Birthday Present III: Physical Education

By Deep Rain

Special thanks to Here's Your Cheese Omelette and Sadik for accepting the beta! Sorry I jumped the gun, but please point out any snaffus in the comments!

Author's Note: would you believe me if I told you that this was meant to be done the December of 2009? And curse the interface for screwing up my format again, took me hours to fix!

Two weeks before December 6th, Sweden made a call and ordered five crates of Champagne.

Ten days before December 6th, Sweden wrote the party invitations on gilded cards and had them delivered first class with tracking and insurance.

One week before December 6th, he called in a cleaning company to clean the rugs with steam vacuums.

Five days before December 6th, Finland was wondering if this isn't an over-kill for a birthday party.

Wednesday December 3rd

Sweden was talking on the phone, gruffly instructing the bakery over the exact shade of white the cake is suppose to be. Finland huddled on the couch hugging a pillow.

And to think that all he gave him for birthday were sauna accessories.

When Sweden hung up, Finland tossed the pillow aside snuck up behind him, brainstorming for something to say that will show his gratitude.

Sweden turned around and bumped into him, dropping his Wife's-Birthday-Planner notebook.

"Oh sorry! Sorry for standing behind you like that…"

"'S alright."

Finland was still at a lost of words.

Well, at least…

Embarrassed by what he was about to do, Finland shut his eyes and hastily pulled Sweden down for what was meant to be a quick peck on the lips.

And then head-butted his housemate on the face.

"Sorry! Oh god I'm so sorry!"

Sweden covered his nose, staring at him perplexed through skewed glasses. In a last ditched attempt, Finland flung his arms around Sweden for a squeeze.

He flung his arms and knocked over the vase behind Sweden. After am eruption of shattering porcelain and spilling water, Finland stood aside with head hung low as Sweden quietly inspected him for any injury before turning around to pick up the mess.

Finland darted back to his room mortified.

He's really not good at this, is he?

That night Finland laid in bed an made a birthday resolution: He shall do all in his power to better his… well, skills.

And for the life of it, he could not think of another person to ask but…

Thursday December 4th

France asked him the third time: "Swear on your amazing Nordic healthcare that Sweden does not know you're here."

"I swear! He's at the grocery store and I left a note for him that I'm at Estonia's and Estonia promised to play along if Sweden asked. Don't worry!"

France glared at him for a few seconds, then cheered up and flashed an brilliant if not slightly immodest smile.

"Well, in that case why should I grudge to provide you with the most excellent and hands-on instruction in—"

He sat down next to Finland and the still-tender wound on his bum throbbed.

"—ouch but how about I give you a referral since I'd hate to escalate this into an international crisis?"

He scribbled a phone number down on a paper napkin and tossed it on Finland.

Finland frowned at the name.

"You sure? "

"My protégé, excels in every respect of amorous display. Now get going or else I might not see the sunrise tomorrow."

The rolling tract of vineyard stopped by a little tool shack, and on a rickety little bench next to it sat the fidgeting Finland.

Then from behind a low stone wall, Italy came skipping in with a wurst wrapped with paper in his hands.

"Oh hi Finland! There you are! You said you wanted to talk?"

This is such a bad idea.

"Um… yeah…"

Italy plopped down next to him and took another bite of sausage, his eyes intent on Finland with inquiry.

"Well… you see… You know how I'm kind of… together with Sweden, but I feel like I'm bad showing him that… that I like him. Like the other day I tried to kiss him and ended up hitting his nose, and then smashed a vase trying to hug him…"

He peaked at Italy from the corner of his eye.

Not laughing yet, good.

"So I thought maybe I should ask for some advises about… like… …France said you're really good at it."

Italy grinned without swallowing.

"'e's rot I om."

Then gulping down his food, Italy stood up.

"Well, there this thing I do that Germany really likes— "

Finland subconsciously cowered.

This entire exchange is too mind-blowingly embarrassing that Finland does not know where to look. So he stared at the now discarded wurst wrapper on the ground and tried not to fall off the bench.

"It… Italy... I don' think…ah…ah I don't think Su-san is going to…"

Italy looked up and tried to talk around a mouthful.

"'gerony erly iksh ig hen I goo ig"

Friday December 5th

When, for the third time, Finland spun around and stumbled away when they ran into each other in the house, Sweden realized that his wife was avoiding him like a plague. They had decided early yesterday that they would go downtown to pick up some last minute supplies together, and now it seemed like that wasn't going to happen and he did not know what he did wrong.

