Title: Black Eagle's Pride, Gray Pigeon's Joy, White Stork's victory

Author/Artist: Lynn Stardragon (Happy Dragon)

Character(s) or Pairing(s): Prussia x N-Italy x Germany, but not in that order.

Rating: NC-17. NSFW

Warnings: Me attempting to write characters I'm a little shaky on? Sex in high volumes? Prussia's mouth and the language that comes out of it along with the inherent crazy? Me messing around with other languages besides English again? {Edit: Also originally posted on LiveJournal, so some formatting might be 'off'. Also this is about a year or so old, so there's no more group and references might be a bit dated.}

Summary: Prussia/Germany/N-Italy -IornCrossShipping. Bonus: Pretty!Prussia punishment (sort of . . .)

A/N: I'm in an RP with people who play their characters too perfectly, and are thus made of win. Very strange things happen when enough of our players get together, and it becomes a world of awesome that's a breeding ground for fiction ideas and fan-art left, right and center.

This is one of those stories/ideas.

Now I had to change this (drastically) from the RP to make it more logical (and smutty). Example: our Germany wasn't online during the argument, and I don't think I even saw the start of the argument, though I saw something that makes for a good beginning anyway.

The players there (and involved) were our N-Italy (duh), Prussia (also duh), Hungary (protecting her little bro.), Ireland (WE MADE A FUCKIN' IRELAND! FUCK YEAH! And s/he's awesome. X3 He was peanut gallery), Finland (minor comments), Sweden (me, or you wouldn't be seeing this fic.), with Latvia and Lithuania showing up part way through and staying quiet. Our Egypt and S-Italy were supposedly in the chat too, but said nothing (well Egypt spoke up later, but I digress).

So to all those involved- -because I didn't say/do much of anything in character- -thank you for being crazy.

And to our North Italy . . . . I'mma exspec' da artz ta be purtty. And yes, bonus part as promised.

Oh, yeah, bonus happened because Hungary knocked Prussia out with her frying pan, or probably would have had his/her Vital Regions taken by force. But since we don't have Hungary in this fiction . . . . X3333333333

PS: Germany gets lines from . . . way too many of us. XD (But mostly Hungary.)

Beta'd by: (lj user) one_go_alone

Gilbert Weillschmidt, once the first- -and most awesome- -of the Teutonic Knights, turned the glorious nation of Prussia, turned some crazy fucked-up shit-territory called either G.D.R. or East Germany- -depending on who you asked- -now a fucking- -Walking!- -memory still going by the title of East Germany, and still the best fucking Teutonic Knight around . . . was bored out of his ever-loving mind waiting for West Germany to get home so he could bitch with his younger brother about all the stupid tourists tromping around their lands, and anything else Ludwig wanted to vent about.

And drinking West's beer. Because honestly, the little shit wouldn't have been anyone if he- -the most awesomely awesome Prussia- -hadn't rescued the Holy Roman Empire back in the day, after the kid had taken three too many knocks to the head and was staring out with glazed sky-blue eyes turned to the world. And what had happened? The rest of the goddamned planet up and said he should bite the bullet. Ha! Pussies were just afraid of him coming for their Vital Regions . . . . Ah, good times with everything that wasn't nailed down.

And anything he could pry loose wasn't nailed the fuck down.

He took another hit from his latest 'Aventinus' logger and started to sulk again. West should have been home by now . . . his fiery eyes turned to the clock and, yeah, yeah it was time for Ludwig to be home. . . Unless America was running late like his trains or buses or, well, EVERYTHING in his house. Did West have a meeting today? Hmm, he'd have to find a calendar again, the days were starting to bleed together. But, still, meetings, Ludwig had his meetings that were important and ran long and other bullshit that didn't really matter when he was here in his- -THEIR house waiting for. . . . anything.

Gilbert took a long swig of the darkly colored logger and, after he swallowed, let his head loll back on the headrest, white-platinum hair falling in a scraggily mess almost over his red-violet eyes. Mmm, maybe his day had been longer than he first thought it was, and he should rest his eyes for a time.

"GERMANY~! GERMANY~! Where Are You! I came for lunch like you wanted me to! And I brought everything we'll need to make nice delicious pasta~!"

There were frantic steps pounding through the house, and the force of them woke Prussia from his light snoozing. "Fucking Hell?" What was up? Another Great War? Was it a claim for territory? The blond stood from his seat with only a minor sway, and started to look around the kitchen, readying himself for an attack.

"Germanyyyyy~!" The door to the area burst open, and in stormed the dreamy-eyed Northern Italy brother.

Prussia blinked. Italy might have blinked too, but it was hard to tell with him most of the time. So Prussia blinked again, and that seemed to cut through the buzzing between his ears. "Rrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiggght." The bloody-eyed male relaxed his stance. "So, break into my little brother's house often, do you?"

Feliciano tilted his head to the side, as if in thought- -an oxymoron if ever there was such a thing. "N-no, Germany gave me a key! But only one, and I have to take care of it because if I ever lose it he won't make me another one, and then I'll have to do extra, special, training! Oh so harsh! It'll be bad enough if I don't have a key to visit him anymore, but to make me run and run and run after such a thing! Really, Germany can be mean when he wants to be! Do you know where he gets it from Prussia~?" True to form, Italy was waving his hands and arms about to articulate the level and intensity of his emotions and opinions about the whole idea.

Ugh, thank Gott he was drunk and not hung-over, or he'd have had to murder the boy where he stood. How the fuck did West deal with the kid?. . . . Oh, that would explain why he came to bed hammered now and then.

"Okay, stop yammering for two seconds." One hand went to his temple, and the other hand holding his beer set the drink down on the table. "West isn't here. So why are you?"

"Oh! Well-"

"Briefly. . ."

"Uwaah!" Italy recoiled slightly, but managed to rattled on. "Ah-ah Germany wanted to have lunch with me today! And he said we could even have pasta~! But since Germany doesn't know how to c-"

"Okay, okay, Halt den Mund [Shut up], I got it. Ugh, West must have gotten tied up with something important if you got here before him." Which then made him do a mental double-take. "Wait, you're one of the 'G-8' too, so why the hell are you here if West isn't?"

"Um-um-um, well! Um, there wasn't a meeting of everyone today?" Feliciano offered helpfully. The brunet nodded at the astonished look he received. "Yep, no meetings today, I'd remember if I forgot one of them!"

Prussia brought his free hand to his face, and scrubbed at his nose a few times. "R-i-g-h-t." He sighed again, before sinking back into his previously abandoned seat.

"Ah, then since Germany isn't here, but we are, I should start cooking so that nothing goes to waste!" Italy picked up the large case at his side again and started for the stove. "Germany hates it when 'resources' get wasted, you know, and even if he's not home for a bit, I have so much pasta with me, that he'll be sure to have some later! And if he is home soon, he'll be able to learn how to cook something tasty to eat other than those bad sausages!"

"Hey!" Prussia huffed, "Some of us freakin' like those 'bad' sausages, ya twerp! Gott, don't you even think before you speak?" He took another swallow of beer to wet his throat.

"Ah, s-sorry!" Italy just turned his back to the other and started work on making lunch.

The blond watched him, having nothing better to do, as his hands nimbly glided over the contents of the case, and through the spice-rack- -When the hell did West get that?- -nailed into the wall. Italy started to sing as he worked, whatever the song was about, it was in his native Italian, so East Germany was left out of the loop. And knowing Italy's taste in music, it was probably some mushy love-song or another, which he was only too happy not to understand one word of.

After a time, the noodles were boiling, and the sauce was cooking too, and dammit if Gilbert's mouth wasn't watering at least a little bit. Not that he wanted any of it, nor was he even going to beg for a serving, oh no. He was a strong and awesome Nation, and while demanding tribute was just fine and dandy, handouts were a different thing altogether, and he was not about to-

"Qui si va~! [Here you go~!]" Italy was smiling down at him with his usual dreamy expression, hand on the edge of a plate heaped high with the pasta.

