Germany looked up from the paperwork on his desk when he heard the door open, fully expecting to see either Italy or Prussia, not a flushed Hungary. He watched her curiously for a moment as she leaned against the doorway, laughing at a joke he wasn't privy to.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, moving to stand up.

Hungary was faster, however, and was at his desk, pushing him back into his seat mere seconds later.

"If I am, it's your fault," she sang quietly, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

Germany shuddered, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the woman so close, and tried to move away. "I don't—how is it my fault if you're drunk?" He stammered, turning away from her.

Hungary seemed to decide that she was not invading his personal space nearly enough and moved in even closer, her face inches from his.

"You want me, don't you?" she said lowly, completely ignoring his question. She was so close now, Germany could smell the alcohol as her breath brushed across his cheeks.

Blushing, Germany attempted to move away again, trying in vain to hide an obvious problem below.

"You do want me, but what's with the blushing virgin act?" Hungary laughed, kissing him softly on the cheek. "But guess what?"

His voice having left him, Germany only let out a small moan, causing Hungary to give a predatory grin.

"It didn't work on me before, and it won't work on me again," she continued in a sultry tone. The peculiarity of her words didn't register on Germany as she kissed him.

Seconds later, he was clutching his head in pain as Hungary headed towards the door, her trusty frying pan in hand. "You're a bastard, Prussia! Trying to get me drunk so that you can 'invade my vital regions.' Hmph. Try harder next time." And with that she was out the door, leaving a bewildered Germany behind.