AusPru fic
There is beauty behind everything; there is sweet seduction behind simple gestures, behind simple buildings and behind simply living. Roderich always believed this, and even more so now as he was walking down the streets of Vienna. He could feel beauty everywhere, feel his history, his soul throb and pulse with notes of past intellects of music. Every step, and every area meant something, and has a soul of such beauty and sweetness that Roderich could weep from love, seduced to tears by the persons who gave him such musical emotion.
He sighed, though not in a serene sense, no, but more in a saddened, even remorseful sense. He usually loved walking these streets, but - and here, if one was looking at the brunette with the fine clothes could see a twitch of annoyance right between perfect brows - he was with a barbarian.
A loud barbarian, if there was any other.
“Oh my fucking God, it’s so boring here!”
Roderich, never being a man of violence (really, he wasn’t - he’d much rather hear a sweet concerto by Berlioz than pull triggers and such), was beginning to feel the slight urge in his left hand to curl it into a fist and ram it right into his - ahem - family member’s face. Most preferably on that smirk that was now down turned into a disgusting scowl, filled with discontent and, as the barbarian he must call Gilbert kept exclaiming, “boredom”.
“Really, must you proclaim everything?” the Austrian asked, turning to the albino in a sense that Gilbert could only describe as “ruffling your feathers”, it was so pompously extravagant. “Honestly, I wonder if you had to use the facilities, would you yell that out as well.”
“I would, and yeah, now that you mention, I really do gotta piss,” Gilbert saying, eyeing a restaurant in hopes of getting in just to use the bathroom. “And yeah, I have to “proclaim it” because it really is boring here. It’s not like I’m here drinking beer with you either, Österreich. We’re just wandering around.”
“That’s the beauty of it!”
“The beauty of it is that it’s fuckin’ boring, and I’m getting cold. Can we go home, I hate cold.”
With a scoff and a quick twist of his foot - Gilbert snorted, what a fucking puss - the brunette was already walking down the street, back to the direction of home. Gilbert stayed behind a couple of steps, really just because he liked the way Austria’s ass looked when he was angry. He thought it looked inviting. Plus, those pants did not help Austria a lot.
--
Prussia didn’t find beauty in a lot of things - with the countless wars he had went though, he could only find beauty - romance, even - in anger, blood, and the excitement of battle. He was blood thirsty, and even now as a lesser being with a part of him possibly everywhere (sometimes he forgot where his own empire was once but then he’d hit a certain part of Germany, Poland, wherever and there’d be that oh yeah, here I am. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something), he still was in a sense. He loved starting absurd arguments simply because he could get angry, could see someone else angry, and that - the way eyes can flash with murderous rage, the way lips can move so sharply, the way the body is taut and ready to attack - that was beauty. That was romance; that was Gilbert’s idea of splendor.
Of course, though, not everyone had the same views, and one of them was the Austrian currently yelling at him for spilling, oh my God, Gilbert, you fucking ass, you spilled tea all over the Schimmel, I will murder you. But even though Gilbert knew he was in trouble (he spilt beer all over the Steinway once, and well, it ended with West having to pay a very angry Austrian expenses, and to pay an almost comically large doctor’s bill for Prussia), he couldn’t exactly bring himself to care, since he was too busy just looking at Roderich yell.
If he looked that good on the battlefield, he would have taken him more often. His eyes were murderous, looking at Gilbert in hopes that his glare would become a dagger and repeatedly stab the platinum blonde in the eye; his lips were thin, pulling that wondrous mole a little higher, spitting obscenities and curses; and his teeth were bared, bared, holy shit. Gilbert could feel every insult, every sharp look, everything go straight to his groin.
Which, in turn, was right on Roderich’s hip, as he pushed the Austrian to the wall, and began to devour the lips that seconds before was calling him a “incorrigible, and excuse me since I used to have a wife, cunt.” He could feel the other nation’s body stiffen, and in an attempt to make Gilbert stop, punch him in the gut. It was a really good punch, if Gilbert could say so himself, and it left him a bit winded - he hadn’t been punched in all earnest since the Soviet Union, and it was Austria, so bit of a surprise - but not so much that Gilbert had to move away. If anything, after coughing a bit, he pressed his hip harder onto Austria’s, making the man blush and glare at him.
