Disclaimer: Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia and its characters.
Acknowledgements: Thank you to all those who have reviewed, alerted, favourited (they all mean a lot and keep me updating): fire hores is awesome, White eyed fox, Furret the Sparrowsong, rubyredroses1, PhantomPrussia, Art and Soul, Starchacer296, GirlLoki, FiresCreek, JustAGirlWithAPen, SchrapnelGirl, GermanyIsAwesome-NotPrussia, iTorchic, kakashailuckyblackcat, , Xou, alexf801, chattie98, Myrna Maeve (and Romania!), ThatPurplyThing, Forever Halfa, WinterLake 25, Frustration, Ankhasia Riddle, Kitty the Dinosquirrel, envysfangirl, PikoPiko-Chan, Silver FoxWolf, citrine sunflower, Canyon's Rose, chickenkitty, ZeroLuver567, Lady Sandra of Sealand, Tamarutaca, 101Icestormxx, VengefulCat (my beta reader) and all my anonymous readers.
Warnings: violence, the No. 69, idiocy, sexual innuendo, Su-Fin fluff, Pol-Liet fluff
Late evening
Chapter 20 – Sweet Dreams
"I don't like you." These four simple words were spoken by Russia to the four shaven-headed goons stood before him.
The word 'goon' has been used a lot in this story – usually to describe Denmark. However, these four 'men' were not tall, cheery, Scooby-Doo obsessed Nordics. They were 'Nazi nutters' as Estonia termed them.
"You killed our leader," one of them told Russia. They all decided Russia was a fat, out of shape 'old codger' and thus easy pickings.
They were wrong. So very wrong.
Several things happened at once. Major Bollockoff, who was approaching from the other end of the Departures Hall only saw a noisy, bloody skirmish. Estonia, though, saw it all.
Russia put his hand in his pocket and pulled out... a small wooden chip shop fork. He couldn't remember having fish and chips, maybe when he was last in Britain? To anyone else the 'fork' would have been useful for just that – eating fish and chips out of a plastic tray (or in the English tradition, out of newspaper) but not in Russia's hands.
He jabbed it in the right eye of the ringleader who yowled in pain, blood spurting from his eye socket. Russia slammed his head onto the nearby checking-in desk until the man stopped screaming. The body was then disposed of on the conveyor belt along with other people's luggage – no doubt on its way to somewhere warmer, Russia thought.
The three other men had hesitated, clearly this was no ordinary 'old man' they thought. Russia grabbed one of the men in an armlock and his demise was met with a fist in the face and his body crammed into a Walls ice cream bin. The remaining two 'Nazi nutters' should have run, if they'd had any sense remaining. They didn't, in fact as a testament to how stupid they really were they attempted an attack on Russia. One ended his days with the security barrier chain around his neck, whilst the other had, quite fittingly, a metal exit sign wrapped around his head.
Estonia, mindful that the Airport security was on its way, grabbed his boss and practically dragged him to the exit – nicely signposted by a dead neo-Nazi.
"I don't like Nazis," Russia explained, needlessly - Estonia thought.
Vienna Art Auction House
England's euphoria at France's failed seduction was short-lived, his victory dance pulled up short by America.
"Dude Arty, I know you love me but..."
"I don't bloody love you... well I do, but not like that..."
"Hmmm, riiiiiight, we have to get this painting and..."
They were interrupted by Italy who smartly stepped past the sobbing France ("Nobody lurves me... it is a tragedy!" the fragrant Frenchman wailed.)
"She said it was at the Swiss Bank justa downa the road!" Italy told them cheerfully.
"How in the name of arse do you know that?"
"She told me," Italy smiled and waved at the receptionist. The stony, cold-faced receptionist actually smiled and waved back.
"How did you do that, dude?"
"I asked her nice and polite, justa lika my mama told me!" Italy grinned.
"Well, bloody hell!" was all Arthur could say.
