Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights - Hidekaz Himaruya.
Ah, this is the first story I've written with my new OTP - I had a lot of fun writing this despite feeling like a total perv. Gotta love ideas that hit you in the shower, n'est-ce pas?
As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.
Enjoy!~

(P)RUSSIA

An Awesome Grand Scheme.

The stagnant air inside the stuffy conference room had been filled with the monotonous drone of Britain's voice for what seemed like hours now as he reviewed his newly-introduced policy concerning his country's financial revenue (or something along those lines) for the second time and counting. Prussia had lost the ability of making sense of his fellow nation's speech what felt like ages ago, his arm propped against the professional-appearing conference table serving as the sole thing keeping his head from smacking against its polished surface that suspiciously glinted up at him. The limited number of lined pieces of paper given to him before the conference by his brother lay innocently in front of him, all filled with random doodles instead of boring notes usually depicting the Germanic troublemaker playing a prank on whomever acted as his target: most of his drawings happened to feature France and Spain, serving either as victims or accomplices. "I think that about sums up my plan for this next fiscal year. What say we adjourn this meeting for today?" Prussia's ruby eyes widened at the prospect of going home presented by the straight-laced Brit standing at the front of the room as the gears in his mind processed the opportunity laid out before him, ridding themselves of the figurative cobwebs that had formed early this morning.

Shaking his head swiftly to rid himself of boredom and fatigue, Prussia pushed his rolling chair away from the table and animatedly hopped to his feet, all of the grace of a drunken cat manifesting in his action. "Hell yes! That's the smartest thing you've said all day, Queenie!" he exclaimed before all but flying out of the room, leaving no time for Britain to reply with some snarky comment or another that was bound to ensue from the nickname graciously bestowed upon him by the self-proclaimed Mr. Awesome.

Hmm, what should I do for the rest of the day? Maybe talk Spain and France into trolling with me! We haven't done that in so - Prussia's brain seemed to glitch at the sight of a person standing at the end of the hall.

A flaxen-haired, narrow-framed young man stood with his back to Prussia, focusing his attention on the personification of Denmark that leaned against the far wall, apparently negotiating some deal or another between their respective countries underneath a life-size painting of a man standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking a sea of wispy, cloud-like fog. Is that... Finland? Scarlet eyes scrutinized what he could see of the silhouette of the young man's face, the way he held himself (it seemed he was holding some kind of ceramic cup), trailing all the way down his thin body until he reached the plump, rounded region of the other nation's ass, made all the more prominent by the fitted jeans that he wore.

Allowing himself a moment of reflection, Prussia couldn't actively remember the last time he had scoped someone out in the same fashion and with the same excited severity that he now exhibited. Verdammt! Why can't the girl countries' butts look like that? He snapped out of his abbreviated reverie upon espying Denmark pointing at him, wearing a rather curious and somewhat confused expression. Finland turned on his heel with an arched brow and began to pace down the hallway toward Prussia, his movements careful and measured so as to prevent himself from tripping. He took a sip of whatever liquid housed itself in his cup before halting about a foot away from Prussia, his head unintentionally cocking slightly off to the left before he spoke, cheery alto voice ringing distinctly in the suddenly-tense air, "Hey Prussia. Denmark told me that you've been staring at us for a few minutes, so he figured you wanted to talk to us for some reason. Did you need anything?"

Prussia shook his head hastily as his trademark smirk curled upon his lips, "Nope! I was looking... at... the painting right above you guys and was kinda wondering who painted it since it looked really familiar! Yeah." He tried to will away the guilty rose blush that scorched the tops of his cheeks.

Finland's head snapped back to glance at the painting before turning to face Prussia once again, his soft chuckle resonating in the air with a tinkling quality. "Well, I'm sure it would look familiar to you. A German painter by the name of Caspar David Friedrich painted it, after all. It's one of my personal favorites."

