[Fanfic] - T.V. Casualty
Title: T.V. Casualty
Characters: Netherlands/Germany
Rating: R
Summary: The prompt was pornography and frottage/friction. Cannot. Resist. Frottage.
Warnings: Smoking, smoking, drinking, frottage.
Anon Meme at deadhour and Random Pairing Generator...you two will be the death of me.
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Far too many pints of beer into the evening saw both Germany and Netherlands slumped on the couch in Netherlands’ living room, carrying on a - loud, yes, slurred, yes - but quite serious discussion on the best stain removers for furniture upholstery.
Netherlands lit up his pipe, took a hit, and looked over at Germany lazing back against the couch, mussed hair hanging down in his eyes and a slight grin to accompany his slight flush. A snort, and Netherlands passed the pipe over to Germany, assuming that he was drunk enough to not care about his image and just relax at this point.
Germany took it with a nod; Netherlands flipped on the television for the hell of it.
He had a split-second to appreciate the scene on the screen before he was torn from it by Germany’s fit of choking and coughing.
"Not gonna die on me, are you?"
Germany kept coughing, watery eyes flicking back and forth between Netherlands and the naked bodies brought to them in close-up detail.
Netherlands snatched back his pipe and took another hit. “So,” he said, once Germany had quieted down somewhat, “it’s porn." He brought his pipe back for a moment before continuing. "You've seen porn before. Anyone who says they haven't is a goddamn liar.”
“I -” Germany paused, looked at the screen - a man was getting chained to a wall, erm - looked back at Netherlands. “Yes,” he gritted out. “Of course I have. It’s just...”
“Just what?”
“Not...prudent...to watch it with...well - “ Germany waved a hand, jerkily, before withdrawing his arm and nearly curling up around himself.
Netherlands frowned. "Why not?"
The loud crack of a riding crop onscreen made them both whip around to the television.
“Huh, BDSM I guess,” Netherlands muttered, taking a puff of his pipe before looking at Germany - Germany wasn’t taking his eyes from the screen, but he was slowly sinking further and further back into the cushions. A snort, a plume of smoke, and Netherlands continued, failing to keep his amusement from the tone - he blamed the booze - “What’s wrong with you? I thought you liked shit like this.”
Germany sent him a glare and opened his mouth to retaliate; at the same moment a moan filled the air. Instead his eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut as he turned back to the screen and curled in on himself a little more.
Netherlands flicked his eyes to the screen - the crop was still in action - and, huh, that woman had some nice legs - then back to Germany, who had begun to bite his lip. “Here,” he handed the pipe over, “take it. You’re actin’ obnoxious.”
Germany licked his lips, shifted, reached for it - let out a breath when their fingers brushed.
Oh.
Oh.
That’s what it was, huh.
Netherlands almost did laugh, then. Instead he reached for the remote and turned up the volume, smirking inwardly when Germany frowned and crossed one leg over the knee of the other.
“Smooth,” Netherlands said under his breath.
Germany spluttered before he managed to choke out a stern-sounding “What?”
“Nothin’.” Netherlands leaned back, sprawled back, over the couch, and unbuttoned the top button to his collar. “S’not bad,” he nodded at the screen, fingers still at his neck, and turned to Germany, trying not to smirk. Whoops, failed at that one.
“Would you stop that?!” Germany barked, even while twisting in his seat.
Fuck. Smirk gave him away. Netherlands shrugged with one shoulder and straightened back up.
A few more minutes went by and things became increasingly heated onscreen. Germany, Netherlands noted, became increasingly fidgety. And fuck if that wasn’t turning him on. Netherlands began tapping a rhythm on the couch, moved his hand up to his shirt again, unbuttoned the next button - seriously, it was getting a little too warm - raised his eyebrows a fraction when the woman onscreen donned a strap-on. Why didn’t he know this was on television at this time before now? What channel was this, anyway?
He was about to reach for the remote to check when his attention was diverted by Germany’s muffled noise. He looked over - Germany had the back of his hand brought to his mouth, head down and a furious blush in place.
Netherlands did roll his eyes, this time. “Germany.”
Germany looked at him through narrowed eyes and stern brows, pupils blown wide. Now that was a nice sight.
Netherlands opened his mouth to continue, then decided that words were pretty pointless. He scowled instead, snatched the pipe back from Germany and tossed it to the table - and before Germany could complain, Netherlands shoved him over (his back made a satisfying thud against the armrest), climbed up, and ground down. If Germany didn’t want it, well, he could take a punch.