Prussia blinked. Well damn, he must have been losing his edge. Guess that meant the idiot wasn't the only one who needed some training. "Hnn, danke." There was even a fork waiting for him. Eh, waste not want not, West probably would get pissed if he passed on any of the food.

Gilbert swirled up some of the noodles and lifted them to his mouth. His lips closed over the food and. . . . Okay, it might have been a little tasty but, "This needs some fucking meat."

Feliciano clapped his hands together excitedly as he let out a little cry- -maybe of victory? "That's just what I told Germany~! But he gets mad when I say that we could cut up the sausages he makes and add them to the sauce! Which is silly really, many people all over the world add different kinds of things to the base tomato sauce-" Once again, the brunet was gesturing widely with his hands and arms, "-because tomatoes are so delicious that they can go with anything really~! And so can pasta~!" Then he giggled before turning to the refrigerator.

Too much energy, the kid had waaaaaaay too much energy. "What are you doing now?"

"Looking for the sausages to add to the sauce. . ."

"Ya won't find any. They got eaten with breakfast. We make them fresh, and they don't last too long around here."

"Mmm?" Italy tilted his head to the side again. "Really?"

"Ja, really." He took another bite.

"So they're supposed to smell like that? I thought Germany just liked them really, really aged!"

It took a well trained- -From Battle! And Seeing All That Blood!- -gag reflex for Prussia not to choke on the pasta in his mouth. Instead he steadied himself and swallowed hard, then pounded on his chest a few times to get the air flowing freely through his lungs again.

"Ah, Prussia! Are you well? Can you speak still? Should I stand behind you and do that thing that makes chocking people stop chocking?"

"NEIN! . . . Nein/, I'm . . . just need a second." He grabbed up an Aventinus logger and downed another swig. Oh, that made things so much more bearable. "Okay, lets try that again, you think a nice juicy, freshly made Würste- -and I stress the 'freshly made by hand' part- -smells bad?"

"Sì~! They smell very icky, but I'm confident that my pasta~ can make them as tasty as can be~!"

On a normal day, he might have punched the kid out, and taken his Vital Regions by force. But this wasn't a normal day, because he actually found the statement nothing short of hilarious. Hell, it was so funny he actually started to laugh, chuckle really, and it built all the way up to a howling like that of Denmark's old pagan sea-wolves.

Italy recoiled slightly, as if fearing that Prussia had just went through a bipolar flip and was about to start hitting him. He almost considered climbing into the icebox for protection, or maybe running from the once-nation.

"Gott I needed to laugh like that." He wiped a tear from his eye- -that was purely brought on by his awesome and manly resisting of the pain from laughing too hard. 'Icky', as if! The kid really had to work on his sense of taste. "Eh, maybe next time you, me, and West can plan ahead and us two will make up some of them fresh for the sauce." With that, he looked away from the stunned Italy and started to twirl up another mouthful.

"R-really~? Germany always complains about it though~! So are you really sure?"

"Ja. He's the baby brother, so he's gotta listen to me."

"But he's taller. . ."

Prussia's eyes narrowed. "Don't bring fucking semantics into this. I'm older, he listens." And Gilbert shoveled another mouthful of pasta down his throat.

"Oh, okay~!" And then the idiot-boy was off and making up his own plate to eat from.

Gilbert continued to chow down on the warm meal, but still threw his eyes over the stove now and then, positive that the other would burn the place down if he didn't. But, lo and behold, Italy had the kind of cooking skills any nation would want in a wife, and had everything under control. The pasta was staying warm without the threat of burning into the bottom of the pot it was in, as was the sauce.

When Prussia got to the end of his helping, he purred. The meal felt heavy and filling in his gut, and he could sort of understand why Italy was taking naps all the time if he was eating like this constantly. But that also made him soft, and Gilbert would be damned if he was going to fall asleep anytime soon. So instead he yawned, stretching his hands above his head, and picked up his plate, walking it over to the sink to let it soak before cleaning it.

A glance over his shoulder told him that the other nation was still eating, so he could drink in peace. Which is exactly what he aimed to do as soon as he sat back down. The force from landing back in the chair made his Eisernes Kreuz flip up from his throat, but at least it didn't hit his chin. His fingers danced and curled around the neck of his drink, before Prussia pulled the beautiful liquor over to his lips. He almost purred as the ale slid down his gullet.

"Oh? You have one too~! Did Germany give it to you?"

"ZzaHuh?" Gilbert blinked to order his thoughts. "Gave me what?"

"The pendent, the pendent~!" Italy's one hand was at his neck, holding something in his fist. "The pendent that Germany likes to wear."

The ruby-eyed nation's brain did a slow turn, and he pointed at his own black Iron Cross "This old thing? Hell no West didn't give it to me, I let him borrow my Knight's Cross for his shit." His fingers rubbed lovingly at the worn edges of the metal. "Took it for military crap, but I've worn it since, well, forever."

"Oh." Italy's brown head tilted to the side again. If he were any other nation, Prussia might have thought that he was thinking. Instead he was surprised by the other looking down as he opened his pudgy hand to reveal his own cross. The host nation missed the nostalgic and happy smile of his Italian guest because his brain ground to a screeching halt when he saw that the other had that item around his neck.

The ex-knight blinked. "What. . . The . . . Fuck."

"Uwah?"

"Why is someone as useless as you, wearing something as awesome as that?"

Italy curled into himself with a pout. "Germany. . . Germany gave it to me~. We-we made a pact, we wouldn't forget the other and we'd always be friends and he gave me his crossy-pendent~! I always wanted to know what it was, and was hoping that I'd get to wear it." The boy blushed at that point, not even aware of his own reaction. "I was so happy~ the day he gave it to me~."

A deep chuckle escaped the platinum-blond. "Fucking hell. Just," he started to laugh, "what the hell?" He was almost in tears. "He gave you that, when you can't even fight?" Gott what was wrong with West?

Italy pouted. "I can too! I fight well!" Or well enough, at least. He didn't like fighting, but at least he could hide and run and protect himself.

Prussia scoffed. "You Italys are an easy target." He leaned back in his seat. "I'll never figure out why West gave you the Knight's Cross. . ." A wide grin twisted his lips, color splashed across his face from the alcohol.

The Italian gave a surprised look, and blushed. "Is that what it's called? . ." His eyes- -what color were they anyway?- -drifted down to his palm again.

The rowdy nation stared at him for a long moment. ". . . You get awarded the thing and you don't even know what it's named?"

"I-I wasn't awarded it!" Italy shook his head. And that was true, he'd told the bloody-eyed blond that it was a gift.

Prussia, however, did not look appeased. "I swear to Gott, I'm not letting West use the Iron Cross at all anymore at this rate."

The smaller nation frowned, holding tightly to his pendent. His instincts were telling him to run, or at least to back away from the other. And yet, there was still food on his plate! Maybe he could risk finishing his meal at least? It didn't look like the other was completely angry at him, after all. . .

"Italy," he sounded pained, like he was trying to tell a small child why she couldn't go home with a pony. "That's a symbol of a warrior. It used to be the symbol of the Teutonic Knights- -Of 'ME'! West just borrowed the idea. . ."

But the brunet simply shook his head. "Don't care. He-he gave it to me, so it's mine." Then he pouted as if it would make any difference to the buzzed Prussian.

Said Prussia sighed. "Ugh, whatever. I'll talk to West about this later." Maybe, anyway. His mind was starting to work with the Aventinus, and it was getting him to think interesting things. And the way the other nation kept his head low as he continued to feed- -like Italy was afraid that he was about to be hit!- -just made the blond grin wider.

Downing the rest of his bottle, Gilbert realized something: it was fun teasing the boy. He was flushed and pouty and just too soft to leave be. It made his Vitals stir. He blinked at the reaction of his body, wasn't he only interested in women? Prussia was pretty sure he wasn't even slightly gay, not even remotely gay, not even interested in going to a chick-flick to get laid gay. . . . West might have been-

Prussia's brain stopped thinking one thing, and started kicking back full motion-picture movies about the possible depths to which his adopted baby brother might have liked the doe-eyed Italian, and Gilbert was starting to think that maybe Ludwig was on to something there. Oh yeah, that was an idea to be had. Why the hell hadn't he tried that before? The kid was wearing his cross, his mark, right? So he was entitled to screw around with his mind, and make West Germany squirm like a bitch for giving out the Eisernes Kreuz like candy to this . . . useless speck of a country.

