A/N: After a long escape to the Hetalia LiveJournal Kink Meme, I'm back with...um...whatever this is.
!Warnings! Language, some blood/gore, non-linear storyline.
Germany hates how their bodies fit together, how Prussia's chest lines up perfectly with Russia's slouch as his brother nestles closer. He hates the look in Russia's eyes, even though it's not a directed at him, the calm confidence. The eyes flicker up - they're not violet, because violet is such a pretty word, and Russia doesn't deserve that, not now, not now, so they're bruise-colored, that fits. The eyes flicker up and Russia smiles around his cigarette as they flicker back down.
.
Prussia, come here.
Russia -
Prussia, come.
And Prussia went.
.
Prussia edges further up Russia's leg, brings a knee up onto the hood of the car they're leaning on, and lets out a - no, he doesn't moan. He doesn't...oh, God.
.
The scarf was pulled away, exposing a creamy sheet of smooth skin. Germany wondered vaguely where the scars had gone as Prussia begged forgiveness with his eyes and padded over to the dull pulse of Russia's throat.
.
The cigarette's orange is smoldering now, inching towards Russia's fingers as it dissolves onto the car hood. Prussia is panting and if anyone turned into this parking lot they'd think Germany was some voyeur, watching a man rut another man's leg.
.
You look shit, America had observed bluntly. Russia had smiled at him with a look that said I will rip your throat out right now just watch me, but all he had said was Thank you for your concern, America.
There were sleep-bruises under Russia's eyes, and he looked too pale and he staggered when he thought no one was looking.
It had been three weeks since Prussia disappeared.
.
Now Russia tenses and cups the back of Prussia's neck.
"Isn't that enough, little one?"
Prussia's breaths are ragged against Russia's neck and Germany pretends that needy mewl is just a passing car or a stray cat or the wind or something because it's not not not Prussia, and neither is the please that wafts around in the night air.
Russia pats Prussia's neck and the man slides back.
.
Germany remembered it was the second Wednesday that he ripped through his apartment and called every number in every address book he could find. Italy had sat quietly in the kitchen until Germany had burst through the half-hinged door and screamed Where is he? and Italy bowed his head, staring into the cold pasta lunch he'd made four hours ago and said for the last time, I don't know, Germany.
Prussia was gone.
Prussia was gone.
Prussia was gonegonegonegonegone and not even God knew if he was ever ever coming back.
.
"You believe me now, yes?"
Germany's eyes focused on the flickering reflection of the streetlamp on the windshield, because he didn't want to not look at Prussia and he couldn't not not look at him, and the windshield was a convenient half-way point.
"Yes."
"Prussia is mine now. And this time he will not be leaving me."
Next to Germany's half-way point, Russia is pulling Prussia closer to him, slipping his hand around Prussia's waist and Prussia is turning into him and his embrace, but the reaction is only a little more consensual than usual.
"You will not leave me, right?" Russia asks.
Fear and hesitation are so childishly obvious that Prussia doesn't even bother to sneer. (Some dark little part of Germany thinks: Though after his performance he can't really sneer at anything, can he?)
.
Give him back, Russia.
I can't do that -
Bullshit.
Germany doesn't swear this much, he doesn't, but he thought Prussia was dead and he wanted him back dammit.
I can't or he will die, Germany.
What are you talking about?
Prussia came to me, Germany, because I am the only one who can care for him.
Germany is quiet and calm as he says, Give me my brother you bastard.
.
Prussia is trying very hard not to make a scene of cleaning himself, but he's still reeling with ecstasy, Germany can see it. He's licking his lips and eying Russia's neck and wanting more with every part of himself that still feels, but he can't have it. Russia won't break him anymore - there's no point - but Russia could just say no and leave Prussia in the middle of this place and even if Prussia got to a city he'd still be thoroughly fucked.
"Russia..."
Prussia shivers closer to Russia and leans towards his neck.
"Russia, please -"
Russia slips the scarf back over his shoulder. "Do you still want him, Germany?"
"Of course."
"Would you do this for him?"
"Of cou-"
"Think, Germany, before you answer."
Russia's hand shifts a little lower on Prussia's hip.