“I despise you,” it was awfully creepy how calm Roderich said that, but all Gilbert could do was shudder since that’s how angry the nation was.
“Tell me more,” he hissed, biting Roderich’s neck, licking the pulse that was quickening in lust and precious, precious fury.
Prussia hissed when Austria ran his fingers through his shortly cropped hair, and pulled hard at the roots, forcing him to reveal his neck. He was keening, God, yes, when Roderich began on his neck, making red, flourishing marks on pale, pasty skin, biting hard enough to make bruises the next day and, yes, Gilbert wanted bruises. He let the Austrian continue his attack on his neck, doing nothing but gripping his shoulders through a thin blouse (sure, he had argued it was a regular shirt but, c’mon, it’s practically see-through; it’s a fucking blouse), pushing his hips onto Roderich’s, hoping he would hurry the fuck up, and do something else.
He did. Flipping them around, Austria pushed Gilbert to the wall, none too lightly, and pulled the shirt the albino was wearing over his head and onto the floor. Pinching a light nipple, and wrenching it between his fingers, Prussia was beginning to get weak in the knees, everything was so fucking rough. Roderich began to bite all along Gilbert’s chest, making sure to repeatedly attack the same areas, mark them, make them ugly colours, colours that Prussia loved to see, thought of them as beautiful. Scratching Gilbert’s sides to leave rough lines, and when he had the time, he continued to insult the older nation as well.
“You’re always there to be such a barbaric ass, and I swear,” and here, there was a sharp bite to one nipple, a flick of a tongue so light Gilbert tried to push his chest onto Austria’s mouth, but was held down sternly, “Sometimes, I just want to punch you. You’re useless,” another bite, another staggered pair of lines made by nails, “honestly. Unbelievable.”
Gilbert was straining against his pants. His cock was pushing at the zipper, well enough staining his underwear and he just wanted Austria to get on with it. If he could just fuck him, get himself off, he would let Austria continue to bitch about his precious piano, but he wouldn’t care - at least he came. But Austria kept biting, and scratching, pulling and making bruise after bruise, making Prussia’s cock twitch and that feeling low in his stomach churn. Then, and here he almost cried in happiness, Austria began to unbuckle his pants, pull down the zipper, letting his cock get a little freedom. The tip was poking out his boxers, and Prussia let out a slight moan when the cool air touched his feverish skin. Austria reached down, and pushed down the Prussian’s pants, just enough so he could reach and pull out his dick, grabbing the base and slowly stroking out.
“Fuck,” Gilbert hissed, pressing his hips onto Austria’s hand, those beautifully smooth hands, feeling a shudder bolt down his spine. He licked his lips, looking at Austria right in the eye, “C’mon, are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“No.”
What?
Gilbert was roughly turned around, his arm twisted behind him, and he had to think, where did this come from? He was led to the piano he had ruined and pushed onto the bench, on his back. His legs were then lifted, his pants pulled off and thrown off to the side (but not before Roderich could reach into the side pocket where he knew Gilbert always kept a condom and a small one use pack of lube). He looked at Roderich, seeing a nation he never really knew - and someone he wanted to see more of. The Austrian’s face was set, licking his lips as he lifted Gilbert’s legs higher, and over his shoulders. Gilbert tried to pull himself up a little, but he was pushed down on the bench, with a tut and a sigh from the other man.
“Honestly, you want to ruin my things, you have to pay the consequences,” Oh God, Roderich, why can’t you be like this more often? “Now shut up, stay down and be my bitch.”
