FIC: The Way The World Works
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Title: The Way The World Works
Length: 1,670 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex
Genre: Tee hee, aww, porn
Characters, Pairings: Prussia/Germany
Summary: All he was doing was restoring the balance.
Notes: Filled for the Hetalia Kink Meme. Original request: " Germany gets busier and Prussia does what he can."
i.
He comes home later and later. When Prussia offers to massage his feet as a joke, he doesn’t even give him the pleasure of a scowl. Prussia keeps nudging Germany’s leg with his foot, taking a longer time than usual to finally rile him up. With a tired glare and a heavy sigh, he drags his feet and nearly trips on the stairs up to bed. Prussia rolls his eyes (how seriously boring of him) and quietly picks up his blazer and briefcase and whatever papers that had fallen and fanned across the floor, arranging them all neatly wherever they are supposed to go, completely disregarding the mess he had made of the living room otherwise.
Then he flops on the couch, taking up as much of it as he can. The bastard wasn’t even paying attention to Wetten, dass...? anyway. He necks his beer and curses when the contestant refuses to sit on a lawn chair attached to a few million helium balloons. He could do that shit with his eyes closed.
ii.
They get into a fight which isn’t even a fight because Germany is incredibly stupid.
Prussia, maturer and badasser and wiser and all round awesomer, notes that it’s because their favourite breadwinner is getting testier than usual. He snaps all the time and can’t tolerate stupid shit that’s happened on a daily basis for the past half-century or so and that tips Prussia off. Tips him off to what? That Germany isn’t appreciating the majestic amazingness of being under the same roof as His Amazing Swoon-Inducingness.
He finds himself without any particular amount of vehemence as he scrubs down the counter where the idiot had thrown a bottle of beer. Germany’s favourite kind, too. Prussia doesn’t know if he can forgive the snub for that little (substantial) effort on his end to procure that particular brew, but by the time the counters sparkle and the trash is tossed out and the dogs are walked and fed, he forgets all about it.
When Germany finally leaves his room, still too tired to properly want to reconcile, he finds the house empty and dinner cooked and ready for him to eat (wrapped with plastic).
Tuesday night is ‘Get Wasted with the Posse’ Night. He calls Prussia to ask where he is, to meet him there so they can drink together and he can apologise but gets scolded instead, is told to eat, finish his work and sleep early.
He notes wryly that Prussia is always sober when Germany needs a good telling-off.
iii.
Germany has the biggest migraine on the fucking planet.
He won’t admit it, stupid boy never will, but Prussia knows. The way his voice strains and his words come more slowly clue him into how close he is to breaking down. He hears arguing in the background and rolls his eyes. With a chirp, Prussia tells him to sit his ass down and to give him fifteen minutes. He hangs up before Germany can protest and promptly goes to his laptop to email whatever his stupid little brother had forgotten when he overslept.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. Germany says ‘Thanks’.
Fifteen minutes later, on the dot, Prussia rolls onto the scene suave and badass and awesome as ever, hair combed back neatly and in a handsomely pressed suit that causes everyone to still, firstly in admiration, and then in confusion. He grins that manic grin of his and that cuts through the atmosphere and everyone knows who it is then and they are all startled when he sidles over to Germany, plucks a handful of documents out of his hands and makes himself comfy in a nearby desk (belonging to a secretary that never got hired). With a stretch and a crack of his knuckles, he types at lightning speed, without falter or pause. He knew blogging was a cashable skill.
The rest of the meeting proceeds in a far more efficient and, dare he say it, Prussian manner than anyone had anticipated. This was more likely due to Prussia’s presence and work ethic than the odd feeling that had settled at watching him working in formal attire. He controls the meeting at key points, forcing it along. They finish on schedule even if the amount of work that doesn’t get done remains the same. On the way out, he flirts with the secretaries.
Germany wonders if he should feel a little suspicious but it’s drowned out by the sheer desire to hire Prussia.
Prussia drives them home. Germany only manages half an apology for the previous night before it stretches out into a soft snore.
iv.
