My first PrussiaXAustria. Frankly, my first lemon as well as my first fanfiction. But you don't need to worry-I pay close attention to grammar and spelling, so there will be few mistakes. I have also done my best to study the male anatomy in order to create a few of these scenes, so please. Be nice, and enjoy.
There was something a little bit more than odd about the silverette, something strangely disturbing and alluring, that Austria couldn't place a finger on—at least, not solidly. It was true that Prussia claimed to be "awesome", a phrase that he uttered a many time a day; he was rude, noisy, rambunctious; he was unusually irritating, more so than anyone that the brunette had ever known; furthermore, he had little respect for personal space, and he certainly wasn't afraid to show everyone so.
Roderich Edelstein didn't know why he dealt with that juvenile idiot.
He was only aware of the one fact that there was something unspeakably strange about the albino, especially as of late. Something that he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know about. Perhaps Prussia had been unhealthily increasing his intake of alcohol? That could be the only reason to explain why he'd been puttering about, acting as if there was to be an invasion on Austria's home, lacing each doorway with dynamite and lining the hallways with… what was that he called them, "paintball guns"?
He had been shooting at Roderich with those guns, often spraying bright red paint down the front of the Austrian's best vest and jabot, and then he would run off, laughing maniacally. It was as if Prussia was deliberately trying to attract his attention. But then again, since when had Prussia every left him alone?
In short, Gilbert had seemed to have been playing far too many video games. It was definitely the heat.
"No doubt…" The Austrian murmured thoughtfully to himself as he paged through slightly crumpled sheets of intensely complicated sheet music, searching for something that might suit his mood today. "He drinks much too much beer." With an afterthought, he added: "It must be deteriorating his brain along with the heat."
Yes. This summer was terrifyingly scorching, and that, combined with a large enough consumption of beer and—what was it called—Xbox games, seemed like a suitable explanation. At least, it'd seem sensible if the Prussian had been tottering about the manor in a drunken stupor. There was no way for anyone to consume so much liquor without at least showing even one sign of being heavily intoxicated…
The summer sun burned through the large windows that lined the walls, beaming down onto the pale skin on the back of his neck and making Roderich feel uncomfortably sweaty, and for once the Austrian regretted placing the elegant grand piano right beside the window. Perhaps he would have to move it, and soon, for he was aware that sunlight could wear out and fade paint—so it was likely the same case with his piano. He couldn't possibly allow that.
I'll ask Germany to do it… but for now. Back to the topic of Prussia. Really… what could be the cause of all this strange behaviour?
"So beer can't be the answer… maybe the heat is driving him mad by its own accord." Roderich hummed a few notes of "Türkischer Marsch", or rather "Rondo Alla Turca", by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to himself, then set the sheet music down onto the stand, feeling satisfied with his carefully thought-out decision.
This was rather a fun piece to play, not at all difficult—it would hopefully give him some time to clear his mind, let him enjoy the light-hearted music and the bouncing, high-lifting motions of the fingers. Yes, perhaps this would be useful. It had been a while since playing this song, so perhaps he could refresh his memory of what having fun could be like.
Without Prussia around to burn down his house, or lay dynamite under his bedroom floorboards, or on the chandeliers—that man had an obsession with explosives.
He set his fingers on the piano's glistening ivory keys, a row of shining, beautifully contrasted black and white, and began to play. Slowly, cautiously at first, he was afraid to lose the rhythm—and then he began to move quicker, quicker yet, his fingers flying across the keys in a flurry of exact movements, each chord and key struck with such skillful precision that one might have mistakened the piano piece for a multiple-instrument piece; the sound was that beautiful.
Roderich had never felt so tense than in the past few turbulent weeks, and only now he realized it. The piano's lovely sound reverberated through the thick summer air, the cool keys clashing comfortably with the heated skin of his fingers. He felt a pleasantly excited tingle run down his spine, he so loved playing the piano, with all its endless combinations of chords and harmonious notes, the limitless abilities of the prospect of it all, and the thrill of the power he felt as he pushed the keys down, sweeping his hands down octaves and octaves, pleased him to no ends.
