The Science Of…

"You've never done it before, right?" he asks. There is no context, because they haven't been talking. There is a lot of not talking between them, sometimes.

"Er."

"I think I know the answer without you telling me." Prussia grins at the puzzled Germany who is sitting on his lap, facing him with his legs on either side of his own. "West is a virgin, I bet."

"F-for God's sake," Germany sputters, and turns just a shade redder. "No, of course I've—I have—"

"You wouldn't know it from the way you're acting."

Prussia's lips are so painfully close to Germany's mouth that his breath tickles his nose.

"Prussia," snaps Germany, "just because you've slept with girls you didn't know the names of doesn't mean—"

"Don't blame me, I'm the victim here," Prussia says, playfully. His fingers snap Germany's waistband before making their way to his hipbones and thumbing against them. "Girls find me irresistible."

Germany makes a grumbling sound and tries to kiss him, but he finds himself struggling against Prussia's arms, now holding him back.

"Does that make you jealous?"

"Aren't you tryingto make me jealous?"

"Is it working?"

Prussia knocks him onto the bed, and finally their mouths find each other.

Germany loves the feeling of his brother's weight against him and the sinking of his body against the pillows and mattress. (Prussia makes a humming noise as he nips at his collarbone.) He loves the way he kisses, loves how agreeably slick and moist he kisses, how delightfully warm and affectionate it feels. (Germany lifts his arms and wraps them around his brother's back, pulling them even closer together.) He wishes that these moments could go on forever, nothing but the slide and heat of their mouths, the soft moans that Prussia makes, the excitement he feels in his chest.

Prussia pulls his mouth away—it makes a wet smacking noise—and he admits suddenly: "I'm getting frustrated."

"What for?" says Germany, frowning.

"We've been at this for months," Prussia says, quietly, and Germany can see the reflected light from the window in his eyes. "Aren't we supposed to be having sex?"

"But we," begins Germany, but all the usual excuses fall from his head as Prussia flattens his pelvis up against his own and smooths a finger along one of Germany's burning cheeks.

"Sheiße," Germany hisses.

"Can we? Do you want to?"

Germany tightly closes his eyes.

"You're nervous?" Prussia asks.

"N—yes," Germany says, but he doesn't know if it can be described that easily. He pushes against Prussia to sit up, and Prussia frowns at him.

"West. Trust me. I don't care if it's the worst sex I've ever had, alright? It's fine whatever happens."

"But—"

"I want to, West," Prussia says once more. He puts a hand to his shoulder and shoves him down again. "I really want to."

"But I've never—Prussia," Germany argues, but Prussia is already pushing up on his sweater, exposing his belly. He kisses him there.

Is this really happening?

Germany protests, though rather unconvincingly, and Prussia pauses just long enough to sit up and unbutton his shirt. They've done this part before, yes, but right now it all just seems to be happening too fast, too insanely fast. Germany wants to tell him to stop, that he's changed his mind, that they're brothers, for God's sake, but—

"You can figure it out," Prussia says, against his throat. "This isn't exactly rocket science, West."

He unzips Germany's trousers.

"Trust me."

"Nm," is the only discernible noise Germany makes. He gets tangled up in the blankets.