Congratulations (England, Prussia) - Pt 1
Title: Congratulations
Warnings: Talking about sex, slightly nasty England
Summary: After a significant military victory, Prussia goes to see England
Characters: England, Prussia
Year: 1757
Pt 2
A symptom of my continued boner for the Seven Years' War.
When Prussia charged uninvited into England’s bedroom, covered with dirt and blood, England thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
Prussia gave him a breathless, nasty grin. “You heard, then.”
Before he even really knew himself what he was doing, England had pinned him against the closed door, smiling savagely, with half a hard-on already. “I heard,” he whispered.
Prussia’s grin turned predatory. “And you like it,” he said.
“And I like it,” breathed England.
Prussia, with a leer, ground up against him. “You like it a lot,” he asserted, with something like glee.
“I like it a lot,” England growled, and kissed him hard. He felt Prussia exhale a little shakily against him, and then-a second in advance-a surge of muscle, and he was on his back on the bed. He exhaled, huskily. “God,” he said, low. “Your army…”
“My army,” Prussia growled back, grinding his own hard-on against England’s hip. “Does it get you hot?” he breathed.
“It gets me hot,” England hissed back, “and it makes me want to fuck you until you scream.”
Prussia laughed. “You think you’re fucking me? What are you, nuts?”
In a second, England had them flipped over, pinning Prussia’s wrists down with one hand, the other harsh in his hair. “Damn right, I’m fucking you,” he said. He saw the way Prussia’s eyes went unfocused, and laughed. “You may be a growing power on the Continent, but I have standing armies in places you’ve never even heard of. Come back in a few hundred years, and maybe I’ll let you do the fucking.”
Prussia’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he fought England’s weight, trying to get an arm free. He was strong-he was very strong. But England was stronger. “What if I don’t consent to this?” he asked.
England laughed again, and it was meaner. “You’ll consent by the time I’m done with you.”
Prussia’s expression changed to one of something like fear. “But I did good for you-I did real good. You can’t-“
England looked down at him for a second. Then he sighed, and let him up. “You’re right,” he said. “It would hardly be an appropriate way to congratulate you. Tell me what you want.”
Prussia sat up, looking away. “If I let you fuck me,” he said, slowly, “can I fuck you after?”
England shrugged. “Seems only fair.”
Prussia turned, eyes assessing. “…ok,” he said, finally. “But you’ve gotta do it from behind, and it’s gotta be standing.”
Strange request. But, “As you like.” Hardly one he’d turn down.
“And,” whispered Prussia, eyes going vague again, “it’s gotta be hard.”
“Again, I can easily-“ and he grabbed a handful of Prussia’s hair. The small noise Prussia made was closer to a moan than anything else. “-easily oblige.” England let go, and stood. Prussia stayed where he was. “Well?” he asked. Slowly, slowly Prussia stood.
NOTES
*In the Battle of Rossbach, Prussia creamed France. And speaking of creaming, England is ALL OVER that.
Warnings: Talking about sex, slightly nasty England
Summary: After a significant military victory, Prussia goes to see England
Characters: England, Prussia
Year: 1757
Pt 2
A symptom of my continued boner for the Seven Years' War.
When Prussia charged uninvited into England’s bedroom, covered with dirt and blood, England thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
Prussia gave him a breathless, nasty grin. “You heard, then.”
Before he even really knew himself what he was doing, England had pinned him against the closed door, smiling savagely, with half a hard-on already. “I heard,” he whispered.
Prussia’s grin turned predatory. “And you like it,” he said.
“And I like it,” breathed England.
Prussia, with a leer, ground up against him. “You like it a lot,” he asserted, with something like glee.
“I like it a lot,” England growled, and kissed him hard. He felt Prussia exhale a little shakily against him, and then-a second in advance-a surge of muscle, and he was on his back on the bed. He exhaled, huskily. “God,” he said, low. “Your army…”
“My army,” Prussia growled back, grinding his own hard-on against England’s hip. “Does it get you hot?” he breathed.
“It gets me hot,” England hissed back, “and it makes me want to fuck you until you scream.”
Prussia laughed. “You think you’re fucking me? What are you, nuts?”
In a second, England had them flipped over, pinning Prussia’s wrists down with one hand, the other harsh in his hair. “Damn right, I’m fucking you,” he said. He saw the way Prussia’s eyes went unfocused, and laughed. “You may be a growing power on the Continent, but I have standing armies in places you’ve never even heard of. Come back in a few hundred years, and maybe I’ll let you do the fucking.”
Prussia’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he fought England’s weight, trying to get an arm free. He was strong-he was very strong. But England was stronger. “What if I don’t consent to this?” he asked.
England laughed again, and it was meaner. “You’ll consent by the time I’m done with you.”
Prussia’s expression changed to one of something like fear. “But I did good for you-I did real good. You can’t-“
England looked down at him for a second. Then he sighed, and let him up. “You’re right,” he said. “It would hardly be an appropriate way to congratulate you. Tell me what you want.”
Prussia sat up, looking away. “If I let you fuck me,” he said, slowly, “can I fuck you after?”
England shrugged. “Seems only fair.”
Prussia turned, eyes assessing. “…ok,” he said, finally. “But you’ve gotta do it from behind, and it’s gotta be standing.”
Strange request. But, “As you like.” Hardly one he’d turn down.
“And,” whispered Prussia, eyes going vague again, “it’s gotta be hard.”
“Again, I can easily-“ and he grabbed a handful of Prussia’s hair. The small noise Prussia made was closer to a moan than anything else. “-easily oblige.” England let go, and stood. Prussia stayed where he was. “Well?” he asked. Slowly, slowly Prussia stood.
NOTES
*In the Battle of Rossbach, Prussia creamed France. And speaking of creaming, England is ALL OVER that.