Smiling lecherously, breath heavily laced with the rich scent of the loggers, Prussia began to shake Italy's thoughts.

"Hey, Italy. You know what it means, that you have one of my symbols?"

The boy smiled dreamily as he looked back at him. "Hmm~? . . . Uh, No . . . not really?"

The grin widened again, as his eyelids drooped. "You're part of my military now. . . My property."

Italy almost dropped the forkful of pasta he'd been lifting to his mouth. He blinked for a few minutes, as if waiting for the other to say he was just joking. "Nuhu! Germany gave it to me!" His hand clutched tighter to the cross.

Prussia laughed. "I let West wear it because he and I work together!" Then he dropped his voice down to a husky octave. "You have to work under me if you wear it. . ."

The thinly veiled innuendo flew over the brunet's head. "N-Nuhu! I-I work for Germany not you!" Instead he frowned with a slightly worried look, wondering if something wasn't maybe a little wrong with his host. Feliciano thought of getting out of where he was, and heading for one of the many hiding places he had found in Germany's house. They had come in handy when Germany had wanted him to train instead of taking his proper Siesta!

The blond knight laughed again, and stood with a wobble. With a few steps he was by Italy's side and looming over him, bending down with one hand resting on the table for support. "Come on, accept your status as part of Prussia," he whispered over the boy's skin, before leaning up a little. "Your Vital Regions are mine! Hahahahahaha!"

Italy quailed, and scooted backwards in the chair, before trying to stand with his back to the counter. "No way!" He shook his head. "Noooo~!" He didn't like it when Prussia was all scary like this!

"First you stole Austria's Vital Regions and now you want Italy's? Really East, you're being crass."

"W-What!" Italy blushed at the new voice just as Prussia turned to regard the speaker. There, framed in the doorway leading deeper into the house, was Germany in a suit, arms folded over his chest with a none too pleased a look on his face.

Prussia grinned, although he did start to strategically back away from Italy- -just so he'd be out of the way when the idiot did what he was sure he was going to do next.

"GERMANY~!" Right on cue, the brunet literally threw himself into the arms of the blue-eyed blond, cuddling close to him, even as West tried in vain to keep him from getting so clingy. In the end the man sighed and just let the Italian have his way with wrapping his arms about his waist.

"Ha! Verdammt West, I was just getting to the bottom of figuring out why the hell he's got one of my crosses." Prussia's eyes were sparkling with mischievous mirth, and too much drink. Germany scanned the kitchen to find that there were several empty Aventinus bottles huddled together on the one side of the table. "And really, if he's wearing one of them, then he's gotta work for me, Ja~?" He laughed then, or at least he tried to. It was a kind of sniggering sound that didn't want to get all the way out of his throat.

Italy shuddered in the German's well muscled arms, unnerved at the idea of working with the unstable platinum-blond. "No way~! Don't make me Germany!" He whined. He didn't want to take the pendent off because of Gilbert, it was proof that he and Germany were the best of friends. . . . Or . . . that's what it had meant . . . near the start of their relationship. Italy secretly smiled to himself at what had evolved between them over the long decades that they had known each other.

Germany, ever ready to defend the Italian (it was just second nature at this point) looked at his (very drunk, and possibly horny- -actually it was Gilbert, so yes, East Germany was without a doubt incredibly horny right now) brother with a glare. "You shall not threaten Italy's Vital Regions, Gilbert! Remember that!" He had to be firm if he wanted the message to sink into that booze soaked skull.

Prussia scoffed, and even huffed, staggering over to the pair. "Then tell him to stop wearing the Cross! Either he's mine and gets to wear it, or he's not and takes it off!"

The younger blond continued to glare, not in the least bit amused by his elder brother's new idea to annoy him.

It was then that Italy squeaked up, burying himself deeper into his blue-eyed love's embrace. "I-I cant! Germany gave it to me! A-And if that means I have to work for you too . . . t-then fine!"

The younger nation gawked as the elder crowed. "Hahahaha! Surrendering, then?" He moved to hug the boy from behind, a moment before noticing that his little brother was glaring at him, "Erk?" But then he just smiled again, and wrapped his arms snugly around the brunet's hips, pulling himself forward. The lecherous grin was firmly planted onto his face.

Italy shook. "No! N-not a surrender!" Then he gripped Germany harder because Prussia was really starting to scare him with how he was acting. "Prussia is going to claim my Vital Regions if I surrender!" And he did not want to know what the other was going to do with them.

Germany audibly growled and pulled Italy out of his brother's arms, tuning his body as he did so. "Leave my Italy alone!" With that he started to maneuver the smaller brunet nation and himself away from the drunk, through the door between the kitchen and the living room and over to the safety of the stairs. They could go to his room and lock East out until he cooled down.

There was a touch to the rugged blond's shoulder and both nations halted, Italy snuggling himself into the taller German again. He cast his blue eyes over his shoulder with a frown.

". . . Wait, your Italy?" The smile he wore should have split that infuriating face in half. Then Germany wouldn't have to deal with such idiocy all the time. It was enough to make his blood boil! . . . Or, he realized with a small flush, to make his blood rush. Italy was in his arms and mumbling something, but he caught the edges of a smile, and Germany's blush only grew with the idea that Italy could feel his instincts brushing against his thigh.

Ludwig refused to answer Prussia's question, simply replying with a kind of indignant 'humph' before tuning back again. Germany was really far too busy trying to school his features to not reflect outwardly the absolute horror from when the small Italian lifted his fawn-brown eyes with that damnedable smile that said 'I know something Germany doesn't want others to know~!' And he was right. Italy's Latin blood was easily stirred into a passion, and at the drop of a hat he would be ready and willing to share that passion with others. Germany, however, was a cool lover, and it was already enough for him to allow the boy to lay naked (NAKED!) with him on the nights he visited, praying (in vain) that such a thing would be enough for the brunet. It never was, and that knowledge made his body twitch, and Italy's smile grow.

Simply put, if there was even the smallest hint that the golden-blond would let himself be tangled in the sheets during daylight hours, Feliciano literally jumped at the opportunity and dragged Germany down kissing and screaming.

And biting. And clawing. And (he had to stop thinking of these things!) . . .

"Again, yooouurrr Italy, little brother?"

"Leave it be East." He had to get them both out of there before something stupid happened.

Italy mumbled something again and brushed his nose over a pectoral.

Germany had to suppress a shiver. "What was that?"

The rustic nation looked up with that smile and asked in a soft voice, "If I wear this, do I work for Germany too~?" He pushed the Eisernes Kreuz up with his index finger, to clarify what he meant.

Germany swallowed around his suddenly dry throat, his flush increasing, "Ja, natürlich. [Yes, of course.]"

Behind him, the forgotten nation started to laugh loudly again, and even wound his arms over his brother's hips, pulling himself against the taller Germany's back, trying to reach out for the small Italian.

"Prussia," Ludwig said in a warning tone, "don't do that." Now was not the time to be touching him!

The bloody knight, however, happily ignored him, and just spoke around his brother. "Ja~, of course you work for West~." But that lecherous smile was still on his face, and leaving the other two nations feeling unsettled.

Germany tried to move away again, closer to the stairs. A part of him thought that he would do better with just picking Italy up bridal style and getting them out of there under his own power.

He didn't quite slip from Prussia's grasp before the older blond asked, "If he's your Italy, does that make you his Germany?"

Without even thinking the brunet nation smiled and piped out a cheerful, "Sì~!"

"Italy, please, be quiet." He wanted to either rub his forehead or his temples, but doing so would mean letting go of the boy and the possibility that Feliciano could fall into the hands of Prussia made his insides squirm violently. And his possessive self rose to the occasion of claiming the other, openly if need be, to get the point across that others had to keep their hands off of what he owned!

