I know these haven't been coming out fast, but TBH they're probably going to get even slower, because one, I suck at writing anything for extended periods of time, and two, I have school again, yay...
Whatever, you don't care about me, you just want the story, so here ya go.
Enjoy :)
France
She wasn't sure what she was expecting really. She certainly wasn't expecting sex on the first night, no, England was far too stuffy for that. As big an old pervert as he may be -though he will deny it to the end of the earth- and though he is certainly not shy in the bedroom -or at least not on their few drunken escapades through the centuries- he wasn't going to be easy to seduce.
At best he would brush off any and all attempts to initiate things, and at worst he would get flustered, then angry, then he would leave, and all of her efforts would be wasted. She had decided on subtle flirtation and small acts of romance for the Brit, as anything more extravagant was going to scare him away.
She sighed, plucking her wine glass from the table she was sitting at and swirling the red liquid around the glass pensively... How could the man be so scared of his emotions? Even his previous relationships hadn't any passion -or at least none that she'd bore witness to- and she seriously doubted he'd slept with anyone for anything other than to settle a deal or for simple pleasure -although pure spite could probably be added to the list.
She frowned in thought, Prussia used to be in a relationship with the man for a short time, perhaps if she weren't sure she would either refuse her or sabotage her, she would ask the former nation for some advice on how to deal with him... Then she laughed to herself. The very thought of her, France, the country of love, asking advice on love from Prussia of all people, was more ridiculous than thinking said ex-nation had any sense of shame -in fact she was about as shameless in the bedroom as the Englishman, if not more so.
She vaguely recalled a night with Prussia, and now that she thought about it, it really wasn't all that long ago at all. Prussia was drunk -but then again when was she not during her free time, of which she had plenty- France not quite so much, though still enough that she had no qualms about sleeping with her friend of many centuries. Prussia's vociferousness definitely made it to the bedroom, she had no problems letting you know exactly when you'd hit the right spot, every touch, every open-mouthed kiss, bruising suck, and indent of teeth eliciting a response. France liked a responsive partner, she liked to know when they felt good and when they wanted more. She liked it when they liked it, and nothing showed they liked it more than wanton sighs, whimpers, and moans from starved lungs and swollen, parted lips. Perhaps she was a hypocrite, being rather quiet herself for the most part, but she liked to hear her partner, and how could she very well do that if she was drowning them out with her own noise?
She rather suddenly noticed a small trail of drool running from the corner of her mouth, and wiped it away with a light chuckle at herself. She needed to stop letting her imagination get the better of her. At least she hadn't thought about her time with Spain...
The sound of her door opening stopped that particular line of thought, and she sipped her wine attentively, as she listened to the sounds of a coat being removed and shoes being kicked off.
"France?" he called.
"Oui, Angleterre, j'suis dans la cuisine." She called, deliberately turning her head toward the window. She loved this particular window, it had the most beautiful view of Paris, sans the Eiffel Tower unfortunately, -she'd bought the place back when she'd hated the thing, but she refused to move all of her belongings to a new home just simply so she could have a good view of it.
"Do you have to speak French?" England grumbled to himself as he entered the kitchen, placing down what France assumed to be an overnight bag on the counter.
"You're in France now, mon amour," she supplied airily, "I know you can speak my beautiful language, I taught it to you after all, so I see no reason we should not use it."
"Va te faire foutre, grenouille mangeuse de fromage." he said, his face flat but for the tiny upturn of his lips.
France frowned, "But of course you would use it to insult me." She bit out, sparing him a glance.
"Is there another use for it?" he smirked.
"Perhaps not for you." France replied bitterly.
England laughed, it was small and sheltered, but it was still a laugh, and it lessened France's scowl just a little. "So, is there a reason you dragged me out here, or is it just to set me behind on my paperwork?" he asked, though there was little bite to the words.
France allowed her face to soften back to one of indifference, "You looked as if you could do with the rest." She said, finishing her wine, and glancing sternly at him, "You work too hard, you need to learn how to take a break."
England scoffed, "I know full well how to take a break, I just can't afford to."
