[fic] To love, to hold, to fuck things up 2/4
Title: To love, to hold, to fuck things up
Author: drcalvin
Pairing: Italy/Germany/Prussia
Rating: Um, PG-13 edging into R perhaps? Goes up to NC-17 in final chapter
Warnings: Threesome, incest
Notes: Written for the kink meme ages time ago, finally proofed and greatly re-written.
Length: Roughly 24 000 words split over three chapters + epilogue
Comments & concrit: Yes please, very welcome!
Thanks to: arnold_grove and strawberryburst!
Previous part: Read Chapter 1 here
Chapter 2
Some discussion and a few edible bribes later, Italy convinced his partner-in-wooing that they ought to lie low for a while before their next attempt. Germany was beginning to become annoyed with the unusual amount of attention he was receiving and even Prussia had to admit the wisdom in that; it was harder to hunt spooked prey.
Now, two long months after their disastrous plan F, Italy was ready to try again. They hadn't been idle during the wait either. In fact, Italy considered the practice dates he had taken Prussia on a great success.
Although, he had to admit, he finally understood why his less than enthusiastic approach to Germany's military training had caused the poor man such ulcers. To educate Prussia in anything resembling courtly love soon required immense amounts of patience.
At least now Prussia could go through the motions of a normal dinner date, though his favourite topics still weren't fit for polite conversation. Entertaining as they could be, on occasion...
Like that time Austria personally escorted them from the lovely Viennese restaurant, after Prussia decided to demonstrate the fine art of impalement to Italy. Perhaps using his cutlery and an asparagus stolen from a nearby table hadn't been the most romantic gesture, but it did make Italy almost fall of his chair with laughter, and making your partner happy was good, wasn't it? And they didn't have to pay for the dinner either, not once they promised to take their dates to another country from now on.
And then, yesterday, Germany invited Italy over for a after-work beer and they set the plan in motion.
With a cheery voice, Italy informed his friend that he was already booked for the evening. A horse exhibit at Spain's, and of course Romano would also be there.
"But... I thought Prussia was also going to some horse event?" Germany finally asked, after an unusual amount of silence from the phone.
"Yes!" Italy positively trilled, forcing himself to sound as enthusiastic as possible. "Prussia is a very good rider. He was really interested when I told him!"
"I see... You have been doing several things together lately, haven't you?"
"Ve, Prussia is so fun to be with!" Italy prattled on about how much he looked forward to pet the horsies, then went on to describing how his brother said that dinner at Spain's was always great fun, with lots of music and dancing after the food. And Romano had even promised he'd help them order all the tastiest Spanish specialities, wasn't that nice? when Germany's temper snapped.
"Fine!" he spat, "I understand. You're all going to have a wonderful time! You can stop talking about it now!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Germany," Italy said, feeling his hand grow sweaty around the phone. "Since you are always working so much, I thought I could at least tell you about all the fun things we're doing!"
"I- Italy..."
"But if you don't want to hear more, that's okay." He drew a deep breath. For a good cause, Italy, he reminded himself and tried to exert frantic cheer through every pore in his body. "Uhm, Prussia and I have to get ready now. So, ciao!"
"You don't think I could- I mean, if it's no trouble..."
Ahhh! The pathetic loneliness in that voice was more than Italy could handle. Just when he was at his breaking point, the phone was plucked from his fingers. Grinning ruthlessly, Prussia finished the conversation for him.
"Don't worry, West, I'll take care of our little Italy. No need to stay up and wait for my awesome presence to return, kehehehe!" With that, Prussia pressed the end call button and nodded towards Italy. "Great work, man. You really sounded as if you didn't give a damn."
Cue a torrent of guilty tears. "Germanyyyyy!"
"Hey, this was your idea!" Prussia said, tugging uncomfortably at his necklace before daring to give the weeping nation a manly pat on the back. "No chickening out at the last minute now."
Seeing as how Italy just kept on wailing, he decided to make his escape to the kitchen. And keep the phone with him; just in case.
"Man up, Italy," he muttered and tried to ignore how odd it had felt to hear Germany's betrayed gasp just before the phone clicked off. "We're going over to him this weekend, right?"
Italy sniffled. "Ve, ve... Yes. I just hope Germany doesn't feel too alone until then!"
"Pft. He's just gotta get used to it, like the rest of us."
"But I don't want Germany to be alone, I want him to be with me and give me lots of kisses and fooooood. Waah, sorry, Germany, sorry!"
Prussia rolled his eyes and went to hunt up something alcoholic. Preferably without almonds, but, hey...
"I'm sorry! I love you, Germanyyyy!" Italy cried to the empty phone-holder.
...beggars couldn't be choosers. And unconsciousness seemed more tempting every second.
While Prussia lived with Germany these days, he also kept a tiny spare apartment for the sake of their mutual sanity. Like all places Prussia inhabited, it had soon filled up with mementoes and knick-knacks, these mostly from his time with the red family.
When Italy came over for the first time, there was a lot of shuffling of empty beer cans and half-full ashtrays until he'd uncovered a place to sit. He then tried to find an empty area to put the sausage stew - not the table, which wobbled too much for unwary guests - until Italy suggested they just hold the bowls in their hands.
Laying back on the bed, Prussia entertained him with the tale of how West almost fainted the first time he'd visited here.
"Then the next day, at six o'clock in the bloody morning he was back," he finished, "with a whole damn truck full of building stuff - paint, pipes, you name it! He'd even brought roof tiles! To my apartment!"
"Ve," Italy laughed, "but it's nice that Germany wants to take care of us, isn't it? Even if he likes to go up too early."
They both shuddered at the memory of various times Germany had deemed appropriate for tasks such as cleaning or, in Italy's case, drills.
"C'me on, man, we both know this place is a dump. No amount of paint will change that, despite what the crazy wessie thinks..."
"Um, but, it doesn't really look as if he's changed much here."
"Hah, no, I didn't even allow him to carry in his damn off-white wall paint. That wallapaper is retro, dammit! Not that I come here to look at it, or to clean." He scraped at the geometrically-patterned brown wallpaper, flicking away the little piece that came loose beneath his nail.
"This is where I go when West drives me insane. Or, well, I him... Last thing I need is staring at his sterile idea of interior design. 's nice, drop by and listen to the traffic outside, chill a little. Also, dead useful if you're too drunk to get home at night."
"I think I know what you mean," Italy agreed. "Germany likes his peace and order, doesn't he? I like to go walking in the mountains or listen to the birdies singing, but I would miss my people if my house was as far out of Venice as his is. From Berlin, I meant, not Venice."
"Mhm... West can deal with people, it's not that," Prussia countered. "He's never minded living in the barracks. But if he wants to relax, he's got to have things his way. I mean, hell, who doesn't? The difference is that I don't give a shit what the place I sleep looks like. Long as it doesn't rain on me."
"But Germany didn't complain, when you didn't want to change things like he did?"
"Nah. If he doesn't have to see it, he doesn't mind if I wallow in my mess,'" he said, making finger quotes around the last words. "Who cares. If I want to watch something, I can just look out and see all the people!" Rising to pour them both more wine, Prussia leant close and patted Italy on the knee.
"There's a scent to people, you know, Italy. Get any large group of humans together and you can practically taste their hunger for fame, fortune and power. It makes me even drunker than beer. God's truth! Anyway, never mind that, not why you're here!"
He rubbed his hands and flashed Italy a wild grin. To further the plan Prussia had stayed in his apartment for almost two weeks and he was getting antsy to go back home. Not that he missed West or anything, course not, but someone had to do his laundry, right?
"You sure we shouldn't suit up or something come Friday? West's tends to nag about clothes too."
"No, I think it would make Germany more suspicious," Italy said, putting aside his scraped-clean plate. He wondered if there would be any chance of dessert. He feared that it may, if that was the case, include wurst.
"We often eat together on Friday's, it's better if we pretend nothing is going on," he continued, while wondering if the prospect really was that unappetizing. And not even Prussia would put potatoes in his dessert, right...?
"Ah, right, hide in plain view. Sound military stra- Sorry, sorry.."
Italy frowned at him, which always had Prussia biting his lip to stop himself from pinching his cheek or something. The little guy was just so cute!
"Does Prussia remember the list of forbidden topics?"
"Yes, yes... No calling West a besserwessie or anal retentive-freak. No whining about the how the budget never has place for awesome monuments these days, no telling him about my cool new glow-in-the-dark computer parts - they're still safe at your place, right?"
"Ve," Italy confirmed. He'd put them under Romano's bed and sincerely hoped his brother wouldn't have reason to enquire what they were and why they were there. "And the most important topics not to talk about?"
"Er... Right, no talking wars, battles, revolutions, troops, insurgencies or political assassinations. Except if West brings it up. Or if it has anything to do with Old Fritz. No, don't look at me like that! I talk about the old man all the time, West would really get suspicious if I didn't when it's appropriate!"
"I still don't understand how those things can come up that often in the, um, flow of conversation," Italy admitted, while eyeing Prussia's minuscule kitchen. There seemed to be a freezer in there, so he might be able to scrounge up some gelato...
"It's a German thing, trust me. 'sides, not even my awesomeness understand how your brother fits tomatoes into every other sentence he says."
"Sometimes Romano is a bit... focused," Italy admitted. "By the way, you don't happen to have any pasta around? I could whip up a bit - why are you laughing, Prussia?"