He watched as Roderich took off his own pants, and underwear, as hard as Gilbert now. Tearing the condom open with his teeth, putting it on as meticulously as he played the piano, and opening the lube, Gilbert was already almost on the verge of coming. He wanted it, his body was yearning for it - Austria looked so beautiful; his hair mussed, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, and eyes as lust filled as Gilbert’s own. Gilbert yelled as he felt a finger slip into him, cold from the lube, and another join. Roderich wasted no time finger fucking him like some whore, pushing in the two fingers, now joined by a third, roughly and curling his fingers before pulling out. Gilbert was panting, his hips rolling, trying to gain more. Then, the fingers were gone, and replaced by Austria’s cock, slowly going into him.
It was torture, how slow he was going, and Gilbert was trying to push down, try to get it all at once but Austria held his hips, making sure to torture him. But once inside of Gilbert, Austria began to move his hips roughly, opening the albino’s thighs more, trying to drive in deeper. He watched as Prussia moved his hips, making a fast paced rhythm with him, trying to get as much as the Austrian inside of him as he can. Grabbing behind Gilbert’s knees, and flinging the albino’s legs off his shoulders, and pushing them to Gilbert’s chest to get a better leverage (and a better look at Prussia’s ass), Roderich didn’t waste a lot of time in increasing his rhythm, ramming into Prussia.
“Fuck, God, fuck, yes,” was the only stream of constant words Roderich could hear between Prussia’s moans and wordless dribble of praise, which was getting worse as Austria continued to fuck him. Grabbing behind his knees, Prussia lifted his hips just a little higher, hoping to, yes, oh GOD. Everything left his mind beyond what Austria was hitting, hitting so perfectly, his moans and screams mingling with Austria’s own.
Grabbing Gilbert’s cock and pumping him harshly, Austria began to feel his stomach coil. He watched as Gilbert writhe, pale skin alabaster smooth with sweat, and leaning over to bite a particularly nasty coloured mark, he felt Gilbert release all over his hand. Grabbing the paler mans hips and rocking into him a few more times, he felt himself come, his body rigid with completion. Falling onto Prussia, boneless and satisfied, Austria was beginning to figure what he had done.
No, not so much the sex, more like the bench he had ruined.
Pushing Prussia’s face into the bench, slipping out of him, and saying, “You owe me a lot of money,” Austria felt a bit better about today, despite his whole serenity being a bit warped.
Then again, there was nothing more beautiful than Prussia’s orgasm face.
Or a couple extra Euros in his pocket for damages to his piano.
He sighed, though not in a serene sense, no, but more in a saddened, even remorseful sense. He usually loved walking these streets, but - and here, if one was looking at the brunette with the fine clothes could see a twitch of annoyance right between perfect brows - he was with a barbarian.
A loud barbarian, if there was any other.
“Oh my fucking God, it’s so boring here!”
Roderich, never being a man of violence (really, he wasn’t - he’d much rather hear a sweet concerto by Berlioz than pull triggers and such), was beginning to feel the slight urge in his left hand to curl it into a fist and ram it right into his - ahem - family member’s face. Most preferably on that smirk that was now down turned into a disgusting scowl, filled with discontent and, as the barbarian he must call Gilbert kept exclaiming, “boredom”.
“Really, must you proclaim everything?” the Austrian asked, turning to the albino in a sense that Gilbert could only describe as “ruffling your feathers”, it was so pompously extravagant. “Honestly, I wonder if you had to use the facilities, would you yell that out as well.”
“I would, and yeah, now that you mention, I really do gotta piss,” Gilbert saying, eyeing a restaurant in hopes of getting in just to use the bathroom. “And yeah, I have to “proclaim it” because it really is boring here. It’s not like I’m here drinking beer with you either, Österreich. We’re just wandering around.”
“That’s the beauty of it!”
“The beauty of it is that it’s fuckin’ boring, and I’m getting cold. Can we go home, I hate cold.”
With a scoff and a quick twist of his foot - Gilbert snorted, what a fucking puss - the brunette was already walking down the street, back to the direction of home. Gilbert stayed behind a couple of steps, really just because he liked the way Austria’s ass looked when he was angry. He thought it looked inviting. Plus, those pants did not help Austria a lot.
