Attack on Austria

“Don’t—n-no. Prussia,” Austria placed his hands on his hips, trying to look as confident and stern as he could. “France…” He was being backed into a corner, literally. “Spain?”

The Bad Touch Trio lunged for him.

“NEIN!” This came out as an undignified squeal as Spain poked his belly and sides, and the other two forced him to the ground. “NEIN! Nein. Nein, neinneinneinNEINNEINNEIN! Bwa—HAHAHA! ST-STOOOOP!” France was sitting on his arms, holding them above his head. Spain was on the ankles and taking off the Austrian’s shoes quickly.

And Prussia—mein GOTT zat bastard can tickle!—was digging his hands everywhere he could. The sides were attacked first, definitely a ticklish point. Then Austria let out a mangled scream when he tickled the belly, and France added his hands to the armpits.

“STOP! Oh, oh—AAAAAAHHHHhahaHAhaha! N-nein! Hahahaha—no-HO! AH! I—I’M LOSING MY DAMN MIHIHIHIHIND!” His sanity was slipping.

And his dignity was gone.

Now the feet were being tortured. Spain pulled back the toes, lightly scratching the feet with his nails. Roderich’s mind went completely blank, focused only on the torturous ticklish sensations that were everywhere. He had succumbed to the laughter now, throwing his head back and really, truly laughing. Not just a few chuckles, like any country would expect from him. Hard, belly-shaking laughter that made his body convulse and buck and squirm. His face was bright red after several minutes of this torture, consorted into a grin that threatened to split his cheeks apart. His laughter had a crow-like quality, especially when one of the three would hit a spot that would make him cackle madly. Tears already threatened to spill.

“Well, someone happens to be super-duper ticklish…” The Frenchman grinned.

Austria screeched when Prussia dug into his ribs, the three countries torturing him cackling right along. Those tears streamed down his red cheeks now, fogging up his glasses that were skewed from shaking his head back and forth violently. No matter how hard he struggled, the three outweighed him by way more than he could lift.

And frankly, that wasn’t much in the first place.

The Prussian, grinning and laughing the entire time, poked and prodded each and every individual rib, soon motor-boating them and really making Austria screech. None of the three knew just how ticklish their “friend” really was (four—Austria hadn’t been tickled since he was a child and didn’t even realize how ticklish he really was).

Prussia found that squeezing the sweet spot between his armpits and ribcage was a big weakness on his snobby friend. Austria would arch his back and violently shake his head back and forth. How amusing. “You’re really ticklish in veird places, you know?”

“Oh?” Spain grinned, looking over his shoulder without stopping. “Like where?”

“Armpits~!” France sung, digging one hand in one pit and using a Gilbird feather on the other (having unbuttoned part of his shirt immediately), or sometimes move it to his neck. Sometimes one hand would travel down between his ribs and the pit—the country of love had to resist kissing him or teasing his nipples, while there was a clear opening.

Prussia said, “Here, between his ribs und armpits. Ribs, of course. Here, right under ze ribs.” He tickled there, unbuttoning the rest of the shirt so he could get to the sensitive bare skin below and only making Austria cry and shout harder. “Ze sides of his belly. Not ze sides, but on ze curve right where the belly and sides meet. You know?”

“STAHAHAHAP! IHIHI’M DYHIHIHIHING! I’M DYHIHIING!” He cackled madly, twisting and bucking hard. “OHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAAAAD! HEEEEHEHEHEEEEELP!”

“…See vhat I mean?”

“No one is coming, mon ami…” France laughed, digging and kneading into his ribs.

“Si, I see,” Spain said, pulling back Austria’s toes and going between each one in an agonizingly fast tease with his nails.

“Und here. Hips,” One hand went there, and the other stayed in the sweet spot. France moved both of his hands to one side, tickling an exposed armpit and the upper ribs.

Austria screamed, tears streaming down his face and into his hair and below the neck. He nearly choked on his desperate laughter, shaking his body and only accidentally helping Prussia’s fingers tickle him more. Especially when a finger dipped into his navel. He didn’t even need to move the finger from how much Austria’s body was shaking and squirming in ticklish agony.

 “I think it is time for a break, oui?” France pulled back, as did his two friends. “He looks like he is having a child!”

Even without their hands, Austria’s guffaws trickled into giggling slowly, and he couldn’t stop. After-tickles were a bitch. His breath was regained after a minute or so, but was still panting. He hatefully looked up at the countries still on top of him, un-dignified with tear streaks and sweat running down his bright red face. France fixed Austria’s glasses with a giggle.

He laid his head back down, shutting his eyes and swallowing both spit and whatever dignity he still had. “Pl—please…Bitte…No m-more. I-I—I beg of you…I-I’m t-too…Too ti-hicklish…”

“Kesesesese! Ve got him to beg! Zat’s great!” Prussia began laughing again, holding his face in a hand.