Germany gasped, froze, then arched up with a small noise from deep in his chest - now that was more like it. Netherlands leaned down to kiss him, licked his lips, reached a hand up to mess Germany’s hair even further. Germany opened his mouth to inhale and Netherlands pushed in; Germany’s tongue met his for a brief moment before he wrenched his head away, back to the screen.
Netherlands moved to his neck, instead, pressed their bodies closer through fabric. Germany groaned; Netherlands nipped at his skin, gave a long lick down, began unbuttoning Germany’s shirt even as Germany grabbed his hips and thrust up against him.
Skin, cloth, teeth, bucking and rubbing and groping, hands everywhere in the dim light from the screen; the moans, cracks, noises from the television mixed with their own huffing and rustling. Germany kept watching and Netherlands didn’t mind, simply pressed their hips together more frantically as Germany’s breathing picked up, chest heaving beneath his.
Germany tried to turn his head around, look at Netherlands, whose mouth was glued to the turn of his jaw - Netherlands grabbed his jaw with one large hand and wrenched his head back to stare at the sight on-screen. Germany shuddered, grunted, said something slurred and low. Then his hands dug into Netherlands hips, his backside, and he rutted up against him, hardness to hardness, even while he stretched back against the armrest and panted while the woman on-screen pressed the man into the wall.
Netherlands kept his hand on Germany’s jaw and dug his fingers in tight. His other, he snaked down between them -
“No,” Germany grunted, “this - this is sufficient.”
Netherlands huffed into Germany’s ear, wedged his hand between, under, Germany’s back and the couch cushions instead. Ground down, once - moved his head down to Germany’s collarbone, exposed by his skewed shirt, bit - another noise from Germany and he braced a foot against the opposite armrest and used it as leverage to push them together.
Goddamn. This couch was too small for the two of them. Oh well. He wedged them in further, his own breath finally picking up to match Germany’s beneath him; Germany brought both arms up to his backside, one straying up and pushing his head down into the collarbone beneath his mouth.
Oh fuck no.
Netherlands reached up and ripped that hand away, then moved the hand holding Germany’s jaw up, over his chin, and stuck his fingers in Germany’s mouth in retaliation.
Germany choked for a split-second, then lightly bit down and began sucking, his lips in the beginnings of a smirk. Netherlands groaned, eyes fluttering - the noise was drowned out by the pleasured scream of the man on the television.
They continued, space between them getting warmer, rhythm picking up to match the sounds on-screen; Germany kept his gaze there, riveted, even while Netherlands unbuttoned his shirt as much as he could and moved his mouth to mark exposed, salty skin. Soon they were both shaking, panting, thrusting, breathless, attempting to get as much leverage and friction as possible in the confines of the couch, fingers tightly gripping and hands sliding loudly over cloth, bodies hard and taut and aching under their clothes.
Germany watched the screen as Netherlands moved above him, each hot breath against his chest sending a jolt up his spine - he watched, heard, the hard crack of the crop - the sound ripped through the room - and the man’s semen splattered against the televised wall. Two more seconds, one more good grind of clothed erections together and who knew what their hands were doing, his world was reduced to the screen, heat, touch, scratchy fabric and friction and blunt fingers pushing down on his tongue - Germany pushed up off the couch, up into hardness, and heat, and came with a muffled shout around Netherlands’ fingers.
Netherlands kept his fingers in place, nearly smirking at Germany’s annoyed huff through his nose. He shifted lower and ground against Germany’s strong, solid thigh instead, tongue and teeth and breathless snarls emitted against Germany’s chest while Germany caught his breath and the woman on-screen came -
Her shout was what tipped Netherlands over the edge, and that bite was certainly going to bruise.
They both lay on the couch, wound against and into one another, trying to calm down over the sound on-screen. Netherlands pulled up and flopped back against the opposite armrest, then reached over to the coffee table for a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Germany; Germany just swallowed, closed his eyes, shook his head.
“I’ve got a lot of BDSM,” Netherlands breathed around his cigarette, and took another minute to inhale, exhale, catch his breath, catch up on his nicotine.
Germany cracked open an eye and looked at him, wary.
Netherlands shrugged a shoulder, again, then reached for his abandoned beer. “I’ll play it next time you come over.”
He got a groan as Germany covered his face with his hand.
Netherlands lifted the bottle to his lips and grinned behind it. That wasn’t a no.
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Netherlands why do I always write you drunk and/or high I don't have you down sober. CRIT YEAH. HIT ME WITH IT.
