gun. “That’s funny because Antonio too is rather fond of vulgar thoughtless pillow talk and the stories I’ve heard about you and the pride of the French man...”
“You really wanna see something amazing, Francis, try kissing him.” Prussia cuts in holding tighter as if he expects him to run.
“Is that so?” France purrs with a teasing slide of the cool metal barrel over the healing scratch on his face. “And what will he do if I ravish that delicate mouth of his?” I will bite your filthy tongue off. So help me if you like the taste of blood let it be your own.
“Why don’t you find out,” Austria fires back. His head pounds nervously with blood, with the anticipation of France taking the bait. That feeling is only exacerbated when France fists his hair terribly tightly to keep his head still.
“Why not, indeed,” Austria gasps at the savagery of another hard twist and right when he does France kisses him brutally.
   “Hnnn…” His first instinct is to pull back, to jerk his head away no matter what it costs him, to kick, to bite but France leaves no room for anything- not even breathing. France forces his mouth open wide not with tongue but with lips, with teeth, with tugging and nipping lips to draw forth more blood from the scabbed over wounds. Austria can feel an undignified squeak claw its way up from his throat as stubble scrapes his face, as France denies him that satisfaction of biting back and instead guides his head to turn, to bare that beauty mark like a target. And then there’s tongue trilling over it, mouth kissing with a mocking gentility even as Austria shuts his eyes tightly and whimpers, knees drawing together. He feels heat, hot, every connected nerve diffusing pulses that grower harder and hotter. And there’s the pathetic mew, the half cry as tears pinprick his eyes the closer he comes to shame that passes louder, more frantically with every lap to that hated mark.
   Don’t drop me don’t let go, God please just… just… god I can’t… If he could pass backwards through Prussia when his entire body stars to shake, starting at the stomach tensing, fanning out to his legs, he would. As it stands, as he can barely stay standing feeling weak in the knees his back arching just as Prussia grinds hard against him from behind making his leg step out, both spread from years of conditioning, body responding against his will, rocking back against that hardness as badly as he wishes he could stop himself. In spite of his every normal impulse to shove France away, Prussia’s hard possession, France’s insidious tongue just makes him pant, whimper, hands reaching back half clutching Prussia’s strong thighs feeling that grip not slacken but accommodate. Of course you want me to humiliate myself further. You want me to see that I’m in your control- you want to show off for that derelict Francis well I, I… I won’t... God god Prussia shoves into him hard enough from behind that he nearly crashes into Francis. No, Not Francis but the gun. Austria hadn’t even realized it had been lowered until he can feel the long barrel slide between his legs teasing him.
   He only thinks to close his mouth once it’s too late and even as France takes full advantage of his head swimming, his body aching, throbbing with blood, pain, agonizing… Please… The first thing he tastes when France slides that tongue to slip between his parted panting lips are those cigarettes, that strong filthy unfiltered tobacco that Austria swears should’ve blackened the other’s lungs a thousand times over by now. Austria doesn’t smoke and even that aftertaste of a cigarette likely smoked before his arrival makes him want to gag. He doesn’t. He moans. Christ it’s too hot... He wonders if Freud had ever coined a term for being aroused by one’s own sense of disgust. No, no he’s most certainly not aroused by that sickening aftertaste- it’s only because France is still exploiting that spot, that traitorous mark- or it’s even the way France slides the gun barrel up and down over his groin forcing that instinctual bodily response but it most certainly is not arousal.
   Austria tries to stop himself. He tries not to rock back and forth between the hardness behind him and the metal gun barrel that just keeps that unyielding up and down but the heat between his legs grows unbearable. France doesn’t let up. Prussia far for letting up half fucks him- he did not just think that vulgarity- as if it were only the two of them naked against the kitchen counter or the desk in Germany’s office or innumerable other places where he- Stop it quiet quiet, stop thinking about any of that don’t think don’t think… Austria whines again. Kiss, nibble and God God he’s drawing Austria’s lower lip between his teeth and he has to be drinking blood, his own filthy mouth has to be just as red with. God don’t think about the blood, don’t don’t because thinking about your blood in his face, on that vulgar mouth, that… move, move you have to move them you just need to… If his arms weren’t being held so constricted-
“Letgoletgo,” he hushes against France mouth not knowing if either of them hears him or even cares. He’ll shove France away. He’ll and slap that tasteless offensive smirk from that scruffy mange. He’ll slap the taste of himself out of France’s mouth because this sort of disgrace from the machinations of these two of all people are-
   Oh god… He can’t stop. He’s too close and Prussia must know it because he does exactly as Austria asks and releases him, just in time for pinpricking aching arms to wildly flail and catch France around the neck just as France catches him, reholstering the gun and taking his right thigh as if Austria really wanted this. But he can’t stop. It’s not just the gun but the body. It’s the reality of muscle, of the back tensing, the stubble scraping his skin, Prussia behind him like a wall as France hitches that leg like the two of them are soldier and strumpet in a dark Parisian alley and just- Grinds.
   There is no other word for it that would so perfectly encapsulate the coarse and primitive motion save perhaps rutting except that might imply some sort of complicit action on his part- which there is absolutely not- because he is not pushing his hips back, he is not whispering softly under his breath any sort of desperate breathy little moans when France fastens teeth to his neck and scrapes it raw with mark after mark, blood pooling to the surface feverishly. Austria doesn’t have time to catch his breath, doesn’t have time to consider that his throbbing hands are not… not tangled in France’s hair the more painfully desperately close he is to release throbbing hardness pushes against him from behind. And when that hard scratchy stubble is to the wound on his cheek and those lips are at the shell of his ear with France giving a nipbitesuck and a soft husk of “that’s a good little putté”- the gun is jamming into his hip, those fingers painfully digging into his skin- Austria never ever sobs the name of his worst enemy as he comes in his pants.
   If he’s expecting Prussia to have an upper limit where humiliating him is concerned then clearly he doesn’t know Prussia. Austria just barely refrains from falling, still clutching at France as the other steps back with a practiced disdain that’s nearly as impressive as his own. Austria falls to his knees between them both. The hard stone cracks against bone and he hisses, barely catching himself on his palms before falling forward and god the scrape of the rough rock on his hands even through the gloves feels so-
“You were definitely right, Gilbert, he’s like a blushing little maiden, isn’t he?” You miserable-
“Heh, you ain’t seen nothing yet, Francis. Maiden? Ha! You get the little whore all hot and bothered there ain’t a damn thing you can’t get him to beg for... That there was just the tip… ain’t that right?” Prussia snickers and Austria can hear the lout in his head finishing with “it’s never just the tip.” Austria lifts his head still staring at the moss covered ground of the castle garden, shifting, bringing his legs together tightly as if it will hide the blossoming stain on the front of his white pants as he tries to catch his breath and regain some semblance of control.
   Prussia kicks him hard in the back when he takes too long to answer and he moans and catches himself again on all fours like some sort of animal. With the pads of his fingers digging into the filthy ground, Salzberg throbbing where the boot connected, and that rotten French pervert laughing he half turns, not looking up yet clearly addressing Prussia.
“I’ve no doubt...” He hates how needy his voice sounds “That a degenerate like you is- Ah!” Austria feels the sole of the shoe high on his back pushing down on him, scrapping every craggy bit of the lower Alps nearly hitting caves. His arms tremble as Prussia comes to bear his full weight on down as if Austria were nothing more than a glorified foot stool.
“Pretty sure that wasn’t the question, bitch.” Prussia’s voice is obnoxiously glib, that boot grinding to the white of the remaining shredded jacket.
   Austria swallows, the pressure in his head as he tries to breathe harder to holding his face from being pushed to the dirt making every cut a magnified myriad of sensation.
“If you think that I’m going to admit to anything you and that frog can… do not light that filthy thing up around me!” Austria’s voice is shrill as he smells that disgusting smoke wafting from the unfiltered cigarette. Possessing some surge of dignified adrenaline he lifts himself back up quickly, Prussia only just barely moving his foot to keep from being upended.
“Ch’ you’d think he whipped it out at the dinner table the way you bitch.” Austria grits his teeth still keeping eyes to France when another sharp kick of Prussia heel hits his back. “And that’s for trying to flip me like this is some kinda circus act.”
   Austria ignores him. He slowly moves his head up half holding his breath so he doesn’t keep smelling the wafting smoke.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“…thinks he’d remember just who the hell is in charge around here…” he can’t help but notice that the black trousers fit just a little more snugly then they did back then. He wonders if France has gained weight or just a slight bit more muscle mass. He certainly hasn’t gained manners… it’s such an unfortunate twist of fate that such a man has such an attractive face… such a nice body… lips… Really, Roderich, you’re completely hopeless. His face still tingles, lips still burn and as the ache up the Dachstein Mountains intensifies with another series of annoying prodding kicks he finds that far from diminishing, that renewed sense of urgency between his legs only intensifies as he fixates on the long white cylinder pressed between red stained lips. He says nothing but thinks that now much like his time in the war waving the digital camera that France really does like to spit in the face of linear time.
   You know there are no mass produced cigarettes yet, you ass. There is no reason for you to even have that to- To dangle from between sensual lips so that he can take a long, languid drag mouth making love to the end of the white paper. There’s the slow fall of eyelids down to him, arrogant, as if it’s Austria who’s beneath him and not the other way around. He lets out the breath slowly, averting his eyes feeling somehow dirty just from that look. He squirms. You’ve lost your mind. You must be anemic because that small loss of blood has clearly mad you mad. You are not kneeling here with a dry mouth over that disgusting... Oh... As France blows another fine stream of smoke, Austria’s eyes catch that bulge in the front of those pants. His tongue gives just a small shy peep out as if to wet his lips staring at it. Austria bites the damn thing hard. Of course that pig would be aroused by seeing you on your knees in such a state. Austria doesn't allow his eyes to linger although he still sees in his peripheral vision as France steps forward and practically rubs his face in it when he addresses Prussia.
   “I think maybe he doesn’t understand you... since you’re not speaking in that filthy Österreichisches... is that what you call it?”
“Your question isn’t worthy of an answer,” Austria answers tartly pushing his glasses back up on his nose. Prussia snorts just as France bends down and hauls his head back by the hair with a smirk forcing a hiss from his throat.
“Now is that any way to address the victors of war?” Austria looks up torn between pain and pleasure, still managing that bit of proud defiance as he grits his teeth. Surely that’s not that the best you can do.
“Victors? You haven’t won yet, if you can hold the castle for more than a month I’ll be amazed. You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind the Prussian Army so you can lap up the crumbs they leave behind and polish their boots for-” France lets go and backhands him not unlike Prussia had- but for the ring. Austria doesn’t know how he missed it, the sharp set sapphire slicing his skin perpendicular to the scar from Prussia sword in a violent red X.
   His face is burning. His neck cracks, head hanging limply to the side for a moment of painful contemplation feeling the fast river of blood running parallel the Donau down his neck beneath the jacket. The pressed white shirt is staining with the rapid trickling a tickling line over his collarbone til he can feel more than hear himself panting out a breathless rhythm of air through teeth. His eyelids flutter half dizzily and he brings a hand up, seeing the red staining the white gloves immediately. He can’t help but lap at them giving a slow half-conscious lick and soft breathy inhale forgetting for just a short while that there above him stands a man watching with intense arousal once again adjusting himself.
   Just a little more- God be silent the both of you for just another moment longer so I can… God stop it. Stop humiliating yourself like this just… It’s so warm, so hot, so…. Austria ignores them both just long enough to take another stinging swipe as the dirt and moss contact the open wound and he can hear Prussia starting to bray like an ass about what a dirty little cock slut he is. The hell with him. Right now the rush is too heady and wonderful and his face feels so hot and warm radiating down to his chest, and he lets one last gloved finger slide in and out of his mouth, the soft knit tracing filthy patterns on his tongue leaving sanguine stains over his lips teasing the sensitive scabs. His can feel every pulse that his heart pumps closing his eyes with an indulgent turn of his head to let that finger slowly extract, pads spotting along his face as he tries to brush hair back. France laughs again making him look up just in time for the smoke to be blown right in his face.