 “Just l-let me go, y-you bast—ARDS!” He squealed this last part as the Prussian wiggled a lone finger in his navel, continuing to squeal and squirm as it was teased. “EEEEEH! EHEHEHEHE! OH-OHOHOHO-AH-hahaAHAHA!” He hated everyone.

The Spaniard giggled. “He looks like a tomate! Ha, how adorable!”

Austria blushed harder, making a whining noise when Prussia stopped. “Bitte! P-Please…I…I’ll do vhatever you vanted in ze first place…” Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember why the Bad Touch Trio had come. Probably for the sole reason of torturing him.

Yeah, that sounded about right in his case and with his luck.

“Non, petit Austria!” France chuckled, poking his armpit and making the snobby country flinch and cry out. “We wanted to have fun with you and get a smile! You’ve been alone as of late, oui? Hungary is dealing with her own problems, little Italy ‘as been attached to Germany since WWII, Switzerland and Liechtenstein have wanted almost nothing to do with you, what with the way you treated him when you two were younger…”

Austria’s tears now weren’t just from the tickling as France’s words hit him like the cruel truth it really was. His helpless grin had died down to a grimace, teeth gritted and eyes glaring hatefully. So what if they all left him? He didn’t need anybody! . . . . So why were there still tears in the corners of his eyes?

“But we wanted to see your pretty smile again! And you so rarely laugh or smile as we saw just now!” France laughed, digging into one sweet spot between his ribs and armpits with all five fingers and neck with the other, making the Austrian arch his back in breathless (and involuntary) laughter. “And just look at how happy you are!”

Austria couldn’t quite collect enough breath to tell France just how “happy” he really was.

Soon after Spain joined back in, and Prussia viciously attacked the weak points again.

“Ah! HahaHA! F-fu-HUHAHACK YO-HOHAHA! AHAHAHA!” Austria threw his head back, laughing madly again.

Looking at each other in silent agreement, they upped the intensity. The BTT ran their fingers faster and harder against the ticklish flesh, not leaving one bit of it untouched.

Austria positively screamed with insane laughter, this torture making him run out of breath quicker and resorting to such hard guffaws they were silent. His face turned bright red again, and tears flowed in streams down his face. Sweat added to this. The poor man would have wet himself had he not drank anything all day (he had pretty much been wandering around playing various instruments and wallowing in self-pity). His lungs felt like they were going to burst.

He was in Hell. Yes. His country had blown up or something, and he was suffering in Hell. His eyes clenched shut hard, and snapped wide open with a howl of absolute misery when Prussia dug all ten fingers into his belly, then hips, bucking hard once before crashing down in a heap.

He had given up.

The trio only stopped when his gasps grew desperate and weak enough to cause concern, and even after they stopped he couldn’t stop gasp-giggling or twitching or get that stupid grin off of his face.

Once he had calmed down from this laughter high, Prussia jabbed his sides once and caused a scream.

After Austria settled back down into an odd mixture of panting and giggling, France brushed the feather over his nipple—no reaction but a flinch, to his chagrin.

Again, Prussia put a finger into his belly-button and caused an inhuman squeal.

Austria couldn’t tell them to stop the damn teasing to save his life. He was exhausted. And couldn’t stop the laughter. Hell, the Trio waited another five minutes and he showed no signs of stopping. Even when they got up, he only curled into a giggling ball.

“…I think we broke him…” Spain sweat-dropped.

“Hee-he’s lost it!” Prussia started laughing.

“He ‘as lost something, zhat is for sure…” France put a hand to his mouth in amusement, eyes wide.

“Think we should run, or help him up?” Spain asked.

“…I saw alcohol in his fridge.” Prussia suggested.

He and France left for that as Spain stayed behind.

“Austria? Mi amigo, time to get up, eh?”

No response. Austria’s body shook with breathless giggles.

“…Do you want me to tickle you again?”

Austria shot up, unable to form words through his giggling but holding up his hands as if to push away Spain if he came any closer.

“Good senore! We were worried there for a second, eh? Here, no more tickling. Let me help you to the couch,” Carefully, the Spaniard half dragged, half helped him to the sofa. Austria never stopped giggling. “Well, I guess we really did tickle you to insanity. Sorry, amigo. But it was for a good cause!” He draped a blanket over the Austrian’s body. “You’re too damn serious all the time, sometimes you need to smile and laugh.” Spain sighed, and patted his back,” Don’t worry! We’re spending the day with you until you get better!” He patted his knee, which caused a snort and kick.

“Heheheh…Greheheat…” Roderich mumbled before drifting off to sleep. He prayed that he wouldn’t wake up naked or tied up or something. Probably not, maybe they would be nice... 

"Hey Austrian!" Prussia's voice called out from the kitchen. "Vhere's your beer?"

...Maybe.