This story is un-beta read and the first smutty fic I ever wrote on the kink meme or otherwise. I have edited it quite a bit myself, but I'm no good at editing my own work. Please be kind and let me know of there is something horrible that needs to be fixed. Thanks.

Warning: It is rated M for being PWP and incest.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

For anyone who is interested I had some mood music going while writing it: Bach's Brandenburg Concerto 5. I encourage you to look up the three movements on Youtube. Or here is the end to their Youtube URLs.

Movement 1: watch?v=XBw6wwa7eC8
Movement 2: watch?v=iRHkARHotF8
Movement 3: watch?v=EUfnC4xSizk

Rose, Behind the Glasses

Ludwig nudged the front door closed, not yet wishing to alert his older brother of his return from Japan. He deposited his shoes by the door and sneaked into the kitchen, his arms laden with grocery bags. Gilbert probably spent the weekend drinking with Francis and Antonio, and he certainly hadn't thought do any shopping. He was most likely in his room nursing a hangover, even though it was only late afternoon.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, making a mental note to drink less sake on his next visit to see Kiku. It had not helped to ward off jet lag. He made his way down the hallway toward his room and stopped. From his office, he could hear the muffled sounds of German curses mingled with orchestral music.

Edging along the hallway where the wood flooring creaked less, he peaked into the study. Just visible through the crack in the door, he could see white hair and arms and shoulders hunched over a stack of papers. Gilbert sat busily typing away at his computer. Ludwig's computer. Doing Ludwig's work. Prussia's iPod was plugged into a set of speakers.

"And here, everyone thinks that it's West who does this shit! That it's the great and wonderful Ludwig who is the organized manager of the nations!" The albino grumbled, shuffling papers around, sorting them into methodical stacks. "No! It's me! So not awesome you are, Ludwig! The awesome me is not your personal secretary. I know I taught you how organize this shit! How could you let things get like this?"

"Humph," Ludwig rumbled in response. Gilbert's movements stilled. He regretted the moment of negligence, intending to keep his presence unknown until he had prepared dinner for them, at least. He was an excellent spy, how did his older brother even hear him over the music?

"I know your there, West. My hearing his awesome. I taught you all you know, including espionage. And organization. I knew the moment you walked through the front door."

Ludwig doubted that. When he pushed the door open, Bilbird chirped at him and flew circles around his head. He raised an arm to shoo it away. Either the little chick seemed to have taken a liking to perching atop his golden blonde hair, thinking it was a nest of hay, or it was mocking him as well, and had alerted his older brother to his presence.

"That was not a rhetorical question! And do not swat at my Gilbird."

Ludwig said nothing.

"West! Answer me," he commanded, not looking away from the work.

"It's Monday, Gilbert," he sighed, "and I haven't been home all week. I do my paperwork with perfect efficiency. Don't fuss at me. You're no genius with the books."

"I am awesome at paperwork!"

"No, you aren't, and I don't know why you're even doing my work!"

"Because it needed to be done and you'll be too jet-lagged for the next few days to do it. If I have to keep doing your paperwork during and after all your diplomatic trips, I will start charging you." He wagged a patronizing finger in the air.

Ludwig walked farther into the room and slumped down on the leather couch he had in his private office for visitors, and watched the Prussian work. "I house you, idiot. And feed you. I do the paperwork. You clean. You do whatever the hell you want anyway!"

"Whatever, I was bored."

"Who does someone else's paperwork when their bored?"

Gilbert finally raised his head at that, and regarded his younger brother sternly from behind a familiar pair of black half-rim glasses, as though that was all the answer that was necessary.

"Gilbert! Why are you wearing my glasses!?" Ludwig growled.

"I cannot read your spidery scrawl! It gives me a headache. Letting me use your glasses is the least you can do."

Ludwig swallowed hard under the unyielding stare that lay behind those dark, square frames, and pleaded to his lungs to let him breathe. Those eyes. That look. "Shut up! I have perfect penmanship." Ludwig muttered, after a pause that must have been a moment too long, not bothering to comment on the glasses again. He couldn't possibly. He swallowed hard.