   Austria coughs. He coughs hard, nearly falling forward feeling the tickle in his lungs, face flushing in embarrassment. Christ, what’s wrong with you? It isn’t like Gilbert doesn’t puff those disgusting things when Ludwig isn’t home. It isn’t as if you’ve never smelled that stuff. No, not those- not those unfiltered things. It almost makes him throw up. And wouldn’t that be a sight that you’d never live down? Don’t you dare give them that satisfaction. Don’t swear, don’t beg, don’t give them any more than you already have. Austria looks up balefully as he takes a deep breath.
“Now if you really want to see something amazing,” Prussia drawls scratching his head like some sort of dog making him instinctively jerk away against France’s hold. He winces and bites back any sound, “If you really want a welcome to the great Kingdom of Prussia…”
   Prussia prods at his ass and Austria goes pale because he knows exactly where this is going and certainly he was aware that it was inevitable but…
“Hey bitch,” he hears and silently curses himself for the way his head automatically turns to regard Prussia even as it forces him to pull against France, to make it hurt even more and this time there is a small clutching sound from his throat as he blinks of at Prussia mouth hanging open struggling for breath.. Conditioning. It’s that damn conditioning. It’s years of answering to these ridiculous things in bed telling yourself what’s the harm and… And there’s a way that the shadows hit Prussia’s face, the fading sunlight casting over that strong jaw, those intense eyes as Prussia stands beside him looking the very picture of the conquering nation. That’s how you looked then too. How you looked that day just like this one when you made me look at you and- And Prussia has spit right in his mouth, disgusting skin crawling and why he licks his lips at that memory and feel his body starting to ache in response. It infuriates him. This is your fault, Gilbert. This is what you’ve turned me into with your perverse fantasies.
   Austria makes sure to looks Prussia in the eyes letting that anger and resentment to the forefront as he remains silent. Address me properly or not at all. You may get me to turn my head, you may get me to look at you but that’s all you’re getting. You’re not getting my complicity again that easily. He doesn’t flinch when Prussia draws that sword again, slowly, turning his head to look ahead over the tree lined mountains. You expect me to say something snide, well the hell with you. Austria wipes his hands together, as if that will clean the stained fabric and recollects himself. You know you’d be disappointed if I made it easy for you, Gilbert. And I’m not about to start now.
   “Oh you’re gonna be all shy, huh? You weren’t shy a few minutes ago, were you.” No answer. Undaunted, Prussia leans in practically purring in his ear- France helping by twisting his head to the side- the filthy things that he knows will put Austria’s mind right where he wants it. “You weren’t so shy back then either. You weren’t shy before that crazy broad showed up to bail your ass out. You weren’t shy when paraded your naked prissy ass back through camp. You gave ‘em all such a good show when I made you bend over and grab your ankles so they could see my seed spilling out of your asshole. All gaping and red ‘cause I fucked you so good you never forgot it.” Austria can’t help but close his eyes the more Prussia speaks, the grip that France has nearly the same when Prussia. God god shuttup, stop talking, just get back whatever the hell you’re doing before I-
   Prussia walks around him with that wide blade and Austria can feel the shivers running up his spine when he can no longer see him.
“Y’know Arthur isn’t gonna show up this time either. Maybe you didn’t give him as a good a ride as you thought you did.” He feels that blade again lifting up the back of the tattered white coat and he bites the inside of his cheek. France takes another drag of that disgusting cancer stick and blowing it in his face, looking down at him with a soft laugh.
“He probably couldn’t feel rosbif’s tiny little prick anyway, Gilbert. Maybe I will remind you, little master, what a real man feels like.”
“Heh, yeah Arthur ain’t nothing compared to my five meters, heh that bitch probably has a bigger dick. Ain’t that right, princess? Liz like to pretend she’s a man and stick it to ya?”
   Austria doesn’t rise to the bait letting Prussia continue. You always did love the sound of your own voice. You always did know how to turn vulgarity into an art form- how to turn debasement and degradation into a symphony. How to… how to bring anyone to your level and make them even believe they like it when you-
“…remember… the first time we met… you tried to bite my dick off you little cunt.” Wandering thoughts interrupted Austria smiles at that memory. Yes, the look on your face. The look on the great Kingdom of Prussia’s face when you felt my teeth sinking into your flesh… You kicked me. The whole of Linz felt that that kick but it was only me that felt you shoving me back on the ground… I remember those hands just as you remember those teeth I remember you throwing those gloves off, your hands around my neck, that wild look in your eyes not even letting up when I scratched at your hands. Austria feels the ghosting echo pulsing to his throat, feels his cheek stinging painfully just as it did then and-
   And there’s no hiding his arousal- no means of hunching or shifting the way the sticky white pants cling in the front the more he remembers, the more torrid memories that Prussia forces back to the surface. But even as he sucks in a breath mouth closed Austria remains proudly straight backed, watching Prussia and France with all the ice he has in him because they certainly have not pushed him far enough yet for him to give them that satisfaction. He just… smiles a small bit.
   “Thought you were funny, didn’t ya? Oh but you weren’t laughing when I nailed your ass to that tree, pushed your little face into the dirt and had you screaming my name from there to Budapest, were ya? I didn’t hear much laughing when I spread that ass of yours and fucked your little asshole raw while you begged me for more.” Austria adjusts the glasses on his face again, unconsciously looking away and licking his lips again, tasting France and tobacco and his own blood. His fingers trail down his cheek, his neck, smearing blood from the wound, feeling the raw scratching pain of not just the open skin but the memory of the hard ground, the stones, the grass rubbing every exposed part of him, the side of his face, his glasses shoved askew, Prussia pounding into him so hard that he-
“I recall no such thing,” Austria declares primly and braces himself when France lets go of his hair.
   He barely catches himself on the ground when Prussia kicks him again, the hard sound of the boot hitting his spine seeming to resonate off the massive castle walls to the forest below.
“See, bitch, that’s always been your problem. Can’t ever trust a single word that comes out of your lying little whore mouth.” Prussia tsks and Austria feels the blade on his shoulder, sees the steel slide up right next to his face and he turns to look at it, seeing in that wavering reflecting that he still looks far too excited for his liking. “So maybe we should fix that little problem right here.”
“You know, Gilbert,” France interjects smoothly, arms crossed seeming the consummate hedonist he looks down. “You should leave his mouth for better uses, no? Besides-“ Another puff of smoke is blown down on Austria and he grits his teeth and shifts ever so slightly picking himself back up, blade following his movements. “The body is so much more honest, is it not?”
“See now you’re talking. ‘cause let me tell you, specs here has a-“
   “C-can’t we just get on with it.” Austria, seated back on his heels has his fists balled tightly on his knees because he really doesn’t need Prussia going on about-
“See normally I don’t take orders from conquered little sissies like you,” Prussia says, letting the cold flat of that blade slide paste his neck, the sharpened edge leaving the thinnest sliver of a cut in its wake like a warm snake bite, “but maybe you have a point.” He kicks the small of Austria’s back with the side of that hard leather boot just hard enough to make him pay attention. “Get up, bitch.” Face still pink, not wanting to look at either of them right now, Austria stands, stiffly, rigid, not questioning, not now because as much as he hates being debased in such a fashion, he can’t help that hateful subconscious desire to do exactly what Prussia says with that promise of more of what he wants.
   “When her highness rallies our forces and returns, so help me you’ll be so sorry. It won’t be you and your uncouth allies walking the halls it-”
“Pfft, spare me the empty threats, bitch, Silesia is already ours. So go on and show us the vital regions we’re about to enjoy the spoils of.” The look that Austria directs at him in response is bitter cold but Prussia just laughs and France is watching him far too intensely for his comfort as he slowly, methodically peels the white gloves off one by one. He folds them, soiled as they are- knowing how Prussia hates to wait. Austria keeps his eyes down turned focused entirely on the task at hand. He can’t look at them. He can’t look up and see the both of them staring at him with such vivid lust and desire when he’s fought this hard to maintain his dignity. They’re beneath him. They’re villains who aren’t worthy of his-
   “Y’know I can slice the fucking things right off your back, dontcha, princess?” Prussia lets that sharp blade trail down Austria’s spine, letting it start to cut and Austria whirls furiously because this coat is worth more than that wretched mongrel’s life and god there’s still a chance that it can actually be repaired if he doesn’t ruin it.
“So help me God, you miserable wretch if you damage this coat beyond repair I’ll have your head! I’ll have both of them and if that hooting simian next to you-“ It strikes him dumb, it comes so suddenly he doesn’t think to move or block or do anything but stand there stupidly as Prussia swings the sword hard enough to take his arm off pulling back enough to instead slice deep into that juncture of his right arm the sword cutting through the white fabric like the petal of a flower.
   Scream. He’s heard the command from Prussia before so many times in the past. A command to scream, a blow, a deep cut, a burn, and Austria sings like a bird in the soundproof room. But that command doesn’t come, nothing comes but the white hot pain, the hot heat of blood dying the ripped coat sleeve, the shirt underneath, his heart beating faster, pumping out every bit of his essence to the wound. Everything else pales in comparison and he brings a hand up covering the cut not even realizing he isn’t breathing until he’s gasping and whimpering, head bowed knees ready to buckle. His legs shake, his head tosses to the side, a bite to his lip opening more of himself back up as the fast rush that follows nearly takes his breath away.
“Gott…”There’s another hitch in his breath as pain bleeds to endorphin laced ecstasy his eyes swirling madly he’s sure of it.
   “Whoops. Musta slipped,” Prussia offers with a shrug not taking his eyes off of him. Austria lifts his head back up and glares at him angrily with every bit of bleeding out, every tickling erotic knit beck together of muscle and sinew stroking him from the inside in counterpoint to the wounded Stocker Wald, his essence focused inward on every tree, every bit of sunlight hitting through the forest down to the earth. It’s unconscious. It’s dizzying and makes him lightheaded, makes him pant, makes the pain blur to a sharp delicious heat that sharpens his sense just as it distorts the world around him to a distant view. How dare you. How dare an upstart like you even think to… to...
   “You… you…” Prussia raises an eyebrow as he scratches his side in such a common vulgar gesture that Austria has half a mind to smack his hand down, sword or no sword. “You boorish… uncivilized…” he stammers because he will not do himself the indignity of swearing like some common soldier and Prussia and that cocky arrogance just yawns- yawns!- and France with that nonchalant looking down as if he is above Austria is just.. just… And Austria hasn’t even realized he’s let go of his arm until his hand is raised to slap Prussia across the face, and he’s sure he looks almost stupid as he sees his wrist caught, feels that rough calloused palm squeezing so tightly and it’s a wonder his arm doesn’t separate when Prussia throws him against the stone wall.
   A rush of breath escapes him with the impact and he feels the pain in his lungs with all the air stolen. The pitiful hiccupping sounds are all he can manage as he tries desperately to breathe, lowering his head so he doesn’t have to look at Prussia and France and face that humiliation. He can’t speak much as he tries, hands yanking at the collar of his shirt feeling strangled and sweaty hands dropping down nearly ripping the soft cotton violently, Austria’s hands scrabble at his chest, left balled to a fist thumping furiously as if he could force the air back in by will alone. And all the while Prussia stalks him resheathing the sword, slowly drawing the dagger. Austria looks up when he sees the shadows, swallows, feet braced to the ground. You’re enjoying this far too much you…. He lowers his arms, chest burning, arm aching as muscles clench, fingers digging back into the stone wall as if he could pull himself inside and away from that predator’s stare. France looks from behind smoking, idle but alert and far too piercing with blue eyes and those full lips pursed to blow faint puffs of smoke. Stop drawing back he tells himself as he fingers flex against the slippery moss covered stones. Stop acting so shamefully, stop giving in to all these-
   The sharp blade of the small dagger is pressed to his throat and the moment he feels the cold steel is the moment that he feels that stir of his groin painfully in the sticky mess of his undergarments.