When Friday evening rolled around, Italy came to pick Prussia up. He wasn't the least bit nervous. Not at all, he regularly mixed up his shaving gel and toothpaste. A nice, minty smell was probably just what it would take to get that neat-freak to agree to some fun, anyway.
Why should he be nervous, anyway? Italy's plan was great and Germany was probably missing them both like hell by now. He'd sure miss his awesome presence if he was bereft of it for more than a few hours, never mind days!
So what if there had been no more calls from Germany? With a little help from Estonia, Prussia knew that his mail conversations lately had been totally boring. Germany appeared to be going through the backlog of tasks so dull, that even his famous discipline faltered before them.
Perhaps it wasn't exactly as Italy thought he would behave, but so what? Sure, they'd hoped that Germany would try and get in touch with them when he realized how lonely he felt without their presence. Failing that, some bar hopping to drown his sorrows was expected.
That he stayed at home doing busy-work, it couldn't mean he didn't care at all, right? Nor that he was being utterly stupid and feeling too depressed for anything, of course not. Because his little brother had some serious issues with depression, and Prussia wouldn't stand around and imagine the worst when there really was nothing to worry about, so there.
Although in retrospect, perhaps he should have shared his forays into hacking with Italy. He'd suspected that the invasion of privacy might not count as proper courting behaviour, with the result that he couldn't even talk about this non-nervousness causing behaviour of Germany's.
Crap. So much easier to just invade someone. Here's my army, there's your army, the winner decides who tops, 'kay?
"We'll go see Germany, Germany, lalalaa~ He's so handsome and nice!" Italy's song broke into Prussia's thoughts once they began walking (or rather, Prussia walked and Italy skipped) towards Germany's house.
"I'll go to Germany and we'll eat pasta and wurst all day long, tralillaa~ Pasta in bed is a beeeeuuuutiful thing, but not as beautiful as Germany!"
They wouldn't be able to do this with West, Prussia thought with a wry grin, when some of the other evening strollers gave them queer looks. He didn't mind people staring, he always assumed they just wished they could be him. But poor West? He'd squirm and fret, be terribly uncomfortable until he made Italy 'behave'. Poor bastard, he wouldn't know what hit him...
In no time at all, they arrived. To Italy's bafflement and Prussia's growing unease, they found the door locked.
"Ve? Isn't Germany at home?"
"Dunno. Hmpf, my bloody key's stuck! Italy, try yours!"
It took them an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the keys weren't working. Not because the lock had rusted shut or anything, but because some bloody idiot had changed the locks! And once Prussia's spare key to the kitchen door also stuck, the culprit was rather obvious.
Staring at the silent house and imagining what Germany must have felt to change his locks - he'd never done that before, ever! - Italy began to cry. If he had been full of hope before, he was now convinced that Germany hated him for all times.
Prussia, on the other hand, became absolutely furious.
"WEST!" he bellowed, hammering the door so that it rattled in its hinges. "Open this bloody door at once!"
The dogs barked inside, but no one answered, much less opened.
"I'm sorry, Germany!" Italy wailed and joined Prussia in beating at the closed door. "Please open! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, we can explain!"
"That's it," Prussia growled when it became apparent that no one was going to open, no matter how much they begged or threatened. "I'm doing this my way! We're going in now, whether he likes it or not, the passive-aggressive asswipe! Fuck you think you're doing, West, locking me out of my own house!" The last was yelled over his shoulder as he went down the few steps to the drive-way to gather his ammunition.
Italy stuck by the door and tried to cry some sense into the muscle-brained freak through the keyhole.
Useless, Prussia knew, because if it was one thing the idiot was, it was painfully stubborn. One of the few traits they shared, in fact, along with volatile tempers.
And it seemed that West urgently needed a reminder about what happened if you crossed Prussia!
A few years ago, West convinced him that they should redo the garden. Somehow this resulted in him, the mighty Prussia, having to lay down a shit-ton of bricks to make a wall for the new flower beds. Quite soon, he grew bored with the work. He was a warrior, right, not some damn handyman! But who said laziness didn't have its own rewards?
Now if he remembered correctly, this was where he'd started to seriously skimp on the mortar.
"Hah, there we go!" Prussia cackled, once the first stone came loose in his hand.
"Waahh, German- Ve? Prussia? What are you doing? Ve! VE!"
The first window broke with a very satisfying crash and tinkle of glass splitter . The dogs raised a frantic howl inside. While a part of Prussia worried that West wouldn't get them away from the broken glass fast enough, he was first and foremost a nation with a mission.
"Knock-fucking-knock! You bastard!" he yelled and let another brick fly. Crash-tinkle-thunk went the next window.
The third brick was already being swung in Prussia's hand when Germany slammed open the door and practically fell out of the house. His face was red, his eyes looked about to pop out and his hair had sprung free of the usual severe style.
Frankly, Prussia thought that 'aggravated beyond coherency' was a look that fitted West perfectly. Always made him want to keep riling the little shit until he just lost it, threw Prussia down and fucked him through the floor. Alas, West usually stuck to yelling.
"What the hell are you doing, you lunatic!" Germany howled, almost as loud as his dogs. "You- no! Stop!"
Prussia let the third brick fly. Since he'd brought it here, why waste perfectly good ammo? West deserved it too, leaving him standing outside their home, as if he was some has-been fool who only had somewhere to live on his brother's sufferance.
"Up yours, West!" he yelled back. "Trying to get rid of us, eh?"
At first, Italy cowered at the appearance of a furious Germany, but finally he seemed gather what courage he possessed. With a cry that sounded suspiciously like pasta, he launched himself at Germany and proceeded to bawl all over the other nation's shirt.
While Germany was distracted with trying to pry the blubbering Italian off, Prussia sauntered over to the agitated doggies crowding around his brother and shooed them to their pen. He wasn't sure what was about to go down, but it wasn't likely to be meant for innocent eyes.
"You gonna let us inside, West, or do I have to knock louder?" Prussia asked as he returned, leaning lazily against the handrail and sporting the fakest innocent grin he could muster.
Germany threw him a furious glare. Since he was still trying to convince Italy that he didn't hate him for all eternity, not to mention the smaller nation was clinging to him frantically, he was unable to do much more.
"Fine," Germany ground out between clenched teeth, "let's take this inside. You two have a lot of explaining to do! Look at what you did to my house!"
"I thought it was our house nowadays?" Prussia asked in a low, dangerous tone.
Germany just stared at him for a moment, face hard and unrelenting.
"Really? Well, I thought you didn't want it any longer. After all," he began walking towards the house, dragging Italy with him, "you're usually so good at taking what you want from others, with no regards for what they want!"
His arms tightened around Italy, but the angry frown didn't lighten for a moment.
"Oh, West." Prussia rolled his eyes. "You really don't get it, do you?"
By now, the two nations had made it into the house and Prussia followed slowly. For once, he was feeling every one of his years.
"When it comes to you, I've always tried to give."
Germany slammed down three large mugs on the kitchen table and then followed up with a steaming pot of hot cocoa. When he was finished, he sat down at the far end of the table and, very pointedly, glared. But only at Italy. Since they came inside, Germany had acted as if the nation currently slouched against the door-frame didn't exist.
"Are you okay?" Germany asked.
Italy sniffled a little and nodded. "Yes, Germany... Are you sure you don't hate us?" His entire being radiated pathetic adorableness, even the cute curly hair drooping.
"You know I don't hate you, Italy."
Prussia winced, unseen by the other two. His little brother could really be a passive-aggressive shit of the greatest magnitude when he felt like it.
"Look," Prussia said, "it's your own fault for rushing to false conclusions and not, oh I dunno, ask us." An important point, in his opinion. Unfortunately, one that Germany ignored every time he tried to raise it, although he supposed the drink might be a peace offering. Or old habits.
"...I don't know what you're going on about," Germany finally said, without taking his eyes off Italy. Inside Prussia's mind, his troops played a victory salute. Of course, he'd always known West couldn't stay angry at his amazing self for long!
"Oh, come on! You're jealous because you thought me and Veneziano had shacked up together!"
Germany harrumphed. "I'm sure Italy would have better taste than that, even if he did prefer men."
"Excuse me? Even if he-" Now, Prussia stalked over to the table and glared down at Italy. "I think you left out a thing or two when you told me about that little date back in the forties, eh Italy?"
Italy tried to hide behind his cocoa mug.
"Mumblemumble what?" Prussia said and pried the cup from his fingers, ignoring Germany's admonishments that he stop bullying Italy at once. "Speak up, man!"
Italy looked down at his lap and then glanced over at Germany. "I said," he began, "that I usually prefer pretty girls. But... Perhaps not every time? Ve?"
Germany was far too large and intimidating a nation to squeak, but otherwise, the sound that escaped him at hearing that would definitely have been classified as a grade-A-squeak.
"You, you what? Does that mean," Germany looked up at Prussia and then back at Italy, "you two really have? To- together?" There was something suspiciously tear-eyed about him in that moment.
"No, Germany!" Italy immediately protested, then climbed onto the still stunned nation's lap with such speed that cocoa slopped all over the table. "I love Germany!"
Prussia watched the events with a calculating eye. When Germany began to pat Italy's back awkwardly and Italy stopped sobbing, he nodded in recognition. Hmpf, no wonder they never got anywhere.
"Say, West, out of completely academic interest. What do you just think happened?"
"What?" Germany turned back to his brother. "What are you on about now, brother?" He frowned. "Haven't you already made enough of a mess of things for today?"