" . . . Verdammt" He swore softly to himself. Even his thoughts were betraying him now! He had to get away from his older brother before anything more embarrassing happened, and with that thought he made to heft Italy up and carry him away.

However, as said before, Italy threw himself at any chance at joining with the Aryan nation before sunset, and this moment wasn't any different (save Prussia's presence). So really, Germany wasn't completely surprised when Italy decided to 'help' him by throwing his legs up and over Germany's hips, and locking his arms solidly around his neck. The action was familiar (and Germany had already shifted to compensate for the added weight without thinking), although inappropriate at the time, and it was all the blond could do to groan out a reproachful (yet still slightly lust tinged), "Itaalyyyy . . ."

Gilbert was laughing so hard that he though he'd lose some of his ale on the carpeting, watching as his adopted baby brother started to climb the stairs. "Oh Gott, oh Gott, haHAAhahahahaaaaaa! West! You've actually-you've really-" It was too funny. It was too surreal.

It was too delicious.

"Verdammt East! He's just been under my wing since the great wars! Now, Leave Him Alone!" Each passing second brought more and more anger to his voice.

This also brought more fear into little Italy, who couldn't stand to see or be around fighting if he didn't have to be, and the idea of the two brothers fighting over him tore at his heart. So he said the only thing he could think of to make everyone happy. "I-I'll work for you too Prussia! But~," he shook his head, "Not a surrender!"

The Eastern German's ears perked up at the declaration just as the Western German looked like he was ready to throttle his Northern Italian lover.

"Both of us? At once?" He could get into that, at least that was what the Aventinus said anyway, and when had he ever doubted the thoughts alcohol inspired in him?

Germany made it a point to thump up the steps with unnecessary roughness. "Gil, shut up. No one is surrendering to anyone in this house. Least of all you. Italy, no, you're not going to work with him. You shouldn't, and he can't force you to."

Now that line just pissed the platinum-blond off big time. And if there was one thing that was dangerous to have around one's house, it was a drunken and angry Prussia. Because while the anger might have been predictable, the drunken aspect threw logic to the winds, and then it was any nation's guess how things would end. So the red-violet- -more red than violet at the moment- -eyed male stormed up after his brother and pointed an accusing finger at his retreating back. "Listen, West, don't tell me you wouldn't be pissed if someone stole your symbols! The Eisernes Kreuz is mine and he doesn't deserve it!"

Ever ready to defend his lover, Italy called over the burly blond's shoulder, "But still! It's Germany's sign thing too!" He even pouted at the other still pointing at both of them.

Ludwig ignored the new ringing in his ear, and continued to carry Italy away. But his brother was traipsing after them again, still flushed from the ale.

"I never gave him permission to hand it out! Not to the likes of you!"

"Skkk!" Italy shook his head in fear, before burying his face into the taller German's shoulder.

Germany sighed, before stopping to face Prussia in profile. "He stole nothing! I gave it to him and that's not stealing. If you have a problem with that, complain to me and not to Italy then!" He could feel the doughy brunet frowning against his suit and skin. That he could deal with later, his brother was aggravating them now.

Said Prussian breathed in and then sighed. "Fuck, West. . ." Had to go and make shit complicated.

Germany narrowed his icy eyes, turning his body away slightly the better to shield Italy. "Don't tempt your luck, East. Just don't."

He turned forward again to see that Italy had, of all things, a smug look on his face. His little love even went so far as to stick out his tongue for some ludicrous reason. He could hear the other blond gawking at the action.

"Italy. . ." It was the blue-eyed blond's warning tone, and it left no room for argument. The brunet happily stopped and instead cuddled into him again with another hug. . . then promptly nipped at the buttons around his throat. Germany flushed but returned the light hug with a light squeeze, and started off for his room again. Really, he just didn't care anymore, as long as the Prussian blond didn't try anything with the boy while one or both of them were sleeping, considering Italy was certainly in the mood to do something now.

The red-eyed nation stared after them for a moment, adjusting his own Iron Cross as he thought. There had to be some other way he could get what he wanted out of this mess. He started following them again, racking his buzzing brain for an answer. He felt like the answer was right before him, staring him in the face, like he could reach out and touch-

The wall, that he conveniently forgot was there and ended up smacking into because he hadn't kept his eyes forward. A veritable plethora of German expletives flew from his liquored lips at the pain running down his face from the sudden impact. When he opened his eyes again, he found that Germany had coxed Italy from his arms, and had walked back over to him- -without the brunet- -to give his head a once over. And apparently to make sure that there was no damage to the wall- -er grandfather clock. . .

Clock. . . .

Italy . . . .

Gilbert Smirked.

Ludwig looked at his brother like a few (more) screws had been knocked loose.

Gilbert continued to smile dementedly.

Ludwig followed his brother's eyes, trying to see what the other saw. All he was led to was the clock face. . . . Germany noticeably paled and turned horrified eyes to his older brother with a look that begged, 'You wouldn't!'

Prussia, however, absolutely would. "Hey Italy~. . ."

"Mmm?" The brunet looked up from playing with his own cross metal.

"Don't you dare-"

"When do you like to take those hour naps again?" His younger brother suddenly looked like he was going to all Gestapo on him and murder Prussia in the middle of the night.

"Siesta~? That happens at three! No matter where a good Italian is, everything stops for Siesta~!"

"Oh everything~?" He could feel West's fingers putting more pressure on his airway. But fuck if this wasn't some of the funniest shit he'd pulled in a long time.

"Sì, everything! Well," Italy giggled, "almost everything." But Germany did not like it when he talked to others about what the napping did not stop, and so he didn't tell the ex-knight about such things. So he decided to be good, so that Germany wouldn't get even more grumpy and then maybe they could get to bed together, and then Italy could do those things that napping did not stop, because a good Italian needed to be in the bed, but did not have to be 'sleeping' sleeping to sleep in it!

An edge of the cross poked his finger as he turned it, and Italy turned dreamy brown eyes down on it. "It's shiny~ . . ." He mused to himself.

Western Germany had been trying to convince his Eastern brother to not say anything about the time, when the latter one heard that remark. Prussia huffed indignantly and yelled across the hall at the other, "It's not shiny, it's a symbol of bravery and military skill!" He looked down at his own metal, about to pull it up in example when his beer addled mind noticed something. ". . . Which is pretty shiny, ja." Wow, why had he never noticed that before now?

Germany breathed a sigh of relief, happy that his drunken brother was distracted from his original goal. "Look, East, I think you should go sleep it off. . ."

Italy, of course, had to ruin everything. "I have one too~. Because I belong to Germany~!"

Now most would think the brunet had absolutely no idea what he sounded like. The few who did know about his sexual appetites knew that the boy fully understood the words he'd just spoken, and what's more, that they were a subtle prod for Germany to hurry up and pound him into their bed.

(Which Germany complied with, sighing as he turned back to his insatiable Feliciano.)

Prussia was one of the former, but was slowly being converted. "Damn right you belong to West! Better remember that, brat!"- -Wait, that reminded him, he wanted to screw West over. Right!- -"Oh Italy? It's three 'o' clock." He then laughed like a lunatic, as he saw his brother freeze halfway between himself and his lover, debating on who to go to first.

The Italian gasped, and looked down at his wristwatch. Sure enough he found that it was three in the time zone he was in now.

"Siesta~!" He threw up his hands in triumph, before starting to wriggle out of his clothes.

That moment of hesitation was all Germany needed to grab the boy, and take hold of his hands. "No, Italy, no! You do not want to do this here!" There was a desperate edge to his voice, for he was pleading that the other nation would understand the gravity of his decision to strip before his elder brother. Not that his elder brother would be alive much longer after this stunt, but he needed his lover to understand that this was the worst possible idea right then.

"But Germany~! Siesta, Siesta~! It's time for Siesta~!" Then a coy smile played over his lips. "Does Germany want to take Siesta with me?" He made to kiss at any part of the golden-blond that he could reach, which involved taking a step forward. And that neatly placed a leg between Germany's thighs.