France raised an eyebrow at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips, "Then why is it that you're here with me."
He scowled in response, turning his head away defiantly, "Well, you didn't give me much of a choice now did you?" he argued weakly.
A retort was on the tip of France's tongue, but with great difficulty she repressed it and just said, "It's getting late, do you want to get something to eat?"
England snorted in an entirely unappealing way, "In this country?"
She raised an eyebrow, "Well we certainly won't be travelling to yours."
He seemed torn for a moment, then it seems that his stomach got the better of him, "Fine, but there better be something edible on the menu."
France laughed once, getting up and heading out of the kitchen, "I assure you, unlike in your country, we don't have to worry about getting seriously ill from our food." It was easy to fall back into the age old argument, or perhaps it was more like bickering, either way, it was familiar ground for them both to stand on before France tried to drag them into the unknown.
England followed her out, "Well at least our food is palatable."
"Palatable? It is so bland it tastes like you're eating paper no matter whatever it is." France replied dryly, slipping on a pair of boots as England slid on his own shoes.
"Well at least my food doesn't taste like you just threw garlic at a plate and hoped for the best."
"Garlic is a beautiful ingredient, and it certainly tastes better than no flavour at all." She retorted, as both of them tugged on their coats, and headed for the door.
"My food has plenty of flavour!" he said as they stepped outside, and down the hall that would lead them to the stairs and out of her apartment building.
"Don't worry, I will tell the chef you're British," she said with an air of false nonchalance, "Then he will know to make your food flavourless and boring."
"I'll have you know..." he began, with the same scowl as always when the subject of their food came up. France repressed a chuckle at his tirade, content to let the bickering continue for just a while longer.
Spain
Romano had picked out a dress for her, not that she was particularly surprised, and she certainly never complained when he did, they were always gorgeous. This dress though had her raising an eyebrow.
It was red, low-cut and form-fitting, with ruffles around the floaty bottom obviously for the dancing promised later in the night. It was gorgeous, hugging her curves in all the right places and moving silkily against her skin when she walked, if she had been asked for one word to describe it, it would be sexy, and she could tell even before she slipped the soft fabric over her body. She looked at herself in the mirror and pondered over it for a moment, twisting her body to better see herself from different angles. She was a curvy woman anyway, with wide hips and generous thighs, a small waist and a healthy amount of breast, but this dress seemed to bring out her full potential, and she couldn't help but ponder over Romano's reasons for picking this particular gown.
"Hey, Spagna, are you-" Romano stopped short in the doorway, his eyes wide, his cheeks a little red. "You're... Wearing the- the... um- the dress I chose." He stuttered, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing lightly as he did.
Spain smiled sweetly back at him, "Of course Roma," She all but sung, "It's gorgeous!" she spun, raising her arms in a seemingly innocent gesture to show off the gown, but she was well aware of the way it showed the curve of her breasts down through the dip in her hips and arch of her back to her shapely behind. She laughed good-naturedly, looking up at him through thick lashes, "Don't you think Romano?"
He made a noise of agreement, shuffling his feet awkwardly, before mentally deciding something and striding over. He tucked back a piece of her hair, refusing to meet her eyes, taking his other hand from where it had been hidden from behind his back and lifting it to tuck a large red carnation behind her ear. She smiled up at him, terrified to say a word for fear it would ruin the moment. He adjusted another piece of her hair and stepped away, coughing to cover up his awkwardness, "You look-" he paused, turning away further and making his way toward the door, "You look good, we're leaving in ten minutes, don't be too long."
He took his leave quickly, all the while Spain stared after him in what was a mixture of surprise and endearment. She sighed, letting out a tiny chuckle, "Oh Roma," she smiled, "You really are far too cute."
She plucked her shoes from the floor, sitting on the bed to buckle her shoes to her feet -traditional Spanish dance shoes, she noted curiously. As she did, she couldn't help but think that perhaps Romano was trying to hint at something, though it could just be her imagination wanting him to be hinting at something, she was fairly certain that he was though. This made matters a little more complicated.