"I asked," Prussia said through gritted teeth, "what you think just happened. If you want to keep a whole window in this house, you'd better answer!"
"How dare you threaten me!" Germany said and stood awkwardly, still holding Italy. "And you'd better believe you'll have to pay for those windows!"
"Oh? Oh, and who is going to make me, eh?" Prussia smirked and took a cup, slurping the cocoa with exaggerated care.
"Not muscle-bound, brainless West, who still hasn't figured out that his best friend isn't exactly straight and has been waiting to fuck him for the last, oh, forty-five years?"
This time, Italy was the one who squeaked. Although that may have been less from Prussia's word's and more from how Germany dropped him as he went for his brother with murder in his eyes.
A constant litany of "oh no, oh no, don't let them kill each other! Most of all, don't let them kill me!" went through Italy's head when Germany finally lost control.
Deciding that loving self-sacrifice, while it had many fine qualities, wasn't quite within the Italian modus operandi, he made scarce. A cupboard door was not the most sturdy defence, but it felt very good to have something to hide behind. Especially when the clatter of flying cooking pots joined the angry yelling.
It seemed as if Plan L(ove) would fail even more spectacularly than plan C. It might even be the last plan Italy and Prussia hatched together. As things seemed right now, the brothers were about to kill each other bare-handedly, provided someone didn't grab a knife set.
Wait a minute... Italy frowned and then relocated to beneath the table, when the spice-rack came flying through the air. There was something strange about this fight, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it...
Hesitantly, Italy stuck his head out and took a peek.
Germany was shaking Prussia by his shirt and yelling incoherently at him. Meanwhile, Prussia's hand snaked along the counter until it encountered a large wooden spoon. With a ferocious grin, he whacked Germany over the head with it.
Germany stumbled backwards, but grabbed hold of a chair and steadied himself. Italy almost went back completely under the table when he realized that Germany was actually growling at Prussia, a deep and unsettling rumble.
"Take that, West! Kehehehe- Ooof!"
The chair, solid oak like all of Germany's furniture, was swung with frightening accuracy and Prussia crashed to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Moments later, he was up again, albeit with some wobble to his steps. He proceeded to demonstrate serious skills in cast-iron pan fighting, probably picked up from years of being clobbered by Hungary.
More items went flying through the kitchen and Italy crept back beneath the table, feeling almost overwhelmed with misery. They were going to kill each other and he wouldn't have anyone left. Germany was senseless with fury, while Prussia kept laughing and taunting him with death-defying ease, acting as if he'd never had more... fun...
Oh, dear God in heaven.
This was Prussia flirting.
Finally Germany managed to pin his infuriating, crazy asshole of a brother to the floor. It took all his strength to keep the squirming nation still and he was very grateful for his larger frame. Damn the man, but he could still fight!
Now Germany was sporting a cut to the forehead, his knee was aching from a lucky frying-pan strike and he'd be bruised all over tomorrow. But, he thought as he leaned forward to keep Prussia from wiggling away beneath him, he'd gotten the bastard down! And now he could...
Well, he'd figure something out. Possibly involving the arrest and deportation of a certain rabid nation. Maybe he could bribe someone to make false papers, stating that the fool was actually Swiss...
Unfortunately, far from looking cowed and ready to beg forgiveness, Prussia was positively glowing. His face was flushed and he kept bucking beneath Germany in a most distracting way.
"Are you all right, Germany, Prussia?" Italy said from behind, making him jump in sudden guilt. Oh god, Italy! Who was- Who said-
Germany nearly lost his grip then, Prussia using his distraction to try and break free. Resolutely showing every thought of what Italy's revelation of possible non-heterosexual leanings might mean into the deepest basement of his mind, Germany determined to focus at one mess at a time.
"Would you just give up!" Germany panted, as the body beneath him twisted once more.
"Never give up, West," Prussia grinned, "haven't you learned that yet?"
"I don't think Prussia is the type to give up," Italy piped in. "But maybe we can get him to give in?"
"What?"
Germany was beginning to feel that something was very wrong about this situation. It wasn't just Prussia's deranged grin, nor the rather... suspicious... lump he tried not to sit on. His brother could go a bit strange when he was fighting, nothing new about that (unfortunately). He had decades of practice in ignoring it.
But why was Italy getting all touchy-feely with Germany's neck? Couldn't he see Germany was a little busy here?
"Ve, Germany..."
Germany ran through his mental catalogue of Italian intonations, but none quite fit. The closest he could get was 'wants something (read: pasta) and believes he is about to get it' , but there were subtle differences. Everyone had been so confusing lately, and his head was beginning to hurt from it all.
"Germany, don't you think we could find something better to do with Prussia than this?"
"I'm fully - stop that infernal wriggling! - open for suggestions!"
"Oh great!" Italy said and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Then stay right where you are, I'll get the handcuffs France gave you on your last birthday!"
"You do that," Germany said, before he fully realized what Italy had suggested. Handcuffs?
"Ohh, kinky," Prussia laughed beneath him and licked away some blood from his lip.
Suddenly, that lump which Germany had done his best to ignore began to feel very intruding.
Doing his best to ignore the blush that spread over his face, he tried to visualize cool showers, Russia, icy Alps, winter in Berlin- no, hold on! No thinking of Berlin and the blinding smile on Prussia's face when you celebrated the reunion in '89!
Now extremely uncomfortable with the whole situation, Germany tried to stand on his knees instead. Only as soon as he did, Prussia pushed up after him, looking far too pleased with himself.
For a moment, Germany debated releasing his brother. But frankly, even this was preferable to not having a house left tomorrow.
He drew a deep, calming breath. Focus. Italy's potential involvement with Prussia, this odd behaviour, it didn't matter. It wasn't about him, he'd realized at last during that damn phone conversation. It never was about him anyway.
Now then, the problem at hand. Fighting made Prussia horny. They'd been in similar situations before. He knew how to handle it; ignore everything and act as if nothing is happening. Until he'd learnt that trick, he'd kept messing up his training back in the days; much to the amusement of his bastard brother.
So. Confine Prussia, clean up, have a drink (break down because you've missed your chance with Italy, you complete fucked up loser)... Actually, make that a dozen drinks.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" he hissed, giving much-needed went to his feelings by channelling them into anger. "What if Italy notices?"
"I can share," Prussia said and winked at him. "Can you?"
Before Germany could answer (or get an aneurysm) Italy was back, carrying three pairs of handcuffs. Of course they were covered with tacky fur in the colours blue, white and red, but right now Germany couldn't have cared less.
"Great," he said as Italy dangled the cuffs in front of his face, "if you put them on, I can lock him up. Then we may need a doctor. He's gone insane! I mean, worse than usual..."
"You can play doctor with me any day, West," Prussia offered.
"Shut up! Italy, get a move on."
There was an unusually thoughtful look in Italy's eyes as he stroked the fuzz of the cuffs. "Didn't Germany say that it was better to handcuff dangerous prisoners with their hands behind their back?" he finally asked.
Prussia frowned and for the first time since he had gotten inside of the house, looked seriously perturbed. "Hey, what are you-"
What happened next almost shattered Germany's composure. As Italy bent down besides Germany, still smiling as far as he could see, something seemed to pass between him and Prussia. Purple-red eyes widened slightly and the trapped nation drew an almost shaky breath, before relaxing slightly.
"Italy?" Germany glanced at his old friend. No, no they said they weren't... No!
"Ve, hurry up, Germany," Italy said and grinned, "the cocoa is going cold."
Was there even any left after their fight? Never mind. Italy's suggestion did make sense (what was wrong with this day?) so Germany used Prussia's distraction to flip him over on his stomach. Continuing the whole "twilight zone" theme of this day, Italy snapped the blue cuff's on Prussia's hands with quick, efficient motions.
"There we go, Germany," he said happily, "you can let go now."
"Great," Germany said and climbed off Prussia. When the albino stayed put, only turning his head to blow Germany a raspberry, he sank back down on the floor and sighed in relief.
The kitchen was a mess. He would have to repair the windows in both ground-floor bedrooms and hall. Something was seriously wrong with Prussia and he could only pray that it didn't mean he was about to run off with Italy. And the dogs, where had they got to?
All Germany wanted was to take a few moments to relax before dealing with it all.
Only now did he realise that his left shoulder ached something wicked, courtesy of a well-aimed kick from his dear brother. When he massaged it and winced, Italy at once suggested that they put some salve on the bruise.
At least his friend's kindness never changed, he thought with a grateful smile, as Italy helped him remove his shirt. He didn't forget keeping a watchful eye on Prussia, though he seemed docile enough.
Although something had definitely snapped in him. Could nations go senile? What if he started seeing things like England? Maybe America would have some advice, or he could-
Click. Click.
"Uh?"
It took Germany a few seconds to understand what had happened. One moment, Italy was pulling down his shirt and fussing over him, the next - he snapped a pair of handcuffs on him?
"What the hell is going on?" Germany cried. "Have you both lost your minds?"
He jerked at the fuzz-covered metal, but as tacky as they might look, France gave sturdy presents. With his hands locked behind his back, Germany was effectively trapped.
"Maybe we have, West," Prussia said and rose to his knees, beginning to crawl closer. "You're a really bad influence, you know."
"I am a really bad influ- Eeep!"
Suddenly, Italy was pressed tight against his back, hands working on Germany's belt.