Ludwig swallowed hard as some part of him agreed with the idea, and even pressed closer to Feliciano's own matching warmth. He growled, trying to keep his mind clear, knowing the the brunet would be the undoing of him. "Ja, ja, ende, Ich werde tun, [Yes, yes, fine, I will do so,]just don't start stripping out here! At least get into the bedroom first." Right on cue, Prussia was rolling around in laughter, seeing his normally stoic younger sibling being flustered by the Italian simpleton. And if the younger nation wasn't at least moderately positive that Italy would strip where he stood once his hands were away, he'd move in for a swift kill of the silveret.

The soft bellied brunet was giggling too, but for a different reason, he had already kicked off his shoes! Well, at the front door anyway. Also, Germany may have had his hands, but Feliciano's lips were still free. Stretching up on his tiptoes, the Italian did his best to place a kiss on Germany's mouth, purposely rubbing himself against the man.

The blond gasped, but couldn't exactly bring himself to stop something that his body already wanted, and he soon found his taste-buds invaded by the tang of pasta and tomato-sauce. His resolve was crumbling, but the sky-eyed nation made one last attempt to salvage his dignity and pulled his shorter lover up like before, with his legs around his hips. It would have worked too . . . except for the part where his grip weakened and Italy was able to wiggle out of most of his clothes without using his hands anyway. The Latin-blooded nation had made a point of grinding against the other as he worked himself free (truly, the boy had no shame!) and then (because he hadn't done enough!) made a point to wrap himself tight around West Germany, settling his body's weight on a very sensitized spot.

"Italy! Why?" He couldn't even finish vocalizing the thought.

"Because~, Germany is wearing too much for Siesta~, and this way I can help you~!" Which he did, by attacking more of the business suit's buttons with his teeth. And He Was Still Writhing Over Germany!

Prussia, of course, was watching the show from the floor, and finding that his brother was, in fact, one lucky bastard. Damn, but DAMN, could the boy work a man's sanity down with just imagination. And if Gilbert had one thing in spades, it was his creative side, which was looking to get all personally acquainted with the Italian way of doing things. West couldn't even walk properly from where he was standing, and that alone was enough to make the blond knight sit up and take notice. The only thought that came to his mind was that he had to be a good brother.

And a good brother would get those two kids into a fucking room.

Germany, fearing that his love would fall from his precarious perch, shifted his grip from Italy's hands to supporting Italy's (Naked! He was only adorned with the Cross!) rump, swearing to himself as he did so. Then the blond found out why leaving those Italian hands free was a bad idea as a cool breath of air washed over an overheated part of his body. "ITALY!" His face cherry red, he looked down to see that the other nation had made quick work of his belt buckle (and his belt!), and had unzipped the pants of his suit. "Don't you dare!" He needed to get his legs working, now!

"Mmm~?" Feliciano looked up at him innocently (teasingly!) before resting one hand on a straining shoulder, and slipping the other down between their bodies to draw Germany out of his clothes.

Italy purred.

Germany looked ready to kill him, or to turn and pound him into the wall they were leaning against.

Prussia wrapped his arms over the other blond's torso with a manic laugh. "Looks like you could use some help carrying him." Oh yeah, he was so going to watch this shit happen, and seeing his brother squirm? Damn, he should have done this long ago! Fucking rocked to see his baby brother all out of sorts. So ignoring West's indignant shouts and orders to leave him alone- -said in a wavery and breathy voice, he noticed- -Gilbert more or less heaved the two up from the wall and started to guide Ludwig over to his bedroom.

(Ludwig just took solace in the fact that there was no way his brother could see that Feliciano was actually moving his hand over his length at a teasing pace. Or that he was even running the tip along the soft globes which protected his true target. He swore that his very ears were aflame.)

The Teutonic brat more or less pushed them through the door, causing his young brother to overbalance, and slam Italy's back against the mattress. Gilbert took the time to switch on the lights and shut the door.

But the *snick* of the lock being turned into place echoed loudly in Germany's ears. Ice-blue eyes cut a vicious gaze across the room. "You're not staying." Italy's crafty hands were hard at work on the upper half of his suit now.

"HA! Like hell I'm not! Unlike Television or the Internet, I don't have to pay for this!" Maybe if West wasn't so fucking cheap, and actually bought some decent cable channels- -Fuck, he'd have that argument later when there wasn't interactive porn to play with. Right now he needed to help get things going.

Germany groaned again, before rolling so that Italy sat on his lap and he could pull himself more onto the bed.

"Lift~, lift~!" The Italian was tugging at his sleeves, and before he was thinking properly the golden-blond had his arms elevated, and was divested of all garments he wore from the waist up. (The logical part of his mind was surprisingly calm, and happy that he'd adopted Japan's custom of removing his shoes at the door, and that he'd instilled that habit in every nation that lived or visited with him.)

Another giggle, and the cuddly brunet was attacking the rest of his suit.

Just on the lust clouded edges of his vision, Germany thought he saw his brother moving around the room still. But then Feliciano was tugging at his over and underwear, and he was lifting his hips as the other shimmied them down his legs. Soon the last of his dignity was pooling around his ankles, and the brunet's hand was petting over heated flesh. Ludwig sighed, and bucked against his little lover, arms wound over padded hips.

His lover, his demanding Italy, would be the death of him.

Germany was already leaning in for a kiss as he kicked off the rest of his clothes. There was a dull *clang* as their crosses met, metals warmed from the heat of their passion. He delved deep, tasting more of the soft nation's most recent meal, his favored dish. But that was fine with the golden-haired male, as he stroked the other's tongue the way Italy was attending to his dripping sex.

Make that 'dripped on' sex.

Germany's head shot up from the oral duel, to stare bewilderedly at his brother.

Prussia had one hand working off his opened shirt, as the other continued to drizzle lube onto the head of West's straining cock. And Italy's hand was still moving over that cock, so it was now spreading that lube over the length of it. Italy lifted his gaze (no longer dreamy, but now hazed with lust) to question his German lover, before looking over his own shoulder to see the platinum brother trying to impose his presence.

"Gil . . ." Germany's voice was soft, the tone pleading.

The demonic knight smirked, righting the bottle. "Hell West, I know you might not mind it rough, but I'd wager yer Ehefrau [Wife] does. So really," he dropped down to his knees, "the two of you should be thanking me. . ." and then he coated his fingers with the oil and wiggled two of them into the brunet. It was kind of funny how it worked itself out, he prodded Italy, which freaked the little nation out, causing him to cling to West's chest, but didn't let him move further way, so Prussia had his fingers twisting inside his Vitals anyway- -and Gott! could the kid moan. The bloody-eyed blond was twitching hard against the confines of his denim pants, just aching to sink into something soft and warm and wet and- -he was sooooooo going to do more than watch now.

Italy was dealing with the sudden invasion the only way he could, by babbling in his native tongue as his one hand worked Ludwig into a sheer frenzy. And Germany was barely any better, holding tight to the brunet as he swore at his brother in their shared language.

Gilbert continued to laugh, free hand having dropped the bottle in favor of tending to his pants. But even he had his limits, and soon pulled his hand free of the Italian nation.

Feliciano whimpered at the loss, and immediately guided Ludwig into himself, because he needed, needed, needed something to fill the void left behind.

Germany gasped, grasping at Italy's hips as they worked the brunet down onto him. No matter how many times they joined, the intensity never dulled. Their union was perfect, stunning, all consuming.

The golden nation rolled them into the center of the bed, positioning himself above his flushed lover. His Iron Cross was dangling from his neck, swaying with each gasped breath. And with every rise and fall of Italy's heaving chest, his identical pendent shifted over flushed skin.

"Mein." [Mine.] It was the only warning the romantic nation had before his strong lover began to attack his soft throat with teeth and tongue and lips.

Italy's back arched, "La mia amata! [My beloved!]"

His hands pawed at taut muscles, "Ll mio tesoro! [My darling!]"

He pressed his hips down onto slick heat, "La mia unica! [My only!]"

Buried his face into the crook of Ludwig's neck, "Il mio cuore! [My heart!]"

Ran his nails down a war scarred back, "La mia vita! [My life!]"