It was just almost enough for him to take him mind off of the Prussian.
But no—the sight of the crimson-eyed albino stuck in his mind, as clear as if he had seen the other man only mere moments ago. Roderich squeezed his eyes shut—he didn't want to have to remember Prussia. Why? Why was he concerned for that ruthless troublemaker anyways?
I shouldn't… shouldn't have to care! His fingers slammed hard on the piano keys, creating a sudden bang of discordant notes, at which he winced and quickly started over from the beginning of the measure, his face becoming livid at having misplayed the notes.
I shouldn't have to care about that idiot. T-That moron! His hand nearly slipped off the keys, but he played on, eyes focused intently on the piano. I don't care about him. He's… a bully. Always nagging at me, bothering me, being a hateful pain in the arse!
He found his pace quickening suddenly, and he knew he was over his limit. He couldn't control the beat; he was far too distracted, too… what was that feeling? Anger? Confusion? Hatred?
… No… It couldn't be… Had he become fond of Prussia?
"NO!" shouted the Austrian, his tired and stiff fingers still banging away at the ivory bars of the instrument that he loved so much. He suddenly felt so upset at himself, so digusted. What was wrong with him…? "No! I have not grown fond of Prussia! I hate him! Hate, hate, hate!"
No. Calm down… Roderich, calm… Calm down. Don't get his tactics get to you. If they do, then… then you've lost… Lost at his game. Why do I even care about his little games?
Pounding. Pounding, pounding, pounding away endlessly at the instrument which he channeled his anger out on. The third page of "Rondo Alla Turca" suddenly melted away and transformed into a furious performance of Chopin's "Etude Op.25 No.11 'Winter Wind'".
It was perfect. He had been needing to bang out his anger for so, so long. He needed something to do, something to play. Some form of beautiful music through which he could release his frustration through banging and pounding and slamming at the sturdy piano keys.
Thank the Lord that there was no one to hear him, or they'd have thought: "Mr. Austria's gone mad…" He was no doubt channeling an aura not quite unlike Russia's, full of anger and foreboding. But as angry as he was, his hands still played beautiful, beautiful music.
Loud and wild, yet orderly and classical, the music drifted up in a haze of unknown realities, desolate dreams, and burning hope, floating through the hallways and wafting through the empty corridors…
And caught a certain Prussian completely in surprise as he passed through the front door stealthily, a mischievous plot in mind that involved pranking Austria into falling into a lake near the manor.
"Auch… always on the piano." The albino snickered, stepping silently into the house and shutting the door silently behind him for once, not wanting to alert Austria to his presence. "That prissy little noble."
… Then again, that was why Gilbert was quite so fond of Roderich as he was.
Ah… Gilbert's ears pricked at the sound of a familiar composer. It's Chopin. He must be really angry, then… Oh well. That's even more fun for me.
Gilbert started to move towards the piano room, but he hesitated suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he stood in hastened thought. It would be unwise to push Austria into a lake now, of all times. After all, the musician was clearly not in the mood for it, and if he were to notify Hungary of the matter… well…
"I'll have a frying pan splitting my skull," mumbled the Prussian, finally slowing to a stop as he put a hand against the wall to lean in pensive contemplation. "That can't do! I'm much too awesome to have a frying pan give me brain damage. Heck, I'll take it without even blinking! Kesese…"
He chuckled dryly to himself, then paused to reconsider his plan. If he could help it, he didn't want Hungary after him at all in the first place—that was too high of a risk to run for himself, whether he was excessively awesome or not.
"Eh… guess I can't push Specs into a lake today." He scratched his head, groaning in disappointment. "And I was looking forward to all of that too… Maybe he'd catch a cold, and I'd have to lock him up in his bedroom… his…"
And it was there that Gilbert stopped altogether. "Say… bedroom."