"Yes. See, Germany," Italy agreed, "he is always yelling and ordering us around. So, when we try and try, and you still won't do what we want you to do..." Italy pulled Germany's trousers about halfway down and made a happy little noise at the what he found inside.
"We just have to take matters into our own hands and make you obey," Prussia finished, grinning.
"Ahh! What are you doing, Italy!" Germany tried to get away from the persistent hands stroking him through his boxers. He had mostly gotten used to the grabby hands of his weird little friend, but this was a whole new level.
"What does it look like he's doing?" Prussia asked and laughed at Germany's attempts at fleeing, before coming closer and putting a definite end to that idea.
Now Prussia was so near Germany that the confused nation could feel the warmth of his body even through his (rapidly disappearing) clothes.
About then, Italy's fingers found his nipples and began playing with them. He was larger and stronger and really ought to be able to free himself, but instead Germany found himself freezing up completely.
"Ever told you that you're a bit slow, West?" Prussia said, his voice unusually husky. He pushed himself even closer, until Germany was firmly trapped between the two kneeling nations. In this position, he soon become acutely familiar with the erections of both Prussia in front of him and Italy behind... and soon enough, a wildly blushing Germany felt his own desire begin to take physical form.
"I can't- I'm-" Germany gasped and squirmed. Since Prussia's hands were also bound, he couldn't touch Germany very well, but he was commencing a highly successful attack on Germany's naked shoulder with his mouth.
"Ve," Italy said from behind, and pulled Germany's hands down towards his own erection, "do you really want us to stop? Hmm...?"
Desire, humiliation and confusion warred in Germany. "But you-" he gasped, feeling his fingers touch Italy's sex through only two thin layers, "And my brother!"
"We want you," Prussia said between sloppy kisses, "and we're really tired of dropping hints."
"What hints?"
"Germany!" Italy sounded sincerely frustrated for once. He took a firm grip of Germany's hair, pulling him backwards and exposing his neck even more to Prussia, who happily exploited the situation.
"Why do you think we've been trying to take you out on dates?" he asked, every word a warm breath in Germany's ear.
"Dates?" He shuddered and, without really planning to, somehow found himself bending along with Italy's insistent pull. It both pushed him against Prussia's hardness and gave Italy better access to his nipples. Once he found himself like this, Germany was unable to move back into a slightly less incriminating position, though a rapidly fading voice in his mind insisted he should.
"Idiot." Prussia bit him, a delicious sharp little spike of pain on his neck, "What did you think all those restaurants, operas, walks in the park and crap was?"
"Unghh..." Germany hardly even remembered any walks in parks, because Italy had been kind enough to open his trousers and free himself. Though he ached to see the hot length he was fondling, the feeling of Italy's sex in Germany's hands was enough to shut down most higher brain-functions all on its own.
"Mmm," Italy purred and began touching Germany all over, while moving against the bound hands stroking him.
"I'm sorry for turning you down all those years ago," Italy got out between small gasps, "but you just, ah, Germany was so overwhelming."
He laughed sweetly in Germany's ear and sat back to get rid of his trousers entirely.
"But now that I've had time to consider," he said and pulled down Germany's underwear, freeing his swollen erection. "I think I do want Germany. A lot!" He twisted a nipple and giggled at the sound this caused.
Prussia whined in frustration as he saw how both Italy and Germany were rapidly losing clothes, while he was still completely covered. "Some assistance here, Italy?" he demanded.
"Sorry, sorry," came the distracted mumble from behind Germany.
Said nation was still doing his best to take in the situation, even if he was feared he'd lost all control over the situation some undefined time ago. When Italy reached around him in order to open Prussia's shirt, his mind suddenly snapped back to exactly whose cock was grinding against his own.
"Wait!" Germany yelled in half-panic and pushed backwards, almost falling on top of Italy. "We shouldn't - Prussia's my brother, dammit! We can't do this!"
All three nations halted in their movements for a few seconds. Then Prussia rocked back on his heels and stood up with a grunt of effort. One part of Germany wanted to sigh in relief, perhaps now the world would finally tilt back to its correct axis and life would make sense again.
At the same time, there was another, rather frantic, part which protested that now when they'd finally found something besides brawling Prussia did well, they ought to let him finish!
Then his gaze met Prussia and Germany felt himself freeze again. That twist of his lips, the slump of his shoulders... Somehow, the familiar light of his kitchen lamp managed to paint startlingly deep shadows on Prussia's face. It revealed a lack of the haughty pride that was as much a part of Prussia as his obnoxious ego, and without it, he seemed so much smaller than Germany's mental picture.
Italy's hand was around his left biceps, and now his surprisingly sharp nails dug into Germany's flesh. He heard an tiny hiss of - anger, worry? He didn't know, but it was most unexpected from the usually carefree nation.
"See, Italy? Told you so," Prussia said, looking up at the ceiling, the stove, everywhere but the two nations on the floor. "Just too much awesome for him to handle, kehehee...." He twitched his head as a quick farewell, now sporting stiff grin. "Bye then. Ludwig."
Prussia hadn't called him that since... well, pretty much never.
"Wonder if Poland could rent me a room? That'd be a sight, us together! Bet we could make make Lithuania crack in two days flat!"
And, just like that, Germany remembered when he'd last heard that name. That time his brother's face had also turned empty, when his laughter rang like a broken bell. It was the sound of loss - of land, of kings and of... of him?
"No!" Forgetting that he couldn't use his hands for support, Germany would have toppled over except for Italy's grip on his arm. "Wait, brother!"
"I can't," Prussia said, and the not-smile on his face widened even more. "I'm sorry, West, I've tried. Just can't hang around and wait any longer."
"No!" Germany struggled to get up and find the words, but he didn't have any idea what to do or say. He'd never known what to say, really, to anyone. "Don't... Italy! Tell him not to go," he ordered.
"Prussia," Italy said obediently, "I don't want you to go away."
But his fingers dug deeper into Germany's arm and he understood the meaning loud and clear. Not good enough.
"Thanks, cutie. You were pretty awesome too, just so you know."
Finally, Germany found his balance and got up on shaky feet. Prussia looked like a badly put together porcelain figure, about to break in the heath of the kiln. Handcuffed, the top buttons of his shirt undone, face developing a bruise and sporting a horrible false grin.
It was all so confusing. When he'd changed the locks and shut himself, it was because they'd left him behind. His only comfort had been that at least he knew what was happening.
He'd really, honestly believed that they would abandon him again - and that was, oh, that had been stupid, hadn't it? War and betrayal and years of misunderstandings hadn't kept either of these menaces out of his hair.
And now...
His brother.
And his best friend.
Both claimed they loved him, that they wanted him. Could he live with that?
He glanced back at lovely Italy, sitting on the floor in only his shirt, the half-hard cock Germany had been fondling only moments ago peeking out from between sunbrowned legs. His face had rarely looked more serious, nor more tempting to Germany.
Italy, who had saved him from a loneliness so ingrained in him he didn't even know that it was there. Italy, whose sweetness and light was sought by so many, and who still preferred to come visit him!
Then he looked at Prussia, beaten but still not down. His brother, the living collection of all the extreme up and downs of a nation, which Germany had only tasted so far. A man who ought to be a memory, but clung to life with a vitality that shamed more than one other nation.
And he remembered what it was like to come home to a house without them. With his heart heavy, knowing that they weren't just out, they weren't just working. The certainty that nobody would come here at all.
Germany loved his solitude. He rejoiced in the clean order of knowing that everything was in place, doing what it was supposed to do. But these last days...
No Prussia to eat the food he cooked and then leave his crap all over the place. No Italy who invited himself in for dinner, football, a snuggled up sleep-over. It went far too fast to vacuum and launder without someone there to mess things up. He'd tried the television, but it couldn't hold his interest. The empty voices babbling only made it obvious how lifeless the house was.
He'd walked his dogs, he'd done his work and he'd stewed in his anger at the thought of those two idiotic, messy, ungrateful... Where they laughing together? Would he see them at all in the future? Why, why did they act as if he wasn't part of their- Their family. His family. Bickering, disorganized, utterly hopeless. Utterly lovely. A chaotic headache with awful in-laws, but one which he couldn't scare away with his temper or perfectionism, where they all knew each others faults and still came back.
What was he supposed to do without both of them there to annoy him, anyway?
Before that thought had finished, two long Germany brought him to Prussia and he proceeded to prove that his brother wasn't the only one who could win a fight without using his hands.
It was almost too easy to trap Prussia against the doorpost. At the first kiss, he turned stiff, a only a choked sound escaping. As it deepened, Prussia came undone against Germany, falling towards him until most of his weight rested against Germany's chest.
Somewhere behind them, Germany heard Italy give a whoop of pleasure before a smaller body careened into his back.
Their teeth slammed together painfully, but the curse caught in Germany's throat when he saw how his brother looked. Flushed and almost trembling with pleasure. Something between a sob and a laugh escaped one of them - he honestly couldn't tell who - when Italy wriggled a pair of enthusiastic hands between them and fairly ripped open his shirt.
"Ahh, West," Prussia said and let his head fall forward, resting against Germany's shoulder, "you're incredibly difficult to deal with, you know that?"
"Yes," Germany said and pushed a knee between Prussia's legs, "but I'm hardly the only one."
Prussia hissed and kissed him, his usual aggression returning with full force. "You bastard!"
"But our bastard!" the laughing Italy said and tried to climb up on Germany's back. "Hmm, don't you guys think we should continue this in bed? As long as we can find one without glass in!"