"Would you give him your life every day? Or, failing that, would you slip through the alleys of your city with a stack of money the size of your fist, looking for someone else's life to give? Maybe you would you go to the hospitals, since you're so concerned about legality these days." The hand asserts itself, shifting back up to Prussia's waist. "Or would you save it until he's desperate enough to anything you desire?"
Prussia's eyes are wide, pale circles in the industrial light as he shudders a foot away from Russia's vein. The cigarette tumbles from Russia's hands. He twitches to light another, before leaning back against the hood.
"Would you tape up the windows of your apartment so he doesn't burn? Do you need light, Germany? Because he doesn't."
"Russia..." There's a groan in the back of Prussia's throat. He pushes forward.
"Would you lock him away for his own good? Would you keep him secret? Keep him safe? Keep him yours? Could you..."
Russia hesitates and his eyes are staring at something in the past as his mouth opens wordlessly. It takes a moment for him to wet his wet lips and move on.
"Could you touch him, knowing he can only feel one thing?"
.
Careful, don't tear.
The warning in his voice wasn't as hard as it has been, as there as it has been, as it was when he was a goddamn Communist son of a bitch, as it was when he had something to warn. Now there was only Prussia, the shadow of a shell of a nation, skidding his hands up and down the front of Russia's shirt and mumbling thanks between breathy mouthfuls.
Don't tear, Russia repeated, his voice spiking sharp as Prussia's muscles locked and seized and the breaths stopped. His fingers clenched in pain around the cancer stick in his hand.
Careful...dorogoy.
.
Germany stares at Prussia now, because it's safe, because Prussia is only thinking of one thing and it isn't his brother.
"Oh, Russia, please..."
Russia cranes his head to the side.
"You may."
The whimpers of satisfaction thicken the air with lust as Prussia clambers onto the hood and grips Russia's thigh and drags his tongue through the remaining film of blood. He pushes forward, hissing pleasure, mapping Russia's abdomen with his hand. Germany swears he doesn't hear Prussia murmur yes yes da yes oh da.
.
Did you find Prussia, Italy asked, and Germany said Maybe.
Is he alright, Italy asked and Germany said I don't know.
Will he be back, Italy asked and Germany...
Germany mumbled If there is a God... and shut the door.
.
"N-no, Russia, please just a little more, I won't bite I promise, just a little bit - please."
Russia ignores him.
"Russia."
"...Later, little one."
Prussia slides off the hood.
"Do you want to speak alone with him?"
The brothers don't try to make eye contact, but only Prussia means to avoid it.
"Sure." Germany steps back and opens the door of his Mercedes. Russia laughs.
"I would not want to be alone with him in such a small space."
Germany looks hard at the ground where his brother is standing. "Prussia."
"Sure." The man slouches across the parking lot. "Sure. I'm coming."
.
Prussia's arms lingered too long and too tight around Germany, his embrace more like a pin.
Oh, God, Prussia, Prussia where the hell have you been -
He smelled like blood.
.
"Yeah, I guess you could call me a vampire." Prussia's feet were on the dashboard and some heavy metal trash was roaring through the car, but he managed to be heard without shouting. "I drink blood, burn in sun, all that shit."
"And you can't feel?"
Prussia took his feet down.
"Why do you care?"
Germany gripped the steering wheel.
"Nah, I can't feel a damn thing." He put a foot on the edge of the seat, crushing his thigh to his chest and resting his chin on his knee. "Can't even get it up which let me tell you is a huge pain in the ass -"
Germany slams hard on the breaks and the only thing stopping Prussia from going out the window at seventy miles an hour are his hands which slam into the dashboard and dent the thing, dammit.
"What the fucking shit are you doing you crazy bastard?"
"Russia." Germany manages to settle on a matter-of-fact tone, swallowing the scream and the whine and disappointed sigh and cramming them deep down and away.
"Yeah." Prussia shakes his wrists and something cracks sickeningly.
"Why?"
"Well, I was in Moscow."
"Why were you in -"
"'Wanted to be."
A car screams by them, horn wailing in the night, stretching eerily long and thin down the empty highway before fading.
"I got bitten, alright? Fucker came up and jumped me. Tore out my goddamn throat."
.
In Russia's arms he was panting and crying and bleeding through the waded up towels at his neck and begging Russia not to call anyone because Prussia was no idiot and he knew what was happening to him.
