I was missing the smut.

Warning: Lemon, oral, rimming, some sad stuff, Prumano, Nichu, implied FrUK, and angst.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though

Some Got, Some Not

Nebraska truly was a boring and deserted place, though no one was complaining about the latter. The land looked more or less the same as Wyoming, except with more hills and no mountains. They did indeed discover that it did have trees, though few and far between. While they were not surveying the great expanse of white around them, they were catching up on sleep.

The great thing about the state was that most of its towns were relatively small. When they stopped for fuel, there was no one around, which was peculiar since the towns were so isolated it was a wonder that the Uprising affected them so much that everyone would desert them. There was no sign of anyone—no blood, no bodies, not even a cat. It was certainly odd, as if the ground had suddenly swallowed them up.

"They get their food and amenities from larger cities," Gerald explained. "When the supplies stopped coming, they had no choice but to leave."

Though a feasible explanation, it did nothing to ease the anxiety everyone felt when journeying through yet another empty town. Fortunately for them, they still had some food left, for there was none to be found. Vehicles had been left sitting on the curbs, abandoned for no particular reason. But they didn't ask questions. They only got the fuel and left.

There wasn't much talking, as the subjects were drear, and ominous feelings grew as they traveled out of Nebraska and into Iowa and from there on to Illinois. They managed to find some food here and there, but their group was large and soon even rationing would not be enough to sustain them. No one brought up this fact, despite everyone knowing it.

Des Moines had been large, but as they passed it no one greeted them. Just lines of empty cars and buildings standing like sentinels to what was once a living, thriving city. As the same with every city they went by.

They stopped again… their last stop until they reached Chicago. They were somewhere outside Ottawa, a small town nestled just off route eighty. Matthew stood before the sign for a while before Francis convinced him to come away. It was only then that Matthew realized how homesick he was. How much he missed the world being the way it was, with people bustling around, everyone moving, thinking, making, doing. He felt like he was one of the last people on earth.

How could they ever fix what had already been done?

Sensing how somber his group was, Ludwig confronted Gerald and said, "We will pitch our tents tonight. There does not appear to be any sort of storm coming."

Gerald was about to insist they stay with them in the vehicles away from the cold, but he picked up on Ludwig's desire to keep his group together and nodded. "All right. Call if you need anything. Jeanne's taking first watch."

The tents were put up and a fire made; there was no one around to see the smoke as far as they were concerned. After a meager meal of warmed fruit cocktail and beans, they sat silently and brooded.

"When we reach Chicago," Ludwig began. "we must not stay there long. I suggest we part ways with Gerald and his group. They have their own plans."

"We'll be on foot again," Lovino said somewhat hollowly.

"Ja," Ludwig replied, also not liking the idea. "But we have no time to waste. I have seen plenty of abandoned vehicles and expect to see many more. We can take some fuel and I can hot-wire a couple. It will not be difficult."

Everyone was quiet before Arthur said, "We should get some rest then, if we are to be walking soon."

Their opinions were mutual and they all reported to their assigned tents. Half of them looked like robots and the others appeared gloomy. They no longer cared about their appearances; Gerald had allowed them to use his razor, but they did so sparingly, and scruff was still visible on their jaws. Their faces were gritty and their clothes in shambles. Their hair was messy and windblown, long and unkempt. A long time ago, Ludwig would have thought seeing Lovino growing a mustache funny. But now it just seemed sad.

Francis went out to read the signs on the edge of the interstate. He didn't feel like turning in, and it was something to keep his mind occupied. He stared at the Ottawa sign, the same as Matthew: Ottawa, exit 159, 3 miles. He decided to calculate the distance in kilometers to further entertain himself.

"Bored?"

The voice made him jump and he turned to see Jeanne walking toward him. She smiled when she saw him flinch. "Little uptight, huh? Well, that's expected."

Francis didn't know which question to respond to first, so he only said, "Yes," and they stood in awkward silence for a while. Francis watched the shotgun in Jeanne's hand glint in the moonlight and then his gaze traveled lower, and he felt sick.

"I'm sorry," Francis said before thinking.