After milling around the house longer than necessary, Sweden took the keys, put on his coat and decided that he could do this himself, only to give up and end up in front of Finland's door.

"Finland."

He wasn't expecting a response, but the silence still stung.

"Finland. 'm leavin… Do ya wan anythin?"

He gave it a good twenty seconds before turning away.

Maybe he's asleep. Shouldn't have disturbed him.

He was about to shut the door behind him when he heard Finland stumbling out of his room. He looked back, inwardly sighing in relief as he saw Finland pulling on his shoes in clumsy half-hops.

"I'll…I'll come too!"

After the farmer's market and the confectionary and the patisserie, things almost felt normal again, and Sweden was willing to ignore the fact that Finland still wasn't meeting his eyes. It wasn't like those happened too often even on regular days anyways. They walked side-by-side down the street, bags daggling off their, but mostly his, arms.

Perhaps he was just nervous about the party, thought Sweden. He did invite a lot of nations, and mostly without asking Finland. And suppose the bakery didn't get shade of the cake right? He should've just paid Austria to bake the cake…

Oh look.

Germany and Italy are in town, too.

Italy spotted him over the rim of his pizza crust. Dragging Germany along, he darted towards them while waving like a maniac.

"Hi— Sweden—! Hi— Finland—!"

He heard a paper bag hit the ground. Sweden turned around and found Finland rooted on the spot with an expression of the utmost terror that rivaled the one he had when Russia busted through his windows in 1809.

Italy skidded to a halt in front of them. Sweden was just about to dip into his small reserve of salutations for Germany when Italy exclaim with a big grin.

"So did you like it?"

Finland whimpered and covered his face.

Demoting his manners below the wellbeing of his wife, Sweden ignored them.

"Finland? Ya alrigh? "

Italy barreled on, and even winked at him.

"I taught him well didn't I?"

Germany pulled him back, who was almost plastering his face on Sweden. "Taught what? What are you talking about? And good afternoon to you both."

If possible, Italy's grin stretched even wider.

"That trick I do under your desk of course! You always liked it, and Finland asked me to—"

Germany's eyes grew wide, and those of Sweden's grew even wider.

"— and Finland asked me to whfmmr—"

Germany pressed his gloved hand on that bawdy mouth before his consistently inconsistent ally could spell out his own death. He looked up and found Sweden still staring at Italy, and he inched backwards with the flailing body in his arms.

How long would it take Sweden to launch his squadron of 39 Gripens, and would he have time to intercept them before they could firebomb his ally's vital regions?

Germany took an involuntarily glance at Finland.

"— and Finland asked me to whfmmr—"

Sweden almost sighed in relief to see that bawdy mouth censored in a timely manner, or else he would be compelled to violate more than several Geneva Conventions and make Germany feel that he had a bargain at Nuremberg. There was a shuffle behind him, and Sweden clenched his hand around Finland's wrist before he could run away. Finland had his face buried in his other palm.

Sweden took an involuntary glance at Italy.

International crisis can often feel like an inevitable spiral towards Doomsday when you're in the midst of it. However, this might be one of the few occasions when your history professor can offer optimistic and consoling words concerning the state of the world:

1898, Fashoda Incident. England and France was about to gauge each other's eyes out over who gets to raise our doe-eyed boy Fashoda (never mind Fashoda doesn't want either of them there,) when England realized that Germany's been hitting the gym too much recently, and decided he might want France as a country-shield should Germany start punching things besides sand bags.

1962, Cuban Missile Crisis. To avoid mutually assured destruction (MAD), America decided to stop hiding bombs in Italy's underwear while Russia decided to stop hiding bombs in Cuba's underwear.

The above are just two of many examples that serve to illustrate, that, despite our chronic historic-myopia and craven belligerence, two countries can flick the safties on their guns back on if necessary.

For Germany and Sweden, the necessity derives from their inability to remain riled. There are two types of people whom one could not muster the will to berate:

Type 1. someone so mortified by their transgressions that the sheer volume of their humiliation and repentance overwhelms any attempt to stay mad at said person;

Type 2. someone so completely, genuinely, and blissfully clueless as to what they did wrong that staying mad at said person is a waste of one's time.

And when we have the archetype of these two categories contiguously present, well, even countries as stoic as Germany and Sweden would have to relent, and an international crisis is resolved.