The snowy-haired ex-nation lifted a hand to scratch the back of his head, grasping for any words that would rid this moment of its apparent awkwardness. "Oh, duh, of course I knew that! I was just testing you!"

Another faint titter from his newfound company. "Alright then, Prussia. If you don't need anything else, I'm going back over to talk to Denmark. It was nice talking to you though." A polite smile upturned Finland's lips, coaxing a tiny dimple out from the apple of his cheek before he turned away, striding back to the still-bewildered Dane.

Before Prussia turned to vacate the building a foreign movement caught his eye: he kept watching the petite Finnish man until the shorter country came across a random scrap of paper that had made its way into the middle of the hallway. As he bent down to pick it up, Prussia's eyes traced the apparent cleave of his ass exposed through the tautened seat of his jeans, its slightly apple-bottomed shape... as a handful of blood vessels burst in his nose, lukewarm tinny liquid flowing freely onto the front of his cobalt military jacket. Oh shit...! An idea struck him as he turned quickly away, hand flying up to his face to pinch his nose: he needed to consult with France. Immediately.

Hours Later...

"Oh ho, la Prusse! You look rather pale... and you didn't explain exactly why you called me out here to meet you," France remarked, seating himself with defined elegance upon the high arm of the beige couch that dominated part of the living room of Prussia's apartment, right next to the albino ex-nation himself.

With a bloodstained Kleenex still plugging one nostril, Prussia leaned back halfway into the couch and halfway on France, a hand flitting up to his chin in a pose akin to 'The Thinker' statue. "I need some help with an awesome plan I thought up on my way from the World Conference building," Prussia explained, "and you're the only one who can help me with this. Do you think you could get into Finland's hotel room tonight, snag me a pair of his jeans, and put them back in a place where he'll find them in the morning when I'm done with them? I need to get him to wear them without seeing the back until after he's at the World Conference building too..."

"Hold on," a hand flickered up and paused in front of Prussia's face, "why do you need me to do this, exactly? Do you have something against Finland?"

The hand that had framed Prussia's chin removed itself as the fingertip of his index finger prodded the center of France's palm still held in front of his face. "If I have something against him, it's his ass. I have this... plan, per se... that'll let me grope the damn thing if it works out the way I'm thinking it will!"

A faint chuckle reverberated in France's throat as his hand moved to seat itself upon the crown of Prussia's head. "So this grand scheme of yours is all for the conquest of Finland's derrière. You know, la Prusse, you don't have to act all shady when it comes to things like this! Why don't you just profess your love for him? I'm sure he'll let you touch it then."

Prussia shook his head as one milky brow arched, disappearing somewhat into the choppy bangs that feathered against his forehead. "I do have a reason for doing this behind closed doors, France, and that's because I honestly don't love him. I don't really even like him in the way that you're thinking. Sure, he's cute and all, but let me ask you this: have you seen Sweden? That dude's like his personal bodyguard. I'd rather risk my neck trying to grab his ass than get killed 'professing my love' to him,' as you put it. That's your style, France, not mine."

France's free hand flitted to cover his mouth as his characteristic oh-honhonhon!~ chuckle struck the air. "Alright then,I am at your service in this quest! All I have to do is bring you a pair of Finland's jeans, let you do whatever it is you're going to do with them, and place them in his room before he wakes up in a place where he will be inclined to wear them, but don't let him see the back, n'est-ce pas?"

Prussia nodded, head tilting skyward as the hand that still perched upon the top of his head shifted onto his forehead from the movement; France's other hand unceremoniously fell back to his side. "Yeah, that's your mission for tonight. Think you'll be able to handle it? If not I can always ask someone else..."

Mock pain overtook France's light features as his tongue clicked in indignant astonishment, "There's no need to ask someone else and you know it! You've asked the best person suited for this job!" He hopped to his feet, both hands darting to rest on his hips as his mouth twitched to the side. "You can be sure I'll return within an hour or so, two at the most, with a pair of his pants in tow! You can count on it!"