"Right, so it's a bank job," Alfred said – much too loudly for Arthur's taste.
"Shut up you fool, don't tell everyone!"
"Hahaha, woohoo, rock out! We could get helicoptered onto the roof and abseil down the building using tampons..."
"Crampons..."
"That's what I said, and then smash the windows and we're in..."
"Dear Lord, it won't be that easy..."
All the above conversation was conducted in the taxi back to Austria's mansion.
"I'm not doing any 'bank job', I have a piano recital to go to," Austria told them.
"Germany, are you in this with us?" Alfred asked the hippy sat next to him.
"Ja, chill!"
"Italy?"
"Si!"
"And I bet we can use the girlies for cover... sorted." Alfred's eyes shone with the idea of upcoming explosions, possible car chases and guns.
Arthur shook his head, this was going to end in disaster. He just knew it. And for once, Arthur was right.
Vilnius, Lithuania
"Channel 69! Hurhurhur!" Denmark grunted. The said Nation was laid across the bed he'd requisitioned, staring goggle-eyed at the motel television.
This particular motel was seedy to say the least. Latvia was convinced something had died in the wardrobe – which had a door hanging off and the bathroom was a dingy grey with quite possibly the cure for all known diseases growing on the grubby shower curtain.
There was also the epitaph 'Pants' on the mirror in red lipstick. Latvia wasn't sure if this meant 'out of breath' type of pants or pants of the underwear variety.
"Hurhur Channel 69..." Denmark leered at Latvia.
"So?"
"Chanel 69, dude chick..." Denmark grinned at her and chugged his beer.
"What's funny?" Latvia asked.
"69..."
"Go on then, explain," she said.
"Well... you know... 69..." Denmark hesitated. "Dude Gil... tell dude chick..." he yelled across the room at Prussia who was trying to make an outside call from the telephone.
"Leave me outta this, dude."
"You don't know do you?" Latvia said, smiling.
"Yeah I do. Course I do..."
"Go on then, tell me what '69' is?" She asked the big Dane.
Denmark shuffled around and hummed and harred. "I ain't gonna tell a lady..." he said lamely.
Prussia raised an eyebrow at the word 'lady'. Latvia, he thought, was no lady.
Latvia was trying very hard not to laugh, "Do you want me to explain it to you?" she said softly.
Denmark looked across at her and actually sat up and put down his beer, "Would you, dude chick? Whenever I ask Ber he just tuts at me and Tino hits me."
Latvia sighed and started, slowly and using words of one syllable, to explain.
Denmark's mouth was agog.
Prussia went bright red and looked horrified, "Fucking 'ell. Do you have to give him sex ed? Den's only an innocent!"
Latvia doubted very much that Den was 'innocent' but was amazed, nevertheless, that the Danish Nation had got to his ripe old age of, what? Several centuries? Before finding out what number 69 represented.
"No way, man!" Denmark yelled in disbelief.
Latvia sighed, took out her pad and pen and proceeded to do a quick drawing.
Prussia leaned in for a look, "Jeez! That can't be right!"
Latvia smiled and passed it to Den.
"That guy looks like fat commie dude!" Prussia exclaimed, appalled.
"That's not anatomically correct!" Denmark held the paper one way and then the other.
Latvia nodded and smiled.
Honeymoon Suite, Hotel Majestic 5 Star, Warsaw
Poland kicked off his high heel shoes and rubbed his large feet. He shouldn't really wear high heels - they were hell on his bunions.
Lithuania followed him in with around six bags of shopping – all designer gear. "I don't think you should have bought all these clothes. I mean isn't it Latvia's money?" Lithuania asked, panting. He set the bags down and flopped down on the huge heart-shaped bed.
"It's commission, darling. Don't worry, her money's safe."
Lithuania put a hand to his head, "I'm going to ring home and see if everything's okay. I just hope Mr Russia's not back yet... maybe if I go home now I might just get back before he does?"
