Author's note: Normally I don't PruHun but the other day I watched a documentary on Fritz and it gave me Prussia feels. I do love him, I swear, but I feel like so often he's one of those characters who's become a one-liner that's flat. In reality he's got gusto and pizzazz and a thing for banging Austria's mistresses. That's what Austria gets for having so many, and beautiful things too.
Sanssouci
French: « without care »
Gil loosens his cravat, throwing his riding crop and hat upon the bed. Another long day with his king; at least Fritz was someone he could respect and speak freely with. It wasn't every day someone got a leader like that.
"Potsdam is beautiful," a woman's voice announces. The Prussian, however, doesn't bother to turn at her words.
"Yeah, it is." He finishes removing his cravat, kicking off his boots.
"You never told me how lovely Sanssouci turned out to be."
"Words could not do it justice." Stripping off his jacket and throwing it at the foot of the bed, Gil finally turns to see Erzsi standing on his balcony, looking out over the German town and small palace in question.
"No," she agrees, "I suppose words couldn't." When she turns her face is bright from the sun, her smile soft. It makes the Prussian's heart ache. "You've changed."
"So have you," Gil counters, walking around the couch facing the balcony before plopping down on it and putting his legs up on the plush cushions. The king's taunts had just been too much to back down from, Fritz always knowing just how to rile him up. The nation incarnate imagines his horse probably feels as sore as he is from after that race.
The Hungarian quirks an eyebrow. "Exhausted?"
"Always," he sighs, his lips turning into a small smile themselves. After all these years of knowing Erzsébet there were two things Gil was certain of: he loved her more than anyone else, and she was smart enough to know better than to fall in love with him too.
"Here then," and the lady moves with a grace she's always had, even back when they were both young boys (though she's turned out quite differently than expected), wearing unrefined clothes and swinging unpolished swords.
Sitting at the other end of the couch Erzsi moves Gil's feet to rest on her lap, pulling his long stockings off his calves and feet. Dropping them to the floor her hands begin to work his sore lower legs, Gil letting his head roll back as he sighs in relief. "You've gotten better at this," he murmurs.
"Have I?"
"Does he make you do this?" When together they rarely say Roderich's name.
"No, he does not make me. He has other mistresses for that."
"Does he now?" Eyes closed Gil tries to picture the Austrian idiot surrounded by angry women. "How many others?"
"At least five," and there's a pain in the Hungarian woman's voice that he hadn't been expecting. Still, Gill continues.
"How many of those are like us?"
"Three."
"Tell me little Lili isn't–" the Prussian starts, lifting his head and opening his eyes. Erzsi, her gaze still on his feet in her lap, shakes her head.
"No, not Lili. Emma, Camille, and Anna though, that I know of."
Gil snorts. "Camille? Francis's sister?" Erzsi only shrugs, her eyes finally meeting his.
"He treats her as an equal. He has many mistresses in many different countries, with whom he does many different things."
A hand reaches out to stroke one of her cheeks. "Together those three, plus all the others, aren't even comparable to the great Hungary." The woman's smile grows a little at the Prussian's words.
"There you are," Erzsi whispers.
Gil, confused, makes a face. "Yeah, of course here I am. What are you talking about?"
His companion repeats her earlier words of, "You've changed, Gilbert."
Shifting so his feet were firmly planted on the ground, his outstretched hand reaches out to tug at the sleeve of Erzsi's dress so that she would move closer. "How so, meine Liebste?"
The Hungarian takes both his hands, leaning in. If the Prussian dared to look down (which he really didn't want to, partly because he still remembers taking his vow of chastity and partly because he knows Erzsi could kick the shit out of him) he knows he would see her breasts pressed tightly to her chest; Roderich has always liked a woman's tits the most. Tits and a smug look, the Austrian never differed from that.
And yet this woman's face has gone blank, sad almost, maybe lost even, as she looks at Gil. "I don't like it," Erzsi informs him. "You're becoming like them."
"Who?"
"Roderich," she breathes, "and Francis. Antonio and Christen. Ivan, even, and Arthur most definitely. It's… hard to describe, really–" Erzsi's one hand strokes from his forehead all down to his jaw, tracing the lines of his face "–what it is. It's subtler than becoming someone pompous and self-assured, but more distinct than coming into your own and feeling the victories of war."
"Prussia has finally become a country to be reckoned with," Gil says heatedly, proudly. "You should be congratulating me on that."
Erzsi shakes her head. "You were different; you still are. And that's what I love about you, Gilbert Beilschmidt."