TBC in the next chapter!
Comments etc much welcome ^_^
Author: drcalvin
Pairing: Italy/Germany/Prussia
Rating: Um, PG-13 edging into R perhaps? Goes up to NC-17 in final chapter
Warnings: Threesome, incest
Notes: Written for the kink meme ages time ago, finally proofed and greatly re-written.
Length: Roughly 24 000 words split over three chapters + epilogue
Comments & concrit: Yes please, very welcome!
Thanks to: arnold_grove and strawberryburst!
Previous part: Read Chapter 1 here
Chapter 2
Some discussion and a few edible bribes later, Italy convinced his partner-in-wooing that they ought to lie low for a while before their next attempt. Germany was beginning to become annoyed with the unusual amount of attention he was receiving and even Prussia had to admit the wisdom in that; it was harder to hunt spooked prey.
Now, two long months after their disastrous plan F, Italy was ready to try again. They hadn't been idle during the wait either. In fact, Italy considered the practice dates he had taken Prussia on a great success.
Although, he had to admit, he finally understood why his less than enthusiastic approach to Germany's military training had caused the poor man such ulcers. To educate Prussia in anything resembling courtly love soon required immense amounts of patience.
At least now Prussia could go through the motions of a normal dinner date, though his favourite topics still weren't fit for polite conversation. Entertaining as they could be, on occasion...
Like that time Austria personally escorted them from the lovely Viennese restaurant, after Prussia decided to demonstrate the fine art of impalement to Italy. Perhaps using his cutlery and an asparagus stolen from a nearby table hadn't been the most romantic gesture, but it did make Italy almost fall of his chair with laughter, and making your partner happy was good, wasn't it? And they didn't have to pay for the dinner either, not once they promised to take their dates to another country from now on.
And then, yesterday, Germany invited Italy over for a after-work beer and they set the plan in motion.
With a cheery voice, Italy informed his friend that he was already booked for the evening. A horse exhibit at Spain's, and of course Romano would also be there.
"But... I thought Prussia was also going to some horse event?" Germany finally asked, after an unusual amount of silence from the phone.
"Yes!" Italy positively trilled, forcing himself to sound as enthusiastic as possible. "Prussia is a very good rider. He was really interested when I told him!"
"I see... You have been doing several things together lately, haven't you?"
"Ve, Prussia is so fun to be with!" Italy prattled on about how much he looked forward to pet the horsies, then went on to describing how his brother said that dinner at Spain's was always great fun, with lots of music and dancing after the food. And Romano had even promised he'd help them order all the tastiest Spanish specialities, wasn't that nice? when Germany's temper snapped.
"Fine!" he spat, "I understand. You're all going to have a wonderful time! You can stop talking about it now!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Germany," Italy said, feeling his hand grow sweaty around the phone. "Since you are always working so much, I thought I could at least tell you about all the fun things we're doing!"
"I- Italy..."
"But if you don't want to hear more, that's okay." He drew a deep breath. For a good cause, Italy, he reminded himself and tried to exert frantic cheer through every pore in his body. "Uhm, Prussia and I have to get ready now. So, ciao!"
"You don't think I could- I mean, if it's no trouble..."
Ahhh! The pathetic loneliness in that voice was more than Italy could handle. Just when he was at his breaking point, the phone was plucked from his fingers. Grinning ruthlessly, Prussia finished the conversation for him.
"Don't worry, West, I'll take care of our little Italy. No need to stay up and wait for my awesome presence to return, kehehehe!" With that, Prussia pressed the end call button and nodded towards Italy. "Great work, man. You really sounded as if you didn't give a damn."
Cue a torrent of guilty tears. "Germanyyyyy!"
"Hey, this was your idea!" Prussia said, tugging uncomfortably at his necklace before daring to give the weeping nation a manly pat on the back. "No chickening out at the last minute now."
Seeing as how Italy just kept on wailing, he decided to make his escape to the kitchen. And keep the phone with him; just in case.
"Man up, Italy," he muttered and tried to ignore how odd it had felt to hear Germany's betrayed gasp just before the phone clicked off. "We're going over to him this weekend, right?"
Italy sniffled. "Ve, ve... Yes. I just hope Germany doesn't feel too alone until then!"
"Pft. He's just gotta get used to it, like the rest of us."
"But I don't want Germany to be alone, I want him to be with me and give me lots of kisses and fooooood. Waah, sorry, Germany, sorry!"
Prussia rolled his eyes and went to hunt up something alcoholic. Preferably without almonds, but, hey...
"I'm sorry! I love you, Germanyyyy!" Italy cried to the empty phone-holder.
...beggars couldn't be choosers. And unconsciousness seemed more tempting every second.
While Prussia lived with Germany these days, he also kept a tiny spare apartment for the sake of their mutual sanity. Like all places Prussia inhabited, it had soon filled up with mementoes and knick-knacks, these mostly from his time with the red family.
When Italy came over for the first time, there was a lot of shuffling of empty beer cans and half-full ashtrays until he'd uncovered a place to sit. He then tried to find an empty area to put the sausage stew - not the table, which wobbled too much for unwary guests - until Italy suggested they just hold the bowls in their hands.
Laying back on the bed, Prussia entertained him with the tale of how West almost fainted the first time he'd visited here.
"Then the next day, at six o'clock in the bloody morning he was back," he finished, "with a whole damn truck full of building stuff - paint, pipes, you name it! He'd even brought roof tiles! To my apartment!"
"Ve," Italy laughed, "but it's nice that Germany wants to take care of us, isn't it? Even if he likes to go up too early."
They both shuddered at the memory of various times Germany had deemed appropriate for tasks such as cleaning or, in Italy's case, drills.
"C'me on, man, we both know this place is a dump. No amount of paint will change that, despite what the crazy wessie thinks..."
"Um, but, it doesn't really look as if he's changed much here."
"Hah, no, I didn't even allow him to carry in his damn off-white wall paint. That wallapaper is retro, dammit! Not that I come here to look at it, or to clean." He scraped at the geometrically-patterned brown wallpaper, flicking away the little piece that came loose beneath his nail.
"This is where I go when West drives me insane. Or, well, I him... Last thing I need is staring at his sterile idea of interior design. 's nice, drop by and listen to the traffic outside, chill a little. Also, dead useful if you're too drunk to get home at night."
"I think I know what you mean," Italy agreed. "Germany likes his peace and order, doesn't he? I like to go walking in the mountains or listen to the birdies singing, but I would miss my people if my house was as far out of Venice as his is. From Berlin, I meant, not Venice."
"Mhm... West can deal with people, it's not that," Prussia countered. "He's never minded living in the barracks. But if he wants to relax, he's got to have things his way. I mean, hell, who doesn't? The difference is that I don't give a shit what the place I sleep looks like. Long as it doesn't rain on me."
"But Germany didn't complain, when you didn't want to change things like he did?"
"Nah. If he doesn't have to see it, he doesn't mind if I wallow in my mess,'" he said, making finger quotes around the last words. "Who cares. If I want to watch something, I can just look out and see all the people!" Rising to pour them both more wine, Prussia leant close and patted Italy on the knee.
"There's a scent to people, you know, Italy. Get any large group of humans together and you can practically taste their hunger for fame, fortune and power. It makes me even drunker than beer. God's truth! Anyway, never mind that, not why you're here!"
He rubbed his hands and flashed Italy a wild grin. To further the plan Prussia had stayed in his apartment for almost two weeks and he was getting antsy to go back home. Not that he missed West or anything, course not, but someone had to do his laundry, right?
"You sure we shouldn't suit up or something come Friday? West's tends to nag about clothes too."
"No, I think it would make Germany more suspicious," Italy said, putting aside his scraped-clean plate. He wondered if there would be any chance of dessert. He feared that it may, if that was the case, include wurst.
"We often eat together on Friday's, it's better if we pretend nothing is going on," he continued, while wondering if the prospect really was that unappetizing. And not even Prussia would put potatoes in his dessert, right...?
"Ah, right, hide in plain view. Sound military stra- Sorry, sorry.."
Italy frowned at him, which always had Prussia biting his lip to stop himself from pinching his cheek or something. The little guy was just so cute!
"Does Prussia remember the list of forbidden topics?"
"Yes, yes... No calling West a besserwessie or anal retentive-freak. No whining about the how the budget never has place for awesome monuments these days, no telling him about my cool new glow-in-the-dark computer parts - they're still safe at your place, right?"
"Ve," Italy confirmed. He'd put them under Romano's bed and sincerely hoped his brother wouldn't have reason to enquire what they were and why they were there. "And the most important topics not to talk about?"
"Er... Right, no talking wars, battles, revolutions, troops, insurgencies or political assassinations. Except if West brings it up. Or if it has anything to do with Old Fritz. No, don't look at me like that! I talk about the old man all the time, West would really get suspicious if I didn't when it's appropriate!"
"I still don't understand how those things can come up that often in the, um, flow of conversation," Italy admitted, while eyeing Prussia's minuscule kitchen. There seemed to be a freezer in there, so he might be able to scrounge up some gelato...
"It's a German thing, trust me. 'sides, not even my awesomeness understand how your brother fits tomatoes into every other sentence he says."
"Sometimes Romano is a bit... focused," Italy admitted. "By the way, you don't happen to have any pasta around? I could whip up a bit - why are you laughing, Prussia?"