Jeanne looked up, frowning in confusion for a moment, before she came to a realization. "Oh… don't be. It's my burden to bear, not yours."

Francis's eyes went downcast. If only you knew how responsible I really am for all of this. "It must have been hard for you," he sympathized.

"It made me stronger," Jeanne insisted, and her hand went unconsciously to her rounded stomach. "It was painful, but now I have a purpose." She looked at him, her gaze steely. "I will devote the rest of my life to taking down the bastards who took my life from me. Took his life."

Francis smiled, and Jeanne's brows came together in confusion.

"What?"

"You just remind me of a determined young girl I once knew."

"Yeah?"

"Ouais, and… thank you. What you did today… I could never have done it. You saved Ivan's life."

Jeanne blushed a bit. "It was no problem. I took a bullet once. Not a very pleasant experience, but at least I had anesthesia and trained doctors to get it out."

"You did good for someone who had never done something like that before."

"Really?" Jeanne looked up at the sign, hand still absentmindedly on her stomach. "You know what his name would have been?"

Francis stared at her, not knowing what to say. But he didn't have to reply.

"Adam."

Francis watched her leave, and reading the Ottawa sign no longer satisfied him.

They hadn't been alone for some time. What had only been a few days seemed a lifetime to them. Only when Gilbert touched his lover's skin did he realize he had been holding his breath the entirety of their being apart.

Their skin was bared and their lips met, fingers retracing the dips and curves of each other's bodies. Breaths caught, and then they slipped into their sleeping bag, Gilbert propping himself up on his elbows above Lovino. The Italian was flushed, eyes hooded, lips parted with heavy breaths. The Prussian smiled. Lovino looked so beautiful lying beneath him like this, as scruffy and malnourished as he was.

Lovino frowned. "What, bastard?"

"Nothing," Gilbert's smile quickly turned to a smirk. "Just enjoying the view."

"Che," Lovino scoffed, though his blush deepened. "Stop wasting time, dumbass." He grabbed Gilbert's face and kissed him.

Gilbert's tongue slipped inside, missing Lovino's taste. He didn't care if they were smelly, or dirty or a little worse for wear. Lovino was one of the most beautiful things he had ever had the privilege to have, and every second they had together was precious.

Gilbert threaded his fingers through Lovino's dark hair and he felt hands trail up his stomach, coming to rest at his chest. His nipples were tweaked and Gilbert gasped, withdrawing. "W-what the fuck was that shit?"

Lovino smirked. "Me finding a new spot to play with."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed. "You snarky little bastard."

"You took the words right out of my mouth. Now get to it."

"Jeez, you sure are demanding," Gilbert grumbled and slid down Lovino's body.

The Italian shivered as his lover's heat left him, exposing his sweat-slick skin to the chill of the tent. "What the hell are you doing, bastard? If you're going to fuck me—"

"I need to stretch you first, I know," Gilbert said, placing his hands on Lovino's hips and tipping them slightly. "Stop bitching, and let me do my job."

Lovino was not completely opposed to Gilbert being so close to his… vital places. But he was impatient. "Well then hurry the fuck up. We haven't got all ni—a-ahh!"

Gilbert nudged Lovino's legs apart and flicked a tongue around his hole. He peered up with a leer. "That was a cute little squeak just now."

"Sh-shut up!"

Gilbert shrugged. "If you want…" And he dipped his head to poke at Lovino's hole again. He made sure to lave around it thoroughly before breaching it, spreading Lovino with his tongue and thrusting in and out. Lovino whimpered, covering his mouth with his hand. The last time he had been rimmed was… well, a fucking long time ago. Just the feel of the slick muscle pushing into him was enough to make him come.

"S-stop," Lovino breathed. "Fuck, I'm ready. Just fuck me before I make a mess all over this fucking sleeping bag by myself."

Gilbert gave him a shit-eating grin, but, goddammit, Lovino's mind was too gooey to do anything about it. So he just lay there, embarrasingly needy, as Gilbert spit in his hand and slicked his cock. He made his way back up Lovino's body and seized his lips again. It was weird, but Lovino was actually not that squeamish about Gilbert's spit lube as he usually was.

