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Dreary, steel blue eyes bore into the dirt pathway of the Italian POW camp. Ludwig sat still, the grey of his uniform jacket matted in mud and filth while his distinctively sharp features had begun sinking in from both exhaustion and starvation.
He dared not look up, as he already knew the surrounding soldiers would give strange looks. Their gazes silently mocking him for how he, of all people, had ended up in this predicament.
Ludwig saw the black leather of boots come into his line of vision, not walking past like many alike had done before, but instead stopping before him.
“Ludwig! I knew I’d find you here.” The cheery voice filled his ears, almost obnoxiously. He still did not look up, rather cowering his head further down at recognizing the voice's owner.
“Don’t be all shy...It’s been so long, I wanna see you!”
Apprehensively, he lifted his head, meeting the gaze of his estranged companion, Feliciano—Italy.
He looked the same as always, a large smile gracing his ever-cheerful, boyish features. Although, unlike his typical self, he was fairly well put together.
From the olive fabric of his uniform, crisp as it clung to the slim contours of his body, to the glittering medals pinned against the breast of his uniform, to even the cap that rested upon his head, adorned in its intricate gold insignia.
He looked...strong, powerful, something that Germany no longer was.
“It’s nice to see you, you know.” He began, leaning down to speak at eye level with Ludwig as he sat.
“I had begun to worry about you, but now that you’re here… I think you’ll be just fine.” His lips flattened into a thin smile, eyes faintly glittering with some type of hungry anticipation.
Ludwig grit his teeth, “You invaded my country without my knowledge, without even a warning.”
Feliciano blinked a few times before straightening back up, an uncharacteristically dry laugh leaving him.
“Oh Ludwig, I think that one was on you. You so quickly jumped at the idea of easily escaping the war, regardless of if it meant turning on your closest allies.” His tone was unusually resentful, somewhat accusatory even.
“That and not securing your borders. You’ve really gotten sloppy, Ludwig!” He tsked, abruptly returning to his familiar, playful demeanor.
“It was solely my brother who decided on turning to the Allies.”
Ludwig knew that was a complete lie. He had been the only one to consider the idea of retreat. Prussia had refused to relent, declaring his wholehearted dedication to go through with the war. Germany on the other hand had been cowardly, weak, and all too desperate for it to end—though he was far too proud to admit it aloud.
”We still had an alliance, Feliciano. You’re not supposed to enact hostility towards your allies.”
“Ah, and you’d know all about that.” He hummed, watching as Ludwig’s jaw clenched at the comment.
“Don’t worry, it's not like I'm going to hurt you or anything. I’m just going to make better use of you, think of it like that!”
Ludwig simply glared at Feliciano, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing the fear that settled upon him at those vague words.
Internally, his mind flooded with panicked assumptions at what Feliciano meant. He said he wasn’t going to hurt him, so was he going to make him a lackey? Or maybe he was lying and really was going to hurt him, only saying otherwise to have Ludwig let his guard down.
Though, some part of him knew that these fears were irrational.
Feliciano wouldn’t hurt him, he couldn’t hurt him. They’d known each other for so long, been so close, trusted each other so much—just how much of that had that changed within the few years they’d been apart?
They moved their discussion to Italy’s office, one much grander than Germany’s had been back home. The large, ceiling high windows allowed for bright sunlight to beam into the otherwise dark room, highlighting the luxurious velour carpet splayed across the floor.
Feliciano stood in front of one of the windows, his back shading Ludwig from the sunlight. He sat in front of Feliciano’s polished hardwood desk, eyes fixating on the small tchotchkes perched upon it, recognizing the iron cross he had gifted Feliciano as one laid amongst them.
A faint click cut through the silence, causing Ludwig’s attention to snap his back to his companion. Feliciano promptly spun around, a large cigar cradled between his fingers as his lips blew pungent smoke in Germany’s direction.
“So what is the purpose of you bringing me here?” Ludwig asked, “This so-called ‘better use’, to so graciously quote you.” He added, earning another dry chuckle from Italy.
He slowly paced towards Ludwig, “Well, as you know, my army has already invaded some of your borders.” He paused for understanding, watching as Ludwig nodded in comprehension. “However, you’re wrong to think that they’re going to stop at capturing small, useless regions...”
Ludwig's eyebrows knit together in confusion, trying to unravel the meaning within the twisted sentence. However, when he finally did, his eyes shot wide open.
“Italy—Feliciano, no! You’re not doing that! I won’t let you!” He objected, hands gripping at the armrests of his seat, fingers puncturing the velvet fabric.
“Mhm...but you don’t really have a say in it, you know that. You understand annexation very well, don’t you, Germany?”
Ludwig cringed at the use of his political name, anxiously watching as Feliciano inched himself closer, making Ludwig reflexively shrink back into his seat.
Feliciano brought the cigar back to his curved lips, sucking in the thick smoke before carelessly exhaling it against Ludwig’s face, causing him to cough violently.
“Just make this easier for yourself and don’t try and fight it. You’ll only hurt yourself.” He whispered, “Capire?”
Ludwig’s lips trembled, trying to form another argument—an attack to prevent Italy from doing this—but all fell flat.
“Very well.” Italy hummed, bringing the cigar to his lips a final time before pressing the flaming end into the German’s collarbone, effectively extinguishing the flame with a shared hiss.
Feliciano smiled, and rose to dispose of the cigar in an ashtray adjacent to his desk.
Panic ignited within Germany, his breaths coming in heavy, uneven rows as the reality of the situation all too quickly dawned on him—Italy was going to annex him, which meant that he was not only going to lose his land, people, and autonomy, but the very last bits of his pride. His heart battered against his ribcage, thoughts scrambling in his head—he couldn’t let this happen.