“You got anything else you wanna add to that, bitch?” Prussia tilts his head with a mocking half leer half sneer and Austria can see the slight shake of his pupils, knowing just how much Prussia wants to open him open at his throat. He presses back against the wall harder, not because he’s afraid of the blade but because the urge to let his neck press the sharp sting to more hot wet blood is almost overwhelming. Your clothes, God if you cannot think of dignity at least think of… of the white bled red that will never be able to be worn again no matter how much he bleaches it. Then what does it matter? Just a little more… it wouldn’t hurt anything…
   “Yeah, that’s what I thought. So...” Prussia smirks nastily looking down with a leer. “Are we doing this the easy way... or the hard way?”
“Go to hell,” Austria rasps shutting his eyes in mortification and he can just feel that smile grow.
“The hard way it is then.” Austria’s next breath is labored- not from the pain but from the steady knife’s edge that will slice pretty ribbons should that be Prussia’s will. “I think I like this way better. It’s so much more… personal.: Prussia holds his arm steady like a stone statue letting the blade start to press in enough to draw the blood to the surface just barely beneath the skin. “Fuck yeah, that’s it. I’m gonna open up every inch of that precious skin of yours…” He moves the knife, Austria feeling his skin raising in welts, feeling Prussia twist the edge like a silver serpent twining red ribbons of varying pressure, varying depth, the blood pearl necklace beading down o drape his collarbone in thin red lines until Prussia has the tip pressed to the hollow of his throat and Austria is forced to look away from the heat in Prussia’s eyes lest he- Gott...
   “See, bitch?” Austria looks back to France slowly stalking closer as he takes another long drag eyes locked to Austria’s. “This is why a delicate little girl like you doesn’t stand a chance against the Kingdom of Prussia.” Austria tilts his eyes to look up and away from the both of the feeling the blade tip press in to skin with a sharp drawn out whole note singing perfectly in his mind as every other pulse of life continues to beat out of him Vienna flooded with a dark red hazy wave. He feels that tidal surge lower, feeling blood rushing down as it rushes out and when Prussia insinuates in his ear hotly, “I could kill you so easily right now…” he nearly shames himself again, nearly impales himself on the blade just to feel even more of that violent violated heat.
   “I almost think he would enjoy that,” France chimes in like some derelict devil seeming to read every torn expression on his face, the waft of drink and depravity circling like a faint cloud. Austria can feel his presence closer stepping alongside Prussia effectively trapping him from escape. He continues looking heavenward, the faint swallow of anticipation blade pricking his throat deeper with the convulsion imagining the blood running in a fine beautiful rivulet down the polished steel, imagining that faint angle so that everything spills straight down from to the tip like a fountain. Austria wets his lips unconsciously tasting the dried blood remembering the feel of that sting across his tongue. He almost forgets how to breathe with France at his other ear husking a silky. “But would Madame Edelstein be so eager to allow the soldiers have a real taste of conquest?”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Austria fire back hotly, the blade biting deep into his skin as his head snaps back, black and blue stars swirling in his vision as Prussia neatly turns the blade to bleed him out without hitting that vital pulse.
   “Oh yes yes yes…” Austria feels more than hears France panting out that encouragement mouthing those wounds as if the sight of them is too much for him to resist. Austria feels the point of the blade draw down to his collarbone, sharply kissing close to his chest as the fabric of his shirt is cut away to expose more skin
“You mi…ser…a…ble...” He half moans the protest when France sucks the blood from the wounds like a vampire vacuum forcing them to remain open and bleeding and every glittering gold embossment of the royal palaces twinkle brightly behind his eyes as every part of his essence tries to heal it closed. It sings him into a lull that once more sharpens every sense and makes his hands fall almost limply to his sides as France licks the sharp stings into painful sensitivity.
“I should, y’know. I should let them all have a go at you to get you all stretched open and ready for me.” And Austria can see out of the corner of his eye beneath those glasses as Prussia taunts him, France’s pink stained mouth and face looking terribly obscene, dirty but somehow… Stop it stop it- get a hold of yourself already.
   Austria forces down a whimper and tries to turn away from France feeling his face darken as his heart pumps faster feeling Prussia slip a careless slice as he does.
“Careful bitch... wouldn’t want me cutting anything vital now would you?” Prussia’s tone mocks him, dares him to offer a protest, to try and say that he wouldn’t feel ecstasy in that very act “Or maybe I should open you up so Francis here can bathe in your blood when he fucks you.” Prussia slices down further, neatly down the center opening him up with that searing vertical incision as he cuts the fabric away from Austria’s chest in the process.
   “You should taste Gilbert. It’s sweet just like you would expect from a little princeling.” France half purrs the words against Austria’s sticky heated skin roughly sliding the jacket off his shoulder letting every fiber of fabric rub the deep wound on his arm. Austria breathes deeply closing his mouth, sucking in that sharp breath when he feels hot ash dropping like needles to his shoulder.
“I’m not a damn ashtray,” he hisses furiously, arm tense, raised to shove France away only to be seized by the wrist with a sharp bite to his pulse and another flick of ash.
“Hn…hn…” He presses his lips together tightly, biting his tongue as if that pain will somehow draw him away from the growing heat coiling in his stomach.
   “You oughta appreciate what a kinky sonofabitch he is, four eyes.” France half laughs, half purrs into the reddened teeth marks murmuring to Prussia that he knows him so well. “Y’know the soldiers at camp ain’t half so creative… but maybe a greedy little cockwhore like you doesn’t care as long as he’s getting his tight little ass fucked, yeah?” Prussia leans in smelling like beer and sausage and Austria chooses to look at France rather than him. “Think I’m kidding why don’t you look over the wall and take a look?” You wouldn’t dare… there’s no way… you might… with Francis but not… no… so help you better not…
“Your mouth is as filthy as the rest of you.” Austria growls and jerks his arm free from France letting those teeth cut into him with a dizzying depth that makes him press his pulse to his face.
   Prussia takes a step back with a mocking bow and Austria shoves past him breathing hard and heavy as he staggers across the stone courtyard almost tripping over the rocks in the center grass almost falling into the wall. He’s breathing hard- he can feel his heart racing, adrenaline surging, the tattered coat and shirt half falling off as he stops short looking down. There’s no way. There is no possible way I was there I was just… His eyes go wide, trembling hand raised to his open mouth as he sees them. Tents. Tents spread along the clearing, outside the castle walls, a hundred circling campfires and soldiers the flags raised and the colors proudly displayed and Austria looks from the ground to Prussia and France and thinks that his heart might thump out of his chest. I don’t know how you... I have no idea but… He turns back once more looking, feeling his chest heave, his eyes impossibly wide as he pulls away from leaning over the wall.
   “He thinks he’s too good for the humans,” Prussia says to France offhandedly while Austria clutches the wall to catch himself from falling forward with a sudden feeling of lightheadedness.
“I don’t…” he hears the two of them approaching and licks his lips, turning around back tents and the... Austria swallows crossing his arms. He looks to the side, to the stones, not looking at either one of them face on fire.
“He thought he was too good for them then too until I let a few of my officers have a go at him. You remember that, your highness?” Prussia taunts as he swaggers over. He wipes the flat of the blade of on Austria’s cheek. “I think it would’ve killed a normal guy but this little bitched loved every-” Prussia flips the blade and wipes the other side “-second of it.” Austria looks back at him balefully and shoves him hard when he leans in. Prussia just laughs at him stepping back while France smokes down the end of the cigarette dropping it on the stone with an equally infuriating smirk.
   “He doesn’t seem to be as broken as you think, Gilbert.” France takes another cigarette out of the metal case, smiling brightly at Austria’s heated glare.
“Oh you ain’t seen the half of it Francis. So what’s it gonna be, bitch!?” Prussia yells loud enough for everyone to hear. There’s a cheer at his back as Prussia’s voice echoes over the wall. “Are you gonna show us the good or do I throw your ass over the wall to boost morale?!” There’s another cry at Austria’s back and he doesn’t dare call Prussia’s bluff. You… you… Austria catches his breath not even aware he’d been holding it. He looks at the two of them, looks to his own tattered clothes beyond salvage, looks at the blood, feels the skin of his arm as it continues that tingling hot knit back together once again tuning him in to every fallen leaf on the ground. The voices echo like a din, that endorphin rush coming back as he focuses, as he feels the wind that rushes from here to Innsbruck as his fingers come unconsciously to the few buttons of the jacket.
   His fingers work slowly as he tries to bring them under control. You just had to… he remembers hands on his thighs. You had to make me... Austria slips the jack from his shoulders, focusing his attention on the tree behind the both of them remembering Prussia spreading his legs wide on the dirt floor. Oh God… He pulls the shirt over his head remembering the first that took him after Prussia had. The shirt is dropped down. God I wasn’t… The come between his thighs easing that passage- Austria swallows mouth dry as his fingers hastily work the laces of the boots. …wasn’t supposed to… Traun had fucked the come clean out of him as Prussia held him down. Oh God… he can feel it now as he braces against the wall kicks off shoes, pulling off socks. He can feel the plunge, the push, the hands, the bent in half breath screwed out of him when- God why did it… Austria slides down trousers, fists tightly gripping the fabric as his nude body is exposed to the cool air. He remembers von Zieten fucking him half on Prussia’s lap. “Sir… call me sir you little bitch…” “please sir…”
   It hurt. Austria stands up straight looking at them defiantly, knowing that Tirol stands painfully erect precum pearling the tip Vorarlberg aching so badly. Don’t… make a sound don’t let them… He takes a hesitant step forward as their eyes lustily pass over them so remnant of- Don’t let them hear how badly you… It had hurt back then but Austria wasn’t human. He takes another step recalling the precise moment when all the people, the empire, when every essence of his being came to full bear and then. God stop looking at me like that. Austria hears Prussia whistle just like he did when Austria. When you stopped screaming in pain and started screaming in pleasure.
“Mmm fuck yeah, bitch, that’s what I’m talking about.” Almost word for word the same. Austria takes a shuddering breath as they watch him just a few more feet to them both. He can feel the tingles of his wounds tickle, caress nerve endings from the inside with an embarrassing erotic turn. God if you were a human…
   Austria remembers Prussia saying those very words when Bosch and Koehler had taken him at the same time. He almost brings his hand to his mouth to stop the panting. But I’m not a human…
“C’mon, don’t be shy now, bitch show us what we’ve been waiting for.” Austria knows his face is bright red, toes carefully taking another step on the cool stone walking slowly, elegantly like a marble statue of Endymion brought to life. He holds his head up high as he turns waiting for the comments, waiting for the catcalls and denigrating remarks. I’m not a human, I’m the Austrian Empire and I will be damned if I let either of you shame me. Austria looks out into the distance letting the wind blow him, letting himself see the brilliant bleeding sky remembering most of all of the last time he was here how hard he’d come and how Prussia had spit in his face when Austria fell onto his back with a small triumphant little smirk, bloody, desecrated and used but most of all... not the least bit defeated.
   Get a good laugh, pigs. You might as well-
"Mon Dieu," he hears the gasp from France and it startles him into turning around. Austria looks and sees France staring, oggling, sees that ridiculous half of a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he stares with an expression that’s far from mocking, so clearly lustful and want that it unnerves him more than anything else they’ve done to him thus far. God you’re not... you’re not supposed to look at me like that you bastard. Damn you, how dare you look at me like. Austria looks down and away quickly almost nervously touching the side of his face crossing his arms. He has half a mind to pitch himself over the wall when he hears Prussia's obnoxious snickers when he does.