Prussia decided to slide off the couch and straighten to stand beside his friend, the ghost of a smile piquing the corners of his mouth, "Good then, that's what I want to hear! Text me when you have the jeans, I need to step out for maybe half an hour... I need to retrieve some supplies from the local art store..."

An amused grin broke across France's face as he nodded, "D'accord, d'accord. Bonne chance, mon petit ami! I'll see you in an hour's time!"

As France passed a wandering hand had found its way directly to Prussia's vital regions and squeezed, breaking into a run and escaping through the front door before the German could do anything about his action. Prussia shook his head as the tips of his ears burned with surprised embarrassment, though he knew he should have expected something like that sooner or later coming from France. Ah well, it's all worth it in the end... your ass is mine, Finland!

The Next Day...

Nervous whispers filled the tense air swelling within the conference room in which most of the personifications of world countries had gathered for the second day of their annual World Conference. Whenever Finland passed by someone they would either break into a gaggle of giggles or whispers, depending on if they stood alone or if others stood nearby. Flavescent brows knitted in self-consciousness and confusion: he could think of no conceivable reason why people would either be laughing or gossiping about him, especially since he hadn't done anything noteworthy or remarkable as of recent. He spotted the closest person he could find that he knew somewhat well and trotted up to the bespectacled Estonia, whose indigo eyes ceaselessly scanned the gargantuan room on the constant lookout for Russia. "Estoniaaa!" Finland cried, latching onto his arm as soon as he came within reach, "Everyone keeps either laughing at me or whispering whenever I seem to walk by... do you know why? Have you heard anyone say anything to you?"

To Finland's dismay Estonia shook his head, turning completely to face the shorter Nordic country, "I haven't heard anyone say anything to me yet, unfortunately. I'm sorry Finland. If I hear anything you'll be the first to know... assuming I can get over to you by that time. I know Russia's lurking somewhere nearby..."

"FINLAND!"

A gruff, booming voice sliced through the white noise of whispers and chortles that had enveloped the room just moments before with blatant ease as all eyes turned to the albino ex-nation standing in the arch of the doorway. As he strutted across the room everyone that seemed to be in his way parted for once instead of giving him flack for trying to act bigger than he actually was - a sinewy arm found its way across the length of Finland's shoulders as he reached the startled blonde, a huge half-smirk-half-grin plastered confidently to Prussia's face. The German leaned close to his now fully rigid target to whisper, "Sorry, broski, but I'm the reason why everyone's talking 'bout you. I promise all this will blow over once I've had my fun, ja? Will you play along until then?"

Finland shrugged, shaking his head as he replied, "Do I really have a choice in the matter, Prussia?" Vexation bordering on vehemence layered the last word that spat from his lips.

"Good choice!" Finland could distinctly hear the smile in Prussia's tone as he turned his (and subsequently Finland's) back to the conference room at large, withdrawing his arm and motioning to the lower regions of the amethyst-eyed nation. "Alright, everyone!" Prussia's voice projected deliciously around the completely silent room, "I, the awesome Prussia, have risen from the ashes to once again conquer one of my fellow nations! And my target this time happened to be the cute little Fin-Fin here!"

The inhabitants of the room collectively gasped in faux surprise (and a coda of oh-honhonhon!~ from the Frenchman) at the sight of what had been glued to the seat of Finland's jeans: the boldest and most onyx of black letters clearly spelled out the name P R U S S I A across the expanse of Finland's ass in Impact font, a personal favorite of the German's. "Sorry, Finny, but your ass is mine today!"

Finland's face had long since burned with sangria embarrassment as the realization of what happened dawned upon him, a laden sigh blossoming in his lungs and heaving his chest. At least this will all blow over... soon enough...