"It's too calligraphic."

"No, it isn't." That was a weak, childish argument, he knew and he wanted to kick himself for using it. Ludwig needed to keep Gilbert's attention, to keep the other looking at him. To be commanded by his older brother looking at him behind the rims of those glasses. Gott. He'd do anything he said. If he hadn't before—of course he did, in the right setting, but it wasn't ever his office—he could definitely see how Gilbert had been the great Kingdom of Prussia and the legendary Teutonic Knights with a glare like that.

He released another heavy sigh from the behind the hand he rubbed over his face. "Mein gott." He could not relieve the throbbing in his skull and distract from heat pooling within him; he had to get out of there. Indulging the aches and pains of his jet lag, he braced his weight evenly and pushed up from the couch. When he felt balanced and the room stopped tilting, he took a few tentative steps toward the door.

"I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want any?"

"Ja, ja…" Gilbert waved him off and leaned back over the papers, his eyes deep in concentration.

Without another word, Ludwig retreated to the kitchen, glad for a break from his brother if only for a few minutes. He really needed a stiff drink or three or four. He shuffled his way around the kitchen, his eyes almost closed, moving mechanically—framed red-violet eyes still burned into him, searing him from the inside out. He added an extra scoop of coffee to the maker; the stronger the better, he decided. Though, he knew that his brother must be nursing a small headache of his own, and would welcome the caffeine boost.

He loaded a silver tray with cups, a couple franzbrötchen for a quick snack to tide them over until the two brothers really felt like eating something, and the whole pot of coffee. That didn't take long enough. He was still half-hard and narrowly avoided a painful encounter with the cabinetry.

Gilbert didn't look up when Ludwig set a tray in a clear space on the large antique mahogany desk. He poured coffee for them both and set a cup in front of his older brother, nudging the plate with the sweet rolls toward the edge of the Prussian's sight.

"Danke, West." He looked up from the notes he had been scanning, fingers slipped under the pair glasses perched on his nose, and rubbed at his eyes.

"Stop breathing in my ear, Ludwig!" Gilbert shoved him back about a meter, tearing his attention from the glasses.

When had he done that? When had he leaned down so closely to the Prussian?

"I was not." Another weak reply. "Gilbert, get up and let me do my paperwork!" He knew that it was futile to impede his brother in the middle of a project, but he longed for Prussia to…to…

To yell at him like a drill sergeant.

"Absolutely not." Gilbert muttered. "You're in no condition to do any such thing." He looked up again, eyes narrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line—displeased and impatient. "Your face is all flushed, and you're breathing heavy. So unawesome. Lay down, West."

He was? Ludwig put a hand to his stomach, feeling as though it was about to flip up out of his throat in exhilaration. Had Gilbert given an order? If he had, he was going to disobey just to see what would happen. He wasn't sure if he could make it back over to the couch; it was getting hard to concentrate.

Ludwig wiggled a finger under the collar of his shirt, loosening his tie. "Is it hot in here?"

"No Ludwig it's just you. Go back and lie down on the couch. Don't make me tell you again." Oh gott, another order? His tone had even been short and abrupt. The way he sat in his chair—shoulders taut, sturdy musculature noticeable beneath the dark blue fabric of the button down shirt—was enough to make Ludwig stand at attention.

"Come on, Gilbert." He pressed one hand against muscles where they met at middle of Gilbert's upper back—they tensed—and he looked down at his brother's face, mirrored in the silver tray on the desk. He blinked. "Wh-why are you wearing a tie?"

"Your boss called earlier today. I went to meet with him on your behalf."

"You did what?!" That was unacceptable. The Prussian wasn't supposed to have contact with his boss. But still, looking at the reflection of those eyes behind the half-rim glasses made him bite back another reply. He couldn't scold a superior officer. No! What was he thinking? Gilbert wasn't his superior. This was ridiculous!