"See, now that's the kind of ass you get sitting around playing a stupid piano all day." That familiar makes him raise his head back up and glare with a proud toss of his head as Prussia comes forward circling him.
   “You laugh but it wasn’t mocking in your voice when you-“
Austria jumps with an embarrassing squeak as he’s startled by the hard smack to his behind.
“Fuck yeah, now that’s what I’m talking about.” He keeps his mouth closed when Prussia squeezes one massive token of flesh hard- hard enough to make him shift his weight from one foot to the other and clench his fists tightly as he snaps out,
“Must you do that?” another slap comes in answer, this even harder and he clenches, Tirol playing grand singing symphony. Austria stifles a whimper and keeps his eyes determined and annoyed when he finally sees France approach. That cigarette is back between those lips, France, hiding behind the automatic motion no longer so visibly excited. Austria doesn’t know why but it aggravates him.
“Would you put that filthy thing out already?!”
   Austria hardly expects France to do anything but sneer at the request. He expects that perhaps if France were to acquiesce it would be with a grudging flick of the butt to the ground followed by the boot grinding it into the stone. Austria doesn’t expect him to lazily walk around and shove the lit end between his shoulder blades. He doesn’t expect the twist of the wrist or that half orgasmic hiss that seems to escape both him and France in tandem as the burn sears into his skin, stealing his breath with another half delirious gasp. He feels the burn as the fire singes down to the deepest depths of Lamprechtstofen before the cave’s river drowns it in the depths of the river’s waters. He almost screams when the butt half lit is shoved into the small of his back, hitting Eisiesenwelt dead center fire and ice warring until his knees snap together nearly buckling. France steps back with a put upon sigh murmuring about a waste of a good Gaulois but he can still feel those eyes on him as his head swims that euphoric rush beginning from the deepest depths of the earth rising up wrapping him in ice that nearly crystalizes his vision, his arms crossing in front of him, chest heaving, body surging with such power that he-
   “Well look at that,” he hears Prussia through the spots half dancing before his eyes as he focuses on the trees in the distance and lowers his arms, feeling the burns with a pained hiss. He’s almost tempted to ask what on earth Prussia thinks is so fascinating but finds he doesn’t have to ask when the other continues, circling him, his ridiculous smug countenance right there for a flash before he once again feels the breath stealing slap of a calloused palm to his behind. “You like how he jumped? Christ you should try that when I’m fucking him and we can see how much the little bitch tightens.”
“Do you really think either of you are man enough to handle me? The French are notorious sneaks and cowards but I’ve never known one to-“ Austria almost jumps again when he feels the cold metal of the gun barrel gliding down his spine to hit that burn the chain reaction of gasp, tense, shake immediate as he bends over nearly falling when once again that heat and cold intertwine and burst forth and God he can feel Tiro surge higher the tip of his dick nearly flush to his stomach.
   Austria hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes, fingers to his lips to quiet and soothe his breat until he opens them to find Prussia has seated himself on the stone bench near the tree casually, waving a hand for him to heel. In that position, legs lewdly spread, Austria can see the hardness tenting those trousers, see the fabric stretched taut, see that palm start to rub, to excite, his own hand tingling faintly in response as if he could feel that hard heavy- Austria is walking over without a question even in his own mind. It’s obvious what Prussia wants and even hearing some tired line from France about “how much he can take”, isn’t enough to disrupt his focus or even call his dignity back to the battlefield. Austria crosses the distance obediently sinking rather artfully to his knees in the cool grass. He almost brings a hand up, almost moves Prussia’s palm with delicate servitude as he’s done countless times before. Knees. Hands on buttons, on the strings, let every bit come forth before you press you lips to the... Austria swallows catching the knowing smirk as Prussia takes care of that bit himself pulling his focus back to the scene.
   Austria looks up at him half challenging, eyes looking over the thin frames of his glasses as if he isn’t a conquered nation subject to the whims of his captor, as if he hasn’t done this so many times it’s near instinct to lower his head slowly and gently engulf Prussia’s erection with the solicitousness of a high born lady. He makes sure his hands remain at his sides.
“I suppose this is where you expect me to take that disgusting thing into my mouth, isn’t it?” He pushes his glasses up knowing that the gestures does nothing to hide how badly he desires it.
“Figured it out, did ya? I knew all the fucking reading you do was good for something.” Prussia takes hold of the base slowly moving his length back and forth as if Austria would truly be so coarse as to throw himself on top of the invitation.
   Austria looks up from between Prussia’s spread legs pursing his lips so he doesn’t lick them, that action forcing him to breathe deeply through his nose instead and he is not... not aroused further at the smell of sweat or that strong musk or that. Why must he hold it like that? Surely he realizes how...ridiculous... how... God knock it off you fool, you’re only embarrassing yourself. He’s unable to keep his eyes focused on Prussia’s face, violet flickering back and forth between both heads as he bites his lower lip a few times before trying to talk.
“If you think for one moment,” He makes as if to back away. “If you think that I would ever lower myself to-” Austria doesn’t even register Prussia’s other hand moving under strong calloused fingers are at the nape of his neck, fanning out over the back of his head shoving it all the way down that cock guided expertly past his lips.
   He doesn’t vomit- such an undignified action would be beneath him. He doesn’t gag either or do anything but relax his throat letting Prussia’s cock slip past that tender resistance with ease. He can’t breathe. He can’t quite inhale with the way his face is pressed to the sweaty sticky hair at the base of that obscene length and he almost feels his throat convulse and try nonetheless. He can feel his body respond to that lack of oxygen, the beat of his frantic heart blanketing him in a body thrumming wild blind pulse head pounding, heart pounding, his own cock bobbing as he squirms and shifts and allows himself to linger just the shortest tic of time when Prussia finally releases him. His head explodes into that odd sense of oblivion giving a forced exhale out because that’s all he can do right now, heat and breath making his own face damp and making his wounds ache. He closes his lips, draws it in, takes half a halted breath not allowing himself to leave the head spinning drowning cocoon, again moving his head back and forth just enough to start to rub his throat raw and- Austria feels the sharp smack of France’s hand to his backside. He can’t help it.
   Austria bites. Not terribly hard he doesn’t think, not compared when the countless other times Prussia’s held his face down, held his mouth to that hard- sometimes clean, more often not- length and although he’s been threatened more times than he can recall with an O ring or a bit or some other degrading device, he’s never quite gone far enough to warrant it. And even though such a reaction for once is in response to the hard slap to his posterior he isn’t surprised when Prussia holds a fistful of hair and backhands him in retaliation with a curse- a rather sticky wet spit of saliva to the face and Austria musters up a perfectly affronted glare because the game may be growing in its intensity but that doesn’t mean that it has ever been acceptable to spit in his face. That is, at least not to anyone who doesn’t see the shuttering of eyelids and the absent lick of lips to just taste the faintest bit of the other aside his mouth. He tastes blood again and lets the coppery tang intermingle and rest on his tongue. He doesn’t raise a hand to wipe it off and were he able to turn his head properly he’d shoot the French pig behind him a glare worthy of all the Hapsburgs who’d held his throne.
   “Fucking cunt…” Austria maintains a perfectly bland expression, swallowing the soft titter of laughter that nearly escapes at Prussia’s predictable epithet. He doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest and simply braces himself for the inevitable redux. Prussia’s fingers tangle painfully in his short hair and his mouth is once again forced down without preamble, without balance even and his arms instinctively go out, his wounded arm screaming when France grabs them both holding him pitifully as Prussia’s hips snap in quick sharp succession forcing the raw friction on his throat even harder. He holds his breath counting off because for all he trusts that Prussia always maintains that well hidden control he’s never quite sure and he never quite trusts that it won’t become too much. He can feel the blood pounding in his head, feel that genuine panic as the count bleeds to nothing but pound pound and his body, his ridiculous helpless shameful body close to blackness, close to a little death shakes and twists more in desperate arousal than fear.
   He thinks that he hears France whisper, hears some accented offal but more than that he feels the hot breath against the shell of his ear as Prussia finally pulls his head away right as he’s about to gag and the small afterimages are still swimming in front of his vision- though he concedes that might be the wet smear of steam and sweat over the lenses of his glasses. His head, he realizes as the sharpness returns, is cocked to the side, leaned in to that soft sibilant hiss and yes, France is saying something after all. Austria feels his face burning, feels the hot pulse between his legs and squeezes his thighs tightly together because something about the word… he doesn’t want to think that filth more than he has to but…
   “My, the little master is such a talented cocksucker.” To his left is France, and before he can turn away there’s that gloved hand on his side of his face holding him still as his eyes struggle to refocus. The smell of lingering smoke intermingles with what could only be one of Prussia’s coveted bottles of Reisling. It surrounds him. Austria can feel the near blanket of that aura and presence, his eyes only barely seeing that gun reholstered as if to tempt him to grab it and hold the both of them at bay until- until what exactly he’s not sure but-
“Oh you ain’t seen nothing yet,” Prussia answers where Austria cannot. France licks the side of his face even as he stares sidelong into the distance not wanting to look at either of them. Austria forces himself to remain stiff as France whispers to him, “What else can the little putté do?” Those long fingers pull his head back from Prussia’s lap by the hair as France stands up straight and arrogant. He looks down at him, forcing their eyes together with a smirk and a raised eyebrow and Austria winces and doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. He just looks into those dark blue eyes, sees the Seine river flowing over the countryside and thinks he might drown in the depths wondering if this is what everyone France has ever bedded bears witness to.
   “Hey bitch, think you can take two at once?” he hears Prussia say as his left hand reaches up to pull away France’s hand. Austria goes still as his fingertips brush over the top of that hand, never one to admit his weakness for sensual tactile contact and he just... lingers, dimly registering Prussia’s words less so than the expression that passes over Frances leering face. The amount of desire that he sees reflected in the considering expression makes him oddly dizzy, and it’s only… No, it’s only the heights, the angle, the rush of blood, God you cannot abide this man’s presence you cannot stand to be anywhere near him you cannot... and Austria shuts his eyes against the brightness of the sun reappearing seemingly from nowhere and he feels his own lips moving in a whisper as he attempts to shake his head, shake France off of him. This isn’t the first time you’ve looked at him today for God’s sake it’s no different it’s nothing it’s just... He doesn’t understand the intensity of the moment, the heat and heaviness in his body as the same time his head feels light and his face still feels warm where France licked him and he needs to focus and-
   And there’s another hand over both his and France’s and he sees Prussia looking at him not outwardly concerned but he licks his lips out of a slight nervous habit and nods the smallest amount that yes, he’s fine and he has no idea what came over him but it seems to have passed. Austria stares at Prussia and it centers him; the last thing he wants right again is any sort of mercy with his body insistently reminding him that it has needs. That dark wanting part of him is at the forefront again when Prussia lets go and it makes him dig nails into the back of France’s hand thinking that Prussia might have warned him that the subduing of the Kingdom of Austria is no mean feat but that’s none of his concern. And France does release him roughly but he only smiles a small personal expression, face hidden as he absently brushes at his thighs.
“Are we quite finished here? Obviously you’ve claimed this useless pile in the middle of nowhere and if my previous…” He attempts to correct the thickness in his voice when France continues to oddly fondle his hair and stroke the back of his neck like an animal. Get a hold of yourself, nothing’s changed just...
   There’s a hiss as France puts a hand to his shoulder and squeezes as if in absent thought and he realizes the hiss is coming from him as France hits some pressure point or another. There’s a sting of pain, a dull throb that begins to blossom anew and he takes a shuddering breath as Prussia stands up mocking him, taking himself in hand once more, waving that… Austria swallows hard, licking his lips only to stop the dryness in his mouth and he averts his eyes, peripheral vision still letting him watch as he recalls what it was he was saying.
