Notes: Um, okay. This wound up a lot more on the angsty side, but nevermind. Also, a brief disclaimer: this is not meant to be shota, and Germany is in his late teens at youngest. However, there's still a significant age difference, so if that squicks you, you might wanna give this one a miss. Also, some addition fem!Austria/male!Hungary snuck in there, so, uh, sorry.
---
He is young. So very young.
“Austria,” he moans, desperately trying to grab onto her hips as she rides him hard, rolling her hips back to let as much of his cock slide in as she can possibly take.
“Stop talking,” she says brusquely, running a hand through his hair. “You'll kill the mood.”
He nods, face red, avoiding her eye. His hands dig into the sheets.
“You can touch me if you want,” she tells him. “If you damage me, it'll cost less than if you damage those.”
He seems confused. He wears a common soldiers' uniform, all rough and sturdy fabrics; he's not used to her silks and velvets. She tried asking Prussia once, why Germany dressed like that, but he'd just shrugged and snorted. “That's West for ya. Always so fuckin' humble. If it was the awesome me representing this new thing...” and then it all degenerated into some drunken blather rather abusing the word 'awesome'. One day, she is going to buy that man a thesaurus.
Where was she again?
His hands glide gracefully by her sides, tracing patterns over her, and she shivers slightly before rolling her eyes. “Not like that,” she says, placing her hands over his and pressing them into her. “Harder. Leave bruises, my dear.”
He seems skeptical, but ever the good soldier he obeys, digs those strong fingers into her hips, red blooming around them. She winces. “Good boy.”
His nails come out, scratching at her, and she moans as she sinks onto his cock again.
“Very good,” she murmurs, half to herself. She runs her own hands down Germany's fine chest. The boy is barely undressed; his shirt buttoned, his pants unzipped and that is all. Her own silk robe is long since discarded; she is completely naked, as she should be. Germany's chest has all the evidence of someone who has been training since birth to fight; wicked, powerful muscles that could destroy any human in a heartbeat (who knows what they'll actually do for him, though). Scars run all over him; scars she's ashamed to say she doesn't fully know where they all came from, but she sure as hell knows more than he does.
“Wait,” he says, confused (again) by her gentle touches. “I thought we were meant to–?”
She smiles. “It's different for me, dear.” She won't give a further explanation. He doesn't ask her for one. For that, she could kiss him and so she does.
“Mn–!” It's adorable how surprised he is by it all, really. He is so young. She shivers a little.
“Shh,” she whispers against his lips, caressing his cheek. He does so, and he opens his mouth to let her kiss him further, and tries his best to return it. Always the obedient soldier...
But who is he fighting f–
Shut up. This isn't the time.
Germany looks her in the eye when she leaves his mouth. Despite everything – despite Prussia's demands, despite her own manipulations, despite the scars all over his body – he still has the eyes of a child, open and trusting. Innocent.
She pulls back.
“Austria–”
“Shh. What did I tell you about talking?” Her hands are still on his chest, and gently she flicks one of his nipples. It hardens. “Oh. Did you enjoy that?”
He blushes, avoids her eye. “Sorry.”
She wants to laugh. “Don't worry. It's perfectly normal. Hungary adores it, for one.”
He blushes further when she mentions her husband – oh, she hopes he won't become oh-so-preoccupied with the sexual politics here, as his brother always used to. She hopes he doesn't think he loves her or some such mad thing (he can do better, he deserves better).
“Austria,” he gasps again, and she leans down applying kisses and bites and bruises. With how red she makes him, you can hardly see the scars.
“Austria,” he sounds insistent now, and she hushes him again. There's a gasp, a buck and a pause before she realises what is happening.
Silkworms [1/2]
---
He is young. So very young.
“Austria,” he moans, desperately trying to grab onto her hips as she rides him hard, rolling her hips back to let as much of his cock slide in as she can possibly take.
“Stop talking,” she says brusquely, running a hand through his hair. “You'll kill the mood.”
He nods, face red, avoiding her eye. His hands dig into the sheets.
“You can touch me if you want,” she tells him. “If you damage me, it'll cost less than if you damage those.”
He seems confused. He wears a common soldiers' uniform, all rough and sturdy fabrics; he's not used to her silks and velvets. She tried asking Prussia once, why Germany dressed like that, but he'd just shrugged and snorted. “That's West for ya. Always so fuckin' humble. If it was the awesome me representing this new thing...” and then it all degenerated into some drunken blather rather abusing the word 'awesome'. One day, she is going to buy that man a thesaurus.
Where was she again?
His hands glide gracefully by her sides, tracing patterns over her, and she shivers slightly before rolling her eyes. “Not like that,” she says, placing her hands over his and pressing them into her. “Harder. Leave bruises, my dear.”
He seems skeptical, but ever the good soldier he obeys, digs those strong fingers into her hips, red blooming around them. She winces. “Good boy.”
His nails come out, scratching at her, and she moans as she sinks onto his cock again.
“Very good,” she murmurs, half to herself. She runs her own hands down Germany's fine chest. The boy is barely undressed; his shirt buttoned, his pants unzipped and that is all. Her own silk robe is long since discarded; she is completely naked, as she should be. Germany's chest has all the evidence of someone who has been training since birth to fight; wicked, powerful muscles that could destroy any human in a heartbeat (who knows what they'll actually do for him, though). Scars run all over him; scars she's ashamed to say she doesn't fully know where they all came from, but she sure as hell knows more than he does.
“Wait,” he says, confused (again) by her gentle touches. “I thought we were meant to–?”
She smiles. “It's different for me, dear.” She won't give a further explanation. He doesn't ask her for one. For that, she could kiss him and so she does.
“Mn–!” It's adorable how surprised he is by it all, really. He is so young. She shivers a little.
“Shh,” she whispers against his lips, caressing his cheek. He does so, and he opens his mouth to let her kiss him further, and tries his best to return it. Always the obedient soldier...
But who is he fighting f–
Shut up. This isn't the time.
Germany looks her in the eye when she leaves his mouth. Despite everything – despite Prussia's demands, despite her own manipulations, despite the scars all over his body – he still has the eyes of a child, open and trusting. Innocent.
She pulls back.
“Austria–”
“Shh. What did I tell you about talking?” Her hands are still on his chest, and gently she flicks one of his nipples. It hardens. “Oh. Did you enjoy that?”
He blushes, avoids her eye. “Sorry.”
She wants to laugh. “Don't worry. It's perfectly normal. Hungary adores it, for one.”
He blushes further when she mentions her husband – oh, she hopes he won't become oh-so-preoccupied with the sexual politics here, as his brother always used to. She hopes he doesn't think he loves her or some such mad thing (he can do better, he deserves better).
“Austria,” he gasps again, and she leans down applying kisses and bites and bruises. With how red she makes him, you can hardly see the scars.
“Austria,” he sounds insistent now, and she hushes him again. There's a gasp, a buck and a pause before she realises what is happening.
She blinks. “Oh.”