[fic] Become One With Canada (Hetalia; PruCan) 24/30+
Oktoberfest 2010 part 1
by exorcistor
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
People/pairings: Prussia/Canada, Germany/Italy
Word count: around 1700
Genre: fluff
Rating: worksafe-ish
Note: ...I actually planned on posting this on Sunday, but then my computer died on me, and I've been using my boyfriend's laptop ever since. I happen to not have any fics saved on his comp, soooo~ Sorry about the delay ^^;
---
“…do I have to?”
Prussia looked offended as he answered. “Duh.”
The two of them were standing in the living room in Germany’s house, Prussia with his arms crossed over his chest and Canada holding up an article of clothing between them with a slightly suspicious look on his face. Prussia, on the other hand had already declared that while hadn’t ever worn lederhosen in his life, and wasn’t planning on starting now, but both Italy and Germany were already wearing theirs, and apparently that was reason enough for Prussia to not be able to see why his host nation was making such a big deal out of them all of a sudden. He’d already tried them on at the store, hadn’t he?
Canada sighed. He knew that it would be rude to continue to act hesitant to put on the garment, especially since it had been a gift to him for his birthday this year. From Germany and Italy, none the less. Also, once they left the house, everyone else they met would most likely be wearing lederhosen as well, so it really wasn’t that big of a deal, was it?
Still, Canada couldn’t help but to feel that grown men wearing shorts with suspenders wasn’t quite right.
He sighed.
“I guess I’ll… go and put these on then,” he said, and as Prussia’s face lit up like America during Christmas, he didn’t even have to force the smile onto his face.
As he turned to go back up the stairs to their shared room, he ran into Italy, who was already wearing a slightly modified (to the better, as expected by the very-fashionably-aware nation) version of the national outfit himself. Italy practically bounced where he stood as he regarded Canada.
“You’re going changing now? You’re even later than me!” he said. “Germany doesn’t like it when we’re late, even to celebrations. And these clothes are a little tricky to put on. I always have to ask Germany to help me and then we run even later because he really likes seeing me in these clothes you know? So it’s not always my fault that they have to wait for us, at least I don’t think it is only my fault.”
Canada only barely prevented himself from giggling. Italy would never stop being adorable, no many how many years that passed. Canada was also probably one of the few nations who didn’t get even one bit scandalized to hear the European talk so openly about his and Germany’s relationship and what it withheld, what with the north-American being quite used to France.
“Prussia didn’t offer to help me, I’m afraid,” Canada said. “Maybe if you…?”
“Oh, I’d love to! I’ve gotten pretty used to these straps and stuff now, and since last year, I’ve even learned how to tie my own shoe-laces!”
Italy beamed at him. Canada wasn’t sure what him tying shoe-laces had to do with his or Canada’s own lederhosen, but he decided to ignore the statement as Italy grabbed his arm and pulled him along up the stairs.
Even with their combined efforts, putting on the shirt and pants took them at least double the time it would have taken Canada to put on a tuxedo. Finally, after Italy had had to call out “we’re almost done~” in response to Germany’s angry knocking on the door three times, they could put the younger nation in front of the full length mirror and inspect their work.
Canada thought that he looked ridiculous, and said so too, but Italy just giggled.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll fit in perfectly. And I’m sure Prussia will like this very much,” he said, hiding the devious tilt of his smile behind his hands.
Canada raised an eyebrow. “O… kay. If you say so. Thank you, Italy.”
“No problem!” the shorter nation sang, and before Canada had gotten a chance to decide if he shouldn’t just stay home after all, Italy opened the door and disappeared down the corridor and stairs with a loud; “We’re done, we’re done~ Just wait ‘til you see him, Prussia, he’s so cute!”
And then there was the laughter and squeal which indicated that Prussia had simply picked Italy up straight from his run and swung him around.
“You’re so cute, Itacakes!” Prussia’s voice came from the bottom floor, and Canada smiled. The first times he’d come with his boyfriend to visit Europe and had seen the albino and brunette together, he hadn’t been able to decide what to make of their relationship, as Prussia seemed to make a point out of sticking pretty much as close to Italy as he could come, falling asleep in the Italian’s lap and picking food from his plate, hugging and praising him until Italy’s ears were red simply from too much glee.
Germany had taken mercy on Canada one evening during the second time they visited and explained to him that Prussia always behaved a bit “odd” around Italy.
