In order to celebrate HETALIA'S anime adaptation. AXIS POWERS HETALIA KINK MEME
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hetalia kink meme
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Okay, let's make history and be more epic than these people, shall we?
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"Since when?"
--and he had made it back across the border this time, had finished his retreat, but that didn't stop his chasing, not a step, and this time it wasn't a rock he held but a gun, and the cities had crumbled around them like so many houses of cards--
"Since when?"
--Fuck off, he'd said, with a mouthful of broken teeth. Fuck off, you psychopath, this isn't over, Hungary-
-Fell, the reply had come. Like you will fall, and Germany, and Japan, and Italy, and France and England and America and anyone who ever tries this again because I am throughbeingwalkeduponand--
"Since when, East?"
Prussia shook his head violently, unclenched his hands from the chair seat he now realized he had been clutching.
"Since..."
"Since." Russia's pacing had stopped.
"Since the war," he finally managed, and braced himself just in time for the chair to be flipped violently back and crash to the floor. Before he could twist out of the way, Russia had dropped to a low crouch over him from behind, pinning his shoulders to the back of the chair and hovering menacingly inches from Prussia's face.
"Since the war," Russia repeated. "And now you don't want to mobilize them again, for fear that people will think of you again as they used to. As you really are."
"I'm not the same person I was back--" Prussia began, and stopped when Russia craned down carefully to kiss his neck.
"I know," he said, breath warm against Prussia's skin. "Of all people, I know best."
Prussia's hand shot up, clutched uncertainly at Russia's arm restraining him. Something between a growl and a moan escaped from between his teeth and he squirmed with what little leverage he could find from his awkward position. At last Russia withdrew and stood, looming over him where he stayed sprawled ungraciously in the tipped-over chair.
A tilt of the head, a smile. "Your hands are shaking," Russia said. "Is it cold?"
It was August.
"Fuckin' freezing," said Prussia, and held out his hand to be pulled up.
It was some small consolation to him that it took so long for them to get to the couch this time around. Each grappling hold, each scrape of teeth on skin, each struggling, halting step was a month in the trenches, a desperate border push, a bitter defiant stand. They were last stands, though, and he was not surprised when once again the dull grey cushions met with his back and the sudden pressure of their combined weight made the springs creak in futile protest beneath him. He ripped Russia's scarf away in one last bid for the final word and paid for it with a bitten lip.
Outside, Moscow was whole again, and it was not snowing, but some things had not changed; Russia leaned heavily on him, supporting himself with an arm propped across Prussia's chest even as his other hand fumbled blindly for a zipper, and his body was heavy and immovable, forged of iron though Prussia had seen him bleed, and his tongue did not taste of vodka, didn't need to, because these days Russia's dreams were sometimes intoxication enough, and he was hot and cold and empty and filled with sadness or hatred or longing or maybe just white, endless memory.
So Prussia, left with little other option, lay under Russia's warm bulk and kissed back (if it could be called kissing, what they did) and counted to himself the differences between shielding and smothering and knew without question that Russia did not yet truly grasp any of these, perhaps never would. But mostly he tried not to think, and instead dug his nails harder into Russia's skin to remind both of them that he could.
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"Your tanks will be stationed at the border for me should I need them," he said. It was not a question.
"Yes," said Prussia.
"You may keep your illusions of non-savagery."
"Thank you," said East Germany.
"I am all the the force you will ever still need."
"You are," said the Soviet Bloc.
His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides a few times before he forced them to still. The weight on his chest did not lift.
Prussia, he thought. Sounds like Russia. And just why that was and whether or not it had ever been the other way around didn't really seem to matter anymore, because either way it had all begun to sound much the same to him.
---
(There. In conclusion, Russia wins at crazy and I lose at PWP. But it was entirely important that you all learn about the first tortoise in space.)
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I love the bookend feel of this ending and the ending of part one. I love how Prussia can't even bring himself to mention the war, and how he cuts himself off from calling Russia's now-enemies the Allies.
Basically, I just love this!
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I bestow my best regard upon you , I love you author anon.
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Russia truly out-crazies them all & I especially love that ending line.
Thanks so much, author!anon.
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I'm sitting in my room, breathing heavily, mouth agape, staring blankly at my laptop's screen, totally mesmerized.
THAT. WAS. AMAZING.
ANON. YOU ROCK THE UNIVERSE.
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I wish I'll eventually find you de-anonised, to read more from you!
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