And all Germany could do was worship his Roman-Bred Love-God.

"Per favore! [Please!]" Feliciano mewled in the back of his throat, rolling his hips down, begging the other to start moving.

The blond nation pulled away with a chuckle. Whatever he was going to say next died in a surprised gasp, as he thrusted hard into Italy. No, no, that feeling, it couldn't be! He threw a horrified glance over his shoulder.

There at the end of the bed, wearing only a feral (drunken) grin and his Eisernes Kreuz was his brother twisting those same slicked fingers inside of him. West Germany hadn't paid attention, had let his guard drop, and in the heat of the moment Prussia had been able to steal onto the bed and position himself with a clear shot at his Vital Regions.

The platinum-haired knight snickered, before stretching his digits deep and nudging something that made golden Germany gasp and moan. Little Italy whimpered beneath him, looking just as conflicted about the situation. Too bad, Gilbert had a thing for crashing parties. He nudged his brother nation's 'happy spot' again. West still didn't look pleased, but he also looked more desperate, and the kid- -Fucking hell! He DID have eyes! Wide eyes! Wide Brown Eyes!- -just kept shifting his gaze between the two of them.

Germany was gripping Feliciano's ribs tight, trying to concentrate only on the brunet below him. He was trying to block it out, not think of what ruby-eyed Prussia was doing to him (had done to him before so many nights and times ago). There was only he and Italy. (Italy who, he noticed with a shiver, was watching him with wary eyes. His attentive lover was memorizing both Gilbert's actions, and Ludwig's reactions, learning what other places to touch to make Germany buck and kick and go weak in the knees.)

The sapphire-eyed nation shuddered, but from the elder's ministration's or being so watched was beyond his current capability of thought.

East Germany purred, and placed his oiled self at the occupied point. Spreading his fingers, Prussia was able to slide in without removing them first. If he hadn't been able to do that, there was every possibility West would have flipped himself and prevented his invasion. But now he was spooned over his little brother's back, sunk deep inside familiar territory, the Eisernes Kreuz dragging over stretched skin as he at last removed his hand from where it had been trapped between their bodies. The drunken knight sighed in contentment, wrapping his pale arms around Germany and pulling himself closer to the other nation.

Filling and being filled, Ludwig was frozen where he was, eyes screwed shut as he breathed through his clenched teeth, fingers squeezing and clawing at the bed-sheets as he tried to settle himself and adjust to the new situation. However his brother decided to busy himself with kissing at the backs of his shoulders and neck as Italy continued to make soft sounds below him. He couldn't hold himself up, he had to sink, sink down into his beloved, and Prussia sank with him. The weight of the other nation pressed on him insistently, pressed in him there and he could only moan and shiver from sensory overload. (His memories, too many memories, so many times . . . It was so hard for them to do anything sober, and never together without the influence of cheap drink to intoxicate them as fast as possible, hangovers been damned.)

And Italy was watching, watching quietly as he could manage, watching Germany melt and bend to his older brother. Steel strong Germany, panting and breathing erratically, and making small small sounds of wanton pleasure, blushing and murmuring and trying to move just right so Prussia could settle snugly inside him. Laying under the combined weight of the Germanic nations Feliciano sighed, finding the added presence comforting rather than burdensome or painful.

"Ita . . . Italy," it took so much effort for him to drag himself up to the brunet's lips, and Ludwig's hands and arms curled under and around milky shoulders plump with baby fat that had never left. He actually whimpered at some trick Prussia's devious tongue played and Germany transferred that whimper to Italy's lips from his own.

Gilbert nipped at the bony knob linking West's neck to the top of his back, feeling his baby brother shift helplessly beneath him. Yeah, yeah, this was what he'd been missing for a loooooooong fucking time. His callused fingers skimmed up equally rough sides as he played with the blond's hot spots. Fuck! Fuck, how long had it been since he was like this with his brother? With anyone? Gott . . .

The platinum knight wrapped his arms around Germany's hips as he raised himself to his knees, bringing the other blond with him. Ludwig refused to break his lip-lock, but allowed the lower half of his body to be manipulated. Prussia bit down on an ear, making the other keen and arch, before the intoxicated nation pulled his own body back and out. A pause as he sucked on the abused lobe, then Gilbert slammed himself back in, driving Ludwig deep into Feliciano.

The Italian arched up into the sensation as the one trapped in the middle arched down into his lover.

And the Latin-blooded nation was off and babbling again, arching and rolling his hips, and hands and lips moving moving moving, always moving over worn flesh, all to kiss and lick, and even nip himself , fingertips curling and grasping at skin and muscle.

The stoic blond was being pushed and pulled along with the elder's ragged (wild) pace, being driven deep and removed swiftly. The Prussian fool was dropping vain oaths from his lips the way his Italy was swearing love while his own voice was still (throat frozen tight from being played front and back). It was all Germany could do to gasp and pant, words beyond his reach. His hands held tightly, cupping, gripping fatted hips (they were the only solid purchase he had on his sanity).

"Ll mio tesoro~." The romantic nation kissed his silent lover, trailing fingers down to flick and tease at pert buds of skin, warm and ready for stimulation. Italy lapped at the inside of Germany's mouth, twisting his tongue against and around the other's, encouraging him to respond, to play with him, even as their bodies were being roughly used by the fanatical knight. His heart, his pride, his love belonged to the man, the nation, blanketing him.

Prussia continued to nip along the golden blond's neck, and roll his hips into the other, pulling out before slamming back in. Mad with drink and lust, he was heedless of anything other than his own joy, and was quick in finding his rapture. He gripped Ludwig's hips with bruising force before arching back and howling out in wordless noise.

But if there was one thing to be said about Prussia it was this: a good victory was worth repeating.

So Gilbert laughed, laughed and whispered unclean words, and said, "Sollen wir wieder spielen, bruder? Würde sie mögen, solch ein Ding? [Shall we play again, brother? Would you like such a thing?]" But it didn't matter to him anyway because he was already pulling back to start his rocking pace all over again.

Germany hadn't expected the sudden flash of liquid warmth inside him, but at least he'd managed not to bite off Italy's tongue when it happened. He did, however moan and squeeze his true love tighter. And when his brother whispered those words to him, (those treacherous, wonderful words at him) a chill ran down his spine and into the heart of his Vital Regions. (He and Italy, they were only- -no not even- -but big brother was- -so greedy really, not caring about either of them.)

The Iron Cross slid off of the brunet nation's shoulder as he reached up to lave kisses and sweet nothings on his lover's cheek, nuzzling Germany when he didn't respond right away. His fingers started to stray up the sides, to the back of the sky-eyed German's body, nails racking down, once, quickly, before fingertips retraced the path, creating a smooth contrast to the burning wake.

And all Ludwig could do was nuzzle and kiss back. Prussia was pumping into him mercilessly, not resting (never resting, his stamina was too great for that), with no regard to if he was even aimed right. It was so strange and un-satisfying, and his own hips begged to be released so that they could shift and angle and generally get his brother back to what he'd lost. (At this rate, he wouldn't even be able to explore Italy.) He tried, a little, but the knight's grip held firm.

But Italy was an attentive lover, caring always, always, always, more for the joys of his partners, than his own. Feliciano ran his fingers up, shifting his body back just the slightest bit. He trailed his fingers down, and because the shifting back didn't work, he shifted right. Down his fingers searched for other fingers, and he shifted his body once more to the back and left. The Italian nation found Prussia's hands and threaded their fingers together, pulling the pale clamps away from his lover. Germany's sigh of relief was almost as sweet a melody to his ears as the old lullabies master Austria and big sister Hungary would sing through the house when he was a little girl-nation.

Ludwig took his new freedom and swiveled just so to his right. And Italy was screaming heaven below him.

"Fuck!" The kid was going to break his fingers off! "Fucking- -Gott verdammt- -Leggo!"

"NO! Germany can't move properly with you strangling him like that!" He pouted at the platinum maniac hovering over his beloved.

"I'll strangle you in a second if you don't let the fuck go!" He bellowed back.

"Brother! . . . You (nnuh!) weren't even (AH!) invited!"