No. He couldn't possibly be thinking… Well, too late now. He had his mind made up.
"Yup! I'm definitely going to do it. It's been way too long since the awesome me's been wanting to do this…"
It had indeed been years that Gilbert had had this particular plan in mind. "He'll be too tired to give Hungary a call after my awesome operation is carried out… so I definitely won't get banged in the head with a pan. Ah! I know what I'll call it! Operation Awesome!"
Well… Operation Awesome was about to commence.
And Roderich Edelstein was its target.
Roderich played and played. He had no idea how long he was there, slamming away at his piano, but it must have been a good hour or two, because only now he had worn himself out enough to force him to give his fingers and wrists a short break.
Roderich lifted his hands off the keys and stretched his arms towards the ceiling, groaning in satisfaction as he heard a few quiet cracks and small jolts in his back, and his spine didn't feel as stiff as before. It felt good to stretch and simply relax for a few short moments.
He felt a trickle of sweat trail down his back, and with a dawning realization he knew he was in too much clothing for his own good. The air was still unbearably scorching (not to mention he had been sitting at his piano in the sun for so long), and Roderich sighed quietly, starting to slowly lower his arms and considering a quick, cold shower—
No. That wasn't necessary. There was no one in his house, he had enough privacy to…
Roderich cast a wary glance around him before removing his outer coat carefully, folding and lying the elegant dark purple overcoat over the piano bench beside him. It was much, much too hot for comfort, and so he had to resort to this… With cautious fingers, he reached up and slowly undid his white jabot, sliding it off from around his neck and tossing it so it lay askew atop the jacket, followed by his light brown vest.
Honestly. Was he really resorting to this method? It was quite ungentlemanly to walk about in so little clothing, was it not? But it was the heat of summer that was getting to him… He somewhat understood what about it would drive Prussia mad… Roderich could feel every small drop of salty perspiration upon his back and forehead, on his scalp, and he could feel the sun's rays digging furiously into the soft, pale skin of his body…
In his opinion, there was little choice: undress a bit or broil to death. Ever so carefully, Roderich's right moved to undo the first button of his dress shirt… then a second… and then—
… Suddenly his left wrist was snatched by a strong, iron grip that felt oddly—almost frighteningly—familiar.
"A-Ah!" Roderich was pulled so that he turned, facing the man who had captured Austrian's wrist in his hand. "P-Prussia?!" Immediately all feelings of any prior shock were washed away, replaced with an irritated scowl and a demand of: "What are you doing here?!"
It occurred to him a moment afterwards that of all people, Prussia had to be the one to catch him in less clothing than he would have liked—he was immediately appalled.
Gott, why can't it have been Germany? Or even Switzerland, anything better than this unsophisticated… u-unsophisticated jerk! His mouth nearly moved to form the words, but he restrained himself.
"I'm here to play, Specs!" replied Prussia, a large grin spreading across his pale, white face. "Don't tell me that you didn't miss me, huh?"
"… I didn't," snapped Roderich, his facial features tensing at the mention of such a disreputable act as the notion of "missing" Prussia. "If that's what you came here to find out, then no. Are we done now?"
Prussia threw back his handsome head, sending his wild, stark white hair flying in all directions. "Kesesese! You can't seriously say that you didn't at least think of me while I was at West's place!"
Roderich gave a scoff of skepticism. "Not at all," he said coldly, turning his head away with an irking pride etched in every feature of that beautifully-sculpted face.
"Not at all, huh?" Prussia smirked, his crimson-red eyes glinting with maliciousness before they trailed over to the clothes sitting on the piano bench, then to Austria...
"You took your outer garments off," said the albino flatly, almost disbelievingly. "Since when were you so—erm—revealing?"