Right?

But wait a while! We're letting these two husbands off the hook too fast!

Dear audience, do you sincerely believe that these two countries are beyond lubricious thoughts that even they themselves are ashamed of?

It is simply unforgivably when the thought of one's lover carrying on with another person can make his face flush from reasons besides anger. Sweden wanted to shoot himself, more so than he want to shoot Italy; it's the only way to wipe those incriminating images, part of which he conjured himself, out of his own head for good.

Can anyone in this world sink to such despicable low as he just did? Anyone?

Apparently yes.

Germany was blushing, too.

From the shared acumen of frazzled husbands, Sweden was pretty sure he had just found a compatriot in this deeper ring of Psychological Purgatory. They both opened their mouths to attempt at some trite comment, but could not find anything that would not further implicate themselves.

So they settled for a very sincere apology to each other.

"S…sorry about that."

"M' fault."

And bat a hasty retreat with their respective partners; Italy, to receive punishment for handing out unlicensed sex education, and Finland, well, shall we say an end-of-the-class pop quiz?

Finland was vaguely aware that Su-san must be carrying all the bags with one hand (isn't that heavy?) because he sure wasn't carrying any, and Su-san still had one hand tightly clenched around his wrist. Finland couldn't be sure, of course, because he didn't dare take his one free hand off his face since Italy started blurting. He had hoped that their walk to home would never end.

But then they were home. He heard the door shut behind him, and then the paper bags being dropped haphazardly on the floor. Still staring into his fingers, he inched back as far as Su-san's tight grip would allow.

In those few but infinitely long seconds, all Finland could hear was Su-san heavy breathing punctuated by blood pounding in his own ears.

At last.

"Finland."

In that deep, tight voice.

Oh no. Oh no he's going to forgive isn't he?

"I'm sorry!" A high-pitched entreaty, and to Finland's horror, he couldn't stop babbling.

"I'm really sorry! I was… I just thought… I'm really bad at it, and… and you're always so perfect and I feel so useless! So I thought… I just want—"

"Ta learn a few tricks t'impress me?"

That was said with such equanimity that Finland decided to revise his prediction.

Maybe he won't forgive me after all. Good.

No, not good.

He carefully peaked through his fingers, and found Su-san's face was even more unreadable than usual.

Then he was hauled up bodily and deposited on the edge of their kitchen bar counter. Before he could wriggle away, Sweden planted both hands on the counter, effectively caging him in. His blue eyes bore into his with a dangerous narrow.

"Ya sayin I should be grateful?"

Finland was quickly hyperventilating. He always knew what Su-san was capable of, he just never expect ever be on the receiving end of it.

But before Finland could start shaking, Sweden pulled back.

"Guess I should be."

What?

"But it ain't fair makin ya do all the work, righ'?"

Wait, what?

"How 'bout I pay Germany a visit an' see wha' he can teach me?"

Finland choked on his breath with a pitiful eek!

Naughty images started to materialize in Finland's head.

"Considin' all those readings ya gave 'im, I'm sure he's good."

He's still mad about the Christmas presents?

"We'll 'ave a grand time exchangin'—"

"No! Su-san! Don't say it!"

No no no don't think don't think don't think—

"How 'bout I show'im what I did last—"

"No! Su-san! No!"

Panicking, Finland covered Sweden mouth with both hands, only to be pulled away.

"Ya can watch if you wa—"

Finland hastily pulled him down into a sloppy kiss, finally shutting him up.

A long pause of mindless snogging, Finland pulled back, only to confront the horrible realization that thoughts, naughty ones especially, are not designed to be unthinked regardless of their propriety.

He cradled his head and moaned.

"Su-san! Why did you say that!"

There was a rare roguish smile playing at the corner of Sweden's lips.

"Gotta taste of wha' I hadda deal with?"

Finland, still battling his mental images, was too bewildered to respond.

Then he felt Sweden whispered into his ear.

"Don't worry, I'll take ya' mind offa that righ' now. And next time ya' wanna learn somethin' new, I'll teach ya."

Sweden bent down, and now Finland had to cover his own mouth to shut himself up.

Finland's birthday party proceeded without a hitch. Delicious hors d'œuvre flowing Champagne, a beautiful white cake. The works. Guests toasted and squeezed past each other in the living room that was reorganized for the occasion.