Perhaps if it were any other nation it would ease matters, she would admit her feelings, he would admit his, and then they would form a blossoming new relationship full of cheesy yet endearing things such as seen in those questionable romance films France forces them to watch. But nothing was ever that easy with Romano.
She trotted toward the kitchen, stopping in the doorway and pausing there for a moment, leaning against the frame, "Will you be driving?" she chirped, "These shoes aren't very good for that kind of thing."
Romano hesitated a moment, taking a bite of the tomato he was holding and refusing to look in her direction, "Yeah, sure, I don't care either way."
She chuckled, "Thank you 'Mano, shall we be going?"
He nodded stiffly, brushing against her as he passed through the door she was occupying. She followed him with her eyes for a moment, tracing them down his body. He'd chosen well for himself too, his shirt tight in all the right places, this trousers showing the lines of his legs and behind so... well.
Oh how she wanted to touch him. Run her hands up and down that body with or without the clothes blocking her way, or preferably, doing so whilst removing said clothes. That would have to wait until after dinner.
Romano plucked his coat from the hook beside the door, pausing before slipping it on to turn at look sceptically at Spain, "What is it? Aren't you coming?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.
Spain shook her head to clear it, blinking once, then turning back to him with a cheerful smile, "It's nothing 'Mano," she chirped, trotting over to put on her own coat, "You just keep distracting me lately."
He narrowed his eyes at her again, but slipped his coat on without a word, opening the door to the chill of the air outside. She as good as bounded past him to the car, "Come on, let's not keep them waiting!" she chuckled.
Romano frowned but followed regardless, "Io non sono l'essere lento, stupido Spagna." He grumbled to himself as he climbed into the car, just a little too quickly for Spain to catch and translate, "Ti sto distraendo? Come sto causando una distrazione?"
Good, Spain nodded to herself, now all they had to do was get through dinner and they had a fantastic night ahead of them.
Prussia
She wasn't entirely sure how the night had turned out this way, not that she was complaining at all. No, she certainly wasn't complaining. She just couldn't quite pinpoint where the night had gone so... right.
It had all started out normally enough...
It was warmer than usual in Austria for this time of year, though one certainly wouldn't call it warm at all. Wind whipped at Prussia's skinny limbs through her coat, and despite the fact that she had definitely had it worse as Austria was technically further south and did have milder winters, she couldn't help but wish she had chosen a more tropical nation to seduce. She was just grateful it hadn't chosen this particular night to start snowing.
The beer in her hands didn't help matters, as the bottles seemed to suck any and all heat from her gloved hands. Although, she supposed with a quiet snicker, at least Austria wouldn't be able to complain about the beer being warm. The thought of drinking them seemed to be enough to keep her trudging forward, her breaths coming out in little puffs of smoke that, as a child, she always used to pretend meant she was a huge and powerfully awesome dragon. "Because," as her child self would say, with a wild grin and a wilder laugh, "What is more awesome than a dragon but me?" Her older self couldn't argue with her logic.
It was a short walk from the train station to Austria's house, which is why she hadn't called for a taxi. Though around the time her toes began to lose all feeling, she was beginning to regret her decision to save herself some money, and found herself wishing she'd just parted with the cash.
Tights, she thought, would have been sensible, but if all went to plan, then tights would just get in the way later. She wouldn't want to make it harder for the man, and certainly not herself, so the easier the access the better, in her less than humble opinion anyway.
She could see Austria's house from where she was now, the outside familiar from centuries of sneaking over to irritate him and Hungary -and really, they made it far too easy. She picked up her pace, the tiniest of skips to her step, and bounded down the road toward the large front door. She wondered idly how a man could be simultaneously so tight and so extravagant all at once. It was completely oxymoronic, but Prussia just wrote it off as one of the man's many quirks and hopped up the few little steps that lead to the door.
Was is here, at the door, that it had started?
She knocked, perhaps a few too many times, but it had the desired effect, Austria appearing at the door only a few moments later.
"The bell would have sufficed." He said dryly, but Prussia only smirked.