"He needed a few papers that you had signed before you left and a copy of the notes from your meeting with England the previous week. I organized and delivered them."

Oh, if that was all, Ludwig supposed that could be forgiven. Suddenly he wondered how often Gilbert did things like that for him when he was away. Perhaps he should give Gilbert some kind of compensation.

"Get up and let me do my work."

"Nein."

He gripped his other hand around Gilbert's left arm, in an effort to stopping the other from writing, even his handwriting was stern and stiff like typeset. The muscles of his back and arm flexed and shifted in an attempt to move both hands away. In the tray, he watched those red-violet eyes behind the lenses. They were sharp, severe, suspicious. "What are you doing, West?"

His hand tightened on Gilbert's arm and his other was rubbing hard circles across his upper back. "I am trying to get you out of my chair. What do you think?"

"I think you're trying to come on to me. You're jet-lagged. And, I think, you must also be drunk, or maybe hung-over." He laughed, the usual mirth oddly absent, and that sent a shiver down his spine and increased the searing heat in his loins. "Go to bed, Ludwig! Stop bothering me."

Ludwig leaned forward against the back of the chair; the pressure of wood on tender flesh shocked a gasp from lungs already straining. He still didn't look up. What did he have to do? So, Gilbert wanted him to lie down? Ludwig would lie down, but he wouldn't go alone. He wasn't leaving those perfectly framed eyes.

"I think not, Gilly." Gilbert usually referred to him with nicknames and he wondered how he would respond to the reversal. He posed himself behind the Prussian, and kneaded his hands into his muscular shoulders. He pressed himself forward, breathing against Gilbert's neck, letting his soft white hair tickle his nose and cheek.

Nothing!

What would it take to break Gilbert's concentration? It was infuriating.

Slowly, Ludwig brushed his lips over the skin of the ivory neck toward his left ear. He sucked at the milky skin of Gilbert's earlobe, licking his tongue along the curve of his ear.

"Mein Gott! Get off! Ludwig, go to bed! That is an order!" Gott, an order, and he shouted. Still he didn't look up. Ludwig had to watch the eyes in reflection only.

He whimpered under the force of that gravely tenor voice. The trained soldier within him strained to submit to the former Teutonic Knight and stand at attention. Oh, but it was tempting just to rebel and bite down on the neck before him that smelled of beer, coffee and the franzbrötchen he made that Gilbert liked so much. Praying he would just slam him down against the desk, the couch, even the floor, and bark out orders that he would obey in the blink of an eye. "No sir," he purred, and nibbled and licked the creamy neck that tasted just as inviting as it smelled.

"Ludwig, I gave you an order. You don't disobey orders!" Aha! He detected more than a hint of surprise. He caught the Prussian off his guard. Finally.

Gilbert grabbed him by his tie and shirt collar and slammed him against the front drawers of the desk, eyes burning into him again. Oh, yes. It was all he could do not to smirk. But, with that look, the smirk would have smoldered to nothing anyway. "This is not awesome, West. You're delirious. .Bed. swine! And let me work. I'm almost finished for the day."

Ludwig panted and bit his lip to keep from whining aloud. Gilbert started to swear at him; he was a lost cause. Either he would start sniveling like a baby or stand at attention and that would be the end of it. He was already at the mercy of those perfect scarlet eyes framed by his glasses. The paperwork really had become a pet project for Gilbert. How had he not realized? Ludwig wished his brother could be stern and responsible all the time. If he was, though, he might never get anything done.

The albino shoved him away to the open space, and swiveled in the chair to face the wall opposite that held his computer; he typed off an email to someone as though Ludwig wasn't even in the room at all. For a moment, all he could do was stand there blinking stupidly, still in the mid-stoop he had landed several awkward steps away, back against a filing cabinet. The typing stopped just as the German had shaken boldness and longing back into gear to act.

Ludwig spun Gilbert back around and straddled his legs, not caring that he was taller, and gazed into—ogled at—those stunning eyes. "Nein." He cupped both his hands around the Prussian's cheeks, holding his head still.