Roderich flushed slightly, glaring angrily back into the Prussian's ruby eyes. "And? What's so startling about that?" But immediately his other hand went to grab at his dress shirt, attempting to button it up again, a feeling of instant regret at having succumbed to the power of the heat. How embarrassing to be before Prussia, displayed in such a compromising situation—
"I've never seen you in a half unbuttoned shirt."
Roderich's face brightened slightly more; his arm went slack, dropping to his side, and his mouth opened to retort in frustration, still not pleased with the fact that he was being held tightly by the wrist, when Prussia said: "Must be the heat, hm? Kesese!"
Tensely up considerably, Roderich gave a small nod, his face hardening into an unkindly expression. "I at least have the right to find means of cooling off, don't I?"
"Yes. Yes, you do." Gilbert's eyes couldn't help themselves—they trailed across dark brown eyes, those of which were staring haughtily back at him, down a slender, pale neck, right down to the Austrian's light green tanktop that still concealed what could have been an already partially exposed chest. "But I never thought the heat would drive you to this…"
Damn Austria. Has to go and wear a tanktop, huh… makes it harder for me. But, oh well. At least I already got him out of his top garments.
Roderich was disturbed to hear a sudden dark chuckle come from Gilbert, a low and frightening sound, and he gaped confusedly at Prussia as the latter unexpectedly moved a hand up to his cheek, murmuring: "Why don't I help you out with that, Specs?"
Austria flinched at the unwelcome touch on the side of his face—his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at this, and Gilbert laughed silently to see his face in such an innocent, adorable expression. "W-Wait… Help me w-with what?"
Roderich let out a sudden yelp, feeling his personal space much too invaded as Prussia instantly swerved down upon him to sit atop his lap, straddling the smaller nation efficiently. "Cooling off," smirked Gilbert.
Without a single moment's hesitation, the albino leaned forward—and licked the shell of his ear.
Roderich's eyes widened; a jolt of thrill, sensuality, shot through his now rigid body at the completely alien feeling. "P-Prussia!" He tried to lean away from the albino, to move away, back, somewhere, but with the piano behind him, he was stuck, hopelessly trapped. "P-Prussia!"
His hands gripped the edges of the piano, sending a chaotic clatter of random notes throughout the still, burning air, and he stuttered in sheer shock: "Prussia! Wh-What are y-you… What are you doing?!"
Gilbert moved in slowly, ever so slowly, one hand still grasping at Austria's wrist, the other moving up to cup his chin, turning it and forcing the Austrian to look directly into his ruby eyes. The Prussian smiled at how warm and pale that flesh was—oh, it felt even better than he'd ever imagined! It was so soft and silky in his hand, and just feeling it gave him a thrill of ecstasy. He was closer than ever to Austria, and he loved it.
"I'm helping you, Austria… kesesese. I thought you'd need a little nudge to get you to cool down! And nothing helps more than the awesome me… so… why don't you play along?"
His fingers trailed, ghostlike and faint, across the flushed red of Roderich's face, and the brunette shivered involuntarily, his entire form trembling with a surprising fragility. Gilbert could feel him, shaking so violently, and he felt a sudden pleasure from this. He, Gilbert Beilschmidt, the awesome Prussia, was in complete control. He was dominant, and for the first time in years of being nonexistent on a map, he felt satisfied—ambitious. Not even France could ever have gotten this close to Edelstein.
He wanted Roderich so badly. More than anything, even if he was offered his entire empire returned to him there and then.
"Austria…" Roderich heard the name whispered in heated breath against the flesh of his cheek, and he froze, helpless, as Prussia's hands wandered. It was such an odd, familiar, hateful feeling, how the Prussian always grabbed him with that malicious laugh of his, planning some scheme or another… but now… it somehow felt…
"Feels different now, doesn't it, hm?" Roderich gave a violent start, squirming out of Prussia's grasp and leaning back, his amethyst eyes wide with horror.
"Wh-Was?" he gasped aloud, half-terrified at Gilbert's newfound omniscient nature. "What did you say?"