"Ah, pull that stick outa your ass and lighten up, you stuffy aristocrat." She chirped, slipping past him and flitting into the living room filled with old and shoddily repaired furniture. She smiled slightly at the familiarly, as she slipped off her coat and laid it neatly on one of the couches, she hadn't been to Austria's house in almost a decade and she was relieved that the place had not changed too much in her absence. She dumped the beer down on the coffee table, ripping open the plastic that bound the bottles and plucking two out.
Austria, having shut the door, followed her in, sighing at the wet footprints she had left. She held out a bottle to him, "Want one?"
He nodded, "Ja, Bitte."
She brought the top of the bottle to her mouth, popping off the cap with her teeth, before handing it to him. He took a swig, "Danke."
"Kein Problem." Prussia replied, popping the cap of her own, and taking a similar gulp, though she held it in her mouth for a moment, savouring the bitter flavour, this was good beer after all, it would be blasphemy not to appreciate it.
Taking another drink and regarding Prussia with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, Austria spoke, "Why are you really here, Preußen?"
Perhaps it was here.
She looked up at him, swallowing the contents of her mouth. "What do you mean?" she asked, "You know why I'm here, my friends are busy and West is banging-"
"Yes!" Austria interrupted quickly, before she could finish her sentence, "I know that's what you've told me, but what I want to know is why you asked?" Prussia frowned, but he continued, without waiting for her answer, "You usually just show up, drink my beer, trash my house and then pass out on my sofa, so why did you ask this time?"
Scheiße. Why didn't she think of that? She panicked for a moment to think of a reason that didn't include, 'you wouldn't have slept with me if I'd just done that', and quickly settled on, "West told me I should start acting my age, so I thought I'd do the mature thing and ask, but I looks like I won't bother next time."
Austria seemed to panic, his eyes widening, shaking his head, "No!" he blurted, "No, it's fine! I don't mind, in fact, I rather like it." It was then that he seemed to register his own words and retracted back into himself, his cheeks flushing, "A-and by that I mean-"
Prussia laughed, cutting him off, "I know what you meant." She smirked, raising a suggestive eyebrow.
Austria frowned, his eyebrows knitting together, the glow on his cheeks getting just a little darker, "I assure you-"
Prussia slinked up to him, quickly pressing herself up against him and hooking a finger under his chin. She smirked, her eyes lidded, as she watched his blush deepen even further, she took back that comment from earlier, there is no one she'd rather seduce, tropical or otherwise. "What?" she purred, subtlety was never her strong point.
"I... Uh-" he stuttered.
Huh, Prussia thought, that's new... Never seen him flustered before.
"Ja, Österreich?" She crooned, taking her finger and running it down his throat slowly, "What is it?" for good measure she licked her lips, and watched in delight as his eyes flickered there.
He shook his head, jerking away from her suddenly and taking a heavy swig from his bottle, "Nothing." He snapped, pushing past her, further into the living room, "Nichts, Preußen, hör auf damit!"
Prussia frowned, Verdammt, she was finally getting somewhere...
Then she smirked -she was finally getting somewhere- taking another gulp of beer, swirling it around her mouth, "Okay, Österreich, kann ich warten."
He frowned, regarding her with suspicion, "Wait for what?" he asked.
"Nichts, Österreich." She smirked, "Let's have another beer, I didn't steal them from West for nothing."
Yes, Prussia mused, it seems that that is definitely where it started. And oh lord, she was not complaining at all.
I will translate, because I thought using other languages that I don't, in fact, speak, was a good idea...
French:
Oui, Angleterre, j'suis dans la cuisine. - Yes, England, I'm in the kitchen.
Va te faire foutre, grenouille mangeuse de fromage. - Go screw(fuck) yourself, cheese-eating Frog.
Italian:
Io non sono l'essere lento, stupido Spagna. - I'm not being slow, stupid Spain.
Ti sto distraendo? Come sto causando una distrazione? - I'm distracting? How am I causing a distraction?
German:
Nichts, Preußen, hör auf damit! - Nothing, Prussia, stop it!
Okay, Österreich, kann ich warten. - Okay, Austria, I can wait.
(Thank so much to a guest reviewer who corrected the french in this chapter!)