--
Prussia didn’t find beauty in a lot of things - with the countless wars he had went though, he could only find beauty - romance, even - in anger, blood, and the excitement of battle. He was blood thirsty, and even now as a lesser being with a part of him possibly everywhere (sometimes he forgot where his own empire was once but then he’d hit a certain part of Germany, Poland, wherever and there’d be that oh yeah, here I am. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something), he still was in a sense. He loved starting absurd arguments simply because he could get angry, could see someone else angry, and that - the way eyes can flash with murderous rage, the way lips can move so sharply, the way the body is taut and ready to attack - that was beauty. That was romance; that was Gilbert’s idea of splendor.
Of course, though, not everyone had the same views, and one of them was the Austrian currently yelling at him for spilling, oh my God, Gilbert, you fucking ass, you spilled tea all over the Schimmel, I will murder you. But even though Gilbert knew he was in trouble (he spilt beer all over the Steinway once, and well, it ended with West having to pay a very angry Austrian expenses, and to pay an almost comically large doctor’s bill for Prussia), he couldn’t exactly bring himself to care, since he was too busy just looking at Roderich yell.
If he looked that good on the battlefield, he would have taken him more often. His eyes were murderous, looking at Gilbert in hopes that his glare would become a dagger and repeatedly stab the platinum blonde in the eye; his lips were thin, pulling that wondrous mole a little higher, spitting obscenities and curses; and his teeth were bared, bared, holy shit. Gilbert could feel every insult, every sharp look, everything go straight to his groin.
Which, in turn, was right on Roderich’s hip, as he pushed the Austrian to the wall, and began to devour the lips that seconds before was calling him a “incorrigible, and excuse me since I used to have a wife, cunt.” He could feel the other nation’s body stiffen, and in an attempt to make Gilbert stop, punch him in the gut. It was a really good punch, if Gilbert could say so himself, and it left him a bit winded - he hadn’t been punched in all earnest since the Soviet Union, and it was Austria, so bit of a surprise - but not so much that Gilbert had to move away. If anything, after coughing a bit, he pressed his hip harder onto Austria’s, making the man blush and glare at him.
“I despise you,” it was awfully creepy how calm Roderich said that, but all Gilbert could do was shudder since that’s how angry the nation was.
“Tell me more,” he hissed, biting Roderich’s neck, licking the pulse that was quickening in lust and precious, precious fury.
Prussia hissed when Austria ran his fingers through his shortly cropped hair, and pulled hard at the roots, forcing him to reveal his neck. He was keening, God, yes, when Roderich began on his neck, making red, flourishing marks on pale, pasty skin, biting hard enough to make bruises the next day and, yes, Gilbert wanted bruises. He let the Austrian continue his attack on his neck, doing nothing but gripping his shoulders through a thin blouse (sure, he had argued it was a regular shirt but, c’mon, it’s practically see-through; it’s a fucking blouse), pushing his hips onto Roderich’s, hoping he would hurry the fuck up, and do something else.
He did. Flipping them around, Austria pushed Gilbert to the wall, none too lightly, and pulled the shirt the albino was wearing over his head and onto the floor. Pinching a light nipple, and wrenching it between his fingers, Prussia was beginning to get weak in the knees, everything was so fucking rough. Roderich began to bite all along Gilbert’s chest, making sure to repeatedly attack the same areas, mark them, make them ugly colours, colours that Prussia loved to see, thought of them as beautiful. Scratching Gilbert’s sides to leave rough lines, and when he had the time, he continued to insult the older nation as well.
“You’re always there to be such a barbaric ass, and I swear,” and here, there was a sharp bite to one nipple, a flick of a tongue so light Gilbert tried to push his chest onto Austria’s mouth, but was held down sternly, “Sometimes, I just want to punch you. You’re useless,” another bite, another staggered pair of lines made by nails, “honestly. Unbelievable.”