“I believe that he is merely doing it to attempt to spite me,” he said, watching Prussia talk Italy into tasting a piece of potato from his own plate. Canada asked Prussia later that night, and had the suspicious confirmed that “I’m just messin’ with West, ya know? His face gets frikkin’ hilarious when he’s jealous, have you seen?”
However, as he regarded Italy and Prussia together from that point on, he saw for himself that that was only half the truth; Prussia also cared deeply for the smaller nation. If it was because of his ex-brother’s feelings bled into his own or just because Italy was the kind of nation that you fell helplessly head-over-heels for, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. It was as platonic as adoration ever could be, he recognized, and thus, with Canada never having been one that was prone to jealousy, he didn’t mind.
Now, he used Italy’s earlier arrival down the stairs to his advantage, letting the brunette distract Canada’s pale-haired boyfriend while he descended himself. When he finally stood in the hallway outside the living room, he cleared his throat hesitantly.
Prussia turned towards him with a cocked eyebrow, as if to ask him what the hell took him so long. That single eyebrow was soon joined by his other one, his expression turning into one where no annoyance - feigned or other - took any part. Canada could feel himself blush under the suddenly very intense stare he was receiving. He felt quite ridiculous already, and he knew this outfit couldn’t possibly fit him, so he’d feel better if Prussia would just let it go and allow Canada to go back upstairs and change back into his own clothes to match his lover’s more casual style.
Italy poked his head out under Prussia’s arm, looking up at his brother-in-law’s face, and he giggled.
“Prussia, your mouth is hanging open, you look really funny,” he said, and poked the albino lightly in the side. Prussia blinked and shut his mouth, still looking at Canada.
“I, uh. We should get going.”
That was all. Canada lowered his gaze to the floor and willed Oktoberfest to be over already. When Italy tugged at his sleeve (Prussia seemed to have forgotten something in the bedroom and had rushed up the stairs without another word), he followed silently. Italy leaned closer so that he could whisper loudly:
“See, I told you he’d like it!”
Canada smiled awkwardly, because though he didn’t share the Italian’s interpretation of his boyfriend’s feelings for Canada in his national outfit, he didn’t want to seem impolite and ungrateful, when Feliciano had helped him put the garments on and everything.
“He practically couldn’t take his eyes off you,” Italy continued, even less discreetly, as he bounced down the steps outside the front door. “Germany looks at me the same way every year; it’s a good thing I was there! I don’t think you’d get to taste any of their beer tonight otherwise… but maybe that’s not such a good thing? German beer is too strong for me, I almost can’t swallow it and then I get dizzy after only two glasses and-“
“Italy,” came Germany’s deep voice from the sidewalk outside the garden fence. Italy instantly interrupted his ramble and ran up to the taller nation, smiling.
“Look, doesn’t Canada look nice in his leatherhosen?” he said, nudging Germany to turn his attention towards the other blond on the path. Germany glanced at Canada.
“Very. But it’s called lederhosen, Italy. Now, where’s bruder disappeared to? We’re going to be late.”
“Prussia ran upstairs when he saw how cute Canada is,” Italy said, and his smile tilted in the same way as before, a tilt which reminded Canada distressingly much about his own brother when he’d thought of a particularly good plan to annoy England with. He didn’t know which scared him the most; America, who had access to nuclear technology and barely any self-restraint, smirking like that, or Italy, who weren’t supposed to be able to make such an expression in the first place.
Germany cursed under his breath (was he blushing? Canada couldn’t be sure, since he didn’t know the European nation that well, but he thought that his cheeks had gone a bit red) and started walking towards the house, but before he’d even reached the steps, Prussia walked out the door, his usual confident grin firmly in place.
“What’re you ladies hanging around here for?” he called in a loud voice. “Here I thought that we had a party to attend!”
Canada drew a deep breath as Prussia slipped into a pace beside his host nation and let his arm rest lightly on Canada’s shoulders on their way to the nearby park (which for the occasion had been turned into a huge bar, almost every part of are covered with party tents and benches - Canada didn’t think he’d seen this much beer and bare male legs in his life, and to be quite honest; he could have survived without the experience). At least he didn’t seem to have anything against being seen together with his boyfriend, no matter how awkward he looked.
Small favours, Canada thought as he pulled at the leather shorts and straps and tried not to look as miserable as he felt.
Prussa’s bird jumping onto his shoulder and chirping only made him feel marginally better.
