-There's a fine line between love and hate.-
Diary of Jane; Breaking Benjamin

-Hetalia-

Their last practice had been messy. On top of the fact that they were all nervous about the upcoming gig, it seemed Alfred and Arthur had had a fight of some sort over the weekend. Gilbert had overheard the American ranting to Matthew when he came over on Tuesday.

Arthur had apparently been called in for a morning shift, meaning he would be late to practice. When Gilbert arrived, he found the Jones's garage door half open, so he just let himself in and hooked up his amp. After a few minutes of wondering impatiently where the other two were, he took the door to the hallway and decided to search for them himself.

"…said I was flirting with the commie bastard!" Alfred was practically shouting at Matthew as Gilbert opened the living room door. The American stood in front of the couch, his arms thrown up dramatically. Matthew was laying, as per usual lately, on the couch, looking up at his step-brother with a tired expression.

"You've told me, Al," he said. Alfred barreled over him.

"And then…! We went out to eat, and he's bossing me around like I'm a twelve year old!" Gilbert caught Matthew's eye and the bored look left the blond's face immediately.

"Oh, I didn't hear you come in," he said with a smile.

"What's up with him?" Gilbert asked, jabbing a thumb in Alfred's direction as he came over to sit on the arm of the couch.

"Arthur's an insecure, over-controlling dick, that's what," Alfred huffed, crossing his arms.

"Break up with him," Gilbert snorted. Alfred looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I dunno…that's kinda…drastic? I mean, I still like him…" he said. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Are all your relationships love-hate deals or what?" he asked. Alfred laughed awkwardly, the tips of his ears flushing as he shuffled from side to side. They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"Did you already set up?" Matthew asked Gilbert after a while. He nodded.

"Ja, everything's ready to go. How's your problem?" He didn't know if their parents were lurking around, and he wasn't going to be the one to spill the beans.

"It's healing well," Matthew said.

"Parents went out," Alfred added, his mood completely changed. Gilbert nodded.

"How's your perfect little conscience holding out, then, Birdie?" He smirked at the youngest teen. Matthew flushed lightly and bit his lip. He was about to say something when the sound of a car in the driveway announced Arthur's arrival.

What came afterwards was probably the most awkward band practice they'd ever had. Matthew was tense the entire time, as he always was after talking about people behind their backs. He wasn't a good person to share gossip with. Meanwhile, the tension between Alfred and Arthur was almost tangible, and Gilbert became more and more annoyed with it as the practice wore on. Every mistake was pointed out almost before it happened, and each criticism was followed by brief arguments that became pettier by the minute. Gilbert tried to amuse himself by guessing at what poor insult would come next, wondering how long it would take for the "Your mom,"'s to rear their heads, but when the phrase did leave Alfred's lips, he was tired of listening to their griping. He groaned, and even heard Matthew sigh softly, but a glance at the couple told him they were almost enjoying the argument. Gilbert almost understood why they liked irritating one another all the time, given his relationship with Roderich, but he could only take so much of it at any given time.

"Well, I have to go, but I think we're ready for the stage anyway," he interrupted yet another quarrel. "Get some practice on your own, and I'll see you all at the show," he said as he gathered up his things. Matthew waved goodbye to him, looking as though he desperately wanted to come with him.

Alfred and Arthur were already fighting again by the time Gilbert had ducked under the garage door.

-H-

Gilbert was bored. He'd practiced his parts to perfection. He was completely prepared for the show tomorrow. Ludwig was pulling an extra shift, again, and Gilbert couldn't even make dinner because his younger brother had left a message with Toris saying he'd bring something back from the restaurant. The albino had showered Gilbird with attention for nearly an hour, and now he was out of ideas. There was absolutely nothing on tv, and he'd checked twice just to be sure. He could always call someone, but the only one it'd be fun to call at this hour was Roderich, and lately he'd grown bored of the 'harass an Austrian' game. Mostly because Specs refused to humor him, what with all his recent recitals. But just as Gilbert was mourning the loss of that wonderful source of entertainment, the phone rang.

"Hallo?"

"My parents are gone."

The call ended. Gilbert smirked.

It took him three minutes to find a pen and some paper. He had a short and sweet note of "Getting some," written down in two seconds flat. Grabbing a chair from their make-shift dining room, Gilbert found the scotch tape and cut off a long strip, attaching one end to the ceiling and the other end to his note, so that it hung in the middle of the room where Ludwig would have to see it. He didn't bother moving the chair back to its place. After a rushed change of clothes he grabbed his car keys and was out the door.

-H-

Gilbert hated Roderich Edelstein. He hated his stupid glasses. He hated his prissy attitude. He hated his obsession with the orchestra. He hated his massive house. He hated his wealth. He hated his arrogant parents. He hated the sound of his voice.

But God help him if he didn't love taking the man to bed.

This was a common occurrence for them. Whenever Roderich's parents left for a performance or something, being skilled musicians themselves, the Austrian would call Gilbert up. They would use one another for their own needs, and Gilbert would leave as soon as Roderich was done with him. It was perfect symbiosis.

