AN: Dedicated to the wonderful, amazing scrambled-eggs-at-midnight. Happy Birthday, hon! :D

I had this idea one night for no adequately explored reason, and I had to smother myself in my pillow to keep myself from waking my family up with my laughter... In retrospect, the outcome is extremely obvious, but I bet you people still giggle over the whole thing anyway. :P There's a bonus implied Spain/Romano at the end for the fans... even though I don't really support that pairing much...

Somehow this was inspired by an Avenue Q song ("You Can be as Loud as the Hell You Want" - which would be the title, but you're supposed to keep those G-rated). If you ever have the chance, go see that musical - it's SO FUNNY! Just don't bring your parents... They might not approve of the puppet-sex scene. XD Also, it is a true fact that in southern Germany there is a mountain named Wank. Honestly - Wikipedia says that it's largely made of calcareous rock and has very high levels of precipitation.

Yeah, I totally own Hetalia. Just like I always read Apple's Terms and Conditions every single darn time they update. *is lying*

WARNING: Language and the worst double entendres you will ever hear.

Loud as You Want

That day, by all means, had been pretty normal up until about three o'clock, because that was when Italy had asked Germany an extremely unusual question.

"Germany~," Italy asked, "do you want to make love with me?"

Germany, who had been relaxing in a chair in his living room, choked on his beer and almost spit it onto the carpet. "EXCUSE me?" Because there was no way in hell he had heard that sentence correctly -

"I asked if you wanted to make love," Italy repeated in earnest.

The blonde blinked for a moment, opened his mouth, shut his mouth, and proceeded to stare at Italy for several seconds. Finally he managed to sputter, "Italy... do you have ANY idea what you just said?"

"Ve~? Of course I do!" Italy said back, looking rather confused by Germany's reluctance. "But... but why wouldn't you?"

Germany kept staring, trying to figure out where this bizarre request had come from. Was he okay with hugging? Sure. Was he okay with using a kiss on the cheek as a greeting? It was normal enough for the Europeans to do that without implying anything, so he didn't see the problem...

But - but sex? What the HELL had prompted THAT?

There was only one answer, of course. "No," he said firmly.

Italy's face fell dramatically. "What? But Germany - !"

"Italy, I said NO," he repeated even more sternly. "What you are asking is simply not something that I - "

"'Sup, bitches?"

Germany was unceremoniously interrupted by Prussia as he strode into the room, holding a beer, and claimed the whole of the sofa as his territory.

Leave it to Prussia to show up at the most inconvenient time...

He glanced between Germany and Italy (who were looking annoyed and hurt, respectively), and he lightly commented, "Go ahead, don't mind me - proceed with your argument or make-out session or whatever the hell you were doing before I came in."

Really, Germany thought, he has NO sense of shame. "Brother," he said with a glare, "now is not a good time - "

"Of course it's not." Prussia opened his beer and took a swig. "Why else would I hang around here? It sure isn't because I'm actually interested in your lives, if that's the impression you had..."

Italy shot one last hurtful glance at Germany before turning to the albino on the couch. "Prussia," he began to whine, "Germany isn't willing to - !"

"Italy!" Germany nearly shouted.

He was not going to let Prussia find out about this little... discussion they were having - the former country would have far too much fun with it. Italy might not have passed any math classes, but Germany knew his facts: Prussia + Sexual Innuendos = Chaos and Humiliation for All Involved.

They were SO screwed.

As a form of action, he swiftly stood up and began guiding Italy out the doorway. "I don't care if you want to, but I am completely against this - this idiotic idea of yours!"

Italy's expression turned to one of complete horror - and for a moment, Germany thought he might have crossed the line - but before either of them could say anything, Prussia had already jumped up and (unwilling to waste an opportunity to pick on his brother) had gotten in the blonde's face. "WEST! That is totally unawesome, to insult Italy's intelligence! Now - since you guys can't seem to get it together, let's have a little fucking therapy session."

Prussia?

A therapist?

Like HELL.

They both started to protest, but Prussia wasn't listening. "Italy sits HERE - " he pushed Italy onto one end of the couch, " - and YOU sit HERE." He pushed Germany down onto the other cushion on the same couch. He glanced between the two of them and finally, satisfied that they weren't going anywhere, Prussia sat down in the living room chair. He took another swig of beer and turned to Italy.