---
Previous | Next
End note: Prussia isn't wearing lederhosen because. Well. Just because. Actually, a friend suggested to me that they wouldn't be his style, or really a part of his cultural heritage. Don't actually remember how most of the discussion went, but I trust her on these kind of things ;) More on Oktoberfest here.
by exorcistor
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
People/pairings: Prussia/Canada, Germany/Italy
Word count: around 1700
Genre: fluff
Rating: worksafe-ish
Note: ...I actually planned on posting this on Sunday, but then my computer died on me, and I've been using my boyfriend's laptop ever since. I happen to not have any fics saved on his comp, soooo~ Sorry about the delay ^^;
---
“…do I have to?”
Prussia looked offended as he answered. “Duh.”
The two of them were standing in the living room in Germany’s house, Prussia with his arms crossed over his chest and Canada holding up an article of clothing between them with a slightly suspicious look on his face. Prussia, on the other hand had already declared that while hadn’t ever worn lederhosen in his life, and wasn’t planning on starting now, but both Italy and Germany were already wearing theirs, and apparently that was reason enough for Prussia to not be able to see why his host nation was making such a big deal out of them all of a sudden. He’d already tried them on at the store, hadn’t he?
Canada sighed. He knew that it would be rude to continue to act hesitant to put on the garment, especially since it had been a gift to him for his birthday this year. From Germany and Italy, none the less. Also, once they left the house, everyone else they met would most likely be wearing lederhosen as well, so it really wasn’t that big of a deal, was it?
Still, Canada couldn’t help but to feel that grown men wearing shorts with suspenders wasn’t quite right.
He sighed.
“I guess I’ll… go and put these on then,” he said, and as Prussia’s face lit up like America during Christmas, he didn’t even have to force the smile onto his face.
As he turned to go back up the stairs to their shared room, he ran into Italy, who was already wearing a slightly modified (to the better, as expected by the very-fashionably-aware nation) version of the national outfit himself. Italy practically bounced where he stood as he regarded Canada.
“You’re going changing now? You’re even later than me!” he said. “Germany doesn’t like it when we’re late, even to celebrations. And these clothes are a little tricky to put on. I always have to ask Germany to help me and then we run even later because he really likes seeing me in these clothes you know? So it’s not always my fault that they have to wait for us, at least I don’t think it is only my fault.”
Canada only barely prevented himself from giggling. Italy would never stop being adorable, no many how many years that passed. Canada was also probably one of the few nations who didn’t get even one bit scandalized to hear the European talk so openly about his and Germany’s relationship and what it withheld, what with the north-American being quite used to France.
“Prussia didn’t offer to help me, I’m afraid,” Canada said. “Maybe if you…?”
“Oh, I’d love to! I’ve gotten pretty used to these straps and stuff now, and since last year, I’ve even learned how to tie my own shoe-laces!”
Italy beamed at him. Canada wasn’t sure what him tying shoe-laces had to do with his or Canada’s own lederhosen, but he decided to ignore the statement as Italy grabbed his arm and pulled him along up the stairs.
Even with their combined efforts, putting on the shirt and pants took them at least double the time it would have taken Canada to put on a tuxedo. Finally, after Italy had had to call out “we’re almost done~” in response to Germany’s angry knocking on the door three times, they could put the younger nation in front of the full length mirror and inspect their work.
Canada thought that he looked ridiculous, and said so too, but Italy just giggled.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll fit in perfectly. And I’m sure Prussia will like this very much,” he said, hiding the devious tilt of his smile behind his hands.
Canada raised an eyebrow. “O… kay. If you say so. Thank you, Italy.”
“No problem!” the shorter nation sang, and before Canada had gotten a chance to decide if he shouldn’t just stay home after all, Italy opened the door and disappeared down the corridor and stairs with a loud; “We’re done, we’re done~ Just wait ‘til you see him, Prussia, he’s so cute!”
And then there was the laughter and squeal which indicated that Prussia had simply picked Italy up straight from his run and swung him around.
“You’re so cute, Itacakes!” Prussia’s voice came from the bottom floor, and Canada smiled. The first times he’d come with his boyfriend to visit Europe and had seen the albino and brunette together, he hadn’t been able to decide what to make of their relationship, as Prussia seemed to make a point out of sticking pretty much as close to Italy as he could come, falling asleep in the Italian’s lap and picking food from his plate, hugging and praising him until Italy’s ears were red simply from too much glee.
Germany had taken mercy on Canada one evening during the second time they visited and explained to him that Prussia always behaved a bit “odd” around Italy.
“I believe that he is merely doing it to attempt to spite me,” he said, watching Prussia talk Italy into tasting a piece of potato from his own plate. Canada asked Prussia later that night, and had the suspicious confirmed that “I’m just messin’ with West, ya know? His face gets frikkin’ hilarious when he’s jealous, have you seen?”
