A/N: Thanks for reading. Sorry it took me so long. Hetalia's Halloween event distracted me, along with work. Let me know what you think. I'm feeling rather iffy about this. Thank you for the reviews.

Warnings: The usual.


So, how long could Spain sleep?

Apparently hours. Hours and hours and hours. Long enough that the sun was going down and Prussia was getting hungry. He hadn't anything to eat for hours and hours and desperately wished he had brought some snacks. (Popcorn…for Spain watching…) In fact, only the sound of a mobile phone (with an obnoxiously cheerful tune) caused Spain to wake. He groaned feebly and fumbled for the offending device. "Hola," Spain mumbled after he pressed it to his ear. He listened to Spain ramble off some more words in Spanish and then he snapped the phone shut.

For a full minute, Spain didn't move but then he heard him sigh and mutter quietly in his native tongue. Dammit, he was cute. Prussia had to press his fists to his mouth to keep quiet. He scratched at his abdomen for a moment and then rolled to his knees, facing him. Spain didn't seem to notice him for a moment but then his eyes grew almost comically wide.

"P-Prussia…?" He nodded and let his hands fall from his mouth, knowing that he must have looked silly. "Prussia – Gilbert – you came…"

"I came to see you," he said and was suddenly feeling shy. He picked at the grass idly and tried to appear unaffected.

He moved faster than he had seen him move in quite some time, scrambling across the small distance. Spain threw his arms around him and dragged him close. "You came to see me," Spain murmured. "You came for me, Gilbert."

Prussia's face felt hot. "Y-yeah. Yeah. I came to see you…and to rescue the sugar."

Spain chuckled and pressed his face to his shoulder. Spain didn't seem to want to move. He held him closely and his hands stroked at his back. "Never mind the sugar, Gilbert." His voice was different just then and suddenly Spain pressed him down into the grass. "I don't want sugar. I want you."

"Gilbert," he said and kissed him gently. "You came for me." Why was that so hard to understand? He reached up and brushed his fingers across his skin and knew it a very uncharacteristic gesture for him to perform.

"Spain…" Why did he doubt his intentions? He wasn't used to seeing that emotion in Spain's eyes. He wasn't used to seeing uncertainty, hesitancy, doubt…and he didn't like it. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to…to…say…" But Spain only smiled and kissed him again.

Yeah, he missed this. Prussia could count on one hand the number of people he kissed over the years and Spain was by far the best at it. Of course, Spain could never just kiss. His hands were already wandering, already tugging at his clothing. His fingers wormed under his shirt and stroked idly at his chest.

"Sp-Spain, we can't…erm…" Can't what? When Spain pulled away (ever so slightly), his eyes had that look in them. It felt like he hadn't seen that look in so long. His stomach was already in knots and his breath was quickening. He wanted what that look promised.

"I don't want you to say that name, Gilbert." Old games again, eh? "Say my name. My real name."

But it felt too damn ridiculous to do what he ordered! (Like those gushy romance movies, where the lovers would say each other's names over and over. Bleh.) "Please Gilbert?" Spain kissed him lightly again. Somehow he managed to get his shirt open as well. Crafty Spanish fingers…

"Make me." Why he felt like challenging the man, he didn't know. Spain would ultimately win in the end (…and Prussia was pretty sure he wanted him to win.) That look in Spain's eyes darkened and Prussia nearly squirmed.

"I see," Spain said, his fingers dancing lightly on his abdomen. "Make you, hm? Silly Gilbert. You know I'll win."

Smug bastard.

"I'll win and my receptionist at the front of the building will know it."

…what? Prussia's brain slowly processed that one and then he shoved Spain off. "Shut up. I'm…I'm not loud. I mean…not like that…not during…you know…" Hopefully Spain was up-to-date on translating Prussia-isms because that's as far as Prussia was willing to go with those thoughts. He was certainly not loud in the situation Spain implied. Though, Prussia had never really been in that situation, so he couldn't be certain. The entire idea was mortifying and embarrassing. Spain just smiled and threw his arms around him again.