"Ludwig Beilschimdt, not now! Get off me! This instant!" Gilbert raised his hands and squeezed at the pressure points just above Ludwig's elbows.

Instead, despite orders, and pain so intense his arms twitched, Ludwig leaned closer. Gott, he felt like a child again, asking for an extra cookie. This wasn't a fair game. "Please, Gilly." With a whimper from the blonde that left bewilderment in the scarlet eyes, before they were lost to proximity, he bent down, closing those last few inches and seized Gilbert's lips with his. They were sticky, sweet from the pastry and piquant from the coffee, so he licked them and nibbled them, and he could taste the faintest bit of the beer he must have had with his lunch.

Gilbert pushed him away, hands on his shoulders, once again finding and utilizing pressure points with the ease of a seasoned combatant. "What the hell, Ludwig? Have you turned into an overgrown, assertive Feliciano? You don't use pet names and you don't whimper. Well, not usually. Just get off me and stop pouting. You really do look like a blonde Feli like that."

What? He was doing what? He looked like what? Pouting? Maybe he had been hanging around Feliciano too long. But, he just wanted to be roughed up a little longer. Or did he? "Please?" He whispered.

He slunk back down and nuzzled Gilbert's cheek, kissed his ear and down his jaw to his neck. The albino huffed in annoyance. Ludwig lavished his neck with soft kisses, and started humming the next piece of music that came from the Prussian's iPod—he recognized this one and started to hum along.

Gilbert gasped in astonishment—throaty and sensuous— and had he not held Ludwig tighter against him, they might have both tumbled out of the chair. After only a few measures, he could feel his older brother getting hard.

"What? No." Gilbert panted, distressed. "Luddy? To Brandenburg?! Mein gott, that's second movement of the fifth." Oh, so he liked that. What did wearing those glasses do to Gilbert—or rather, was it still what the glasses were doing to Ludwig causing him to imagine all this? Or was it the music? He didn't really know, and he didn't really care.

He would just laugh at this, if he weren't already so aroused that it hurt. Bach, just as good as an erogenous zone. Prussia had precious few musicians that Austria didn't manage to claim over the years. He could feel the albino's continued panting. He had something new to concentrate on now.

Gilbert lifted the both of them from the chair and eased Ludwig back against the filing cabinet gently. Dipping him down, so he towered over his younger brother, and pressed against him with softly controlled touches along his shoulders and neck. Ludwig stopped humming and looked up into red-violet eyes that now held him at attention. He smirked.

With the loosening of ties and slow unbuttoning of shirts as lips collided, they made it to the other side of the room. Gilbert looped an ankle around one of Ludwig's knees and laid him down on the chaise lounge he often used for reading—tenderly as a gentleman would a fine lady, not a soldier wanting a quick one. The crackling of wood brought the younger brother back to attention. Ludwig struggled as Gilbert feathered deft, sword-calloused fingers along his toned chest. This was not how it was supposed to go.

"Gilbert? What the hell?"

"You pull stunts like Feli or Roddy and that's how I'll treat you. That's how it goes, Little Luddy. Now you hum that little ditty again and see where it gets you." And then, Gilbert released him and turned to go back across the room to the desk.

Ludwig caught him by the hem of his dress shirt as it billowed out behind him, and ghosted his fingers along the alabaster skin of the man's back. He started to hum again.

Gilbert spun around, eyes wide, panting once again; the sudden movement caused his shirt to tumble down his shoulders and pool around his elbows. His brother re-approached the chaise with laborious steps, and let his arms drop as he stared down at Ludwig; the shirt fell from his arms and down to the floor. The younger German smiled up at him, eyes half-lidded—still humming.

"You have a beautiful voice, Ludwig."

The compliment remained unanswered. Gilbert leaned over him kissed him—chest, neck, jaws—slowly and reverently in time with the music. He lingered over his lips, nudging their noses together, allowing their breath to merge. "I missed you. You didn't tell me you were leaving."