“If my previous experience is anything to go by,” he whispers, voice not quite as strong as if was.
“Yeah, and what’s that?” Prussia taunts as he smacks the tip to the side of Austria’s face and France has him still whether by the pain in his shoulder that he continues to squeeze or by some other enchantment he doesn’t know. “Sorry, bitch,” Prussia taunts, “couldn’t quite hear that.”
   Austria watches once more this time not looking away, not diverting his attention, staring only at the hard cock in Prussia’s hand. No… I’m not going to… I won’t think such filthy things in earnest. It’s the taste. It’s his mouth. It’s every but of sticky white kissed to his lips a thousand times in memory and it’s his own hardness aching for release. His eyes watch the sticky strand of fluid that joins his cheek and the slit like some perverted string of fate as China might say and he silently curses the unconscious motion his body makes to lean in. I need this... God help me I just can’t... He curses the swipe of his tongue, the salty stickiness right at the tip and he swallows and gasps at the ferocious insistent throbbing between his legs, the heaviness of his sac, his tongue turning from tentative to greedily lapping and Christ how humiliating it is to not even hear Prussia laugh! Damn you... Prussia has him and he knows it. There is no need for gloating in that fraction of a second of his surrender and he can almost stomach such an indignity, such a faltering of self control, until France laughs softly from above him.
   Austria doesn’t know how he forgot. There is an odd hyper awareness to him that registers suddenly the sharply contrasting smells, the familiarity of Prussia’s sex- staring him in the face after all- musky and strong, sweat and masculinity and the foreign almost perfumed smell of France’s coat, of pressed linens that aren’t his own and he takes a deep breath, refocusing his eyes.
“You do have him trained so well,” he hears barely whispered thinking that perhaps he wasn’t supposed to hear or more that such a thing wasn’t mean to be spoken aloud, but it isn’t jarring. God say it again... He didn’t just think that. Say it again, Francis. Put your hands back on me, shove me down, whisper those dirty things back to me because as much as I despise you right now I need to-
“Did I tell you to stop you worthless little cocksucker?” No… no you didn’t… but you’re at my mercy now, Gilbert. He trails a finger down the length of Prussia’s cock and feels more than sees him shiver. Austria gives a teasing tap, looking up with innocently as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing seeing Prussia’s eyes darken as he swears softly.
   “You would think he’s never seen one before,” France taunts and there’s an odd part of him- the part that takes pride in mastering everything he sets his mind to that almost wants to snap that he very well has mastered this too and France can very well stay the hell out of it, but he doesn’t allow that to distract him.
“You really think,” Prussia says in a voice thicker than it was a bit ago, “that a little faggot like this doesn’t know his way around a dick? I heard from some of the soldiers we freed that the piano ain’t the only instrument he plays.” And a part of him almost gives in to the temptation to flick the tip in response to the slight and in certain moods Prussia would even allow a sharp smack to the scrotum but Austria ducks his head lightly to hide a faint upturn of lips as he speaks more to the length in front of him than the man it’s attached to.
   “Is that one of the tales your King tells whilst he’s bent you over the- hah!” Austria does not scream, does not cry out beyond that startled vociferation as France taps the barrel of the gun to the tender reddened skin of his back. Austria almost folds, almost bends over, almost hits his face into Prussia’s groin as he breathes- in out in out- letting the blood and lightheadedness wash over him like a balm. He stops just short of letting it touch his lips, his breath hot on Prussia’s cock again, rebounding back to his own face steaming and smudging his glasses. And just as soon as it started, that gun rubs, pain sparking setting off highs and lows and hot burning everywhere it touches. God more... It hurts, it heals, it reminds him of everything he is and Austria sits back just enough when the gun barrel moves to see the fine pants in the corner of his vision and hear the soft boots faintly walk around.
   Austria sees that his left hand has gripped Prussia’s thigh tightly in response to the pain so needy and childish that he chastises himself mentally for being so caught off guard. He almost misses the release on his shoulder. Almost. His vision swims. The faint afterimages of some cosmic explosion dances in front of him but it is gone soon enough and he deliberately ignores the hand unbuttoning trousers to his right, ignores the extraction of France’s cock, and most certainly ignores the suggestion from the blonde derelict that he service the both of them at once. He ignores it, that is, until he feels more than sees the ring grazing his cheek softly where it had once drew blood and he turns his head with an odd rush of warmth at the strange almost tender stroke of the back of France’s hand over the knit together skin where he was cut earlier.
“If y-you…” He cannot help but stammer because the newly healed skin is always so sensitive. “If you would like my undivided at-ttention then…” Then you should tell him stop such a ridiculous mockery of affection because I do not find it the least bit…
   “C’mon, four eyes, you can do it,” Prussia mockingly cheers him as if he’s cheering for a horse at the races and Austria in spite of himself lets his head turn just the slightest bit into that touch, turn to look at France’s dick and he takes a deep breath because he is not whatever Prussia likes to insinuate a blushing maiden who has never before seen the nude male form. “’Course it might not be as big seeing as how you’re used to mine,” Prussia continues arrogantly as he ruffles his hair. You always do start to slip the more excited you get, don’t you? Mmm maybe I can make you slip even more. Austria continues to stare not caring how profligate he looks while he does so.
“I don’t think the little master has any issues with what he sees,” France fires back with a laugh. God no. No it’s just like you... like you thought... like you thought those few times when you couldn’t help but glance over a teacup even in those meetings where he…
   Austria swallows. Of all the times that such self awareness must come to the forefront he would not have wished this to be one of them. But it is. And he does wonder. And now the wondering- the flickering “what ifs” of his most sordid imaginings when he’s alone laid back on the sofa lightly brushing fingers up his own leg have turned to far more than just wayward thoughts. It’s my birthday. And I will be absolutely damned if I don’t enjoy my present. You’d be terribly disappointed, wouldn’t you, Gilbert? Disappointed or jealous, we’ll see which does you a worse turn... Alright then, boys, I suppose I can put propriety on hold for now to have a little fun. Just don’t tell Ludwig, this should be our little secret. Austria takes a breath and shuts his eyes as if the two of them were entirely beneath them not allowing that smile to blossom outwardly.
   “If I must then,” he says primly before opening his eyes clearly, taking a firm grip, and pushing foreskin back with his right hand. He slides down that warm, hard shaft, lapping at the slick head, noting that if nothing else France is cleaner than Prussia. Longer, God just the smallest fraction longer as his tongue has to add just that extra flick to the base of the shaft beyond the memory of muscle. Austria relaxes the tension of his hand to Prussia’s thigh, letting his palm slide over the spit slick shaft, trapping, pressing, hearing the soft swearing “shit” and feeling Prussia rock his hips forward. Austria shifts and ignores the pebbles in the grass digging into his knees, shifting his kneeling position just a touch wider as if one could shove him head down right from that position and- and Austria swallows and feels the glasses falling down on his face thankful that he doesn’t need them to see. His breath catches in his throat the warmth spreading immediately as he allows his thought to start spiraling full tilt to torrid. He can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, Prussia pushing against him more insistently and with a huff he turns his hand and gripping that hard warm length he squeezes until he hears a soft groan. Austria slowly fists France, his hand more easily sliding up and down the long thick shaft, licking, wetting, watching it glisten the more he works, the wetter it gets and Austria squirms thinking that it would slide in so easily right now.
   Austria shuts his eyes and feels his hand around Prussia trembling as he tries to control himself. He purses his lips tight and moves his head, letting France’s tip force its way inside stinging back open the scarring welts on his lips where his teeth cut. Austria moving his head slowly, hears soft swearing, feeling hands in his hair, feeling salty wet on his tongue, feeling saliva gathering in his mouth the more he moves, the more friction builds until he has to swallow blood, spit, and precum lest it overflow from his mouth in a rainbow concoction of debasement. Austria clenches his jaw, biting back a sigh, unable to stop the increase of breaths, the slight bounce on his knees that even the discomfort of nature can’t quell. His lips meet his circled fist in a vulgar crimson kiss as he moves slow, hard, long strokes drawing even more insistent swearing and a blind hand moving from his hair to the back of his head to urge his mouth down deeper to meet his hand even more than halfway.
   Austria’s glasses are nearly off his nose now and he draws back against the pressure of France’s grip to turn his head letting the wet length rub the side of his face, biting his lip completely open again as he pushes his glasses up with his fist. He dares to open his eyes, not to look at Prussia but to France who looks down at him with the most greedy expression of undisguised lust. He’s always found France’s leer to be a distasteful vulgarity but the raw hunger in those eyes, the slight slackening of that stubbled jaw as he whispers even more curses makes Austria keep that expression locked as he teases again, just the tip, just the sticky sweat tip, moving his tongue in slower, wider circling out around the head, making it almost a game when he lets go and uses just his mouth to playfully chase the moving target. He wonders if he could make France collapse when he lets his fingers dance down to lightly tease finger nails over his soft, quivering sac and those blue eyes close almost painfully with a perfect out of character slip of his name.
   Austria smirks, pulling back, seeing Prussia look like he wants to do nothing more than call it and shove him to the ground and mount him the fastest way imaginable. On my back… It would have to be on my back and I don’t know how you figure Francis into that but I don’t think you particularly care, do you? And there’s a question that’s obvious from the half frustrated look Prussia gives him when Austria leans in to hover hot breath from France to him far too slowly for the impatient Prussia. The shake of Austria’s head is barely there but Prussia catches it with a look that could shatter rock. Not yet. God not yet I need to… I need you to wait just a little longer, Gilbert, make it hurt just a little longer and I promise this will be… Prussia nods and gives a frustrated huff and mutter of “S’about time you remember who the real conqueror is here you little bitch.” …the best birthday ever. He licks his lips again reveling in the pulse of blood.
   “I’m not one of your camp whores, you’ll be patient and like it you feckless oaf.” Austria speaks in a far more breathless whisper than he would have liked but it’s getting harder to hide how much this is exciting him and he ducks his head, licking long slow swipes of his tongue from base to tip feeling Prussia’s hands immediately grip his shoulders. It is the same way Prussia holds him when he’s on his knees, back arched painfully bent back from the pull of those strong broad hands when Prussia savagely drives into him from behind. That ghost of a memory stays his tongue, his hand on France’s sac, cupping, squeezing just enough to elicit another series of half swears half prayers and if Austria were not already on his knees he’s sure he’d collapse to them as much as his legs shake beneath him.
   Austria swallows again and mouths slowly up the side, tongue punctuating each soft suck of foreskin wetly slipped between his lips. He can feel with the insistent rock of Prussia’s hips that press of moist hot skin to his face as he turns his head and there’s moment of gripping pressure when there’s the brush to that mole and where his face is hidden from Prussia’s eyes, where his vociferations are drowned out by Prussia’s heavy breathing, his vulgar encouragement, Austria lets the soft indulgent gasps rise up and breathe out warmly to the base of Prussia’s shaft. His hand blindly gropes at Prussia’s abdomen, feeling the muscles tightly clenching beneath his fingers even through the fabric of his shirt. Austria’s nails dig in, scrape down the flat stomach through the thin cotton as he opens his mouth, and with painful slowness engulfs the entirety of Prussia’s length until he feels the thickness force his lips wider apart.
   Austria feels more spit dripping out his mouth, his throat instinctively convulsing and those hands hard, tight to his shoulders practically grinding to the bone- Prussia allowing him to set the torturous pace without ramming it all the way down his throat and that pace is just as agonizing as he tries to remember to breathe out, tries to remember to move his other hand up and down France’s shaft and most of all, tries to remember that the two can see him and can see if his eyes are closed in anything other than silent degradation. Austria shifts again, leans forward even against the pressure on his shoulders, rocking into the thumb digging into sensitive newly healed skin causing a pulsing rush of blood to his head. He draws his mouth tight, not caring that his teeth scrape knowing Prussia likes that extra little bit of wild abandon, his head moving with more force past the resistance of his sore throat until he feels his glasses pushes into his face painfully messily.