Extricating himself from the bustle, Finland sat down in the couch at the corner with his third glass of Champagne. There were many toasts to his good health that he was obliged to accept. He was getting a bit dizzy. Birthday party is a lot of work.

Well, that's insincere. Su-san did most of the work for him.

Feeling the couch sag a little, he looked up to see Italy joining him.

"Happy birthday Finland! Your house is so nice!"

"Th… thank you."

What was he going to do? Ignore him? Besides, Su-san and him has already resolved their… issues last night, so there's really no point getting mad a Italy's big mouth anymore.

"I hope he was impressed?"

"Eh…" was all Finland could think of without getting into the details.

"Glad to hear that! I'm really happy I could help!"

Italy patted him roundly on the back, and Finland tried to smile at his exuberance. It really is impossible to stay mad at him.

Suddenly, he felt the hair stood up at the back of his neck.

Finland looked around, and saw, between the guests, on the other side of the room, Su-san staring at them. Such an intense stare it was that he certainly was not paying attention of what Germany was saying next to him.

Before Finland had time to realize what was wrong and put some distance between and himself and Italy, Sweden gracefully allowed his chute of Champagne to tip over his hand and onto Germany's clothes, right above the belt.

A mild commotion ensued on that side of the room. Sweden took a napkin and began blotting Germany's soaked uniform. Germany went a bit pink.

Finland felt something snapped in his head.

He drained his Champagne, pushed the glass into Italy's hands and stood up.

"S' sorry abou' tha'. I got distracted." Sweden diligently wiped down Germany's clothes with a frown.

"Ah… it's alright. At least it wasn't red wine. I can do this, don't worry about it." Germany flailed a bit.

"Sweden's getting tipsy, isn't he?" Lithuania smiled good naturedly.

Poland swung around and hung himself off Lithuania's shoulder with a happy drawl.

"At least is wasn't on your crotch, or else I'd think your either very scared or very happy to see Italy drunk."

Germany went a bit pink at the scurrilous joke.

" I can put this in th' laundry now if ya wan'." Sweden offered. "It'a be done when ya leave."

"Would you? That would be nice."

Germany unbuttoned his coat, and Sweden reached out to help.

That is, before Finland barreled out of the crowd and pushed his hand away.

"No!"

There was a collective silence as everyone gawked at the rare outburst from Finland, who threw his arms around Sweden's waist from behind in a protective clasp.

"No! Don't touch him!"

Sweden looked over his shoulder, his deadpanned face tinged with just a little crafty smile of a prank well pulled.

"I was gonna hol' his glas—"

"I don't care! You're mine!"

There was an audible snort from France who desperately tried to suppress his giggles.

"Finland, Germany's clothes—"

Before Sweden could finish, Finland dragged him into their room and shut the door midst cat calls and whistles.

Sealand made a face.

"Eww! Papa and Daddy's making out!"

America threw his arm around England.

"Hey let's make out, too!"

England held out his plate in front of America.

"You don't want your cake?"

The Brit pressed that merry face, glasses and all, straighten into the plate of cake he was holding.

With his back against the door, Sweden watched with mild amusement as Finland fumbled to unbutton his shirt.

"Finland, the guests—"

"—can take care of themselves!"

The last button popped out.

Sweden shrugged and let his wife have his way.

"It's yar party."

Germany absently mindedly wiped off his uniform, staring the shut door with a flabbergasted look still on his face.

Norway tapped him on the shoulder.

"The laundry room is the next to the kitchen."

"Oh thanks."

Germany shook himself out and took off his coat.

Italy bounded over and gave him a sympathetic look.

"Aww Germany! Your clothes are all mess up! Here, you have my p— "

"Put your clothes back on this instance!"

"But you always liked it when I take ofwrmph—"

Germany speedily covered Italy's mouth like someone well trained at the job.

France cackled like madman.

"Watch it mon ami! Loose lips sink ships and give lousy blowjobs!"

*The End*

Author's notes:

* Sweden and Germany. Hotness. Cannot Unthink.

* Sweden and Germany… Damn the ineluctable modality of the visual… Alright be honest, who caught the reference without googling?

* The last line is not mine, but borrowed without permission from an HP slash fic "A Taste of Liberty" by the ingenious lamardeuse. I simply had to use it. All laughs generated by this line belongs to lamardeuse.

* I don't know when's the next update, but I certainly had a lot of fun writing this series, so I won't be surprised if I decide to write more, just give me a few years lol.