"Chill, Liet, stay with me a bit a longer. Braginski's probably wrecking some joint somewhere, killing some poor unfortunate dudes who've got in his way, kolkolling. Enjoy your hol with me."
Lithuania shook his head and picked up the telephone to ring 'home', but Pol but his finger on the hook and kept it there, "Aw Liet, stay with me..." he whined and turned his big green eyes on Lithuania.
Lithuania sighed there were only two other people he knew who could do such big puppy-dog eyes, weirdly – Russia and Latvia.
"Okay, but only another day and then we're coming clean to Raivis about what you've been doing and I want you to promise me you won't do this again... that photoshoot... I mean your picture will be in Vogue. Oh God."
"I know..." Pol grinned happily and cuddled up to Toris, "I love you, Toris. It's all for you, you know that... I just want to rescue you from the big bad wolf."
Lithuania wasn't sure about that but pressed the TV remote to switch the television on.
"Good idea, Liet, there might be a porn channel!" Pol said and crawled onto the Lithuanian's lap.
Lithuania gasped, and not because he had a cross-dressing Pole sat on his lap wearing stockings and suspenders (Pol's promise of wearing trousers had been broken) but because of the article now making headlines on the news.
"The auction for the lost Da Vinci painting – which has been confirmed by experts as authentic – will take place on Friday noon at Vienna Art Auction. It is expected that the painting should bring upwards of 50 million dollars. The Nations was painted in 1516 and is a unique piece of art..."
"... it shows human personifications of the major European powers at that time. The painting cannot be shown in public until the day of the auction..."
Lithuania's mouth fell open. Was he and Pol on it? Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth? They had been a major superpower... surely.
It was now difficult for Lithuania to see the screen as Poland covered his face with big sloppy kisses.
"Come on Liet, we can't waste a honeymoon suite! It'll be disappointed! This room was built for woohoo..."
"Pol! I think we should go to Vienna and help... it was you!" Lithuania suddenly caught on to everything. "That painting – you stole it from Austria and then sold it... the secret could be out because of you..."
Poland finally unsuckered himself from Liet's lips, "Oh that..."
"Yes, that... We have to go to Vienna and help them..."
"Arthur, Alfred and Roddie will have got it sorted by now... come on, Liet..."
But Poland was wrong, very wrong.
Vilnius, Lithuania
It was the last available room in the hotel. An Elvis impersonator conference was going on downstairs and Estonia, thinking he was in some weird drug-induced stupor, wearily put the key in the lock, the strains of 'Heartbreak Hotel', sung off-key, wafted up the corridor.
Russia growled, "I don't like it here," he said, his purple aura still shimmering, dried blood on his fists.
Estonia thought he saw the tail-end of a grubby overcoat go around the corner at the end of the corridor and rubbed his eyes. He'd seen that coat before. Cautiously he opened the door, expecting an explosion, a trap of some kind and then stepped back to allow the larger Arctic Nation to go first.
Russia strode in. "I think we should just drive straight through to Warsaw, then I might see little Raivis first thing tomorrow," he was saying, "I don't like it here, there's something wrong. All those Elvis's and wigs and dark glasses..." Russia continued, "Elvis is dead, isn't he, Esty?" and then proceeded to look around the room.
"Where's the bed?" Russia asked.
It was a reasonable assumption that a bedroom should have a bed.
Esty also looked around and then at the wall where the bed should be.
"It's a Murphy bed, Sir!" he said.
"Wut?"
Esty shook his head, he forgot that Russia didn't get out that much and pressed the button to lower the bed.
"A Mur..." he didn't finish the sentence as there was a crash and the bed, which should have lowered slowly to the floor crashed down on top of them both.
Outside in the corridor, Romano gave a little victory dance. "Hahah! Vodka bastard!"
His dance was short-lived, however, as a feminine but strong hand rested on his shoulder and he felt the cold metal of a gun butt in his left ear.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Romeo who left me in that coffee bar in Leningrad?" Major Bollockoff whispered very sinisterly as only a Russian can.