"So... let's pretend that I care about you and your totally not awesome problems for a second - what's West refusing to do, exactly?"

For a moment, Italy paused - reasonably so, because he was talking to Prussia after all - but then he blurted out, "Germany doesn't want to make love!"

Maybe Prussia hadn't been expecting something extraordinarily weird, but from his expression Germany guessed that THAT wasn't something he'd thought he'd hear. "...Say... what?" Prussia sputtered.

Italy blinked. "He said that he doesn't - "

"I know, I heard you the first time!" Prussia snapped. After thinking the situation over for another moment or two, a hint of a grin appeared on his face.

"Prussia..." Germany said in a low warning voice.

"West, dude, don't interrupt, or I'll kick Mount Wank into next week!" Prussia took a moment to glare at his brother, but after a few seconds he turned his attention back to Italy and the small smirk reappeared.

Somewhere in Europe, a puppy died.

(...Well, in theory. According to Austria, a piano string broke, and according to Romano a tomato plant was squished, but... whatever. Prussia smirked, and the action caused a small catastrophic event.)

But back to the unofficial therapy session. "Have you guys... you know... made love before?"

Italy's face lit up. "Ve~! Lots of times!"

Germany's jaw dropped.

They had NOT! What the hell was Italy playing at, saying that they had?

He was about to give Italy a piece of his mind on the subject, but as he shifted on the couch, Prussia turned and shot his ambitious idea down with a look that clearly said, If you move another damn muscle then I swear to god I WILL burn the stash of porn that you got for Christmas last year. And don't even make me THINK about the ramifications of that Mount Wank thing I said earlier!

...Germany didn't know if Prussia even knew the meaning of the word "ramifications" (or why he had pictured Prussia saying that, in any case), but he did recognize that he was defeated for the time being. Grumbling, he forced himself to sit back in his seat and shut up for the time being.

Prussia looked pleased with himself, and he turned his attention back to his kinky little interrogation. "You've made love lots of times..." Germany flinched, and Prussia's grin grew even bigger. "Where, exactly?"

Italy paused and appeared to think about the question rather seriously before answering, "Here. Well, sometimes at my house, but I prefer Germany's place more."

Germany almost scoffed. Having sex at his house? WITH PRUSSIA AROUND? That would be asking for trouble.

No, even worse - that would be handing Trouble a golden-engraved invitation to come and live in the guest bedroom for life. With a video recorder to use for blackmail.

Apparently great minds think alike, because Prussia seemed to be contemplating the same idea. "I don't think you two have made any love upstairs, because I would've heard you... so you use..." He paused, frowned, and finally guessed, "...The kitchen?"

Italy nodded gleefully, seemingly happy that Prussia was playing along. "Si! It's much easier to clean up the kitchen! And you need a big counter-top or a table anyway."

Oh no.

Oh no no no no NO.

Germany felt the need to bleach his brain after hearing that. He would have never, EVER guessed that Italy could have come up with something so... so... GRAPHIC - or, okay, even a sentence IMPLYING something graphic!

But while wrong on that count, Germany had definitely been proven correct on another: Prussia was having way, WAY too much fun with this.

"D'you get really noisy?" his white-haired brother asked with a feral smile.

(Oh crap, a feral smile? That had to be at least ten puppies right there. Or piano strings. Whatever.)

Totally oblivious of Prussia's facial expression, Italy nodded his complete agreement yet again. "Things tend to be, um, banged, so..."

Germany's brain came to a screeching halt.

Banged.

BANGED.

Noise, kitchen tables, making love -

Bleach. He needed that damned bleach and he needed it NOW...

As well as maybe some rope. Or duct tape. Dear god, he decided, ANYTHING that could be used to tie both Prussia and Italy up and/or forcibly shut their mouths would bewonderful.

But if he was hoping for something of the kind to appear out of thin air within the next few seconds, he had no such luck. Prussia's maniacal grin was becoming so big it looked like he was trying to eat his own ears. "Tell me... how awesome is - " (Oh lord, he was licking his lips...) " - the sauce?"