"Don't you like it, Austria?" Gilbert leaned forward so that he moved ever closer to the brunette man then before, and stared intensely into those lavender eyes, searching for truth and lies, order and chaos, hate and love—all of which he could see in those beautiful orbs that never hid their true nature.
Oh, how he loved Roderich.
"L-Like it?" Roderich's eyes traveled from between those enchanting ruby eyes to those exploring hands, then back to the strange, bright eyes that had captured his. "What… What do you mean…?"
"Do you like it, Austria?" A light hand teasingly traced the small muscles of Roderich's lower torso, separated from his bare skin only by the tanktop and the almost completely-unbuttoned dress shirt. Gilbert again exhaled warmly, into his ear: "Do you like it?"
"P-Prussia… please… stop it…! D-Don't touch me like that! Please!"
Roderich struggled to move away, to push Prussia off of him, even begging the albino to just stop, anything. This was getting too far out of his hand, and something in the way the other man spoke to him elicited inside of Roderich a new fear, rising out of the depths of his mind. Something about that tone scared the Austrian. There was something so wrong with this—and yet his clouded mind wouldn't let him think it through.
"Why?" whispered Gilbert, gazing down bemusedly when Roderich attempted to place both hands on the Prussian's broad chest and push him away. "Why should I? I won't hurt you…"
Roderich stopped, his arms going suddenly weak, his mind racing with horror at the prospect that Gilbert might actually hurt him. "What do you mean?" He stared up at Prussia, pleading for answers. "Don't… don't do this… Please… I-I don't want…"
"Don't want what?" Gilbert's fingers had somehow reached the hem of his pants, and the white shirt that had been tucked in so carefully was pulled out without hesitance. With both hands, the Prussian reached to undo the last four buttons of Roderich's top, his watchful eyes taking note of every movement the Austrian made, counting down until the last button was pulled away.
With a yelp of protest from Roderich, Gilbert tore off the shirt with a frightful speed and tossed it carelessly atop the rest of the clothing beside them. The pile of fabric and clothes tumbled noiselessly to the floor, earning another whimper of confusion from the brunette pinned under him. With the shirt gone and only the tanktop between Gilbert and Roderich's bare chest, Prussia made use of the last few moments that Austria would be allowed to wear the wretched thing that kept the albino from touching his skin freely, as much as he wanted.
With a charismatic, soothing smile, he let the palms of his hand run down Roderich's neck, down the front of his torso, and watched the brunette shiver in distraught.
"P-Prussia! Please, stop it! It feels… feels… strange…" He let out a small noise of unfamiliarity, trying to wriggle away from the Prussian and only succeeded in banging the back of his head against the piano's solid keys. Roderich cried out in slight pain, a muffled noise that barely got past his lips.
That brought some of Gilbert's attention to Roderich's face. Those lips… They were so pale, so alluring that he couldn't even try to show some form of restraint.
The next thing Roderich felt was Gilbert's strong hands on his hips, slamming his body down against the piano bench so that he couldn't escape, and suddenly Prussia's lips were attacking his own furiously, ferociously, with an animal roughness that Roderich had never felt before.
What exactly is going on?! The weird sensation of the wetness and warmth of the other's mouth shocked Roderich into releasing a strangled sound of fear. It was muffled by Prussia's lips pressing against his with an unimaginable force.
The touch of Gilbert's lips was a strange one. The way those soft, almost cake-like lips invaded his own. Roderich felt his glasses begin to slide down his nose, and he tried to move to push them back up when Prussia unexpectedly slid his tongue into the Austrian's mouth.
No! was the first thought that entered Roderich's mind, and in a panicked response, his own tongue moved to instinctively try to push the other's out. This can't be happening! Prussia is not allowed to… to kiss me!
Gilbert, on the other hand, merely smirked, knowing that Austria could feel it against his own lips—those lips that were so luscious, so delectable; the Austrian's tongue didn't taste bad at all, either. It was sweet, heavy with the scent and taste of strawberry-flavoured pastries. Homemade, and baked rather well, too.