There's a dull ache in his chest again at her words: love, Erzsi had definitely said love. Trying to play it off Gil jokes, "I don't know if one of that Austrian sissy's mistresses should be telling me such things."
"Oh no," the woman agrees, leaning in even closer and this time he does dare to look down the front of Erzsi's dress, one of her hands sliding up his leg, "especially not his favorite mistress he doesn't share with anyone."
Lips kiss the corner of his mouth, her hands sliding up over his waistcoat to pull his chemise loose around his neck. For his part Gil pulls the woman to him, hands playing with the loose ends of her hair before letting one hand slip between their bodies to feel the bare skin of her shoulder, neck, and upper chest.
"Don't change Gilbert," Erzsi moans as he kisses along her jaw, loving the feel of her breasts pressing against his chest. "I don't want you to become like them. I don't want to lose you."
At those words his frantic groping calms, lips kissing her cheek as Prussian eyes look out the open balcony doors. It was hard to describe, Erzsi was right about that, but Gil was aware of the change she had tried to point out. Small, over time, many of the European nations growing in power felt it and succumbed to it.
"Please," the Hungarian pleads and in her beautiful green eyes he sees days of their youth spent together before the world changed so drastically.
"I won't," the man swears before crushing their lips together, his hands unlacing her dress, hers unbuttoning his waistcoat. When Erzsi stands to pull the dress off he shifts to pull his chemise from his breeches before reaching out to help remove the many layers of petticoats, until before him his oldest friend stands in only her stay, chemise, and stockings. Leaning back on the couch, legs spread and cock already hard, Gil takes in the sight. "As lovely as ever."
"Replace lovely with pale," Erzsi counters, "and I could say the same about you."
"Oh Erzsébet," the Prussian sighs longingly, "I have missed you."
A wicked grin still on her face, mixed with her kind smile of appreciation, the woman-in-question spreads her legs to straddle his lap, sitting carefully so as not to brush his erection just yet but still keeping the skirt of her chemise from blocking anything. "Oh Gil, don't tell me you're getting soft on me." To go with the wordplay her hand reaches down to cup him, rubbing him through the fabric of his breeches.
"Believe me my dear, that's impossible around you."
After that there's little more of the witty banter, and though the once-knight does enjoy having someone to go head-to-head against, he much more enjoys Erzsi's softer features. It's in the way her breasts give under his hands as he scoops them up from their prison in her stay, or the way she gasps against his shoulder as he flicks at her nipples. It's the effortless way she releases him from his breeches before stroking him, all the while kissing him sweetly but demandingly. And mostly it's in the way her whole body moves as she bounces atop him, riding him, Gil's eyes rolling back into his head as he thrusts up into Erzsi, fucking her hard on the couch as she screams, "Yes, yes, oh God yes Gilbert, yes!"
The sunlight breaks magnificently around her form when the Hungarian comes, her hands gripping his shoulders, her face open, hair everywhere. Her spasms take him over the edge too and Gil hopes he only looks half as attractive to her when he comes as she just had to him, the woman collapsing on his chest. They don't speak for a while after that; the Prussian tries to commit the image of his oldest friend coming for him to memory. What Erzsi thinks of in that silence, be it a man who doesn't deserve her, or a home she misses so much, he isn't sure.
When they've finally calmed the Hungarian shifts, lifting herself off Gil to turn and rest her back against his chest. Their legs tangle together in a most unladylike manner, Erzsi resting her head against his shoulder. Instinctively Gil wraps his arms around her, holding her close even now.
"Sanssouci," she whispers. "Are you without care Gilbert?"
The Prussian kisses at the neck so open and exposed to him. If they were humans maybe Erzsi could be his, maybe he could keep her here and never let her go. Maybe they could have children; their sons would be strong, their daughters stronger. Gil would finally learn Hungarian, and Erzsi would learn to speak German properly, without that stupid Austrian accent.
"Gil?" Her head turns ever so slightly, their eyes meeting. Erzsi seems to forget to breathe.
"Run away with me," he whispers to her. "Run away and don't ever look back."
"We can't," she protests weakly.
"We can do anything," the Prussian says quietly, "you and me."
Erzsi reaches timidly to stroke his cheek, swallowing. "I want to believe that so badly Gilbert, I really do, but we can't."
The man runs his lips over her forehead before kissing her hair, holding her to his chest as they watch the sun set in the distance. "I'm going to take you from him one day, Héderváry Erzsébet. I'm going to take you from that bastard and the world will know how strong and glorious Hungary is. Together we're going to make them see. You and me, Erzsi, we're going to do it all."
Her slight laugh and smile pressed to his shoulder are all the answer Gil needs.