The SAUCE? Meaning the - dear god in heaven -

"Oh, it's delicious! Ve~!"

Two sets of jaws almost hit the floor.

Germany forced himself to imagine anything other than what he thought Italy had just said. Like green fields. And bunnies. Rabbits. Rabbits that did... rabbit-like things. Like multiplying.

God damn it all to hell!

"...Germany, are you alright?" Italy asked, concerned. "Your face is bright red - "

"Don't bother," Prussia interrupted. "I think that I, the awesome and great nation therapist, understand what is going on now."

Then, in one fast movement, he had turned to Germany and slapped him in the face. Italy squeaked, but Germany didn't even feel the hit - he was too confused and too pissed off at the sudden action.

"You dirty, evil bastard!" Prussia said with a mocking glare. "How can you be so heartless?"

Whoa, what? It was HIS fault? "Huh? Prussia, what the HELL are you - "

"The poor guy," Prussia continued, "wants to make PASTA with you, and you turned him down!"

...Pasta.

...Pasta...

"...PASTA?" he asked. His mind had been running around in circles over Italy asking to MAKE PASTA?

"Ve, Germany, pasta~!"

...Now that he thought about it, it DID make a little more sense... Germany's house had a bigger kitchen. Counter space was needed to get out ingredients. At least once during the cooking process, Italy would be clumsy and drop a pan, which would cause a lot of noise. Italy's sauce WAS extremely delicious.

And, sadly, they HAD done it several times before.

"But - but why were you referring to 'pasta' as 'love'?" Germany managed.

"I'd like to hear that, too," Prussia added.

"Ve~?" Italy thought about it for a moment before answering, "Well, we were arguing about something the other day, and I don't like arguing, so I called Spain and asked him what he did when he argued with someone and how to fix it, and he told me that whenever he and Romano argue, they always fix it by saying sorry and then making pasta."

There was a pregnant pause.

"...You mean," Prussia asked slowly, "he used the phrase 'making love' and you decided that it meant that they made pasta?"

Italy nodded, oblivious to the odd stares he was getting. "Yeah~! What else could he have meant? And so I asked if that was what it was called now, and he said in a weirdly confused voice that it had always been called that! So I decided that I was wrong and that maybe I should start calling pasta by its real name so I wouldn't confuse anybody!"

Germany opened his mouth, but after a moment he closed it again because he couldn't think of anything intelligent to say.

Prussia looked dangerously close to rupturing in laughter and killing off half the world's dog population.

Italy, of course, remained 150 percent clueless to the entire issue. "...Germany~? Can we go make love now?"

After mentally processing that sentence (It's okay, he told himself, he's really NOT asking anything sexual by saying that...), he tried answering, "...Um... Italy, you... you..." God damn it, he couldn't seem to force out a yes. He sighed and settled for the next best thing. "Go start boiling some water."

"Yay~! Thanks, Germany!"

As soon as the completely oblivious country had left the room, Prussia began laughing so hard he literally rolled off the sofa onto the carpet.

Germany didn't even try counting the death toll after that.

"Somehow," he muttered with an expressionless face (albeit a face colored like a tomato), "this is your fault."

Prussia had to wipe tears out of his eyes. In-between howls of laughter, he responded, "Of course you're saying it's my fault! I'm the only one awesome enough to have even come up with such a kick-ass scenario!"

Germany thought that over and decided not to comment. On the bright side, he supposed, it was probably for the best that Italy had asked Germany to make pasta instead of going to, say, France.

That would have been very, VERY bad indeed.

"I just changed my mind," he muttered. "This has GOT to be France's fault somehow..."

Prussia, it seems, couldn't have cared less about Germany's change of heart, as he kept laughing and holding his gut, trying to get enough oxygen to keep from passing out.

Germany silently cursed him to hell and hoped that he would die for being a jerk before standing up and heading into the kitchen. Generally it took two people to make love, and he was pretty sure that Italy needed -

Wait.

...Er... pasta. They were making pasta.

Right.

AN: Oh Lordy, I'm not even going to comment after that. XD

Reviews are love! And they make Eggy's birthday even more awesome than it already is!