"You are so cute when you are flustered and embarrassed, Gilbert!" He rubbed his cheek against his and Prussia begrudgingly allowed such contact. (Okay, okay. He really liked snuggling. Secretly.) For a few minutes, Spain hummed and held onto him and Prussia wasn't willing to move, to disrupt this quiet moment between them. His stomach was growling in protest and he did desperately want something to eat.

That stupid damn phone of Spain's went off again and Spain shot out of his arms. He whipped it out and pressed it to his ear. "Hola!" he said very cheerfully, but then the smile disappeared off of his face and his shoulders slumped. "Si." A pause. "Si…" A longer pause and then he close the phone and tucked it away.

"I'm late."

He seemed unwilling to put forward what he was late to and Prussia huffed. "Late to what?"

"Oh, some state dinner…thingie…" he answered almost causally and suddenly seemed quite interested in the state of the grass.

…what? What? State dinners weren't 'thingies' as Spain so eloquently put it. Granted, such social events probably didn't hold as much weight as they did years ago, before the advent of computerized communication but they were still extremely important events. Spain would be expected to attend, to be on time, and his absence would not be overlooked.

"Spain, you need to go." Prussia knew only too well that pissing off their leaders was not a good idea at all. But he understood his reluctance. Prussia hadn't been to a state dinner or any such event in decades but the stress would always stick with him for days. Dinner wasn't just dinner. It was political posturing, it was being friendly to enemies, and entirely too much talking was involved. Then, sometimes there was dancing. Ugh. Dancing.

"I know I should," Spain said unhappily. "But only if you go with me." Those big, stupid eyes of his looked pleadingly up towards him. "You will go with me, right?"

How the hell could he say no to him? But there were other obstacles to contend with.

"You know I can't," he said quietly. "No one recognizes me as a country."

"W-well, the others are allowed to bring a guest. You'll be my plus one. Please, Gilbert."

Prussia wasn't going to point out that countries usually didn't bring guests. But he didn't like seeing Spain so…so sad. "Fine. But I have nothing decent to wear." It was probably one of those fancy, black tie events.

Spain kissed him and Prussia was surprised at how easy this all was…how easy it was to kiss him, how easy it was to hold him in his arms…did they really have to go? He was beginning to desire just staying right here. Spain's happy face looked up at him and he felt a blush creep up his neck and face. "I think you look wonderful in whatever you wear!"

Stupid Spain. Of course he would. "T-that's right!" Prussia said. "I am the awesome one. Who cares what I wear?"

Spain leapt to his feet and dragged him up as well. His hand clutched his and he was pulled through the garden and only half listened to Spain chatter away about the dinner. Into the office they went and Spain's hand tightly held his. But before Spain yanked open the door, Prussia was suddenly shoved against the wall and Spain kissed him…quite thoroughly.

"Thank you, Gilbert," he said and his fingers brushed over the name badge on his chest. "Gilberto."

Yeeeeah. He really did like Spain saying his name that way. But he'd never tell the man. That would be too…too…relationship-y. Prussia still had his doubts about the whole 'relationship' idea. He didn't really have much time to ponder his doubts, though. Spain was dragging him down the hall and into another room. He listened to the Spaniard babble happily and was treated to the sight of him running about with hardly a stitch of clothing on. He finally settled on a suit and carefully put it on and then struggled with the tie.

"Gilbert, don't I look sexy?" Well of course he did. Idiot. Not that he needed to know, though.

"No. That tie looks like a strangled noodle around your neck. Come here." (Dammit, he had been spending too much time around Italy.) Spain's shoulders slumped and he scooted over to him. Prussia quickly tugged his tie loose and then began to secure it the correct way. Spain's hands wandered upwards, to 'help', but Prussia smacked them lightly. With the tie in place, he then buttoned his suit jacket and smoothed the fabric of his shoulders. "There. You…you…erm…" Spain was looking at him like he'd just kicked a puppy or something. (No! Not the kicked puppy look!) "You are sexy. Moron. You know it."