"Fuck me," Lovino pleaded against Gilbert's skin. "Put it in already. Please, fuck me. I need you, dammit." Days without sex had left Lovino hypersensitive to every touch and he was more than ready to make up for it.

Gilbert smiled with the heated begs. "Lovi, you're so awesomely perfect." And he inched his way into him.

Lovino seized up, clawing Gilbert's back, biting his lip. "Hnng… u-uh…"

"Want me to stop?" Gilbert asked worriedly.

"You'd better not, dumbass," Lovino snarked and moved his hips so Gilbert's thick length was sheathed to the hilt inside him. "Ahnn, oh fuck."

But Gilbert stopped anyway. "I don't want to hurt you, Lovi," he said as he looked down at him. "We still need to walk, and we can't have you limping."

Lovino fumed. "Fuck me before I push you down and do it myself."

Gilbert didn't say another word. He was just as needy for this fuck as Lovino was, and, fuck it, he was trying to be gentle and considerate, but that last comment did him in. The image of Lovino riding him wormed its way into his head and before long he had set a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of Lovino just like the Italian wanted.

Lovino was aching from the penetration, but it was a good ache. He groaned and wrapped his legs around Gilbert, heels urging him deeper and harder. When that special bundle of nerves was struck, a shiver coursed through him, and Lovino threw his head back, nails digging into Gilbert's back. Gilbert couldn't deny peppering his soft neck with gentle kisses and nips.

"G-Gil, oh…" Lovino desperately needed this. They both did. Not only did it renew their intimacy, but it made them forget about all the shitty things that were going on around them, all their worries and paranoia, all their fear and anger. It also made Lovino think about what a lucky fuck he was that he had found someone even half as good as Toni. It made him think about how much Gilbert truly meant to him and how much Lovino had been bitching about him lately. It didn't seem fair for Gilbert to be giving him so much when Lovino was being such an asshole.

"Gilbert," he panted and the Prussian raised himself to look at him, stopping abruptly.

"Is it too much, Lovi?"

The question was not one Lovino had expected to hear, at least not from Gilbert. Before the world blew up, Gilbert was a pretentious asshole to everyone and Lovino wasn't excluded from such treatment. And now that Gilbert was taking the time to be so considerate of him, choosing rather to suppress his own urges for him—Lovino now felt like the asshole.

Lovino looked up at him, face heating. "I… I love you." Then he added rather quickly, "Bastard."

Gilbert blinked down at him, seeming almost… confused. And then he pressed his lips against Lovino's, hungry, passionate. They only parted long enough to take breath and when Gilbert finally relented, Lovino's lips were red and swollen. The albino, trailed his lips down Lovino's tanned jawline, kissing him all the way to his collarbone, then up to his ear. "Lovino," he breathed before picking up where he left off, thrusting into Lovino was renewed vigor.

They held tightly to one another for warmth and reassurance, taking in every movement, every touch, every breath. The only time in his life Lovino had made love like this had been with Toni. He was truly happy, and he knew Toni would be too.

"Si," Lovino encouraged rolling his hips along with his lover's thrusts. "Si, si, there, unh…"

"Lovino," Gilbert moaned. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. To me. This must be a hoax or something. How could I deserve anyone as awesome as you? He reached down and stroked Lovino's needy cock.

Lovino's eyes shot open and wide as he reached his orgasm, beginning to shout out Gilbert's name before remembering they could very well be heard, coming over his lover's hand. Gilbert groaned and pulled Lovino's hips further into him so that he could deepen his thrusts. He struck Lovino's sweet spot dead on, aiming to give him everything Gilbert wanted to say but was too damned proud to. By the time he filled Lovino with his seed, the Italian was shivering and whimpering, clutching at Gilbert's shoulders. They remained like that for while before Lovino pulled him down so their foreheads touched, heavy breaths mingling.

"You could never replace Toni," Lovino said and Gilbert felt a sharp pang to his heart. "No one could. What we had…" he trailed off and swallowed, looking away and trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. Then his gaze returned to Gilbert. "But, dammit, I love you, and Toni's gone, and you're not a replacement. I've accepted that fact now, but…" He chewed his lip.