As Gilbert pulled into the empty driveway and looked up at the huge house, he couldn't hide his smirk. Roderich used him as a way to rebel against his parents, who more or less directed his entire life outside these episodes of reckless abandon, and the thought of the uppity Austrian turning to such a chaotic fix was beyond ironic.

Gilbert knocked on the door three times and waited, preparing himself for what would come next. He knew the brunet was just on the other side of the door, but like him, Roderich was taking a moment to brace. Because once the door swung open, there was little chance of backing out. Gilbert held his breath, waiting to see what would happen. It wouldn't be the first time if Roderich changed his mind and left him standing on the step.

But the door opened, and Gilbert was grabbed by the shirt and dragged inside, Roderich's lips already smashing against his own. Gilbert took the invitation, kicking the door shut behind them. The hand that wasn't fisting his shirt found its way into his hair as Roderich backed up into the wall, sending a potted plant to the floor.

Gilbert grinned and slid his knee between the brunet's legs, making the Austrian groaned into the kiss. Gilbert moved down to his neck, diligently leaving as many bruising marks as he could. He made sure to make it nearly impossible for Roderich to cover them later. Half the fun was, for the Austrian, lying to his parents afterwards.

"Speak," Roderich commanded. Gilbert grinned around another kiss. He was naming the goal of tonight's game, though Gilbert had already guessed it when the initial phrase Roderich uttered was in English. The first person to default to German lost. The brunet usually played this game when he was feeling particularly challenging, and Gilbert suspected it wouldn't be long before Roderich gave the signal for a rough night.

"Planning on getting off on my voice?" Gilbert asked, obeying the rules as he nipped his way back up Roderich's neck. Roderich smirked, knowing all too well where the albino was going.

"Hardly; I just want to hear you fall apart," he replied, turning his head to bite Prussian's lower lip before he could make it to his ear. Gilbert got the hint and claimed Roderich's lips again, taking careful note of the Austrian's hands as the one on his shirt moved up to tug at his hair with the other. Gilbert replied with a nip and tug at Roderich's bottom lip. The pianist groaned, and Gilbert knew as his tongue slipped into the other's mouth that it was time for a change of scenery. Gripping the Austrian's belt, he dragged them away from the wall and towards the nearest horizontal surface; the grand piano. Roderich groaned again as he was jostled and pinned, knocking a small vase of flowers sideways in the process. The water spilled over the piano's edge and splashed the floor.

"You're not speaking," Roderich said once Gilbert's lips returned to his neck. The hands left his hair and tugged at the albino's jacket, pulling it down his arms and forcing Gilbert to take his hands off the other so the garment could be removed. It was tossed across the room, landing with a rattle over a lamp and effectively dimming the lights.

"What do you want me to say, Priss?" he asked, tugging the brunet's shirt out of his pants and undoing a few of the lowest buttons. Roderich bucked his hips against Gilbert's, making them both hiss in pleasure. The sound echoed in the spacious room.

"Ah – I'm sure you'll think of something." His erection was already obvious in those tight pants, and Gilbert's clothes felt far too restrictive now.

"Want me to tell you you're a whore?" Gilbert asked, pressing his body tighter against the other, and sliding his hands in Roderich's shirt. Roderich groaned, and the sound did nothing to lessen the strain Gilbert's pants were putting on his hard on. As much as he vowed to drag this out, he felt himself becoming impatient, and he knew he'd be the one to fold first.

"I believe I called you," Roderich said, his voice breathy with arousal. That was enough to snap Gilbert's patience in two.

"You're still the one who takes it up the ass," he said, grunting as he ground against the pianist. "Want me to take you on the piano again?" The line was delivered with his usual cockiness, but they both knew it was his surrender. Roderich's eyes darkened with more than lust as he bucked up, echoing the Prussian's moan.

"The bed," he answered, gripping Gilbert's belt as the albino had done to him. Gilbert's hands slid into the Austrian's back pockets as he stepped back just enough to free Roderich from the piano. Gilbert bumped the black instrument purposefully as he was dragged away, relishing the crash of the vase as it finally fell to the floor.

Roderich's mouth was latched on his neck, and even as the brunet walked backwards he pressed himself flush against the Prussian. Gilbert suspected, not for the first time, that he wasn't the only one Roderich used to vent his rebellious urges, given the grace and speed he possessed whenever they were like this. Not that the albino cared, of course. He was only in for the joy of disheveling the prim and proper Austrian and his home, and the benefits of rough sex without a catch.

Gilbert pulled at Roderich's shirt as they stumbled their way through a long hallway, sending a few buttons scattering across the floor and leaving only three or four still buttoned at the top. His hands instantly slipped back into Roderich's pockets afterwards, and he moaned as the Austrian drew a little blood at a particularly sensitive part of his neck.

"And I'm the whore?" the brunet breathed in his ear. Gilbert could hear the smirk in his voice. In response, Gilbert slid one of his hands around to cup Roderich's erection, drawing a surprised moan from the other, who unintentionally bucked into the hand.

"Definitely."

