Title: Heiligabend
Author: sithmarauder
Pairing(s): (in this chapter) Prussia/Austria
Disclaimer: Hetalia and all affiliated characters do not, and will never, belong to me.

Because I don't write enough humour. Rating may go up as this thing progresses.
Ah, an on-going story written entirely in present tense. Challenge! The story summary will be changing with each theme.
Thanks to Ailynm for the German translations, and sorry that this is so late. I'm likely going to continue this as one story. I want to write a New Years party scene. Public molestation, anyone?
I realize I am ass at updating, but this really has no plot, so I won't be pressured to think up anything complicated. Maybe it will later, but by that time I'm likely to be so into it that, well, I'll update. Hooray, yes?

If anyone wants to suggest a theme, then I'm open to all ideas.

-x-

Forlorn. That's the expression on Austria's face as he stares, stunned, at the mess that was once his kitchen. Or at least what he liked to pretend was his – really, it was Germany's, but he had been given free reign of it, even as he was warned to keep Prussia out.

Beside him, the nation in question whistles innocently, his hands in his pockets as he leans against the counter with fake nonchalance, covered from his head to his waist in a powdery white substance that makes the remaining blue of his uniform stand out. It doesn't help that the rest of the kitchen is covered in the same white flour, either.

Austria turns on Prussia, his arms crossed sternly over his chest as he struggles to keep himself calm.

He fails.

"This is all your fault, you imbecile!" the angered Austrian nation shouts, gesturing to the kitchen – a kitchen that bears remarkable resemblance to the snow-covered grounds outside.

Prussia has the basic decency to look sheepish as he shrugs his shoulders.

"Accidents happen, little master; calm down."

"I will not calm down! What in God's name were you doing?"

"Cooking, Specs, duh. It's kind of what one does in a kitchen."

Prussia's goading him. With a devil-may-care smirk on his face, the ex-nation is goading him.

Austria takes the bait knowingly.

"Cooking involves making food, Prussia! Not a mess!"

"Can't have one without the other. Your kitchen just couldn't take my awesome."

Austria flings a handful of flour into Prussia's face, watching with an irate expression as Prussia sneezes, some of the flour falling off his uniform and sprinkling the ground.

"It's Germany's kitchen, you idiot! He's going to be livid when he sees this!"

Prussia scratches the back of his head, sneezing again. But he has that look in his eye – that look that makes Austria back against the counter as Prussia moves forward, almost catlike in his intensity.

"Y'know, Specs, that wasn't very nice," Prussia purrs as he leans over Austria, forcing the violet-eyed nation to bend backwards over the counter as Prussia's breath tickles his ear. "You should apologize."

"Did you even hear what I said? Your brother is..."

Austria's eyes narrow as he stretches his hand out for some more flour, but Prussia sees what he's doing and pins both his wrists down, looking amused that the nation below him had even tried to move.

"Don't you dare, Prussia," Austria says as Prussia leans down. "You are covered in flour, and I – " Austria's next words are cut off as Prussia kisses him, one of his hands leaving Austria's wrist to rest down on his thigh, creeping slowly up until it slips under Austria's shirt.

"Prussia," Austria repeats, trying to sound stern as Prussia draws back, a cocky smile on his face. He can feel Prussia's finger lightly stroking the taut muscles of his stomach, and it's getting harder to hold in the pants, especially when Prussia leans down and whispers something in his ear.

"Pruss – "

Prussia kisses him again, and Austria does respond this time, even though his position is more than uncomfortable. His hands leave the counter to tangle in Prussia's hair, mixing more flour into the already white locks, and Prussia's hand moves up to cover his heart lightly – Vienna.

"Prussia."

Austria's eyes snap open and he pushes Prussia off of him, straightening up and brushing the flour from his clothes as Prussia groans unhappily, turning to glare at the third nation who currently stands in the doorway, an exasperated look on his face.

"Jesus, West," Prussia says irritably, his eyes narrowed as he crosses his arms. Germany glares right back at him before turning to Austria, arching one brow at the decidedly embarrassed-looking aristocrat.

"I take it that the state of the kitchen is Prussia's doing?"

Prussia grins, slinging his arm around Austria's shoulder as Austria glares tiredly at him.

"Fröhliche Weihnachten, West," Prussia says then, gesturing to the flour-covered kitchen. "How do you like the decorating I did?"