Gilbert knew what Lovino was trying to say. "I'm not jealous," he said, and when Lovino's eyes narrowed, he added, "Well, maybe just a little. And… Toni was an awesome guy. I understand why you still feel that way about him. I do too… you know, in a best friend kind of sense. It doesn't matter to me if you were sleeping with him before. You need someone, Lovi. Everyone knows how lonely you were…"

"Thanks," Lovino said dryly.

Gilbert winced. "W-what I meant was that I-I love you and I'll be here for you and I know you love me—"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Shut up, bastard, before you say anything else stupid."

Gilbert promptly shut up and smiled sheepishly. "Heh, sorry. I've kind of never been in a situation like this before. So…" He stared hopefully at him. "I didn't screw up, did I?"

Lovino scoffed. "No." He tried not to look too pleased by that.

Gilbert smiled. "Awesome."

Lovino scoffed again and said, "It's cold. And late."

Gilbert agreed by allowing Lovino to turn over and wiggling in beside him. He kissed his shoulder. Just like Toni used to do before they went to sleep. But now Lovino interpreted the lips as Gilbert's, not his former lover's. For all that Gilbert was in the past—annoying, frustrating, loud, obnoxious, the list went on—for all the shit he used to give Lovino, for everything remotely negative that had happened between them (and there had been a great deal), Lovino was truly grateful that Gilbert was his.

Not that he would ever tell the moron. He didn't need to inflate his ego anymore than it already was.

"Gute Nacht, liebe," Gilbert mumbled, arm wrapped possessively around Lovino's middle, nose in his shoulder.

"Buonanotte, bastardo." And his hand went to Gilbert's, interlacing their fingers.

Two assholes in love.

Fucking perfect.

Matthew lay in his sleeping bag, staring up at the nylon roof. He felt so cold and… alone.

"Don't do it," Matthew told himself firmly. "Don't you dare do it." But hot tears gathered in his eyes anyway. Frustrated at himself, he sat up and wiped the tears away before they had the chance to fall.

When Francis had asked him if he was okay with sleeping in his own tent earlier that night, Matthew had felt confident enough to say yes. He thought he had been ready to stand on his own, accept the fact that Sadiq was dead and he wouldn't be coming back.

Matthew wanted to stay sitting there in his tent, alone where he slept like it almost always was before the Uprising. Why now was it so hard to deal with being lonely when he had faced loneliness so many times before?

It was a dream, he thought. Such a stupid fucking dream. But he couldn't just play it off as stupid. He could never bring himself to say that Sadiq was just a fling. Because he wasn't.

"Stop crying," Matthew told himself. "Stop crying, you baby. Just stop crying already…"

He was determined to sit there and wait until the tears stopped coming and the scratchy lump in his throat subsided. But even then, with his dry eyes and his sticky face, Matthew couldn't convince himself to return to the cold, empty sleeping bag with no arms to hold him or any heartbeat to feel against his back. No lips to kiss him goodnight and no soft voice to say 'I love you.'

Before he knew it, he was outside in the freezing cold, not bothering to layer his clothing in order to escape the suffocating emptiness of his tent.

He arrived at Francis's tent and scratched on the material. "F-Francis…?"

There was some commotion in the tent, the sound of bodies rolling around and moving apart. Matthew vaguely heard someone slipping their pants on before the zipper to the tent moved down and Francis's face appeared. "What are you doing out in the cold so late, petit?" He didn't wait for an answer as he grabbed Matthew's wrist and tugged. "Come in before you catch a chill."

Matthew reluctantly consented and followed Francis inside. He looked around and saw that the sleeping bags were rumpled and, Arthur, who sat over in a corner, was tugging on a shirt, hair mussed and still flushed from what they had obviously been doing before Matthew had decided to interrupt them. Arthur gave a stiff wave, a bit embarrassed. "Hey."

Matthew looked at Francis instead. The man always appeared immaculate in any situation. He stared at Matthew with concern. "Is there something wrong, petit?"

"Um… I-I…" Embarrassment pervaded his face. He felt like such a child crying over being alone. "I can't… it's too quiet a-and…" I can't even speak, dammit. Frustrated tears began to gather, and his eyes went downcast. He wrung his hands nervously.