Gilbert was straining against his pants. His cock was pushing at the zipper, well enough staining his underwear and he just wanted Austria to get on with it. If he could just fuck him, get himself off, he would let Austria continue to bitch about his precious piano, but he wouldn’t care - at least he came. But Austria kept biting, and scratching, pulling and making bruise after bruise, making Prussia’s cock twitch and that feeling low in his stomach churn. Then, and here he almost cried in happiness, Austria began to unbuckle his pants, pull down the zipper, letting his cock get a little freedom. The tip was poking out his boxers, and Prussia let out a slight moan when the cool air touched his feverish skin. Austria reached down, and pushed down the Prussian’s pants, just enough so he could reach and pull out his dick, grabbing the base and slowly stroking out.
“Fuck,” Gilbert hissed, pressing his hips onto Austria’s hand, those beautifully smooth hands, feeling a shudder bolt down his spine. He licked his lips, looking at Austria right in the eye, “C’mon, are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“No.”
What?
Gilbert was roughly turned around, his arm twisted behind him, and he had to think, where did this come from? He was led to the piano he had ruined and pushed onto the bench, on his back. His legs were then lifted, his pants pulled off and thrown off to the side (but not before Roderich could reach into the side pocket where he knew Gilbert always kept a condom and a small one use pack of lube). He looked at Roderich, seeing a nation he never really knew - and someone he wanted to see more of. The Austrian’s face was set, licking his lips as he lifted Gilbert’s legs higher, and over his shoulders. Gilbert tried to pull himself up a little, but he was pushed down on the bench, with a tut and a sigh from the other man.
“Honestly, you want to ruin my things, you have to pay the consequences,” Oh God, Roderich, why can’t you be like this more often? “Now shut up, stay down and be my bitch.”
He watched as Roderich took off his own pants, and underwear, as hard as Gilbert now. Tearing the condom open with his teeth, putting it on as meticulously as he played the piano, and opening the lube, Gilbert was already almost on the verge of coming. He wanted it, his body was yearning for it - Austria looked so beautiful; his hair mussed, a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, and eyes as lust filled as Gilbert’s own. Gilbert yelled as he felt a finger slip into him, cold from the lube, and another join. Roderich wasted no time finger fucking him like some whore, pushing in the two fingers, now joined by a third, roughly and curling his fingers before pulling out. Gilbert was panting, his hips rolling, trying to gain more. Then, the fingers were gone, and replaced by Austria’s cock, slowly going into him.
It was torture, how slow he was going, and Gilbert was trying to push down, try to get it all at once but Austria held his hips, making sure to torture him. But once inside of Gilbert, Austria began to move his hips roughly, opening the albino’s thighs more, trying to drive in deeper. He watched as Prussia moved his hips, making a fast paced rhythm with him, trying to get as much as the Austrian inside of him as he can. Grabbing behind Gilbert’s knees, and flinging the albino’s legs off his shoulders, and pushing them to Gilbert’s chest to get a better leverage (and a better look at Prussia’s ass), Roderich didn’t waste a lot of time in increasing his rhythm, ramming into Prussia.
“Fuck, God, fuck, yes,” was the only stream of constant words Roderich could hear between Prussia’s moans and wordless dribble of praise, which was getting worse as Austria continued to fuck him. Grabbing behind his knees, Prussia lifted his hips just a little higher, hoping to, yes, oh GOD. Everything left his mind beyond what Austria was hitting, hitting so perfectly, his moans and screams mingling with Austria’s own.
Grabbing Gilbert’s cock and pumping him harshly, Austria began to feel his stomach coil. He watched as Gilbert writhe, pale skin alabaster smooth with sweat, and leaning over to bite a particularly nasty coloured mark, he felt Gilbert release all over his hand. Grabbing the paler mans hips and rocking into him a few more times, he felt himself come, his body rigid with completion. Falling onto Prussia, boneless and satisfied, Austria was beginning to figure what he had done.
No, not so much the sex, more like the bench he had ruined.
Pushing Prussia’s face into the bench, slipping out of him, and saying, “You owe me a lot of money,” Austria felt a bit better about today, despite his whole serenity being a bit warped.
Then again, there was nothing more beautiful than Prussia’s orgasm face.
Or a couple extra Euros in his pocket for damages to his piano.