Characters: Netherlands/Germany
Rating: R
Summary: The prompt was pornography and frottage/friction. Cannot. Resist. Frottage.
Warnings: Smoking, smoking, drinking, frottage.
Anon Meme at deadhour and Random Pairing Generator...you two will be the death of me.
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Far too many pints of beer into the evening saw both Germany and Netherlands slumped on the couch in Netherlands’ living room, carrying on a - loud, yes, slurred, yes - but quite serious discussion on the best stain removers for furniture upholstery.
Netherlands lit up his pipe, took a hit, and looked over at Germany lazing back against the couch, mussed hair hanging down in his eyes and a slight grin to accompany his slight flush. A snort, and Netherlands passed the pipe over to Germany, assuming that he was drunk enough to not care about his image and just relax at this point.
Germany took it with a nod; Netherlands flipped on the television for the hell of it.
He had a split-second to appreciate the scene on the screen before he was torn from it by Germany’s fit of choking and coughing.
"Not gonna die on me, are you?"
Germany kept coughing, watery eyes flicking back and forth between Netherlands and the naked bodies brought to them in close-up detail.
Netherlands snatched back his pipe and took another hit. “So,” he said, once Germany had quieted down somewhat, “it’s porn." He brought his pipe back for a moment before continuing. "You've seen porn before. Anyone who says they haven't is a goddamn liar.”
“I -” Germany paused, looked at the screen - a man was getting chained to a wall, erm - looked back at Netherlands. “Yes,” he gritted out. “Of course I have. It’s just...”
“Just what?”
“Not...prudent...to watch it with...well - “ Germany waved a hand, jerkily, before withdrawing his arm and nearly curling up around himself.
Netherlands frowned. "Why not?"
The loud crack of a riding crop onscreen made them both whip around to the television.
“Huh, BDSM I guess,” Netherlands muttered, taking a puff of his pipe before looking at Germany - Germany wasn’t taking his eyes from the screen, but he was slowly sinking further and further back into the cushions. A snort, a plume of smoke, and Netherlands continued, failing to keep his amusement from the tone - he blamed the booze - “What’s wrong with you? I thought you liked shit like this.”
Germany sent him a glare and opened his mouth to retaliate; at the same moment a moan filled the air. Instead his eyes widened and his mouth snapped shut as he turned back to the screen and curled in on himself a little more.
Netherlands flicked his eyes to the screen - the crop was still in action - and, huh, that woman had some nice legs - then back to Germany, who had begun to bite his lip. “Here,” he handed the pipe over, “take it. You’re actin’ obnoxious.”
Germany licked his lips, shifted, reached for it - let out a breath when their fingers brushed.
Oh.
Oh.
That’s what it was, huh.
Netherlands almost did laugh, then. Instead he reached for the remote and turned up the volume, smirking inwardly when Germany frowned and crossed one leg over the knee of the other.
“Smooth,” Netherlands said under his breath.
Germany spluttered before he managed to choke out a stern-sounding “What?”
“Nothin’.” Netherlands leaned back, sprawled back, over the couch, and unbuttoned the top button to his collar. “S’not bad,” he nodded at the screen, fingers still at his neck, and turned to Germany, trying not to smirk. Whoops, failed at that one.
“Would you stop that?!” Germany barked, even while twisting in his seat.
Fuck. Smirk gave him away. Netherlands shrugged with one shoulder and straightened back up.
A few more minutes went by and things became increasingly heated onscreen. Germany, Netherlands noted, became increasingly fidgety. And fuck if that wasn’t turning him on. Netherlands began tapping a rhythm on the couch, moved his hand up to his shirt again, unbuttoned the next button - seriously, it was getting a little too warm - raised his eyebrows a fraction when the woman onscreen donned a strap-on. Why didn’t he know this was on television at this time before now? What channel was this, anyway?
He was about to reach for the remote to check when his attention was diverted by Germany’s muffled noise. He looked over - Germany had the back of his hand brought to his mouth, head down and a furious blush in place.
Netherlands did roll his eyes, this time. “Germany.”
Germany looked at him through narrowed eyes and stern brows, pupils blown wide. Now that was a nice sight.
Netherlands opened his mouth to continue, then decided that words were pretty pointless. He scowled instead, snatched the pipe back from Germany and tossed it to the table - and before Germany could complain, Netherlands shoved him over (his back made a satisfying thud against the armrest), climbed up, and ground down. If Germany didn’t want it, well, he could take a punch.