He silently wondered quite how long it would take to have the other succumb to his seductions. Surely nottoo long—he was too awesome to be denied for such a very long time. That is, by anyone but Roderich Edelstein.
But he was determined. He would have Austria begging him to touch him, to feel him, heated and pleasured beneath his skilled fingers. He wanted to see Roderich desperate for his hands, his lips… everything.
Don't fight it, thought Gilbert, and simply pushed his tongue further into Austria's mouth. Roderich was too weak—the heat and the anger had exhausted him far enough so that Gilbert was able to put down his efforts to revolt against the oral attack. Gilbert felt that sweet tongue go slack and motionless in the other's mouth, and he smiled victoriously. There we go… that's a good boy.
It's useless. If he could, Roderich would have let out a frustrated groan. But that was impossible with Gilbert's lips clamped over his. He won't stop… He won't.
What was happening? What was Prussia doing to him, why, what did he want from Roderich? Something must have been done to upset him, decided Austria, a strange twinge of pleasure shooting through his trembling body. He tried to repress it. That's why… this is his revenge.
It wasn't too long before Gilbert had had his fun and drew back from Austria, smiling with satisfaction at the panting, heated mess that he had reduced Roderich to. Those damp locks of silky, chocolate brown hair hung in wild strands messily over his face, masking those purple eyes that Gilbert loved so much. His head hung exhaustedly to the side, his cheeks flushed with a dark crimson. Those lovely lips were covered in Gilbert's and his own saliva, the result of a passionate kiss mainly on the Prussian's part. Roderich lay there, panting exhaustedly, his legs dangling from the edge of the piano bench—Gilbert still straddled him tightly.
"P-Prussia…" He gasped breathlessly, his mind in a haze of complete confusion and some sort of wrangled,wrong pleasure. He looked simply beautiful. "What… why…"
"Don't talk." Gilbert's hands began to search his body again, sliding up and down Roderich's chest, up his face, and, with one hand on the Austrian's cheek, he slipped the other under Roderich's shirt and onto warm, bare skin.
Roderich's gasp of surprise sounded sweet to Gilbert's ears—it sounded so weak, so helpless.
"P-Prussia!" He cried out again, slapping a hand to his mouth, trying to suppress his own noises, and tried not to panic as Gilbert's fingers and palms swept up and down his sensitive skin. Roderich bit back a moan of what he realized was enjoyment—he'd never before been touched like this!
Prussia chuckled to himself as he watched Roderich's eyes screw shut, and the other reached up to grab hisleft wrist feebly with a desperate whimper. Without a moment to waste, Gilbert moved up to his destination.
Roderich's eyes might have popped out of his head; he tried frantically to muffle a groan and a shudder that ran through his heated body as Gilbert brushed his fingertips across the brunette's left nipple. "A-ah! P-Prussia… Prussia…"
Roderich failed to restrain himself, and his first audible groan came tumbling lustfully from his trembling lips within the next few moments. What was this feeling tearing him apart inside? Hatred, anger, he wanted to scream in sheer frustration at the power that Gilbert held over him. And yet… yet… something inside his traitorous body yearned for the feeling of a muscular chest against his, pale lips licking at his own—ah, the thought of it! It made Austria want to thrash himself with a riding crop for allowing such feelings to invade him.
Gilbert, on the other hand, felt a wave of excitement rush through his own veins, threatening to make him burst. "Austria…" He tweaked the already erect nipple slightly, and Roderich was left a panting mess, already releasing those lovely sounds that Gilbert had always wanted to hear from him.
All of Roderich's defenses had collapsed at a few simple touches; he was no longer conscious of right and wrong, hate and love, enemy or friend—everything was the same. If only—oh, if only!—Gilbert could just touchhim more! He tried to breathe, but everything seemed so… so intense.