   Austria sucks. Austria drags nails sharply down Prussia’s hip and pulls his head away with a pop, a quick turn of his head nearly knocking the glasses from his face. He huffs in irritation and moves to take them off- he can hardly see out of them anyway. Prussia grips his wrist painfully and he looks up over the frames with a passing curiosity. Prussia licks his lips and shakes his head.
“Leave them on, Princess. You’re the one that wears them to look like a proper little bitch you’re keeping the fucking things on your face.” Austria mirrors him, a slow drag of his tongue thoughtfully looking up and he sees that flash of cracking control knowing that in spite of his best efforts his own expression has to be equally heated.
   “You are giving the orders, Oh great Preußen,” Austria answers with an artful drop of his eyes and half expects Prussia to order him to finish him off right now. It surprises him when a smirk appears on Prussia’s face instead and he tilts his head to indicate France.
“Yeah, I am, bitch. And right now I wanna see you make Francis blow his load all over that prissy face of yours.” Austria can feel the smile threatening to crack through. He can feel the beating of his heart increasing to a near hummingbird’s pace at the anticipation and he wonders if Prussia isn’t far more of a voyeur than he lets on. The game is definitely shifting as Prussia appears to be fighting heavy ragged breaths watching him.
   Exultation wars with ardor and even he isn’t sure which is the stronger. Austria turns back to France, and rather than take that hardness back in his hands he puts them both behind his back interlocking fingers tightly, head bowed.
“If that is what you truly desire…” he answered with deliberately pitched softness hearing the unvoiced groan. You’re going to be the one begging, Gilbert, not I. He looks sideways and up one final time eyes challenging, daring Prussia to break and give in. I know you want to stop this. I know you want to abandon all pretext and have me right here. You want to grab my hips, you want to shove it in hard, you want to hold my head down and savage me like an animal or as you would say you want to fuck me until I-
   “Don’t give me that shit you little slut,” Prussia half growls at him, taking himself in hand with a hard fist. “You know you want it. Now stop stalling already or I might just tie you up and leave you here like a naked and dirty conquered bitch.” Austria looks back up at France again with a small smirk as he pushes his glasses back up on his face ignoring Prussia entirely now. His attention is wholly to France just as he’s been ordered. There is something about the feigned subservience that he cannot deny excites him. The time for denial is long past. Austria wears a look of adulation as he licks at the head with even more enthusiasm than he had a moment ago thinking that France is far too easy to play. He lets the head slip past his lips slowly over and over, teasing, half kissing half sucking that swollen glans and he can see immediately how France holds that pistol in the holster on his thigh tightly cursing as he massages the grip with white knuckles.
   Austria licks with abandon, lets his tongue swipe criss crossing over the sensitive tip, up and down the shaft until it’s dripping with his own saliva ribboned red with the blood from his mouth. He pushes the foreskin back up, letting his tongue trace tightly beneath it seeing yet another shift of France’s arms from gun to clutch at his shirt nearly ripping it with a convulsive grasp. His tongue dips, drawing soft pliable skin into his mouth and he sucks, one hand encircling the base as he slip suck slip sucks making France half sob his name hips only held still by Austria’s hold. He shouldn’t sound nearly so... God, Gilbert why are you doing this to me? You know we hate each other you know I loathe the very sight of him but to make me to this to make me- Austria claws at the wound in his arm attempting to heal the white hot flash of pain the only shock to bring him back down from edge as his entire body squirms on the ground.
   But that initial stabbing sharpness gives way to the thunderbolt pulse of blood and tissue drumming a beat in time with his heart that beats out hot fire to his groin. Austria swallows a soft undignified half sob, turning his head letting France’s wet shaft rub the side of his face, rubbing without realizing it that mole and his eyes open wide, mouth opens and he pulls his hand away from his arm to cover the soft cry that escapes him letting his index finger slip between his teeth to bite down and muffle the noise. Oh god god god no god I can’t… His brows knit together painfully, he bounces, he rocks, he nearly tries to bring himself down to rub the ground and his other hand slips making him nearly fall over.
   “Yess…” France hisses that encourages him with a raspy lust and Austria is paralyzed with the effort of not coming to resist when one hand comes to the unmarred side of his face, the other taking that sticky wet cock rubbing it against his mouth- that spot insistently.
“Don’t…” He pulls France’s cock between his lips with nothing but his mouth.
“But you love it, non?” France doesn’t let up one bit and he hears a half breathless laugh from Prussia as he pathetically leans his head against France’s thigh while that tip is rubbed so- “You hate the cigarettes but you love that cigare.” he says with another flick and a husky laugh. Austria hears Prussia’s own uncivilized chortling but he can’t help but notice the way Prussia looks at him as he strokes himself faster. He only sees for a second as hard as it is to keep his eyes from squeezing shut hyper focused on the heat bursting out from within France’s hand still holding the side of his face.
   He has no choice but to watch Prussia, to hold France’s leg trying to turn his face completely away, legs trying to draw up just to put pressure, any pressure to his aching erection. He is at their mercy. He whimpers and watches Prussia watching him, bringing himself closer at the sight of Austria on his knees looking helpless, looking so desperate to come that he just can’t watch him any longer or he’ll- Austria’s focus narrows to the noise, to the increasingly loud grunts from Prussia and he knows so well the sounds of that completion that he can almost time it to Prussia fighting to keep eyes open as his entire body goes tense. Austria nearly forgets to breathe eyes vacillating between both Prussia’s hand and his face when he comes with a soft whisper of “Gott.”
   Austria shuts his eyes now out of instinct, the swell of his own hardness near the breaking point, one touch, one soft stroke of blessed relief as grass blades tickle him from beneath evilly. One touch… God just a little… He feels the warm come even from the distance between them hitting his neck, shoulder, and hair as France decides seemingly to delay his own pleasure to watch Austria’s debasement. Austria curses the way his tongue automatically laps the sticky semen from his lips and it is only that same automation which causes the second shy poking of tongue to curiously taste the running drop before it hits his chin. Tobacco, he realizes and thinks Prussia must still smoke far more than he lets on in public and far more then Germany believes amidst all his lectures. Austria stares through spattered lenses on the right and he blinks, nearly crossing his eyes as he looks up over the rims hatefully, furiously embarrassed at how much of himself he’s given away. His mouth is slack breathing heavily and he almost feels as if the wound on his face has reopened as hotly as it throbs.
   His mouth is strangely dry and he pants, as he catches his breath, hanging his head back down to drip semen and sweat both on the stone as he pulls away from France.
“You gonna finish him off or are you too busy enjoying my conquest?” Prussia takes one of Austria’s white gloves and cleans himself off with it. Austria feels his mouth open and close again quickly, biting back a snappy retort because he knows Prussia only wants to goad him. He shifts- pins and needles in his legs getting worse and he shoots Prussia a measured look. It seems your control is better than I had anticipated, Gilbert. I guess I shouldn’t have underestimated you but… But I too know how to make you mad with desire. He can only imagine Prussia’s chagrin at losing the upper hand but this is his present and he shall enjoy it however he pleases. You love it anyway do you not? It would be far too boring for you if I let you win.
   “As you command… sir,” He speaks with a silky deference that under any circumstance drives Prussia wild. Austria leans in and turns his body, back arched as wantonly as he can manage as he raises up on his bleeding raw knees and mouths at the head of France’s stiff cock with a smoldering look to Prussia. He lets that gaze hold his, hears the loud intake of breathe, while he sucks and slurps the trickle of precum that drizzles the side of his face. Austria locks his hands behind his back, clasped tightly at each wrist, wringing with all the strength he can manage as if held by iron chains inflamed by the look of jealous desire Prussia fixes him with. I didn’t give you half as much, did I Gilbert? And I know it will just eat at you.
   “God…” Austria hears France panting above him anew and he lets his eyes slide up now, passing over the white shirt, the open collar to the faint sheen of sweat dampening his neck. He sees wild eyes watching him and he spreads his legs further on the ground with another shift of grass and rocks just daring Prussia to get it up again and take him from behind his lower back feeling the strain of maintaining the extreme arch to give Prussia a damn good look at the ass he was mocking earlier taunting Prussia forgetting his usual embarrassment, his usual modesty in favor of upping the ante. Austria licks his lips, feeling how swollen they are, staying aroused in spite of his dignity at the thoroughly debauched picture he must be presenting.
   Austria gasps for breath, catches it as best as he can as his chest burns from holding the position, his stomach sore, his wrists rubbed raw as his nails scratch to keep the heat tamped desperately down. He can feel France’s hands bold and impatient move to muss his hair holding back just a bit unsure of whether or not to grab his head and ravage his mouth with that hardness. What are you waiting for, Francis? Surely Gilbert isn’t a consideration but I suppose I can make that decision for you. Austria sighs and backs up just to open his mouth and in one desire drunken dive down swallows the entirety of that thick pole. France’s hips snap in that same moment nearly choking him with the action but he moves back, forth, lets his throat relax just enough to allow passage but not so much that he can’t feel the raw burning scratchiness as that swollen head plunges halfway down his throat.
   Austria hears Prussia groan, he feels France’s fingers fists tightly fastened to his scalp holding him still while he moves far more slowly than Austria thought him capable of. Austria feels the intense head pressure building up again, seeing spots, feeling slick fluid intermingling again with his own saliva until it’s pushed messily from his mouth with every thrust running down the side of his mouth and down his neck. He can’t breathe and there’s a half moan half scream from his throat as the heaviness between his legs slaps and rubs his stomach with the steady motions and he’s so close the edge once more he rubs his wrists even harder together hearing Prussia’s solid string of profanity knowing that once again any moment one of them is going to-
   He feels a swipe to his shoulder, feels Prussia’s draw through that sticky swath of semen, swipe up his neck making him shiver and there’s that big possessive hand to his ass, thumb spreading him open with a whisper meant only for him.
“You love driving me crazy, don’t you, you little cunt?” Prussia presses a slick come covered finger to his hole, teasing in and out with just the tip of that finger and he can feel himself quiver, Feel his knees half buckle, his throat close tighter around France’s cock as France slows with even harder, deeper thrusts. “You’re always make me so fucking hard…” His knee scrapes the ground again as he shifts, spreading wider at Prussia’s insistence finger switching to thumb pushing inside, invading him, making him push back just daring Prussia to throw the game out and slake whatever lust is building with abandon.
   Do it… God do it, you know you want to please please please… Austria moans softly, half sobs as France allows him a small reprieve for air as he pulls out. His nails are digging hard to his wrists and he doesn’t know if he breaks skin but he has to be damn close when Prussia circles, stretches, teases him from the inside out making his skin bead with sweat, loosens him and- Yes god yes yes more just a little- He feels the thick shaft sliding between his spread cheeks, feels both of those strong hands now digging into his ass as Prussia moves slowly up and down, that cock getting harder the more he rubs.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, you dirty slut?” Austria almost cracks his neck aborting a frantic nod, forcing his focus to nothing but what’s in front of him squirming against Prussia, giving the subtlest push back of encouragement.
   Austria can hear the indulgent purr from above as he cranes his neck and engulfs France again, every incidental scrape of teeth, every inch of his lips ringed tightly around savored with a soft swear of heated French. Austria let’s his tongue tease the underside of that cock, letting the wet broad strokes massage, caress, urge him to spill himself with a near pleading moan to Prussia and France both.