Germany has to rush out due to some stupid and crazy emergency that the Italies had instigated. By the time he comes home, it’s late and he doesn’t have time to get on the paperwork he had hoped to complete. The thought of pulling an all-nighter haunts him
Prussia is on the couch with the dogs, downing a bottle of kölsch. Without turning around, he tells Germany to have a sandwich and to go to bed and to not even think of doing any work. When Germany starts to protest, Prussia flashes him the most brilliant of grins and tells him that he’s delegated it to the office peons.
That’s a lie, of course. Germany doesn’t say anything at first, content on satisfying his hunger before he secretly creeps into the study to check on his work. Prussia had been in there. It is spotless and terrifically well-organised and he notes that his journal is not under a mess of papers but is squared away neatly with the rest of his stationary. He has no doubt that Prussia has gone through it. Part of him feels a little touched. Part of him wants to strangle the man.
When he notices the paperwork on his desk and the flash drive which, as he will later find, contains all the things he had to do done in the style he preferred with all the data that he had been required to finish it up with, he decides to ignore the part that wants to hurt Prussia.
In his bedroom, against the freshly washed sheets, he fumbles around when he feels something cold and it turns out to be a cheekily placed chocolate on the pillow. He cracks a smile and laughs softly. Great service.
v.
It’s Friday and he cannot wait.
He calls Prussia and asks if he could come in and help him finish up faster, but Prussia laughs and says ‘No dice’. He feels frustrated but Prussia explains that the more work he finishes, the more work he is assigned. Before he says anything further, Prussia hangs up.
Later on, Prussia does end up stopping by the office but he isn’t in a suit.
After the amazing blowjob he gets over lunch break, he figures out why.
vi.
He wakes up to the sound of arguing.
Prussia is yelling out the front door and Germany trudges down, thoroughly surprised to find the Chancellor locked in debate with the man. They look up at him when they hear him and immediately the humans assault him with a plethora of things he doesn’t understand (he’s too tired). Prussia quickly takes the helm, points out how retarded Germany has become due to the sudden increase in duties, and proceeds to kick the party out. They continue their protestations but Prussia, being Prussia, tell them to fuck off, pulling Germany to the kitchen for breakfast. He wants to know what all that had been about and despite Prussia’s efforts, he greets his boss at the door. They look a little guilty as they survey his exhausted face and, against all odds, the Chancellor begrudgingly allows Germany to keep his weekend.
Prussia pushes him aside, clad in suit and tie and with all of Germany’s things - paperwork, briefcase and laptop. He tells Germany to eat and sleep and that all he needs to do is heat everything up and walk the dogs and Prussia would be back early the next morning, with luck. They all leave. Germany decides to nap on the couch.
When he realises the mistake he’s made, it’s too late and he decides it’s okay when Switzerland calls him later on to begrudgingly congratulate the proposal from the German delegation. He manages to enjoy his Saturday a lot more than he had anticipated.
vii.
It’s incredibly dark out, early or late depending on who you ask. Germany moans softly as he feels hot fingertips trailing up the firm plane of his stomach and toy with his nipples. A mouth catches his own and he kisses back lazily, gently curling his arms around Prussia’s neck as he manages to undo the buttons of his work shirt singlehandedly. Those lips kiss down his throat and he rolls his hips encouragingly when Prussia grasps his cock and slowly strokes it, nudging his legs apart and he nips the crook of Germany’s neck. There’s lube in the dresser, which he uses, and it’s cold and slick and almost jarring to the touch when Prussia starts to press his fingers inside him but it’s not enough to remove the veil of drowsiness and he enjoys it. Prussia is tender. They kiss again and Germany moans into Prussia’s mouth when he finally penetrates him, running a hand along Germany’s thigh and gripping him by the waist. He wraps his legs around Prussia, lazily reciprocating each slow thrust. They stay like that for what seems like hours and gently draw out the orgasm, feel it spill between them like a wave of warmth and fog and Germany’s gasp is soft and shuddered. When they part Prussia kisses him again and nestles against him, like he’s aching all over. Germany holds him. Prussia murmurs that it’s early and they sleep in.
Later, Germany makes pancakes. Prussia stays in bed.