When Friday evening rolled around, Italy came to pick Prussia up. He wasn't the least bit nervous. Not at all, he regularly mixed up his shaving gel and toothpaste. A nice, minty smell was probably just what it would take to get that neat-freak to agree to some fun, anyway.
Why should he be nervous, anyway? Italy's plan was great and Germany was probably missing them both like hell by now. He'd sure miss his awesome presence if he was bereft of it for more than a few hours, never mind days!
So what if there had been no more calls from Germany? With a little help from Estonia, Prussia knew that his mail conversations lately had been totally boring. Germany appeared to be going through the backlog of tasks so dull, that even his famous discipline faltered before them.
Perhaps it wasn't exactly as Italy thought he would behave, but so what? Sure, they'd hoped that Germany would try and get in touch with them when he realized how lonely he felt without their presence. Failing that, some bar hopping to drown his sorrows was expected.
That he stayed at home doing busy-work, it couldn't mean he didn't care at all, right? Nor that he was being utterly stupid and feeling too depressed for anything, of course not. Because his little brother had some serious issues with depression, and Prussia wouldn't stand around and imagine the worst when there really was nothing to worry about, so there.
Although in retrospect, perhaps he should have shared his forays into hacking with Italy. He'd suspected that the invasion of privacy might not count as proper courting behaviour, with the result that he couldn't even talk about this non-nervousness causing behaviour of Germany's.
Crap. So much easier to just invade someone. Here's my army, there's your army, the winner decides who tops, 'kay?
"We'll go see Germany, Germany, lalalaa~ He's so handsome and nice!" Italy's song broke into Prussia's thoughts once they began walking (or rather, Prussia walked and Italy skipped) towards Germany's house.
"I'll go to Germany and we'll eat pasta and wurst all day long, tralillaa~ Pasta in bed is a beeeeuuuutiful thing, but not as beautiful as Germany!"
They wouldn't be able to do this with West, Prussia thought with a wry grin, when some of the other evening strollers gave them queer looks. He didn't mind people staring, he always assumed they just wished they could be him. But poor West? He'd squirm and fret, be terribly uncomfortable until he made Italy 'behave'. Poor bastard, he wouldn't know what hit him...
In no time at all, they arrived. To Italy's bafflement and Prussia's growing unease, they found the door locked.
"Ve? Isn't Germany at home?"
"Dunno. Hmpf, my bloody key's stuck! Italy, try yours!"
It took them an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the keys weren't working. Not because the lock had rusted shut or anything, but because some bloody idiot had changed the locks! And once Prussia's spare key to the kitchen door also stuck, the culprit was rather obvious.
Staring at the silent house and imagining what Germany must have felt to change his locks - he'd never done that before, ever! - Italy began to cry. If he had been full of hope before, he was now convinced that Germany hated him for all times.
Prussia, on the other hand, became absolutely furious.
"WEST!" he bellowed, hammering the door so that it rattled in its hinges. "Open this bloody door at once!"
The dogs barked inside, but no one answered, much less opened.
"I'm sorry, Germany!" Italy wailed and joined Prussia in beating at the closed door. "Please open! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, we can explain!"
"That's it," Prussia growled when it became apparent that no one was going to open, no matter how much they begged or threatened. "I'm doing this my way! We're going in now, whether he likes it or not, the passive-aggressive asswipe! Fuck you think you're doing, West, locking me out of my own house!" The last was yelled over his shoulder as he went down the few steps to the drive-way to gather his ammunition.
Italy stuck by the door and tried to cry some sense into the muscle-brained freak through the keyhole.
Useless, Prussia knew, because if it was one thing the idiot was, it was painfully stubborn. One of the few traits they shared, in fact, along with volatile tempers.
And it seemed that West urgently needed a reminder about what happened if you crossed Prussia!
A few years ago, West convinced him that they should redo the garden. Somehow this resulted in him, the mighty Prussia, having to lay down a shit-ton of bricks to make a wall for the new flower beds. Quite soon, he grew bored with the work. He was a warrior, right, not some damn handyman! But who said laziness didn't have its own rewards?
Now if he remembered correctly, this was where he'd started to seriously skimp on the mortar.
"Hah, there we go!" Prussia cackled, once the first stone came loose in his hand.
"Waahh, German- Ve? Prussia? What are you doing? Ve! VE!"
The first window broke with a very satisfying crash and tinkle of glass splitter . The dogs raised a frantic howl inside. While a part of Prussia worried that West wouldn't get them away from the broken glass fast enough, he was first and foremost a nation with a mission.
"Knock-fucking-knock! You bastard!" he yelled and let another brick fly. Crash-tinkle-thunk went the next window.
The third brick was already being swung in Prussia's hand when Germany slammed open the door and practically fell out of the house. His face was red, his eyes looked about to pop out and his hair had sprung free of the usual severe style.
Frankly, Prussia thought that 'aggravated beyond coherency' was a look that fitted West perfectly. Always made him want to keep riling the little shit until he just lost it, threw Prussia down and fucked him through the floor. Alas, West usually stuck to yelling.
"What the hell are you doing, you lunatic!" Germany howled, almost as loud as his dogs. "You- no! Stop!"
Prussia let the third brick fly. Since he'd brought it here, why waste perfectly good ammo? West deserved it too, leaving him standing outside their home, as if he was some has-been fool who only had somewhere to live on his brother's sufferance.
"Up yours, West!" he yelled back. "Trying to get rid of us, eh?"
At first, Italy cowered at the appearance of a furious Germany, but finally he seemed gather what courage he possessed. With a cry that sounded suspiciously like pasta, he launched himself at Germany and proceeded to bawl all over the other nation's shirt.
While Germany was distracted with trying to pry the blubbering Italian off, Prussia sauntered over to the agitated doggies crowding around his brother and shooed them to their pen. He wasn't sure what was about to go down, but it wasn't likely to be meant for innocent eyes.
"You gonna let us inside, West, or do I have to knock louder?" Prussia asked as he returned, leaning lazily against the handrail and sporting the fakest innocent grin he could muster.
Germany threw him a furious glare. Since he was still trying to convince Italy that he didn't hate him for all eternity, not to mention the smaller nation was clinging to him frantically, he was unable to do much more.
"Fine," Germany ground out between clenched teeth, "let's take this inside. You two have a lot of explaining to do! Look at what you did to my house!"
"I thought it was our house nowadays?" Prussia asked in a low, dangerous tone.
Germany just stared at him for a moment, face hard and unrelenting.
"Really? Well, I thought you didn't want it any longer. After all," he began walking towards the house, dragging Italy with him, "you're usually so good at taking what you want from others, with no regards for what they want!"
His arms tightened around Italy, but the angry frown didn't lighten for a moment.
"Oh, West." Prussia rolled his eyes. "You really don't get it, do you?"
By now, the two nations had made it into the house and Prussia followed slowly. For once, he was feeling every one of his years.
"When it comes to you, I've always tried to give."
Germany slammed down three large mugs on the kitchen table and then followed up with a steaming pot of hot cocoa. When he was finished, he sat down at the far end of the table and, very pointedly, glared. But only at Italy. Since they came inside, Germany had acted as if the nation currently slouched against the door-frame didn't exist.
"Are you okay?" Germany asked.
Italy sniffled a little and nodded. "Yes, Germany... Are you sure you don't hate us?" His entire being radiated pathetic adorableness, even the cute curly hair drooping.
"You know I don't hate you, Italy."
Prussia winced, unseen by the other two. His little brother could really be a passive-aggressive shit of the greatest magnitude when he felt like it.
"Look," Prussia said, "it's your own fault for rushing to false conclusions and not, oh I dunno, ask us." An important point, in his opinion. Unfortunately, one that Germany ignored every time he tried to raise it, although he supposed the drink might be a peace offering. Or old habits.
"...I don't know what you're going on about," Germany finally said, without taking his eyes off Italy. Inside Prussia's mind, his troops played a victory salute. Of course, he'd always known West couldn't stay angry at his amazing self for long!
"Oh, come on! You're jealous because you thought me and Veneziano had shacked up together!"
Germany harrumphed. "I'm sure Italy would have better taste than that, even if he did prefer men."
"Excuse me? Even if he-" Now, Prussia stalked over to the table and glared down at Italy. "I think you left out a thing or two when you told me about that little date back in the forties, eh Italy?"
Italy tried to hide behind his cocoa mug.
"Mumblemumble what?" Prussia said and pried the cup from his fingers, ignoring Germany's admonishments that he stop bullying Italy at once. "Speak up, man!"
Italy looked down at his lap and then glanced over at Germany. "I said," he began, "that I usually prefer pretty girls. But... Perhaps not every time? Ve?"
Germany was far too large and intimidating a nation to squeak, but otherwise, the sound that escaped him at hearing that would definitely have been classified as a grade-A-squeak.
"You, you what? Does that mean," Germany looked up at Prussia and then back at Italy, "you two really have? To- together?" There was something suspiciously tear-eyed about him in that moment.
"No, Germany!" Italy immediately protested, then climbed onto the still stunned nation's lap with such speed that cocoa slopped all over the table. "I love Germany!"
Prussia watched the events with a calculating eye. When Germany began to pat Italy's back awkwardly and Italy stopped sobbing, he nodded in recognition. Hmpf, no wonder they never got anywhere.
"Say, West, out of completely academic interest. What do you just think happened?"
"What?" Germany turned back to his brother. "What are you on about now, brother?" He frowned. "Haven't you already made enough of a mess of things for today?"
