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Author's Note: De-anon from Minvasion.
Drunk Prussia came out wrong. Oh well. PruFr? New for me...
Also this is a very particular smut (aside from it being mini I mean) but either way. I did like the historical reference to instruments which is a product of lazy google research.
When In Paris.
Prussia first discovered that he was not quite as awesome he hoped in a foggy-atmosphered parisian tavern. Drunk, absolutely out of his mind, Prussia thought he might have been half-blind with the drink. He could taste it near the back of his throat when he swallowed, a burning bright taste, and all manner of careless words. Such as when he complained about having not had time to pursue a sexual partner. Such as when he whined that every woman wanted a serenade and it was all England's fault for making courtly love big, heck, it was France's fault. And Prussia did not have time because he was too busy with his role as a nation - wars to revel in, discipline to delight in, paperwork to swim in. It was all France's fault.
France raised his eyebrows succinctly, and rubbed the shadow that had gathered on his chin. "The French have nothing to do with the fact you're utterly without charm."
Prussia puffed himself up, knocking a heavy mug off the counter. "I'm an awe inspirin'. Better than charm."
"Yes, very awesome." France agreed and Prussia narrowed his eyes.
"Well waddaya propose? Am not about to get a scheitholt t' play to satisfact'shun" Prussia lilted out the final word determinedly, thumping his fist down on the bar.
"For a start an épinette des Vosges is far superior." France corrected.
And Prussia didn't care.
He cared that France could sound so smooth and eloquent even when the fade of blue in his eyes advertised clearly he was as drunk as Prussia. He cared mostly because it annoyed him, so, Prussia pushed away from the bar, and when the owner gave him an annoyed huff, Prussia pointed at the cross slung clumsily about his neck. "Nation, get lost." Prussia's french tipped heavily about with his Prussian accent and finally toppled into a slur of curse words.
He heard France get up after him, hurriedly apologizing in French and tossing some coins on the table. How come France was so loaded? Prussia got peanuts and he was a nation too.
France chased him outside and pulled him to the side, angrily gripping him by the scruff of his neck, the cross jingling almost merrily. "Mon dieu, you are intolerable Gilbert!"
And Prussia has a vague memory of the best head he's had in his life.
There's the strong and sharp recall of France rolling his eyes, and economically, hurriedly, succinctly, desperate but cleanly somewhere between lust and plain amusement, removing the obstacle of Prussia's trousers. There is the slight impression of them in the shadow of the alley next to the tavern. There is a definite memory of France closing his mouth on Prussia's dick.
Though only the slightest memory of whatever France shoved his finger.
Prussia's pretty sure, well maybe, very sure that he actually cried when he orgasmed.
He's is however not sure if France has any teethbecause France is sucking firmly, too hard, pumping and smoothing saliva over him to ease friction, way way quickly. Prussia knows he doesn't give oral this good. Knows for sure, because his eyes only refocus when he slides down the wall and France gives him a good tongue so Prussia can taste himself. Prussia swallows, mildly aware he just swallowed his own come too. It's a bit difficult to put that out of mind.
France yanks Prussia's trousers back on, letting Prussia lean on him. Prussia winces once or twice at how rough France is, but only now does he realize he was getting somewhat cold.
He mutters something in German.
And France laughs, pleased and obviously proud of himself. "I am - without a doubt - the best friend you could ask for, mon oiseau."
Prussia remembers most of all, that he is not that awesome.
May your quills be ever sharp.