.
"He was there."
Germany shoves the gas pedal to stop himself from punching Prussia across the face for all the affection in his voice.
"He was there and he let me eat and let me tell you I needed to eat like nobody's business."
The gears keen as Germany jerks the driveshaft around.
"He's still there, you know? He still lets me eat."
"You've had sex."
Prussia gives him a tired look.
"You say that like it's a crime or something."
"It's not."
"I know." He folds his hands behind his head. "So let it go."
.
Russia found him in the bathroom in a puddle of his own red-black blood with streaming wounds and empty eyes. Russia smiled when Prussia raised the red-black knife in his hands and mumbled Oh God let me feel something, anything, please, Russia, please.
Russia took gauze and tape and bandaged Prussia's failed masochism.
Russia took him from the blood and lay him in sheets and blankets and ran his tongue up Prussia's chest.
That's not enough, Prussia told him.
Nothing was.
.
"Don't go back to him."
"West..."
"I'm serious, Prussia."
"Who's going to put up with me?"
Put up with. Not care for. Tolerate.
"I will, of course."
"West, don't be ridiculous."
"Prussia -"
"Wait a damn minute and let me fucking talk, a'right?"
Germany eases onto the break.
Prussia shifts lower in his seat. "You got a life, right? You got Italy and France and half of Europe knocking at your door asking for cash. Things are pretty damn good."
"Prussia..."
"Do you know why I'm a vampire and Russia's not?"
Germany's hands slide from ten-and-two to three-and-nine.
"You don't." Prussia licks his lips. "It's because he's a nation - he's a country- and I'm not. And unless he becomes a country full of vampires, he'll stay like he is. Me...I don't represent jackshit. I'm the fucking awesome Prussia, but that doesn't mean much anymore, does it. I can be a vampire because I don't have any...ties anymore."
Something shifts in the air, and Germany can tell Prussia is softening.
"Nah, but you...You got a cute little flat in Berlin and a Chancellor and all that...that I don't have."
"And Russia?"
"Russia's got a big empty-ass house and a government that'll cover his ass no matter how much authoritarianism they need to bust out." Prussia grinned. "No one's going to ask why his shoes have blood all over them or why he needs a thousand roubles in cash once a month or why he showed up to a meeting with only 3 litres of blood. But you...you couldn't away with shit like that."
The next time Germany speaks, he can't help but make his voice small:
"Would you bite me?"
"West," Prussia sighs. He massages his forehead. "Dammit, West..."
"Just answer me."
.
His fingers were tracing the lines of Germany's stomach, the muscles that jumped with every mouthful of thick good blood. He was silent but Germany was moaning and arching into the touch, into the teeth.
Prussia... Oh Prussia you...
.
"Does he need a hospital?" Russia sighs, nodding to Germany's prone form slumped back in the passenger seat.
"Don't be a prick. He'll be fine." Prussia pauses, searching for the last remnants of red on his incisors, his jaw locked awkwardly as he finds little bits in wells of his teeth. He closes the door and though his hand lingers on the handle, on the window, he doesn't spare a glance to his brother. Germany shifts and groans in his half-sleep. "Wasn't even that hungry anyway." It's a crude, off-the-cuff remark, but Russia beams because it's just as good as a compliment, as a you satisfy me, my love.
Prussia straddles Russia as best he can on the hood and waits patiently as Russia shifts him to a more intimate position to press kisses that feel so dull now all over his bony neck and chest. Once Russia has tasted enough dead skin to satisfy his own needs, he tends to Prussia, loosens his grip and kisses him. It's too soft to be passionate, but close and long to be chaste. Russia doesn't give Prussia's lip a possessive nip when he draws back, but he does run his tongue over the gray-blue lips.
"I lied, dorogoy." Russia slides his hand through Prussia hair as the man buries his chest into the scarf as his donor's neck. "You can still feel that, da?"
.
In his dead chest, after Russia had finished his moaning, he felt a stir, a shift as Russia gave him a kiss at the corner of his mouth, where his cheek met his scowl.
Do that again, Prussia asked, and his dim eyes widened.
Oh God, he mumbled, I felt it.
I felt it Russia.
Russia pulled him close with a bemused smile.
And now you can never leave me.
.
.