"I asked," Prussia said through gritted teeth, "what you think just happened. If you want to keep a whole window in this house, you'd better answer!"
"How dare you threaten me!" Germany said and stood awkwardly, still holding Italy. "And you'd better believe you'll have to pay for those windows!"
"Oh? Oh, and who is going to make me, eh?" Prussia smirked and took a cup, slurping the cocoa with exaggerated care.
"Not muscle-bound, brainless West, who still hasn't figured out that his best friend isn't exactly straight and has been waiting to fuck him for the last, oh, forty-five years?"
This time, Italy was the one who squeaked. Although that may have been less from Prussia's word's and more from how Germany dropped him as he went for his brother with murder in his eyes.
A constant litany of "oh no, oh no, don't let them kill each other! Most of all, don't let them kill me!" went through Italy's head when Germany finally lost control.
Deciding that loving self-sacrifice, while it had many fine qualities, wasn't quite within the Italian modus operandi, he made scarce. A cupboard door was not the most sturdy defence, but it felt very good to have something to hide behind. Especially when the clatter of flying cooking pots joined the angry yelling.
It seemed as if Plan L(ove) would fail even more spectacularly than plan C. It might even be the last plan Italy and Prussia hatched together. As things seemed right now, the brothers were about to kill each other bare-handedly, provided someone didn't grab a knife set.
Wait a minute... Italy frowned and then relocated to beneath the table, when the spice-rack came flying through the air. There was something strange about this fight, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it...
Hesitantly, Italy stuck his head out and took a peek.
Germany was shaking Prussia by his shirt and yelling incoherently at him. Meanwhile, Prussia's hand snaked along the counter until it encountered a large wooden spoon. With a ferocious grin, he whacked Germany over the head with it.
Germany stumbled backwards, but grabbed hold of a chair and steadied himself. Italy almost went back completely under the table when he realized that Germany was actually growling at Prussia, a deep and unsettling rumble.
"Take that, West! Kehehehe- Ooof!"
The chair, solid oak like all of Germany's furniture, was swung with frightening accuracy and Prussia crashed to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Moments later, he was up again, albeit with some wobble to his steps. He proceeded to demonstrate serious skills in cast-iron pan fighting, probably picked up from years of being clobbered by Hungary.
More items went flying through the kitchen and Italy crept back beneath the table, feeling almost overwhelmed with misery. They were going to kill each other and he wouldn't have anyone left. Germany was senseless with fury, while Prussia kept laughing and taunting him with death-defying ease, acting as if he'd never had more... fun...
Oh, dear God in heaven.
This was Prussia flirting.
Finally Germany managed to pin his infuriating, crazy asshole of a brother to the floor. It took all his strength to keep the squirming nation still and he was very grateful for his larger frame. Damn the man, but he could still fight!
Now Germany was sporting a cut to the forehead, his knee was aching from a lucky frying-pan strike and he'd be bruised all over tomorrow. But, he thought as he leaned forward to keep Prussia from wiggling away beneath him, he'd gotten the bastard down! And now he could...
Well, he'd figure something out. Possibly involving the arrest and deportation of a certain rabid nation. Maybe he could bribe someone to make false papers, stating that the fool was actually Swiss...
Unfortunately, far from looking cowed and ready to beg forgiveness, Prussia was positively glowing. His face was flushed and he kept bucking beneath Germany in a most distracting way.
"Are you all right, Germany, Prussia?" Italy said from behind, making him jump in sudden guilt. Oh god, Italy! Who was- Who said-
Germany nearly lost his grip then, Prussia using his distraction to try and break free. Resolutely showing every thought of what Italy's revelation of possible non-heterosexual leanings might mean into the deepest basement of his mind, Germany determined to focus at one mess at a time.
"Would you just give up!" Germany panted, as the body beneath him twisted once more.
"Never give up, West," Prussia grinned, "haven't you learned that yet?"
"I don't think Prussia is the type to give up," Italy piped in. "But maybe we can get him to give in?"
"What?"
Germany was beginning to feel that something was very wrong about this situation. It wasn't just Prussia's deranged grin, nor the rather... suspicious... lump he tried not to sit on. His brother could go a bit strange when he was fighting, nothing new about that (unfortunately). He had decades of practice in ignoring it.
But why was Italy getting all touchy-feely with Germany's neck? Couldn't he see Germany was a little busy here?
"Ve, Germany..."
Germany ran through his mental catalogue of Italian intonations, but none quite fit. The closest he could get was 'wants something (read: pasta) and believes he is about to get it' , but there were subtle differences. Everyone had been so confusing lately, and his head was beginning to hurt from it all.
"Germany, don't you think we could find something better to do with Prussia than this?"
"I'm fully - stop that infernal wriggling! - open for suggestions!"
"Oh great!" Italy said and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Then stay right where you are, I'll get the handcuffs France gave you on your last birthday!"
"You do that," Germany said, before he fully realized what Italy had suggested. Handcuffs?
"Ohh, kinky," Prussia laughed beneath him and licked away some blood from his lip.
Suddenly, that lump which Germany had done his best to ignore began to feel very intruding.
Doing his best to ignore the blush that spread over his face, he tried to visualize cool showers, Russia, icy Alps, winter in Berlin- no, hold on! No thinking of Berlin and the blinding smile on Prussia's face when you celebrated the reunion in '89!
Now extremely uncomfortable with the whole situation, Germany tried to stand on his knees instead. Only as soon as he did, Prussia pushed up after him, looking far too pleased with himself.
For a moment, Germany debated releasing his brother. But frankly, even this was preferable to not having a house left tomorrow.
He drew a deep, calming breath. Focus. Italy's potential involvement with Prussia, this odd behaviour, it didn't matter. It wasn't about him, he'd realized at last during that damn phone conversation. It never was about him anyway.
Now then, the problem at hand. Fighting made Prussia horny. They'd been in similar situations before. He knew how to handle it; ignore everything and act as if nothing is happening. Until he'd learnt that trick, he'd kept messing up his training back in the days; much to the amusement of his bastard brother.
So. Confine Prussia, clean up, have a drink (break down because you've missed your chance with Italy, you complete fucked up loser)... Actually, make that a dozen drinks.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" he hissed, giving much-needed went to his feelings by channelling them into anger. "What if Italy notices?"
"I can share," Prussia said and winked at him. "Can you?"
Before Germany could answer (or get an aneurysm) Italy was back, carrying three pairs of handcuffs. Of course they were covered with tacky fur in the colours blue, white and red, but right now Germany couldn't have cared less.
"Great," he said as Italy dangled the cuffs in front of his face, "if you put them on, I can lock him up. Then we may need a doctor. He's gone insane! I mean, worse than usual..."
"You can play doctor with me any day, West," Prussia offered.
"Shut up! Italy, get a move on."
There was an unusually thoughtful look in Italy's eyes as he stroked the fuzz of the cuffs. "Didn't Germany say that it was better to handcuff dangerous prisoners with their hands behind their back?" he finally asked.
Prussia frowned and for the first time since he had gotten inside of the house, looked seriously perturbed. "Hey, what are you-"
What happened next almost shattered Germany's composure. As Italy bent down besides Germany, still smiling as far as he could see, something seemed to pass between him and Prussia. Purple-red eyes widened slightly and the trapped nation drew an almost shaky breath, before relaxing slightly.
"Italy?" Germany glanced at his old friend. No, no they said they weren't... No!
"Ve, hurry up, Germany," Italy said and grinned, "the cocoa is going cold."
Was there even any left after their fight? Never mind. Italy's suggestion did make sense (what was wrong with this day?) so Germany used Prussia's distraction to flip him over on his stomach. Continuing the whole "twilight zone" theme of this day, Italy snapped the blue cuff's on Prussia's hands with quick, efficient motions.
"There we go, Germany," he said happily, "you can let go now."
"Great," Germany said and climbed off Prussia. When the albino stayed put, only turning his head to blow Germany a raspberry, he sank back down on the floor and sighed in relief.
The kitchen was a mess. He would have to repair the windows in both ground-floor bedrooms and hall. Something was seriously wrong with Prussia and he could only pray that it didn't mean he was about to run off with Italy. And the dogs, where had they got to?
All Germany wanted was to take a few moments to relax before dealing with it all.
Only now did he realise that his left shoulder ached something wicked, courtesy of a well-aimed kick from his dear brother. When he massaged it and winced, Italy at once suggested that they put some salve on the bruise.
At least his friend's kindness never changed, he thought with a grateful smile, as Italy helped him remove his shirt. He didn't forget keeping a watchful eye on Prussia, though he seemed docile enough.
Although something had definitely snapped in him. Could nations go senile? What if he started seeing things like England? Maybe America would have some advice, or he could-
Click. Click.
"Uh?"
It took Germany a few seconds to understand what had happened. One moment, Italy was pulling down his shirt and fussing over him, the next - he snapped a pair of handcuffs on him?
"What the hell is going on?" Germany cried. "Have you both lost your minds?"
He jerked at the fuzz-covered metal, but as tacky as they might look, France gave sturdy presents. With his hands locked behind his back, Germany was effectively trapped.
"Maybe we have, West," Prussia said and rose to his knees, beginning to crawl closer. "You're a really bad influence, you know."
"I am a really bad influ- Eeep!"
Suddenly, Italy was pressed tight against his back, hands working on Germany's belt.
"Yes. See, Germany," Italy agreed, "he is always yelling and ordering us around. So, when we try and try, and you still won't do what we want you to do..." Italy pulled Germany's trousers about halfway down and made a happy little noise at the what he found inside.