He was rewarded with a kiss (which was much too quick) and then Spain sighed, very deeply. He knew Spain was apprehensive and that was strange to experience. Prussia always thought the man to be full of everlasting confidence and yet here he was, nervous about a state dinner. He didn't know what words to say and felt…horrible for it. Spain always knew what to say to him and he wanted to do the same for him. He felt wholly inadequate all of the sudden. But he heard his name and snapped back into focus. Spain was waiting by the door and his hand was outstretched towards him. "Please come with me." Of course he would. How could he not? Though he felt undressed, inadequate, not qualified…but Spain gripped his hand gently in his and suddenly it didn't seem so terrible after all.


Stupid damn politics.

Prussia hated politics. He was more of a...'kick ass now, ask questions later' kind of country. All of this politicking over fancy food and expensive wine was as boring as hell and incredibly annoying. Worst of all, he had been separated from Spain and was forced to sit with a bunch of South American countries. That wasn't so bad, really. It was who was sitting with Spain that was the problem.

France. That slimy frog. Portugal was up there too so hopefully he wouldn't let things happen between France and Spain. Worst of all, his damn little brother and the Italian brothers were up there too. That was wholly exasperating. If West was going to come to Spain's house anyway, why didn't he say so in the first place? He had no idea that Germany had been invited to this state dinner, but he supposed it made sense.

Spain was obviously enjoying himself: the smile never left his face. Prussia tried to push down the jealousy (and loneliness) that was welling up inside of him. That was childish of him. But he wanted so entirely to be right up there. And then again, he didn't, because then the others would know too much. Dammit. This relationship shit was complicated.

The first half of the dinner was full of…stifled conversation. The South Americans really didn't seem comfortable with a random ex-European country in their company. It didn't help that Prussia continuously glared daggers at France. As the meal progressed from appetizers to the main course, the younger countries quietly spoke amongst themselves. Some of them argued with each other, but it was mostly civil. Brazil, however, was bold. She smiled toothily up to Prussia.

"Your face is going to get stuck like that, you know," she said and casually continued on with her meal. He nearly choked on his…whatever this was…and folded his arms across his chest. A few of the other countries snickered behind their hands.

"You like cousin Spain?" Brazil continued. "Is that why you are glaring at France?"

"I…don't know what you are talking about," he evaded (lamely.)

She (wisely) decided to be quiet and he tried his best not to pay any attention to Spain and his table. He didn't have much in common with these countries and felt mildly uncomfortable in their presence. After all, he only was allotted this seat because Venezuela was having another spat with Spain's leader. So, he hardly spoke with them though they certainly weren't unfriendly towards him. After dessert (which was some awesome pie) the dishes were cleared away and most of the countries began to rise and drift towards the adjoining ballroom. Dammit. Not dancing.

Prussia didn't dance.

France apparently did, though. He already had Seychelles out on the dance floor and his arms were wrapped around her waist. Italy was apparently trying to talk his little brother out onto the floor but he was steadily refusing. Hungary and Austria had already succeeded in stealing the spotlight with their magnificent choice of clothing and impeccable style of dance. Hell. Normally he wasn't one to offer compliments, but they really knew what they were doing.

He took a spot against the wall and wasn't sure where Spain had bounded off to but if he wanted him, he'd find him. Prussia hated feeling this self-conscious, but he continually felt as if he didn't belong here. So, with a sigh, he updated his twitter account via his cell phone and scrolled through his ridiculously short feed. Ah. India was apparently partying down…wait. He was here? Dammit. Did everyone know about this meeting but him?

Prussia snapped his cell phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. Perhaps he should just…he should leave. That made sense. (Right?)

"Gilbert, what's wrong?"