Prussia cackled a chorus of 'kesese!~' as his hand poised to claim his proclaimed bounty, yet... just as his arm extended toward the Fin, hand hovering barely centimeters from the plump region that he desired... the large P curled and detached from the seat of Finland's jeans, seeming to laugh up at the German as it fluttered to the hardwood floor underfoot. No...! Fucking glue! Why must you give out at a time like this? Prussia's face twisted from a mask of complete triumph to anguish in less than a fraction of a second; the crowd that had gathered in front of the rude display parted abruptly as the formidable figure of Russia emerged, one of his trademark plastic smiles adorning his amicable face though never touching subzero wisteria eyes. "Well, Prussia," his blunt, accented voice broke the deafening silence that pervaded every nook and cranny of the conference room, "I don't think you've conquered Helsinki, now have you? You might have, though obviously you've done it in my name, instead of yours. You surely know your place as an ex-nation, don't you?"

"NEIN! This isn't what it looks like!" Prussia exploded, brows furrowing as the newly-kindled fires of determination blazed within blood-hued eyes, "You'll have to get to Finland first if you want to claim his vital regions!" And with that remark one of Prussia's arms coiled around Finland's waist and hoisted him easily over his shoulder, automatically breaking into a hell-bent dash down the center of the conference room, disappearing within seconds through double doors.

"Oh, silly, stupid Prussia," Russia murmured almost to himself, though his voice remained loud enough for all of the other nations present to hear, "what you don't know is... one day... everyone will become one with Russia...!"

Finland's hands had balled into fists and beat against the broad plane of Prussia's back as he fled, laughing maniacally down the hallway. "Put! Me! Down! Right! Now! You! MEANIE!" Finland screeched, his words punctuated by the fleshy collision of his fists against Prussia.

"NEV-" Prussia's shout had been cut short, as well as his mad escape, by something powerful and hard that easily towered over him that he had abruptly bumped into.

Brick-red eyes shifted from the cobalt military coat in front of him up toward the face of its owner, who stared the ex-nation down with a cerulean gaze framed by argentine glasses that rivaled Antarctica in frigidity. "Pr'ss'a, wh't 're y'u d'ing w'th m' w'fe?" The gravelly, low voice of Sweden rung with a foreboding tone in the air above him as a hand as large as the German's face plucked the struggling blonde from his shoulder. "N' 'ne k'dn'ps m' w'fe wh'le 'm aw'y."

Prussia turned on his heel with an unawesome shriek before a hand gripped the back of his collar, choking the German as he tried to run. "Lemme go, prick!" he roared viciously, all of the muscles in his jaw tightening as pearly teeth audibly gritted, "I was just having some fun! I didn't mean anything by it!"

Finland cupped Sweden's ear and seemed to whisper something to the formidable country; after a few tense moments of consideration - Prussia could have sworn that his heart had unlatched itself from inside his chest and plummeted into his stomach - Sweden curtly nodded. "T'no s'ys I sh'uld w'rry 'bo't R'ss'a 'nst'ad 'f y'u. 'f th't 's tru', g' d'al w'th R'ss'a f'r 's 'nd I w'n't h'rt y'u."

Prussia's eyes bulged at that prospect as he weighed his options: I guess I want to keep breathing, so... "Alright, alright," he grumbled, jogging away as Sweden released him, "...can't never have any fun, can I?"

A thought slapped Prussia upside the head just before he turned into to the conference room. I'll have to thank Finland later for that...! Somehow...!

And so, Prussia learned two things that day: one, that Finland's ass was definitely the undiscovered eighth wonder of the world; and two, that Sweden'll rape his little German ass if he ever decides to torment little Finny again.

Fin.

* Random fact: France calls Prussia 'mon petit ami' in the story you just read. That actually translates to mean 'my boyfriend' in French, not just 'my little friend.' ;D

Sweden's Dialogue:
Prussia, what are you doing with my wife?
No one kidnaps my wife while I'm away.
Tino says I should worry about Russia instead of you. If that's true, go deal with Russia for us and I won't hurt you.