"Not really important right now West." His golden brother was still shifting below him, and he was quickly climbing to his second finish.

"(NnhaA!) T-that's actually quite important!" Leave it to East to help prove to himself that it was possible to scowl during impassioned sex. "You're . . . . doing . . . . well at ruining . . . our moods!"

Gilbert's only response to that was to laugh, followed by doing all in his power to mimic a piston.

Germany swore then, and did his best to keep from hurting Italy. "If You're Going To Keep That Up, Then At Least Try To Angle Yourself Right!"

"Wait, your right or my right?"

"It's The Same Verdammen Thing Right now!"

"Fine, fine, was auch immer [whatever], no need to be such a hündin [bitch] about it." He pulled his hips back and shifted them a little lower and right. But without the use of his hands, he was struggling a tad.

Italy sighed, and took the captured hands in his own. Then he pressed them flat to Germany's expansive pectorals, palms dead center over the raised nipples of the blue-eyed blond.

The Eastern Knight copped a feel with both hands, before giving his hips one last wiggle, and pounding in home.

Ludwig's back arched. Prussia's aim had been true. He squeezed the brunet's hips without mercy. He bent down and kissed Italy, as his body was made to ram ecstasy through his plump beloved. The action was wet and somewhat sloppy, but they both moaned into it.

Because of Prussia's pace it wasn't long before that familiar warm knot was tying itself in their lower bellies, and the brunet was mewling helplessly and happily at the situation. His loosed fingers had tangled themselves in Germany's short locks, just as the golden blond had managed to sneak a large, warm, hand between them to tend to his neglected love.

The Italian was little more then a quivering mass, and such added attention sent him rocketing to his peak. He fell over the edge with his soul mate's name falling from his lips.

The Western brother wasn't able to last much longer, not with the knight riding hard in the saddle. A few advances and he stilled, a whisper of a prayer made from the same stuff as Italy's last howl his only word.

All that pressure on the third party went straight to his head. The platinum blond laughed, reveling in the tight warmth surrounding him. But even he couldn't hold out long, and arching down and in, he growled out his release.

There was a moment's pause, with the rustic nation and the Aryan youth feverishly kissing one another and the Teutonic Knight panting happily over the shoulder of his brother.

Germany's fingers were at last free to explore Italy, but he instead wound sated arms around his waist, drawing him close to his warmth. These soft, silent moments of heaven were what the golden blond cherished most. In the quite he wasn't expected to do anything, only be. And to be with his beloved was the greatest joy he could ever ask for.

Perhaps that was why, when Prussia picked himself up, and got back to his knees, Ludwig almost turned over to kill him for daring to start up again.

"Stoppen! [Stop!] What in the world is wrong with you? Did you take an enhancement pill earlier?"

"Fuck no! Like I even need those things, HA!"

"Then why are you . . . . beginning again?"

Gilbert smirked, bloody eyes almost aglow with the lingering intoxication. "Because I can. I have more then enough stamina to handle a few rounds of this."

Ludwig growled low in his throat, and was about to comment, but Feliciano beat him to the punch. "Prussia doesn't know much about making love." His eyes were half lidded, but still lacked the dreamy look.

The East German was still weirded out by being able to see Italy's eyes. Not that anyone could tell from the level of bravado he poured into his voice. "I know that when it comes down to it, I'll take quantity over quality." And he thrusted forward.

The abused blond winced, being hit dead on again. Damn, it was going to be just like old times, with his brother fucking them to sleep. He could already feel Prussia leaking out of him and over his thighs, providing lubrication even as he burned through it. All Germany could do was turn his lips back to Italy's throat, teeth almost catching on the chain of his metal. Knowing his brother's drunken appetites and health, they were all in for a war of attrition (that Gilbert was the most like to win).

*Bonus Epilogue!*

Hours later, Prussia lay curled about Germany, sleeping and satiated. Italy had wobbled down the stairs after reawakening, bent on turning the stove off. (Going more to save his precious pasta, then to save the structural integrity of the house, but the brunet had said there was no danger of the place burning down. Germany believed him only because the Italian had yet to ruin a meal under his own power, and the food would have to burn long before anything else did.)

Ludwig looked blearily over his shoulder at the soft snoring sounds mixed with the incoherent dream-talk of his brother. (Who was apparently not as satisfied as he thought he was, because Prussia was entertaining Elizaveta in his sleep. It made the blond feel somewhat sorry for her and slightly less so for Roderich. If anyone knew Gilbert's appetites as well as Germany, it was those two, and not all that willingly.)

He could already feel the limp he would be walking with for the next few days. Thankfully this had happened after his meeting with his boss about the current economic issues, and he could easily work around the impairment tomorrow, with the aid of pharmaceuticals. (Traffic on the way home had been a nightmare, and with all of the explaining and rehashing of ideas to solve the financial problems of his people, it was a wonder Germany had made it home as early as he did.) But it was . . . . annoying. His brother's presence was understandable, Italy he had invited over so that was expected. But East kept himself busy during the days, either out of doors, or in his room, playing that online game with Poland.

(Ludwig refused to admit openly that he had a level seventy of his own, at Gilbert's insistence, or that 'he' would most likely be dragged around with Feliks' 'Bloody' Paladin or his brother's own 'Undying' Warlock to raise his 'Orcish' Rouge up to the new level cap so that he could at last play as a Death Knight. . . . after he maxed out his cooking and engineering again. Giving the latter up for skinning while retaining his mining skill had netted him all the profit the three of them- -or any of their guild- -would need for equipment and mount upgrades, provided the two other blonds hadn't spent it all yet, and no one had given Feliciano the clearance to access money from the vault. . . . Not that he used his cow of a Druid often. Usually it was either South Italy or Spain mucking about on that toon, just to say 'hi' to everyone.)

"You're thinking~." The bed dipped with the weight of the very 'calf' he was thinking of.

"Ja . . ." He drew one soft hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it.

"About what?" Little Italy leaned down to drag his lips across the length of neck bared to him.

"Everything and nothing." His eyebrow arched. "Did you walk through the house nude?"

"Sì."

The West German sighed, but simply acknowledged that there was no changing his beau's concept of body shame (or rather, lack thereof).

"Is Germany sad?" Those dreamy eyes were full of concern for him.

"Nein liebling, nein." [No darling, no.]

"Then why does Germany have his 'sad thoughts' face on?"

A light chuckle, before he kissed back. "I was wondering . . . how you two managed to cross swords, when East acts like a hermit inside these walls."

The Italian nation shrugged. "He was in the kitchen drinking by the time I arrived. I just thought, since I had already brought lunch, I might as well cook it."

His sweet love, so thoughtful of other's comfort even as he was thoughtless in so many other regards. Gilbert did not drink without reason. But then, his older brother had no shortages of reasons these days.

Italy's giggles brought him out of his reprieve. "Was? [What?]"

"Mmm~? Oh! Prussia doesn't look so scary when he's sleeping, like Germany~! You both look so carino [cute] when you sleep~."

"Wir sind nicht. [We {are/do} not.]" But he smiled all the same.

But Feliciano was still giggling about something, and Germany did not like secrets so much, and before long he was pulled down by strong warm arms and callused fingers were tickling his sides and belly, and oh he liked it when Germany was like this even if it was only when they were alone.

"Was? Waaas? Was denken sie von? [What? Whaaat? What are you thinking of?]"

Italy giggled a little louder. "Rinunciare! Rinunciare~! [I give up!]. . ."

Behind him, Prussia curled into a tighter ball, taking more of the covers with him. "Mmm, that's right, Elisa baby, just like that . . ."

The other nations stopped to look back at the sleeping knight.

"Oh, you can touch my Vital Regions, Roddy-kins . . ."

At least he wasn't saying that he could 'eat them up like Strudel'.

"Maybe Prussia is scary when he sleeps too . . ."

Germany shook his head at the other's observation. "I do not want to dwell on what he thinks. But I would still like to know what is on your mind." And he turned those sky-blue eyes on Italy.