Germany gasped, froze, then arched up with a small noise from deep in his chest - now that was more like it. Netherlands leaned down to kiss him, licked his lips, reached a hand up to mess Germany’s hair even further. Germany opened his mouth to inhale and Netherlands pushed in; Germany’s tongue met his for a brief moment before he wrenched his head away, back to the screen.
Netherlands moved to his neck, instead, pressed their bodies closer through fabric. Germany groaned; Netherlands nipped at his skin, gave a long lick down, began unbuttoning Germany’s shirt even as Germany grabbed his hips and thrust up against him.
Skin, cloth, teeth, bucking and rubbing and groping, hands everywhere in the dim light from the screen; the moans, cracks, noises from the television mixed with their own huffing and rustling. Germany kept watching and Netherlands didn’t mind, simply pressed their hips together more frantically as Germany’s breathing picked up, chest heaving beneath his.
Germany tried to turn his head around, look at Netherlands, whose mouth was glued to the turn of his jaw - Netherlands grabbed his jaw with one large hand and wrenched his head back to stare at the sight on-screen. Germany shuddered, grunted, said something slurred and low. Then his hands dug into Netherlands hips, his backside, and he rutted up against him, hardness to hardness, even while he stretched back against the armrest and panted while the woman on-screen pressed the man into the wall.
Netherlands kept his hand on Germany’s jaw and dug his fingers in tight. His other, he snaked down between them -
“No,” Germany grunted, “this - this is sufficient.”
Netherlands huffed into Germany’s ear, wedged his hand between, under, Germany’s back and the couch cushions instead. Ground down, once - moved his head down to Germany’s collarbone, exposed by his skewed shirt, bit - another noise from Germany and he braced a foot against the opposite armrest and used it as leverage to push them together.
Goddamn. This couch was too small for the two of them. Oh well. He wedged them in further, his own breath finally picking up to match Germany’s beneath him; Germany brought both arms up to his backside, one straying up and pushing his head down into the collarbone beneath his mouth.
Oh fuck no.
Netherlands reached up and ripped that hand away, then moved the hand holding Germany’s jaw up, over his chin, and stuck his fingers in Germany’s mouth in retaliation.
Germany choked for a split-second, then lightly bit down and began sucking, his lips in the beginnings of a smirk. Netherlands groaned, eyes fluttering - the noise was drowned out by the pleasured scream of the man on the television.
They continued, space between them getting warmer, rhythm picking up to match the sounds on-screen; Germany kept his gaze there, riveted, even while Netherlands unbuttoned his shirt as much as he could and moved his mouth to mark exposed, salty skin. Soon they were both shaking, panting, thrusting, breathless, attempting to get as much leverage and friction as possible in the confines of the couch, fingers tightly gripping and hands sliding loudly over cloth, bodies hard and taut and aching under their clothes.
Germany watched the screen as Netherlands moved above him, each hot breath against his chest sending a jolt up his spine - he watched, heard, the hard crack of the crop - the sound ripped through the room - and the man’s semen splattered against the televised wall. Two more seconds, one more good grind of clothed erections together and who knew what their hands were doing, his world was reduced to the screen, heat, touch, scratchy fabric and friction and blunt fingers pushing down on his tongue - Germany pushed up off the couch, up into hardness, and heat, and came with a muffled shout around Netherlands’ fingers.
Netherlands kept his fingers in place, nearly smirking at Germany’s annoyed huff through his nose. He shifted lower and ground against Germany’s strong, solid thigh instead, tongue and teeth and breathless snarls emitted against Germany’s chest while Germany caught his breath and the woman on-screen came -
Her shout was what tipped Netherlands over the edge, and that bite was certainly going to bruise.
They both lay on the couch, wound against and into one another, trying to calm down over the sound on-screen. Netherlands pulled up and flopped back against the opposite armrest, then reached over to the coffee table for a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Germany; Germany just swallowed, closed his eyes, shook his head.
“I’ve got a lot of BDSM,” Netherlands breathed around his cigarette, and took another minute to inhale, exhale, catch his breath, catch up on his nicotine.
Germany cracked open an eye and looked at him, wary.
Netherlands shrugged a shoulder, again, then reached for his abandoned beer. “I’ll play it next time you come over.”
He got a groan as Germany covered his face with his hand.
Netherlands lifted the bottle to his lips and grinned behind it. That wasn’t a no.
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Netherlands why do I always write you drunk and/or high I don't have you down sober. CRIT YEAH. HIT ME WITH IT.