"Ooooh dammit! Pretty girl... you have come all thisa way? Justa to see me?" Romano was overcome with emotion, "Sophia!" he said finally remembering her 'name', spun around, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
"Don't put it on vibrate!" Tino said.
"Didn't."
"You must have done... oh no... where's the switch?"
"Jus' tryin' t' switch th' light on," Berwald answered.
Finland stepped quickly back off the big heart-shaped double bed that had now started vibrating. To say this motel was seedy was taking seedy to very low levels. He heard some very horrid rhythmic knocking from the room next door, the television didn't seem to show anything but porn movies and worst of all the hot-tub had a mirror above it.
The motel was situated at the side of the road just outside Vilnius and they'd staggered in as they'd driven all day and were exhausted. The owner had looked them up and down lewdly as they'd checked in but had stopped quickly when Berwald had given him a stern 'look' – a look that said he was going to rip someone's arms off.
They had seen no sign of the psychedelic VW campervan, of Prussia's awesome sanitary hygiene van, or of Sweden's stolen Volvo.
Berwald started to take the bed apart to try and fix the 'vibrating'. Surely a few turns with his screwdriver and that should do it?
Finland tried to distract himself from gazing at Sweden's taut, tight bottom in his workman jeans, and flicked through the channels. Having gone through sixty-nine channels (no doubt Denmark would find this hilariously funny) he found the news channel.
"Ber!"
Berwald looked up from the dismantled bed frame and raised an eyebrow.
"It says here that there's a lost Da Vinci painting of the Nations up for sale..."
"Nations?" Berwald grunted – rather sexily Finland thought.
"That's what they said... surely not? Who would..."
Sweden looked up, his hair mussed up, his shirt had come undone revealing a hard muscled chest.
Finland tried to think coherently, "Didn't Francis have Da Vinci stay with him...?"
Sweden nodded.
"You don't think...? He wouldn't, would he?" Finland tried to pull his attention away from his delectable husband, who was now bent right over the dismantled bed, his firm buttocks just a foot away from the Finnish man.
"The painting apparently shows the great Nation of France..." the reporter continued.
Finland laughed.
"...victorious on the battlefield over the bodies of his enemies... Austria, Britain, Denmark, Prussia, Sweden..."
The sound of his name made Sweden look up and he actually dropped his screwdriver.
There was a horrid gleam in his eyes, "Me?"
Finland nodded, "Said you were a conquered Nation," he said, but his eyes trailed down his husband's taut, tight stomach muscles and the enticing waistband of his trousers. After the stress of the past few days, Finland wouldn't mind conquering Sweden...
"France's dead," Sweden said shortly. He was nothing if not direct.
Finland, who thought Sweden was at his sexiest when in angry Viking mode, smiled.
"Has it stopped vibrating?" he asked Sweden.
Sweden nodded.
"How long before you put the bed back together?"
Sweden looked at the remains of the bed, frowned and then shrugged.
Finland grabbed his 'husband' and pulled him into an embrace and traced fingers down the Swede's hard six-pack, "Hmmm, we could always try the hot-tub?"
Sweden nodded again, picked up his 'wife' and carried him through. There followed lots of splashing, lots of 'ooohs' and lots of 'aaahs'.
The residents of the 'Pink Motel' were startled from their respective activities by the loud combined shouts of 'Kalmar Union'.
Author's Notes:
Trying to shorten my chapters now – my beta reader says they're getting too long...
I know I said I wouldn't update all week, but... I'm trying to write the next chapter of A Day In the Life and that's going slow...
Reviews/PMs/Comments welcome. But don't ask me what 69 means...
Further chapters – a bank robbery goes wrong, chaos in Toys R Us, Lily and her new lover, Russia and fluffy pink handcuffs, Latvia ends up in a predicament, and some appearances from the 'retired' Nations. The further on the story the more fluff... oh and a character death...