“Fuck you’re such a hot fucking bitch,” Prussia breathes out against his neck letting the hard swollen head of his cock slip down, sticky precome trailing down between Austria’s ass as Prussia presses just a little bit inside Austria feeling every minute millimeter stretch as his anus opens around him. “Proper little master wants to fuck himself on my five meters. Christ I could drill you into the goddamn ground right now…”
   Austria can feel more, can feel the painful cramp of his lower back as he tenses, as he uses his body to arch, to beg, to give just a bit of sway of encouragement feeling his wrists throb in protest as he rubs, twists, abuses delicate skin the further in Prussia moves. He feels the spit, feels the undignified drool as he breathes out again, fucks his throat slowly on France’s cock so he can feel one from either end. More more God give me… France practically growls short nails digging into Austria’s scalp and far from the violent pounding that Prussia favors, he goes completely still save for the faint pulse of hips, the small contained explosion of semen filling half spilling out as he feels the fingers slacken and France slowly pull out with the satisfied sigh one would expect after a sink into a hot tub.
   France takes a step back and Austria shifts, another small whine half praying that Prussia will be merciful and just- Austria almost chokes as he’s shoved forward barely catching himself before his face hits the ground. One hand comes up before he spits everything out in surprise, hearing both Prussia and France laughing, the last with those soft arrogant snickers.
“Oh god… Oh god you were fucking begging for it…” Prussia laughs above him and France sinks down amused just as he sits back, moving his hand about to swallow when-
“He is such a stupid little putté.” France lightly, nastily smacks his cheek mocking, and Austria’s eyes narrow in response as he turns to him. Is that so? It would serve you right. Oh it would serve you so terribly right you miserable licentious...
   Austria softens his expression. He lets anger pass to desire, to wanton lust, seeing France respond predictably when Austria rises to his feet. A small smile paints his lips and he leans in knowing from all this that if France has one vulnerability it’s his affinity for that sensual mouth on mouth violation. Austria reserves swallowing that last bit of come and traps it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. His movements are slow, non threatening and he twines his arms around France’s neck, pressing against him, allowing a shiver when he feels the hard hot body against his. Mmm that’s it… just a little more…
“If you think you’re gonna make me jealous…” Prussia growls behind him and that double bonus spurs him to tilt his head, giving France his most sexual invitation of a smile before kissing him deeply.
   Austria moans with soft exaggeration when France’s lips meet his. That exaggeration turns to an all too real groan when he feels France grab his ass and squeeze, and press that hard cock to his feeling the Eiffel tower stir again furiously, feeling France grind their bodies together like he’s a mannequin made for rutting. It’s not smooth. It’s not dignified and it’s almost accidental, Austria gasping, panting as France opens his mouth just enough to flick a tongue out. Oh but it’s still enough for Austria to dare to raise dirty sticky hands and twine his fingers in the back of long blonde hair as he too deepens that kiss, passing all of France’s nasty come from his mouth. He hears a startled hitch- a noise that seems to him to be shock or even outrage- but France only groans against his mouth, almost lifting him off the ground as hard as he grabs, squeezes, rubs one hypersensitive cock to his own and Austria almost thinks he’s going to come.
   God not again not like this not you again… Austria tries to wedge hands between them and push France away. Please don’t please stop it... France moves a hand down, clutching his thigh, urging him to wrap around and Austria has another vision of that tree, an overlay of France taking him against it and- don’t... stop... god don’t... Austria allows him to take that leg, wraps it around, takes the other, grinding back spit swapping semen as France passes it back to him wetly, hotly tongue sharing the taste between their mouths. Please... please... Austria holds onto him, feels France bounce him feel a slight movement thinking any moment his back will meet bark and that cock will come against him, come inside him. France’s tongue tastes, licks his own, twining around fast and furiously making Austria half delirious from the loss of breath as a low throaty groan in breathed against him bodies closer and closer to-.
   Austria screams high pitched and startled when France lets go all at once dropping him on his back nearly knocking the breath out of him. Burns his blades of grass and he yowls, arching, eyes blinking wide and Prussia, miserable cur that he is cackles his fool head off in the background. Austria can hear France joining him and he sits up breathless on the ground, looking up angrily.
“Oh man… you shoulda seen your stupid four eyed face. You really thought…” Prussia himself is half breathless though more from amusement than anything else. “You really thought the king of all perverts was gonna shy away from a little snowblowing? I told ya he was a kinky motherfucker.”
“I prefer ‘lover extraordinaire,’ Monsieur Beilschmidt,” France punctuates that protest with a small smirk licking his fingers off. He looks up hatefully, about to stand and call this whole thing just so he can shove them both off the parapet when France laughs at his obvious fury. “Oh but as for the naughty little putte…”
   France’s boot hits him square in the chest. It is not so sudden that he can’t brace his head from cracking the ground too hard but it is forceful enough to lay him flat. It isn’t hard enough to knock the breath out of him but the rubbing of the sole to the bare skin of his chest makes him bite back a whimper, hands instinctively holding the shoe as if to throw him off.
“You think you’re getting off that easily,” Prussia snickers at his own boorish remark standing next to France looking down at him triumphantly. France moves that foot and before Austria can so much as sit up he’s on top of him, pinning his arms above his head with a strong grip. And even as he attempts to struggle free France is there at his side pistol cocked with that arrogant sneer and he sucks in a breath going still at the sound wondering just how far France intends to go after all.
   “You really didn’t think we were finished did you? No no no we cannot let you go so easily. It would set such a bad example for our men, after all.” Austria opens his mouth to protest and finds just as he does Prussia shoves dirty fingers inside almost far back enough to choke him. That is not… those are not the same fingers that you…
“Yeah… you like that? You like tasting your own dirty little asshole, bitch?” Prussia looks back at France with a chuckle as Austria’s face assumes a mixture of horrified arousal. “And that’s how you keep the bitch from biting.” There’s a rather pathetically muffled cry of indignation from Austria at such treatment- at the nerve that Prussia would dare to - What the hell are you doing?!
   Austria feels his left leg being lifted and bent until he feels his knee touching Prussia’s lower back. It has to be France. It has to be France whose hand feels so big as he moves to hold his thigh just under the knee. It almost tickles and there’s a tension in his stomach followed by an undignified series of squeaks. France shifts his hand just enough in response that he stops and Prussia backs his fingers out just enough to make him think he’ll have freedom of his mouth again.
“C’mon, bitch, you know you wanna lick ‘em clean.” He wiggles wet fingers before wiping them on the side of Austria’s mouth making him buck and squirm as the mole is rubbed mercilessly. Austria tosses his head back and forth until finally he glares up at Prussia mouth shut tightly in defiance. You’re not getting it out of me again. You’re not getting the satisfaction of my submission that easily again. Prussia shakes his head amused as he lets go of Austria’s left arm freeing his hand to pinch off his nose with a happy humming the Preußenlied just waiting for Austria to breathe. The hell with you. The hell with… oh God… No… no you’re not…
   Austria is rigid as he feels the cold barrel of the pistol teasing a line down his engorged shaft, gently prodding his sac until it moves further, leaving a trail of icy prickles. He lifts his right leg to try and kick France- kick that gun away from him when he hears the cock of the hammer. Austria’s heart beats faster whether from the lack of oxygen or the life threatening fear that poignant clicks leaves at it resonates in his head like the pounding of air starved blood. Jesus Christ you wouldn’t, you can’t be that insane, you cannot possibly think that I would- Oh god god god… Austria feels the cold barrel pressed to his entrance and he lowers that right leg, looks at Prussia with wide eyes hating how turned on that devilish smirk leaves him.
   “Yeah you got his attention real good now, Francis. Now are you gonna cooperate, schlampe, or do we get to see the Hapsburg Red blown out of your asshole on the ground?” Austria’s chest beats a hard pounding screaming and he whimpers pathetically in answer shutting his eyes. He doesn’t want to open his mouth. But his lips part as he gasps out a furious, half sobbing, “damn the both of you.” Prussia chuckles darkly and Austria’s slowly reluctant yield is melded to a loud, open mouth sobbing when France replaces the gun barrel with two rough spit slick fingers. The tension in his both makes it burn, his leg trembles, his free hand lashes out to try and shove Prussia of him, his cock belies every protest by nearly bursting into frantic fireworks. His right leg bends- not kicking France- his barefoot sliding over the stone. It moves back and forth as he arches his back with a last flail at Prussia and a series of near unintelligible pleas halted once more by the insertion of dirty fingers into his mouth.
   Prussia looks down at him, eyes dark, heavy with lust, too far gone for witty banter as Austria bucks his hips, body opening wider the more France loosens him up. There’s a delicious degenerate feel of France adding a third finger, plunging in and out aided by Prussia’s lingering seed in his hole. Austria’s head tips back, Prussia’s fingers half choking him still until his tongue by the stimulation of pressure circles, tastes, his lips close sucking like a wanton wastrel the harder and faster France pushes into him. He doesn’t catch his breath, instead seeing secondary spots dancing once more his foot pushing up as if he could raise his hips even more frantically against France and it’s that moment when he can feel the sweat start to pool where Prussia sits just scant centimeters from his aching erection that France removes his finger and replaces them with the newly wetted gun barrel in a steady but slow pace.
   Austria screams. He screams and almost bites Prussia’s fingers and perhaps he does- he isn’t sure- because in that moment he arches his back nearly enough to lift Prussia in the air as his foot scrabbles for purchase shamelessly spreading wider as France gives him another torturous tease and twists just the slightest amount, the cold bronze rapidly heating up inside his hot passage. He can feel his arms straining, his hand going up to grab at the wrist holding him, to gain anything to hold onto as France continues in out in out twist –god please I need just- he swallows, throat convulsing around Prussia’s fingers, saliva lewdly pushed out of his mouth, salivary glands seeming to work double time, wetting fingers, tongue bathing, begging for just something to hold onto.
“Nggh hnn hnnnn.”
   Prussia laughs with a thick husky voice.
“I think he said he wants you to do it harder, Francis.” Austria can feel his eyes blurring, nearly watering at the stimulation of that gun, as friction starts to mount the gun not eased in nearly as far as he can take bit the width, the hard metal growing hot, makes him clench around it feeling every clench and pull try to draw it in more, make France move faster, stretch him wider and as terrified as he is the thing might go off he tilts his hips, lets it ease in just a small fraction further, the cold barrel making him tense til it warms, making him pant and twist. He knows he’s nipping Prussia’s fingers, knows his own are tight and tense and the more France works the more he opens up and the more it’s just. not. Enough. But he can’t say anything until Prussia suddenly moves off of him, the cool air hitting his skin almost painfully all at once. Austria nearly chokes, not having the presence of mind to sit up, France taking that pause to pull the gun barrel out and free his cock once more- hard, spitting into his hand with a carelessness that would make Austria cringe under normal circumstances.
“I should make you beg me for it you unworthy putté but Gilbert always said you were never smart enough to know what you need.”
   Austria stares straight up, bringing an arm up to shield his face from the brightness of the sky at dusk, feeling the tip of France’s cock teasing his hole, feeling it slip in so slightly, and he no longer needs the shade, his eyes falling shut with an anticipatory panting.
“Sh-shuttup…” he breathes out, sore, bloody, debauched and humiliated and a whole lot of other things that make him feel nothing but- God just do it already… He’ll chastise himself later appalled for even thinking that but the thought comes to him amidst the throb of his cock leaking precome over his stomach and the unbearable teasing of France’s cockhead to his loosened hole. Austria bites his lower lip and turns his head so that he doesn’t have to even consider looking at that stupid face of the man bringing him so close to-
   Austria finds his hands held above his head once more and once more it’s by Prussia. But Prussia doesn’t sit astride him, instead he kneels above his head, face lowered over Austria’s and it’s then that the sunset is superseded by the silhouette of Prussia’s head and the steady presence of his unchanging face. Austria blinks, his own eyes cloudy, staring at him uncertainly until the small smile- the small boyish smile flickers on and off like a switch, Prussia leaning in to murmur against his forehead with far more tenderness than the scene warrants.