In a quick, impulsive motion, Ludwig toppled over his seat and headed to bolt out of the office. He had always been more athletic than Feliciano, and he knew that he had surely always been faster than him, so that’s why it came to great surprise that within mere seconds Italy had managed to tackle him to the ground. His hands grasping at Germany's wrists and harshly pressing them into the carpet.
Ludwig writhed under him, twisting and turning his body in an attempt to somehow loosen Feliciano’s inexplicably strong grip.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is Ludwig.” He repeated in an unusually stern voice, his hips settling to straddle the larger man.
Ludwig violently shook his body, trying to buck Feliciano off of him as if he were a horse.
“Feliciano stop! It doesn’t have to be like this!” His voice cracked as he shouted, eyes wide as he felt Italy leverage a single hand to pin both of his wrists above his head, allowing his now free hand to tug at Ludwig’s grey trousers.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the feeling of Feliciano’s slender hand groping his crotch, as well as the unmistakable feeling of a breath as his mouth hovered around Ludwig’s neck. Feliciano sucked on his neck, biting the sensitive skin and licking the punctured marks with drawn out lewdness. Ludwig grumbled and tried to whip his head away, angling his body away from Feliciano’s insistent violations.
“Stop..” He growled, the command lacking any indignation. Germany’s eyes screwed open to see Italy gazing down at him, an almost smug look across his face.
Paying no mind, Italy continued his ministrations, successfully yanking Germany’s trousers down his hips even with the continued wriggling and odd position.
Carefully, Italy removed his own belt and unbuttoned the fly of his neat uniform pants, allowing himself to adjust his quickly forming erection, which he ultimately opted to free from the confines of fabric entirely.
Germany, noticing this effort, protested feverishly, violently thrashing himself against Italy. At last, he managed to push Italy off of him with somewhat renewed vigor, rolling himself on his side before falling flat on his stomach in a heavy flop. His arm stretched out to grasp the floor so as to push himself back to his feet. Yet despite his best efforts, Italy simply pounced on his back, weighing him back down and thwarting his escape.
“Quit struggling, Capitan.” Italy huffed, lifting his hips up and grasping the base of his penis to properly angle it towards Germany’s entrance. His now free hand forcing kicking legs apart.
Germany growled, perturbed by not only his failed escape attempt, but also by the casual use of the nickname. It was the very one Feliciano used to call him by whilst they were allied. Unfortunately, this thought was short lived as Germany’s attention quickly turned to the more pressing matter of Italy’s tip prodding at his entrance, attempting to slip itself inside.
Germany began to stir again, hands scratching at the floor and legs feebly kicking against Italy’s sides.
“Nein! Tu das nicht, Feliciano! Halt!” He shouted, words too pathetically urgent to be intimidating.
With a resolute thrust, Italy pressed himself inside Germany, eliciting a shrill scream from the blond as the brunet’s length painfully settled inside him.
Tears began to prickle at the corners of his eyes, and he felt a warm tear run down his cheek as Italy began to slowly thrust inside him—pounding the larger man as he, defeated, lay trembling on the ground.
Regardless of his best efforts to keep his desperation contained, Germany felt the undeniable wet streaks of tears coating his cheeks. The pain endured, and eventually he was unable to contain his anguish behind the façade of anger. Finally allowing for the whiny hiccup of cries to escape from his throat in tandem with each dry movement.
“Bitte lass es aufhören.” The choked words became chanted like a mantra with each continuously violating thrust.
“Shhh...shhh..don’t cry Capitan, men don’t cry. That’s what you always told me, yeah?” Italy whispered into his ear, voice shaky as it resisted laughter.
Not caring for the gibe, Germany continued uncontrollably babbling out his pleas of mercy. His words eventually slurring into unintelligible sobs as Italy’s rhythms became increasingly aggressive.
The distressing noises were beginning to irritate Italy with their repetitiveness. So, as a thoughtless solution, he pressed his hand over Germany’s wailing mouth, effectively muffling his cries into quiet whimpers.
Curiously, Italy pressed his fingers against Germany’s lips, finding there to be no resistance to slipping the slender digits inside.
By this point, Germany could not bring himself to fight against the intrusion. He simply lay there paralyzed, helplessly crying around the invasive fingers, resulting in saliva dribbling down his chin vulgarly.
Horrifyingly, Germany felt his body becoming aroused by the brutal movements as they went on. Even the broken sound of his sobs had begun fracturing into reluctant moans around Italy’s fingers; his disobedient body sordidly obliging to the feeling of Italy’s erection pressing inside him in jagged, selfish motions.
In any other situation, it may have even been nice to be this close to him—to make love to his former ally with all the passion and gusto he had built for him over the years.
Yet now, all Germany could feel was disgust as Italy’s sporadic thrusts crescendoed into one final, harsh movement, making the man temporarily seize as he released himself into Germany with a nonsensical gargle.
Feliciano pulled himself back, his now flaccid penis slipping from Ludwig’s abused entrance with a crude pop. He assessed the damage he had inflicted upon his comrade, whose own prick leaked traitorously between his large thighs.
Ludwig lay motionless—silent—his eyes devoid of emotion and mouth ajar as a wet spot of drool and tears in the carpet pressed against his face. Feliciano leaned over his shoulder, his delicate hand reaching to softly brush frayed hairs back into formation.
“It’s okay Ludwig, it’s over.” Feliciano purred, cloyingly, “You’ll become better now, better than you ever could’ve imagined. Now with me, we can relive the glory of the Roman Empire, together.”
Ludwig’s tired eyes slid shut, and he buried his face into the carpeted floor, trying once more to retreat into the darkness.