Of course it was Spain. Just as he was planning his escape, Spain made his move. He was certain the man knew exactly what he was doing. "N-nothing's wrong," he answered quietly. The answer didn't seem to convince Spain. He pressed his hand against the wall next to his head and leaned close.

"You want to dance with me?" he asked after a moment.

It had been only a matter of time before he dropped that question, but Prussia couldn't quell the blush that spread over his face. (Stupid damn…emotions…) "I don't dance."

"Oh, but I know you must be a wonderful dancer, Gilbert~!" Spain said. "Please dance with me."

"I don't dance."

He had now spent sufficient time with Spain and managed (just barely) to resist his pouting. Spain's hand touch his chest and toyed with a button. "Pleeease?" he said. "If you don't know how to dance, then…" and he leaned very close. "You know I would love to teach you."

"I…" His eyes darted about the very crowded room. "Not…here. Not with so many people."

Spain's look softened and he smiled. "All right. I understand. There will be plenty of time to…dance later on."

For some reason, he was sure Spain was alluding to something other than dancing. Pervert.

But Prussia was feeling a little guilty for shooting down his request so when Spain began to pull away, he took hold of his hand. "Um. Well, if you want to go dance – and I mean real dancing and nothing…nothing else – then we could…" Ah, hell. What was he trying to say?

Spain took his face between his hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "We don't have to do anything. In fact, I'm perfectly happy just like this. Right here. Against the wall." Though he knew he really wasn't. Spain loved to socialize and mingle. But, here he was, with him at the wall. Spain shouldn't have to change for him.

"Nah. Let's go chitchat. I've got to show off my awesome…erm…my awesomeness."

With that, he shoved his hands into his pocket, brushed by Spain, and threaded into the crowd. Haha. Score one in the "made Spain speechless" category. (And yes, he was keeping track.) Now that he was in the crowd, he wasn't sure what his exact intentions were. But there was (cuuuute) Romano and his brother Feli. He wrapped his arms around their shoulders and pulled them close. "Yo! How are my favorite Italians?"

"Hi, big brother!" Feliciano said blissfully. Romano folded his arms and huffed.

"Hello…" And to Spain, who had followed after Prussia: "Hi jerkface."

"Charming as ever, Romano," Spain said. Romano's face puffed out ever so slightly but it was enough to make Spain's eyes…sort of do this sparkling thing. Hm. "Ah, Roma…relax, relax…"

Romano pushed Prussia's arm away and grabbed Spain by the arm. "Since I know what you are going to eventually ask, let's get this over with, bastard."

"Wha…?" Spain began before he was yanked away. The two of them disappeared into the throngs of dancers.

What the hell was that? He stood as tall as he could on his toes and could see Romano forcefully dancing with Spain. The tomato head seemed to be enjoying himself, though he was still a little bewildered.

"Hmm," Italy said. "Maybe I should do that with Germany."

"He'll break your arm if you tried that," Prussia said.

"No, he won't! I'll go try now!" Italy declared and skipped happily away.

Huh. And now he was alone again. Funny how that always seemed to happen. Here he was, in the midst of such a large crowd and yet, he felt entirely isolated. No! No, he wouldn't allow this to happen! He was too damn awesome to be alone! He pounded his fist into his other hand and nodded firmly. Yeah!

"Dude, what are you so happy about?" Eh? America…?

"What the hell are you doing here?" Of course he would be on the invite list but he couldn't recall seeing (or hearing) him at the dinner.

"Pssh, I'm America. Don't you know how much I like showing up uninvited?" And then he started laughing like a maniac. (…weirdo…) "Ahaha, dude. Listen. There is this fountain out there. We should do something."

"…something?"

"Something awesome. You like awesome! I might not know your name, but I know you like awesome. Let's go…" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Let's go skinny dipping."