"Sorry, Gilbert. I forgot.

"That's not like you, West."

"And, this isn't like you, Osten."

"Shush. Don't interrupt Bach. That's very unawesome. I will have to punish you."

"Why Bach?" He wanted to say, 'yes, please.'

"He helps me focus, like your glasses." He reached up to take them off.

Ludwig stopped his hand. "Leave them on." A silver-white eyebrow rose above the rim of his glasses, and red-purple eyes widened. He took advantage of Gilbert's surprise, and closed the remaining distance between them for another kiss, humming once more to the music playing softly in the background.

Gilbert moaned into the kiss—ardent and sensual like the music—and Ludwig thought he felt his brother shudder as he draped his arms around his waist and neck. His fingers threaded through silky platinum strands. Their tongues danced and fought for control. The younger German looked up through the glasses to the eyes behind them; they were closed. He bucked his hips upward, and both brothers let out a gasp, broke away to breathe.

Ludwig let his hands glide along the slimmer toned shoulders, chest and abdomen hovering above him, relishing the feeling of the firm lithe muscles, making quick work of unfastening and stripping his brother of his trousers and then ridding himself of his own.

"Hum again for me, Ludwig." The albino's eyes were just as stern and intense as they were when he was sitting at his desk doing his paperwork. He hadn't needed to issue that order; moaning as he felt the first finger, the heat he felt earlier searing through him yet again. As Gilbert added a second, Ludwig found it hard to keep his eyes at attention, but he kept ogling those hard eyes anyway and he became lost in them.

Earlier, Gilbert must have produced lubricant from some mysterious pocket, because the pain was tolerable. Ludwig marveled at the dichotomy between the hard, masterful eyes and the lithe, tender gestures of Gilbert moving above and inside him.

Those weren't the rough, wild, aggressive thrusts of the Prussian's boasted reputation—those he usually begged for, as Gilbert was the only one he would ever allow to dominate him. Gentle, but still forceful and controlling, he displayed a power of a different sort. He could have pounded him into the cushion, but no. Refined, dexterous, smooth thrusts left Ludwig panting and moaning. Yes, this was a cruel punishment he had never before experienced. Gilbert began taking care of him at some point because the heat between them had become unbearable and white spots filled his vision. His orgasm came a few beats before Gilbert's shocked them both. They panted each other's names.

Gilbert slid up beside him on the chaise, resting his head on Ludwig's broad muscular chest. After several minutes, he stirred again and whispered. "That was awesome. Bach is awesome."

"Ja."

"Ich liebe dich, Ludwig. But, don't do that to me ever again when I'm listening to Bach."

"Ich liebe dich, Gilbert. I'll make sure that I do." He laughed and gazed into the framed scarlet eyes again. "You can keep the glasses though. I'll get a new pair."

"Thanks, Luddy, they're awesome." His brother grinned, but the authoritarian gleam was replaced by satiated, weary smirk. Still, to Ludwig, it was just as alluring, and his kissed his cheek.

Author Notes

Franzbrötchen—a sweet, sticky pastry, baked with a filling of butter and cinnamon

J.S. Bach was a German composer—yes, German!—during the Baroque period, 1600 through around 1750. He wrote the Brandenburg concerti around 1700-20 and presented in 1721. They were dedicated to the margrave of Brandenburg- Schwedt Christian Ludwig on the request of King Fredrick William I of Prussia, who was a musician though not a great patron of the arts as he was a self-proclaimed "Soldier King". The full score of the Brandenburg concerti remained unused at the time, because the necessary musicians weren't available in court to perform them. Since the Kingdom of Prussia was made from a union of Brandenburg and the Duchy of Prussia, I see these concerti as being special to Gilbert—requested for him perhaps? I can imagine Gilbert liking them way back when.

Sorry if it seems like I rushed through the sex. This is my first time writing it. Please review, I appreciate all reviews and constructive criticism.