"We just have to take matters into our own hands and make you obey," Prussia finished, grinning.
"Ahh! What are you doing, Italy!" Germany tried to get away from the persistent hands stroking him through his boxers. He had mostly gotten used to the grabby hands of his weird little friend, but this was a whole new level.
"What does it look like he's doing?" Prussia asked and laughed at Germany's attempts at fleeing, before coming closer and putting a definite end to that idea.
Now Prussia was so near Germany that the confused nation could feel the warmth of his body even through his (rapidly disappearing) clothes.
About then, Italy's fingers found his nipples and began playing with them. He was larger and stronger and really ought to be able to free himself, but instead Germany found himself freezing up completely.
"Ever told you that you're a bit slow, West?" Prussia said, his voice unusually husky. He pushed himself even closer, until Germany was firmly trapped between the two kneeling nations. In this position, he soon become acutely familiar with the erections of both Prussia in front of him and Italy behind... and soon enough, a wildly blushing Germany felt his own desire begin to take physical form.
"I can't- I'm-" Germany gasped and squirmed. Since Prussia's hands were also bound, he couldn't touch Germany very well, but he was commencing a highly successful attack on Germany's naked shoulder with his mouth.
"Ve," Italy said from behind, and pulled Germany's hands down towards his own erection, "do you really want us to stop? Hmm...?"
Desire, humiliation and confusion warred in Germany. "But you-" he gasped, feeling his fingers touch Italy's sex through only two thin layers, "And my brother!"
"We want you," Prussia said between sloppy kisses, "and we're really tired of dropping hints."
"What hints?"
"Germany!" Italy sounded sincerely frustrated for once. He took a firm grip of Germany's hair, pulling him backwards and exposing his neck even more to Prussia, who happily exploited the situation.
"Why do you think we've been trying to take you out on dates?" he asked, every word a warm breath in Germany's ear.
"Dates?" He shuddered and, without really planning to, somehow found himself bending along with Italy's insistent pull. It both pushed him against Prussia's hardness and gave Italy better access to his nipples. Once he found himself like this, Germany was unable to move back into a slightly less incriminating position, though a rapidly fading voice in his mind insisted he should.
"Idiot." Prussia bit him, a delicious sharp little spike of pain on his neck, "What did you think all those restaurants, operas, walks in the park and crap was?"
"Unghh..." Germany hardly even remembered any walks in parks, because Italy had been kind enough to open his trousers and free himself. Though he ached to see the hot length he was fondling, the feeling of Italy's sex in Germany's hands was enough to shut down most higher brain-functions all on its own.
"Mmm," Italy purred and began touching Germany all over, while moving against the bound hands stroking him.
"I'm sorry for turning you down all those years ago," Italy got out between small gasps, "but you just, ah, Germany was so overwhelming."
He laughed sweetly in Germany's ear and sat back to get rid of his trousers entirely.
"But now that I've had time to consider," he said and pulled down Germany's underwear, freeing his swollen erection. "I think I do want Germany. A lot!" He twisted a nipple and giggled at the sound this caused.
Prussia whined in frustration as he saw how both Italy and Germany were rapidly losing clothes, while he was still completely covered. "Some assistance here, Italy?" he demanded.
"Sorry, sorry," came the distracted mumble from behind Germany.
Said nation was still doing his best to take in the situation, even if he was feared he'd lost all control over the situation some undefined time ago. When Italy reached around him in order to open Prussia's shirt, his mind suddenly snapped back to exactly whose cock was grinding against his own.
"Wait!" Germany yelled in half-panic and pushed backwards, almost falling on top of Italy. "We shouldn't - Prussia's my brother, dammit! We can't do this!"
All three nations halted in their movements for a few seconds. Then Prussia rocked back on his heels and stood up with a grunt of effort. One part of Germany wanted to sigh in relief, perhaps now the world would finally tilt back to its correct axis and life would make sense again.
At the same time, there was another, rather frantic, part which protested that now when they'd finally found something besides brawling Prussia did well, they ought to let him finish!
Then his gaze met Prussia and Germany felt himself freeze again. That twist of his lips, the slump of his shoulders... Somehow, the familiar light of his kitchen lamp managed to paint startlingly deep shadows on Prussia's face. It revealed a lack of the haughty pride that was as much a part of Prussia as his obnoxious ego, and without it, he seemed so much smaller than Germany's mental picture.
Italy's hand was around his left biceps, and now his surprisingly sharp nails dug into Germany's flesh. He heard an tiny hiss of - anger, worry? He didn't know, but it was most unexpected from the usually carefree nation.
"See, Italy? Told you so," Prussia said, looking up at the ceiling, the stove, everywhere but the two nations on the floor. "Just too much awesome for him to handle, kehehee...." He twitched his head as a quick farewell, now sporting stiff grin. "Bye then. Ludwig."
Prussia hadn't called him that since... well, pretty much never.
"Wonder if Poland could rent me a room? That'd be a sight, us together! Bet we could make make Lithuania crack in two days flat!"
And, just like that, Germany remembered when he'd last heard that name. That time his brother's face had also turned empty, when his laughter rang like a broken bell. It was the sound of loss - of land, of kings and of... of him?
"No!" Forgetting that he couldn't use his hands for support, Germany would have toppled over except for Italy's grip on his arm. "Wait, brother!"
"I can't," Prussia said, and the not-smile on his face widened even more. "I'm sorry, West, I've tried. Just can't hang around and wait any longer."
"No!" Germany struggled to get up and find the words, but he didn't have any idea what to do or say. He'd never known what to say, really, to anyone. "Don't... Italy! Tell him not to go," he ordered.
"Prussia," Italy said obediently, "I don't want you to go away."
But his fingers dug deeper into Germany's arm and he understood the meaning loud and clear. Not good enough.
"Thanks, cutie. You were pretty awesome too, just so you know."
Finally, Germany found his balance and got up on shaky feet. Prussia looked like a badly put together porcelain figure, about to break in the heath of the kiln. Handcuffed, the top buttons of his shirt undone, face developing a bruise and sporting a horrible false grin.
It was all so confusing. When he'd changed the locks and shut himself, it was because they'd left him behind. His only comfort had been that at least he knew what was happening.
He'd really, honestly believed that they would abandon him again - and that was, oh, that had been stupid, hadn't it? War and betrayal and years of misunderstandings hadn't kept either of these menaces out of his hair.
And now...
His brother.
And his best friend.
Both claimed they loved him, that they wanted him. Could he live with that?
He glanced back at lovely Italy, sitting on the floor in only his shirt, the half-hard cock Germany had been fondling only moments ago peeking out from between sunbrowned legs. His face had rarely looked more serious, nor more tempting to Germany.
Italy, who had saved him from a loneliness so ingrained in him he didn't even know that it was there. Italy, whose sweetness and light was sought by so many, and who still preferred to come visit him!
Then he looked at Prussia, beaten but still not down. His brother, the living collection of all the extreme up and downs of a nation, which Germany had only tasted so far. A man who ought to be a memory, but clung to life with a vitality that shamed more than one other nation.
And he remembered what it was like to come home to a house without them. With his heart heavy, knowing that they weren't just out, they weren't just working. The certainty that nobody would come here at all.
Germany loved his solitude. He rejoiced in the clean order of knowing that everything was in place, doing what it was supposed to do. But these last days...
No Prussia to eat the food he cooked and then leave his crap all over the place. No Italy who invited himself in for dinner, football, a snuggled up sleep-over. It went far too fast to vacuum and launder without someone there to mess things up. He'd tried the television, but it couldn't hold his interest. The empty voices babbling only made it obvious how lifeless the house was.
He'd walked his dogs, he'd done his work and he'd stewed in his anger at the thought of those two idiotic, messy, ungrateful... Where they laughing together? Would he see them at all in the future? Why, why did they act as if he wasn't part of their- Their family. His family. Bickering, disorganized, utterly hopeless. Utterly lovely. A chaotic headache with awful in-laws, but one which he couldn't scare away with his temper or perfectionism, where they all knew each others faults and still came back.
What was he supposed to do without both of them there to annoy him, anyway?
Before that thought had finished, two long Germany brought him to Prussia and he proceeded to prove that his brother wasn't the only one who could win a fight without using his hands.
It was almost too easy to trap Prussia against the doorpost. At the first kiss, he turned stiff, a only a choked sound escaping. As it deepened, Prussia came undone against Germany, falling towards him until most of his weight rested against Germany's chest.
Somewhere behind them, Germany heard Italy give a whoop of pleasure before a smaller body careened into his back.
Their teeth slammed together painfully, but the curse caught in Germany's throat when he saw how his brother looked. Flushed and almost trembling with pleasure. Something between a sob and a laugh escaped one of them - he honestly couldn't tell who - when Italy wriggled a pair of enthusiastic hands between them and fairly ripped open his shirt.
"Ahh, West," Prussia said and let his head fall forward, resting against Germany's shoulder, "you're incredibly difficult to deal with, you know that?"
"Yes," Germany said and pushed a knee between Prussia's legs, "but I'm hardly the only one."
Prussia hissed and kissed him, his usual aggression returning with full force. "You bastard!"
"But our bastard!" the laughing Italy said and tried to climb up on Germany's back. "Hmm, don't you guys think we should continue this in bed? As long as we can find one without glass in!"
TBC in the next chapter!
Comments etc much welcome ^_^