"Pru-Prussia!" He gasped the other's suddenly—he had no idea why. It would seem that he was not in control of his own body… it scared him, but he loved what the silverette was doing to him. "I… I don't… unh…" He let out a sweet, low moan as that hand fondled with his body, touching him, tracing circles on his already burning skin.
"Can't control yourself, Austria? Haha… should've known you couldn't resist my awesomeness."
But despite the usual addition of "awesome" in his words, Prussia's tone had dropped, completely changing into something different, into a whole other level. The way those words were spoken dripped with poisonous honey, with alluring, sugary death, drowning Roderich in promises of love and savoury pain… he felt his trousers tighten considerably all of a sudden, and there was some unanswered need that had started burning inside him.
And his voice, his words, were no longer his own.
"Pruss—Prussia—aah…!" A groan of Gilbert's name melted into one of those beautiful noises that Gilbert wanted so badly to hear from the usually aloof nation. "Aah… ah! Pl-Please…"
Gilbert froze there and then. What was that? What was it Roderich had just said? Did he… Was he begging him?
"T-Touch me…" Gilbert nearly melted in the tortuous heat and the whispered pleads of his Austrian lover. "T-Take… take me… F-For your own… Prussia…!"
Those pale eyelids were screwed shut in a sense of pleasure and suspenseful pain. How… How could Gilbert refuse him what he wanted? The fragile body beneath him had already reached a scorching warmth, seeking for the feel of the albino's body against his own. Gilbert could hold himself back no longer.
"Whatever the little master says…" he cooed seductively into Roderich's ear, earning a shiver of delighted anticipation.
Eager hands wandered down to gingerly brush against Roderich's rock-hard erection. "A-Ah!" The brunette's hips bucked violently, uncontrollably, into Gilbert's hand, and with a smile that Roderich, at the moment, perceived was of Satan's, the Prussian grabbed his hips, nearly bruising them, and rammed them down into the piano bench.
"No. Don't get too overexcited now... Austria…" He grinned an absolutely wicked grin.
Roderich let out a whimper of protest—how cruel could Prussia be, denying him what he wanted… what hecraved? His throbbing member was beginning to experience a feeling not dissimilar to the burn of the heat. He couldn't stand being denied what he wanted anymore.
"Prussia! Pru-Pru... Prussia! Do-Don't… tease… Don't tease me!" That smooth, heart-shaped face contorted into an expression of desperation, desire. He looked adorable, Gilbert decided, and decided to reward Roderich for his efforts.
Roderich's back arched—he moaned audibly as Gilbert fingered his erection gently through the fabric of his trousers, and, with a skillful hand, began to stroke the pulsing limb, then wrapping his slender digits around it and started pumping.
"Ah—mm! Pru-Prussi—A-ah! Please," Roderich nearly screamed, "Please don't stop! A-ah… hah… I-I… I…" All his words were lost entirely in cries of sheer pleasure, and Roderich reached up with both hands to grip Gilbert's shoulders, wanting to find something, someone to hold onto.
"Austria…" Gilbert began to feel dizzy, his eyes locked on only Roderich's flushed, blissful face. "How does it feel?"
"Mmm…! Feels… it feels…" Roderich threw his head back, his body still thrusting into Gilbert's hand involuntarily. Jolts of pleasure shot down his body, through that needy erection of his, straight to his brain, and he gazed up dazedly with half-lidded eyes. "S… So good…"
"Well, don't even think it ends there." Gilbert removed his hand from Roderich's member, and the other man whined unhappily as the Prussian moved back and off of his lap. Roderich sat up, feeling light-headed, and suddenly stared down in shock at his fully-erected—
"O-Oh mein Gott!" He clapped a hand to his mouth, a small bit of sense penetrating his lust-filled mind. "I… I… What have I—!"
He felt Gilbert's finger press against his lips, and he flushed silently, closing his mouth. "No. Don't even speak. I'm not done with you yet, Austria."
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