Yep. Consider him dumbstruck. America had a mischievous glint in his eyes and laughed again. "Man, you Europeans can be uptight about some things. You are European, right? Germany's little brother? Anyhow, I brought some soap so we can just dump that in the fountain." He pulled out a box of soap from (somewhere) inside his jacket.

"What? No. I mean – yes, I am European but I'm the older brother. Who the hell told you I was the little brother? Dammit. Give me that!" He swiped the box from America's hand. "What are you – twelve?"

America's expression was akin to that of a kicked puppy. He was never able to resist kicked puppy looks. Shit. "I'm…I'm not going to soap the fountain." He didn't want to do anything that would tarnish Spain's already bruised reputation amongst his allies.

America nodded solemnly. "Yeah, I saw those looks you were giving him all through dinner."

Where the hell was America at dinner? You know what? Prussia really didn't want to know the answer to that little question. "I wasn't giving him any sort of looks."

"Uh huh. Keep living in denial, my friend. If you want to continue to be miserable, that is."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Deny, deny, deny. Yeah, he was good at that.

"Look, dude. I know, okay? No need to be all uptight and hesitant about what you feel. You can't stop love." When the hell did America decide to go all…(somewhat) philosophical on him? "And you sure did score on this one, eh?"

He erased that last sentence from his mind. America slapped his hand on his back and laughed. Right. It was obvious that everyone else knew about his…thing with Spain. He thought he had been discreet about it. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was all right with it. So what? They knew. Obviously the lot of them didn't seem to mind. Why did he still feel so apprehensive about publically acknowledging his feelings? Why was he so hesitant? He hated agonizing over this. It wasn't like him to dwell on one issue for so long.

"Thanks," he said softly to America and handed him back the soap box. "I've got something I have to do now."

He turned his attentions to Spain. Where the hell was he, anyway? He wormed his way through the crowd and spotted the elusive Spaniard snuggling close to Romano. Romano's face was bright red and his cheeks puffed out, but he obviously enjoyed the attention. Prussia really didn't feel any animosity towards Spain for his treatment of Romano. He knew how much Spain cared about him. But he had something to tell him. And Romano need not be present.

"Spain!" he called but his voice didn't carry over the noise. Dammit. He dodged dancing couples (which included an extremely flustered Germany and a rather pleased Italy) and reached out to touch Spain's shoulder. "A-Antonio…" (Yes, he was going for the 'kill' so to speak.)

The reaction was nearly instantaneous. Spain looked at him with wide, concerned eyes and slowly disentangled himself from Romano. "Gilbert, what's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Hey, Romano…can I talk to Spain?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Romano said with a shrug. He studied Spain for just a moment and then gave Prussia a rather…incredulous look and then disappeared into the crowd. Ah. He probably was going to have to have some sort of…touchy-feely emotional talk with Romano later. Uugh. Romano was perhaps the number one person in Spain's life and up until this point, Prussia had not considered the implications for him. But there would be time later to worry about that.

He took Spain's hand into his and hoped his hand wasn't too clammy. "Antonio, well…I…erm…"

"You are so adorable when you are flustered," Spain said cheerfully and drew him close.

"No, no don't you start," Prussia said, rather forcefully. It was enough that the cheerfulness dropped from Spain's face. Ah, dammit. That's not what he wanted to happen! "Spa—shit. Antonio. I -…"

I love you. Why was it so easy to say in his head but not out loud? He opened his mouth to try again but his words were drowned out by a sudden, horrified scream. The crowd immediately silenced.

"PUT YOUR CLOTHES ON, DAMN YOU!" It was England and he was standing near the doors to the garden. From the gardens came an extremely distinct (and crazy sounding) laugh. America. Great.

"I…should go and see what this is about," Spain said and promptly hurried towards the garden. Prussia already knew what had happened. Obviously America decided it really was a good idea to strip out of his clothing and use the fountain as his personal pool. Stupid America. Stupid England and his girly scream. Prussia was convinced though, of one thing.

The world was conspiring against him.