The romantic nation smiled, and almost, almost, almost lost himself to memories. "I was thinking. . . Germany likes discipline, sì? When I do things wrong, Germany gets mad, and then I have to do drills, or other things that Germany thinks of."

"Ja, and do not worry, I will find some way for East to make amends."

But the brunet just smiled. "I want to dress him up~! Because I don't think drills will work on him, because he's like Germany, and Germany likes drills." Okay, so at first he had wanted to just draw on his face, with scribbles and circles, and a big heart in the middle of his forehead, but that worked better with scolding Japan and some of the more passive nations.

Ludwig didn't know if he wanted to slap his face, or laugh. "No, East does not like drills as much as I do." But he rested himself against the pillows as he asked, "And how do you wish to dress him?"

More giggles before he answered. "I want to put him in a pretty pink shirt! With bows in his hair, and a skirt!"

". . . . A pink shirt?"

"Sì, a BRIGHT pink one~!"

" . . . And a skirt?"

"Sì, a nice short one, because he's so mean all the time!"

" . . . With bows?"

"In his hair~! Wouldn't he look pretty like that?"

Ludwig thought for a moment, before concluding that he must be delusional. "What color skirt?" Really, mental instability was the only reason he could be agreeing with his simpleminded lover.

"Um. . . . I don't know, but big sister Hungary might! Or-or Poland! I'd ask France nii-chan, but he'd try to bad touch me, and wouldn't be helpful anyway. But I think that big sister said that purple and black were two good colors to go with pink! So-so, Germany, which color do you think would be better~?"

That he was even seriously considering this, "Black would be a nice subtle color, but too reminiscent of his days as a knight. He would be less comfortable in purple, mostly because Austria uses it so." He had to have been out of his right mind. "But his hair is too short for braiding properly-"

"We could still use hair-clips! Big sister is good with ribbons too~! And make-up! He'll need make-up if he's going to be extra pretty~!"

And Germany was hiding a smirk behind his hand. "Gott would it be that easy to gain her assistance?"

"Ah! Big sister loves to play dress up! She still likes to do that with me. But then so does France nii-chan, but some of the dresses he picks out for me are scary, and make me feel bad to wear."

The blond's possessive instincts fired up again, and he made a mental note to invade France's house. One time for each inappropriate gift or idea he'd ever given to his lover (whether he'd known Italy at the time or not!).

"And big sister would have the best ideas for the kinds of shoes and stockings he should wear! I know she liked using navy silk, and maybe she could make a nice neckless or other jewelry for him to wear with it. I know Prussia likes pearl necklaces, but I think Signor Austria has crystal that his house is famous for, so maybe he could make a string of crystal balls for Prussia to wear."

Germany blinked. "Pearl necklaces?" Something about that seemed off.

"Well he always talks about getting one- -but I think a crystal one of his crossy neckless would look better! Maybe on a choker?"

"A black velvet one at that, with lace trim if she could make it." Ludwig decided not to enlighten Italy about his brother's wish for a specific sexual act rather than accessory.

"And those little black shoes! The ones that are all round and have one strap that go over top!"

"Hnn, ja das konnte arbeiten [Yes, that/this could work]. . . With little bows on the end? And button snaps on the side?"

"Sì~! And he could were those sock-stockings that come up to the knees!"

"Ah, I think he would like ones that came up to mid-thigh." Not that he would, but since they were the ones dreaming of this it didn't matter really. "Are you sure about the bows? He could use a headband. Maybe one with cat-ears?"

"Ah, but if we gave him the headband, he would need a tail too~! One with a bow on the end, with a bell attached to it~!" Then Italy clapped his hands together. "We need to tell big sister all of this! Ah but-but, he would look best with black ears and tail. Then his bow at the end could be dark purple like his skirt and his nails, and his sock-things could be pink like his shirt! And big sister can do the make-up! With Poland and maybe even Liechtenstein to help!" He'd always liked the little girl more than her scary gun-toting brother, and the feelings were mutual.

"All of that, with the choker, knight's cross made of Austria Crystal, and shoes? And what shall be made of navy silk?"

"Ah, well, maybe that will be another outfit." Italy smiled dreamily.

Germany laughed, deep like the rolling thunder, and pulled his smaller love down into his arms. It might take a few days, and more then a little strategic planning, but it would be worth it to see the look on his brother's face.

And Hungary would be only too glad to make recordings. Especially if he was forced (drunk enough) to sing along with Austria accompanying him with his piano.

A/N:

COOKIE(S) TO ANYONE WHO CAN FIND THE HIDDEN NOD(S) TO HRE & CHIBITALIA OR HRE = LUDWIG! Because, oh yeah, I WENT there!

(Brownies to finding innuendo/nods I didn't even know I was putting in there.)

P.S.: I will take any Friends or fans that'll have me. ^.*

INFO TIME!

I blame this [http : / / community . livejournal . com / hetalia / 266339 . html] for why Gilbert was there. . . . . (And it doesn't hurt that I play WoW and already had an idea of what races/classes those 2 would play {Male Blood Elves are FLAMING!- -But oh, so pretty. ^.^~:heart: ::Cuddles her Male Blood-Pally::... I gotta renew my account... after I write way too much. XD})

And most of Melted peep's history lessons. X3 Like this one [http : / / community . livejournal . com / hetalia / 211463 . html # cutid1]

Ahhhh, s/he's crazy and I love her/him. ^.^~:heart:

And, of course, Wikipedia: [http : / / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Prussia]

It may be inaccurate most of the time, but at least it's something. XD

What's Gilbert drinking?: [http : / / www . bottledbeer . co . uk / index . html ? beerid = 544] (With much love and dedication to our group's Denmark, because s/he's a freaking connoisseur!)

Familiar link is familiar: [http : / / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Sausage]

Because I fail at all non-English languages: [http : / / www . howtosayin . com AND http : / / free-translation . imtranslator . net /]

Why a pigeon? Why a stork?: [http : / / www . camacdonald . com / birding / CountryIndex . htm AND http : / / answers . yahoo . com / question / index ? qid = 20080413093738AAoF1ZD AND http : / / www . travel-mediainfo . com / General-Italy / 124377 . htm]

And an odd man out says Italy's is the bluebird: [http : / / wiki . answers . com / Q / What_is_the_national_bird_of_Italy]

Here there be my copy of the chat?: [http : / / mail . google . com / mail / ? ui = 2&ik = 6987bcbbb4&view = lg&msg = 11e482db71318be0]

TO ANY OF THE OTHER RPers WHO WERE AROUND. . . . Love for you to post the links to your copies of what happened. That's be awesome. And for anyone my link works for- -I played Sweden, so when you see 'me' talking = Sweden talking.

Something I randomly found when looking up 'Braughtwurst': [http : / / www . epicurious . com / tools / searchresults ? search = braughtwurst + with + pasta]

"We are unable to find an exact match for: braughtwurst with pasta. The following results matched at least one search term."

And I swear I didn't punch in anything about pasta! X_x;;; It's like the internet was backing Germany up about not mixing the two. Too bad I've seen my dad make pasta sauce from scratch. Leftovers, simmering all day, with the meat melting off the bone by the end. And cut up sausages. . . . . okay, so they might have been sweet Italian sausages, BUT IT'S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS! XDD

Ah~, it's good to have mixed heritage and two parents who can cook. ^.^~:heart:

(MY PARENTS CAN MAKE THE CAKE A REALITY, AND MAKE ENGLAND'S COOKING TASTE GOOD! As well as be edible.)

Other random thing I found: [http : / / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Liechtenstein]

For those of you too scared to look, I'll quote . . . "[Liechtenstein] is the last remnant of the Holy Roman Empire, having been acquired to enable entry to the Imperial Diet."

I spasmed on the floor for like a minute after reading that.

So does this destroy the whole 'Germany = Grown up HRE' theory?

FUCK NO!

It does, however, explain why Ludwig doesn't remember anything, because Liechtenstein has his memories! AND . . . . It also explains why Switzerland stopped shooting at Italy- -because Vash loves his little sister, and would do anything to make her happy, like not killing Italy on sight. XD

Read and review! I love input. :3