And altogether Francis seemed to understand. He righted one of the sleeping bags and pulled the flap down before motioning to it. "Get in, lapin."

Matthew looked up and flushed deeper. "M-merci, Papa," And he didn't bothering stripping down before slipping in. Francis glanced up at Arthur and a message passed between their gazes. Francis got in beside Matthew and wrapped an arm around him, kissing him on his temple, just like when he was younger.

"Bonne nuit, mon petit."

"Bonne nuit, Papa."

Matthew closed his eyes and tried to ignore Arthur's disappointed sigh as he settled down in the sleeping bag opposite them.

Yao went down on Kiku, tongue pressing and sliding along the soft length. He took it down to the hilt and huffed, pulling away and peering up at Kiku from between his spread legs.

"There is something wrong…" Yao said, studying the soft, wet cock he had been practically making love to. "You're not getting hard, yīnghuā."

Kiku didn't appear as if he was even paying attention to a word Yao said, his head turned and glazed eyes staring off into space. Yao raised himself up on his hands and looked him over worriedly. "Kiku?"

Kiku's chest lifted in a deep breath, eyes still locked on the sloping side of the tent. "There is… too much on my mind."

Yao sighed and gave up trying to get Kiku aroused like he had been for the past half hour and moved to lay down beside him. Kiku was looking away from him, his soft neck displayed much to Yao's pleasure. But he held himself back. If he just took Kiku when he didn't want it, he might lose what little trust he had built between them. Instead, he brushed Kiku's hair behind his ear. "You cannot let everything bother you so much it keeps you from acknowledging your own feelings, xiǎodì."

"Why should I when so many out there suffer because of what I let happen?" Kiku said, his voice disturbingly hollow.

Yao frowned. "Kiku, not all of this is your fault…"

"I have to fix it."

"We can only go so fast…"

"I need to fix it."

"Kiku, look at me," Yao said and when Kiku did nothing, Yao grabbed him by his shoulders and turned him so that the man was facing him. He didn't like the empty look in Kiku's eyes. "Kiku, I'm not trying to say we have no responsibility for what happened, but you need to relax. The more stressed we get, the less likely we are to succeed deposing the Organization and restoring order to our countries." Yao took Kiku's hand. "Why are you so closed? Everything I've done has been so that you could be happy. What else do I have to do to show you I love you, Kiku? How can you not see it?"

Kiku just stared at him, blinking and flushed. He opened his mouth, intending to speak, but then closed it again. He looked away. "C-can we just sleep now? I am tired…"

Yao stared at him in disbelief, wanting to say no, he just couldn't tune Yao out like every other time they were ever alone and intimate like this. But Yao consented, knowing Kiku would one day run out of strength to run away. He did what he had been doing every time Kiku showed resistance to his desire for closeness. He took Kiku's hand and kissed his cheek. "I love you, yīnghuā."

Kiku, surprisingly, didn't react. He didn't push Yao off or ask him to please get off of him. He just lay there with Yao holding him, only knowing how exhausted he was from keeping so stiff when his muscles finally relaxed. Then he was too tired to resist anything, even Yao's arm tightening around him and the lips pressing sympathetic kisses to his neck.

Translations:

Gute Nacht, liebe-Goodnight, love

Buonanotte-Goodnight

Bonne nuit-Goodnight

(Didn't realize there were so many translations of 'goodnight'...)

xiǎodì-little brother

A Word From the Writer: Damn, what happened to the graphic FrUK? You'd think there would be more of it, 'cause, y'know. But France is too worried about Canada's grief and England is too worried about pushing France too far after his rape, so I've decided to stall that for a bit. You know... just to vex you. LOL, I can imagine all the FrUK fans punching through their screens from lack of smut. But don't worry! It will come eventually, my dears. Eventually. But, for now, I gave you some cute, albeit passive-aggressive Prumano, so cool your tits. Just saying before anyone has a chance to hit me up on it. As for Nichu... lotta angst there as well. The only legit couple in this chapter is Prumano. Now that I think about it, I'm kind of unintentionally limiting you. But there will be smut for all later on. Ya know. Eventually.