However, as he regarded Italy and Prussia together from that point on, he saw for himself that that was only half the truth; Prussia also cared deeply for the smaller nation. If it was because of his ex-brother’s feelings bled into his own or just because Italy was the kind of nation that you fell helplessly head-over-heels for, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. It was as platonic as adoration ever could be, he recognized, and thus, with Canada never having been one that was prone to jealousy, he didn’t mind.
Now, he used Italy’s earlier arrival down the stairs to his advantage, letting the brunette distract Canada’s pale-haired boyfriend while he descended himself. When he finally stood in the hallway outside the living room, he cleared his throat hesitantly.
Prussia turned towards him with a cocked eyebrow, as if to ask him what the hell took him so long. That single eyebrow was soon joined by his other one, his expression turning into one where no annoyance - feigned or other - took any part. Canada could feel himself blush under the suddenly very intense stare he was receiving. He felt quite ridiculous already, and he knew this outfit couldn’t possibly fit him, so he’d feel better if Prussia would just let it go and allow Canada to go back upstairs and change back into his own clothes to match his lover’s more casual style.
Italy poked his head out under Prussia’s arm, looking up at his brother-in-law’s face, and he giggled.
“Prussia, your mouth is hanging open, you look really funny,” he said, and poked the albino lightly in the side. Prussia blinked and shut his mouth, still looking at Canada.
“I, uh. We should get going.”
That was all. Canada lowered his gaze to the floor and willed Oktoberfest to be over already. When Italy tugged at his sleeve (Prussia seemed to have forgotten something in the bedroom and had rushed up the stairs without another word), he followed silently. Italy leaned closer so that he could whisper loudly:
“See, I told you he’d like it!”
Canada smiled awkwardly, because though he didn’t share the Italian’s interpretation of his boyfriend’s feelings for Canada in his national outfit, he didn’t want to seem impolite and ungrateful, when Feliciano had helped him put the garments on and everything.
“He practically couldn’t take his eyes off you,” Italy continued, even less discreetly, as he bounced down the steps outside the front door. “Germany looks at me the same way every year; it’s a good thing I was there! I don’t think you’d get to taste any of their beer tonight otherwise… but maybe that’s not such a good thing? German beer is too strong for me, I almost can’t swallow it and then I get dizzy after only two glasses and-“
“Italy,” came Germany’s deep voice from the sidewalk outside the garden fence. Italy instantly interrupted his ramble and ran up to the taller nation, smiling.
“Look, doesn’t Canada look nice in his leatherhosen?” he said, nudging Germany to turn his attention towards the other blond on the path. Germany glanced at Canada.
“Very. But it’s called lederhosen, Italy. Now, where’s bruder disappeared to? We’re going to be late.”
“Prussia ran upstairs when he saw how cute Canada is,” Italy said, and his smile tilted in the same way as before, a tilt which reminded Canada distressingly much about his own brother when he’d thought of a particularly good plan to annoy England with. He didn’t know which scared him the most; America, who had access to nuclear technology and barely any self-restraint, smirking like that, or Italy, who weren’t supposed to be able to make such an expression in the first place.
Germany cursed under his breath (was he blushing? Canada couldn’t be sure, since he didn’t know the European nation that well, but he thought that his cheeks had gone a bit red) and started walking towards the house, but before he’d even reached the steps, Prussia walked out the door, his usual confident grin firmly in place.
“What’re you ladies hanging around here for?” he called in a loud voice. “Here I thought that we had a party to attend!”
Canada drew a deep breath as Prussia slipped into a pace beside his host nation and let his arm rest lightly on Canada’s shoulders on their way to the nearby park (which for the occasion had been turned into a huge bar, almost every part of are covered with party tents and benches - Canada didn’t think he’d seen this much beer and bare male legs in his life, and to be quite honest; he could have survived without the experience). At least he didn’t seem to have anything against being seen together with his boyfriend, no matter how awkward he looked.
Small favours, Canada thought as he pulled at the leather shorts and straps and tried not to look as miserable as he felt.
Prussa’s bird jumping onto his shoulder and chirping only made him feel marginally better.
---
Previous | Next
End note: Prussia isn't wearing lederhosen because. Well. Just because. Actually, a friend suggested to me that they wouldn't be his style, or really a part of his cultural heritage. Don't actually remember how most of the discussion went, but I trust her on these kind of things ;) More on Oktoberfest here.