“Happy Birthday, baby.” And the words make Austria’s chest thumpthump twice in answer- in anticipation and excitement- and he smiles in return just long enough for Prussia to see. He licks his lips, feeling France decide that the teasing is enough as he picks his entire lower half up by the thighs and sinks into him with one deep violent stroke. “Give it to the bitch good, Francis.”
   As hard as France slams into him, as he’s bent in half, as his arms are held hard enough to bruise by Prussia, Austria feels the breath almost rush out of him. His first instinct is to look at France- to try and lift his head and see the face of the man who’s starting to slowly rotate his hips- whose hands grip his thighs with such painful pressure it makes his head dance euphorically. Austria can feel the half squeal half groan rise from the pit of his stomach up through his chest, his throat and Prussia might tease him at times about sounding like a wounded animal but France breathes in time with a strong wind gust a stream of what one could only interpret as encouraging obscenity.
   Austria cannot see him and he tips his head back so he’s no longer staring directly into the sun but into Prussia’s face hovered above his close enough now to block out all the eye stinging light. He bites his lip feeling that determination, that pride, and somewhere that sense of betrayal to not make another sound from the other man thrusting into him.
“Don’t act like you don’t like it, you little bitch.” Prussia’s breath is surprisingly ragged and thick and Austria blinks in surprise, biting his lip harder to stifle another half throat thrumming scream. He can feel the wrinkle between his brows tighten, feel France holding his legs wide enough apart to stretch the muscles in a way that would make that gun jealous making him feel so vulnerable and open and Oh god god please I can’t…
“…too too much…: His voice is such a breathy wanton whine that it shames his face with heated color.
   Austria does his best to twist his body, feeling the hard smack against his ass as France starts moving faster and he can swear that as he moves that cock inside just feels bigger, feels harder, feels like he doesn’t even know where France ends and he begins and somehow watching Prussia still just staring at his face he turns his head to the side to be met with a sharp grab of his jaw. His hand is loosed but he holds still, forced to looks into Prussia’s eyes, barely able to speak, barely able to manage more than guttural gasps.
“I like seeing you like this,” Prussia half growls. “So let me see it, little master. Let me see you loving that cock fucking you. You love it just like it was mine I can feel it when your girly little wrists shake and your hands sweat and I can see it on your face right now trying to look all embarrassed.”
   “H-Ha… I… I can’t…” Austria can feel every muscle in his body locking at once, moving to seize, can feel everything running through him so hotly, feel the stones scraping bleeding raw skin even more sensitive and pained and feel France dripping sweat turning to cold splatters on his near feverish skin as he moves faster, harder, raises up even higher on his knees leaving Austria to wonder how the three of them don’t collide in a universe shaping explosion.
“Yeah, keep looking at me, that’s a good little bitch. You love that cock ripping you up, don’t you? You don’t care who gives it to you, you dirty little slut. You’ll let anyone just waltz right in here and fucking. Give. It. To. You.” It seems that France fucks him particularly hard when Prussia speaks- or it could be entirely in his head- but Austria can feel his legs tremble, feel blood rushing from them, feel tingling and aching, trying to draw them together, his cock hard, heavy, hurting between his legs far more desperately than any other piece of him.
   If they wanted to annex Tirol this is exactly how- he almost thinks it might revolt, pained and flushed dark red with blood even as the rest of him beats with his hyper pumping heart Austria whines pathetically as France slows down like a stopped moment in time so unbearably slowly. It’s now he realizes that only one of his arms is still trapped, one hand moving down, and he’s furious with the indignity but he’s so close to-
“Nnnnn-“ The high pitched half spasmed gasp escapes him when Prussia’s locks that wrist to the ground again, slamming down violently, looking near orgasmic himself as bone hits earth and France half pants half chuckles, stopping entirely, completely sheathed inside of him just letting that cock pulse, throb, feeling France inside him like a second heartbeat expand and contract and he’s so close to begging for more.
   Austria can feel the needy pinpricks near his eyes, frustrated and worn down and he hears Prussia in his ear ordering him to beg for it, beg to be taken again, beg to be fucked on his knees like an animal- like the bitch he is, Prussia says. And as much as he hates it, the words make him squirm, make his body burn hotter and he dares a look at France wondering if there’s any way to test that control. And France smirks at him giving the smallest, most teasing press and wriggle.
“You don’t want to test me, little putté, I could go all night.” Austria really thinks that he believes the statement and he can feel France’s warm exhalations hovering over his cock, making him draw up even more, so close so close to
“Please…” He almost doesn’t believe that the voice is his but his vocal cords are tight, the entreaty is strained and France just moves again another slithering swivel of his hips making Austria hiss and half scream at him. “Please, god, please take me please-“
   “Please what,” Prussia cajoles and Austria knows exactly what he wants to hear and as much as he hates saying it to France of all people, he looks back once more to Prussia with hazy, needy eyes as if he might spare him the indignity of such a thing. Prussia just licks his lips and looks back at him unmercifully aroused waiting for him to say it. Austria knows that Prussia can come sometimes just from the words alone and it hardly helps his mortification. He looks back down at France in earnest desirous self-loathing and doesn’t even have the strength to feign the barest hint of spite.
“P-please sir… please conquer me… take all of me… I need…” ‘Oh you beg like such a good little bitch…’ Whether he only hears Prussia in his head or whether the words are spoken out loud Austria isn’t sure but they bring him to dizzying new levels of arousal that wash over any embarrassment and toss it out.
   “God please Frankreich,” he chokes out unable to look France in the eyes. “I need it. On my knees… I need your sword slicing through me… I need you to take all of me, my borders, my people, lay my land to waste... take it... burn it... just... anything… God I’ll do anything just to feel you-“ If Prussia reacted with lust to similarly spoken words in the past, France reacts with madness. Austria sees when he dares glimpse from the corner of his eyes over the dirtied lenses how brightly blue eyes blaze and he feels Prussia release him, feels France pull out and just as quickly hands shove him over, his body bruised, battered and aching as he rolls to his side, rolls to his stomach starting to push up to stand, reaching just the barest start on his hands and knees looking at Prussia when France, one hand on his hip the other fisting in his hair impales- and there really is no more suitable word for the violent thrust balls deep back onto that cock- him with a quick snap of his hips.
   “God,” Austria gasps, hands almost falling out from under him as his body is rocked and ridden deep and fast, fingers straining for purchase. Austria’s lips are parted, a quick beat of “ah ah ah” forced from his mouth with every thrust. France releases his grip on his scalp, Austria’s head dropping down almost immediately with the effort of keep his upper body from hitting the ground and then without missing a single punishing pound, grabs his hips with both hands now, hard enough to push down on bone as he rides him even harder. Austria can feel the breath being fucked out of him barely able to breathe, sucking in air every chance he can manage as France yanks him backwards by the hips onto that hard thick pole like he’s a half broken pleasure doll just waiting to be come into.
   Austria can feel the glasses slipping on his face as he watches the ground beneath him move back and forth with dizzying quickness. He hears the rush of wind again blowing past him but it’s then he realizes that it’s Prussia whispering into his ear from the side, flat of the knife blade pressed to his throat over the fading white blood stained scars.
“You should see that fucking ass of yours, schlampe. Fuck you should see that fat ass shake when he sticks it in you. You squeal like such a good bitch, you submit so well that why you get invaded so fucking much. You and that whore queen of yours spread for anything with a cock.” Austria swallows, feeling the hard edge of the blade even blunted pressing against his throat even as still as he tries to keep his head. It’s impossible. With France rutting inside him he couldn’t hold still if he tried and with his sensitive cock slapping his stomach he doesn’t have it in him to protest Prussia’s filthy words.
   France takes another breath, deep, exultant exhalation where Austria cannot, spits in his hand from what he can hear, and slams into him again going just those few slick fractions deeper making Austria try and spread his legs further apart, open up as much as his body can possibly allow and Prussia draws the knife down to his chest. He feels the warmth of his own blood as it wells to the surface from his collarbone to his nipple, as wildly as France is throwing him every thrust makes a jagged cut until his chest is a roadmap of red rivers each one carved with a pain pleasure scream ripped from his throat. Austria just shuts his eyes with blind disorientation focusing on the sounds of Prussia’s breathing, on the feeling of fullness as France moves, deeply, slowing, grabbing him so hard he’s not sure he can take it, that hot come pushing out inside of his body, pushed in and out until it’s fucked out of him and runs down the insides of his thighs with a disgusting-
   “Ha ah ah…” Austria feels the point of the knife again dotting his skin each thrust giving a little stick that makes his cock jump in response as the ground is rained red and white. He feels France pull out of him with a sigh and a hard smack to his ass that nearly makes him drives himself against the knife point to the hilt except it’s somehow gone and Prussia is somehow gone as well. Austria swallows hard and almost moves, turning his head with an ecstatic gasp about to just take his cock as last and- and Prussia is already behind him fumbling with one hand to extract his prick from the rumpled pants with a curse and an order to hold it right fucking there. Austria looks up, glasses half askew just in time for France to push them back onto his face with a wicked smile, sitting right in front of him, legs lazily spread not even needing to order, just watching as Austria lowers his head to start licking him clean with a soft breath.
   Prussia brings that knife back, brings the flat of the blade to Austria’s sensitive aching cockhead just in time to slowly ease into him with painstaking precision balancing that deep descent with the stimulation to his swollen glans. Austria can feel his blood throbbing out of him madly as every line tries to close in but all of that pales to the rubbing of that cold steel over his cock and he pants, mouth open, knowing he’s crudely half drooling into France’s lap, forced to bow his head to slurp back salty come mixed with spit and- And Austria mewls, twists into that blade as Prussia pulses inside of him so deeply he can almost believe that boast of five meters. God you’re so big... so deep I don’t know how you... I don’t know why I thought Francis was bigger I don’t know anything I don’t... God God just do it harder... One balled up hand bangs hard and violently on the ground below faster as Austria rocks against the blade, against Prussia, the side just nicking delicate flesh.
   And it’s that press, that small shallow slip down the shaft that makes him stop, makes him shove himself back onto Prussia’s cock as hard as he can and stop every bit of movement, coming and coming all over the knife, the ground, his essence seeping into the dirt bleeding out from every part of him as he screams loud enough he’s sure to rebound off the castle walls and off into the distance just as he had when Prussia first took him centuries ago and even that cheer just spurs him to scream his throat to hoarseness drowning out anything else.
“Fuck…” he hears Prussia swear behind him, hears the knife thump, his back covered by Prussia hunching over, short, stabbing fucking with a litany of “fuck fuck fuck” fingers bruising, loud slapping louder than his own heavy breathing, louder than anything making him swear Prussia’s going to execute him by impalement until he feels him slow, feels that full body shudder strong muscular thighs pressed to the back of his own as he add his own come to Austria’s full battered hole.
   Austria shivers again, goose flesh pinpricking all over his skin as he ducks his head and swipes his tongue over the soft sticky hairs at the base of France’s softening cock. He lets his eyes close briefly, savoring the feel of those last few almost tender pushes as even more semen spills out of him, rushing down legs, out his ass and he squirms and squeezes muscles back hearing Prussia groan and mutter “God Almighty” before slowly, agonizingly pulling out. Austria can feel his legs start to shake anew, can feel fatigue setting in as he collapses resting his head on France’s thigh almost too tired to care at how ridiculous he must look.
   Austria takes a deep breath and yawns while the last of his wounds heal, not even bothering to look up as Prussia sits down hard next to him breathing heavily. He feels hands, he isn’t sure whose that stroke his hair, the nape of his neck once more like a dog but it only makes him sink more deeply into a half euphoric haze, breaths coming deeper as he half bleeds on the ground and France’s pants both. Austria can hear them both talking, having no idea or care who or what about. He only yawns again and says before passing out in a voice too sleepy to properly convey the haughtiness,
“Tell your damn Prince and your King I don’t care how many castles you take one of you is going to clean me up and carry me to bed.”
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