Gilbert pressed them up against the bedroom door. One of Roderich's hands left Gilbert's belt to feel behind him for the doorknob. When he finally got it open, it swung inward, and they stumbled over one another into the room, falling onto the bed when the backs of Roderich's knees crashed into its edge. Gilbert's hands were trapped underneath the pianist, in his back pockets, and the Austrian easily flipped them over, raising Gilbert's suspicions further. He wasted no time in yanking Gilbert's shirt off and throwing it behind him, possibly back out into the hall.

Then came the sudden calm moment - the eye of the hurricane - that always came before they went further. Roderich leaned down and trailed gentle fingers along the thin silver chain around Gilbert's neck, slipping behind to the clasp. At the same time, Gilbert reached up, carefully taking hold of the Austrian's glasses. This was a ritual of theirs, never audibly asking for consent, nor voicing agreement. The removal of these two precious accessories – Roderich's glasses, which he could not see without, and Gilbert's iron cross, which he received as a child from his mother – was the signing of the unspoken contract. If either of them had changed their minds, they would refuse to remove their item and the night would end there. The two accessories were placed side by side on the nearby nightstand without a protest.

Roderich slid down the albino's body, hovering above his belt and working quickly to remove the offending strip of leather. Gilbert raised an eyebrow – he'd given in first, and therefore the night belonged to Roderich, but it seemed the Austrian was going to reward him anyway.

"Keep talking," Roderich instructed. Gilbert understood then what was going on. Gilbert's surrender wasn't enough; Roderich wanted to hear him fall apart, just as he had said. Gilbert's pride wouldn't allow him to give the Austrian that satisfaction.

"Jeez, you really do get off on the sound of my voice, don't you," Gilbert said as his belt was tossed somewhere, landing with a jarring clatter. It was immensely entertaining to watch the normally overly organized brunet on nights like this, when he sought to break as many rules, and things, as possible. It was as if these were the only nights Roderich ever lived.

The sound of his zipper echoed off the dark walls, and Gilbert summoned all his resolve as his pants were pulled off, followed by his boxers.

"Don't lose your tongue now," Roderich said before going down on him. Gilbert groaned as the Austrian sucked lightly on the head.

"Don't – ah! – plan on it," Gilbert said. He resisted the urge to fist his hands in Roderich's hair and force him to go further. The more the Austrian took in, the less English the albino would be able to remember; rushing things would hardly help him keep his pride.

Roderich moaned softly by way of a reply, the vibrations shooting up Gilbert's spine like a live wire. The pianist took in more of the shaft, keeping his half-lidded gaze on the Prussian's expression. Gilbert registered the demanding tint to the violet irises and panted around an attempted smirk, his hands fisting in the sheets.

"What? Hah, expecting me to…" Gilbert was gradually losing his train of thought the head of his cock brushed the back of Roderich's throat. He was struggling to think clearly in German, let alone English. Roderich's eyes glittered with challenge. "…T-to ca-call you – fuck." The Austrian interrupted his attempt at finishing the thought by pulling him in deeper. The insult flew from Gilbert's mind, and once it finally fluttered back, it was only in German. The silence, excepting the Prussian's moans, stretched on as Gilbert gave in slightly and bucked into the warm mouth surrounding him. Roderich allowed it as he watched the albino with smug amusement, clearly convinced he had won. In a desperate attempt to beat him, Gilbert tossed out the first non-German insult he could think of.

"S-salope." Gilbert didn't even know where he'd heard the word, or what it meant, but the Austrian seemed to understand it. Roderich's eyes widened, and he pulled back just enough to moan. The vibrations dragged Gilbert over the edge, and he came with a rough moan of his own. The brunet swallowed most of the cum, a small amount slipping past his lips as Gilbert continued to weakly thrust through his orgasm. Seeing the thin line of white on the prim pianist's face made Gilbert's head fog as he started drifting back from his high.

"Didn't use German," he said as the Austrian moved up to kiss him. Gilbert grunted, tasting himself along with Roderich's usual flavor.

"I want to ride you," Roderich said bluntly once he broke the kiss. Gilbert had expected as much. Roderich never topped – part of whatever he got off on during their nights was power-bottoming. Regardless to whether he won a round, he was the one fucked. The only thing that changed was the position, and whenever he won a challenge, he'd say those same five words.

"Help yourself," Gilbert said. He was already getting hard again just thinking about it. Roderich pulled away to divest himself of his remaining clothing, taking a moment to enjoy the act of throwing them about the room haphazardly before he returned to the bed to straddle him. Gilbert grinned, knowing that the Austrian had prepared himself earlier that night, whilst waiting for the Prussian to arrive. They'd learned early on that too much time was wasted if they waited until they were in the heat of things to stretch and prep. Doing it beforehand was far more efficient.

Roderich took hold of Gilbert and lined himself up. A long, drawn out groan came from one of them as he slowly enveloped the albino, pausing once he was fully seated to adjust to the other's girth. After Roderich was ready, he nodded to Gilbert, giving him permission to place his hands on the Austrian's hips (which he didn't hesitate to do). Roderich lifted himself up only to drop himself back onto the Prussian's "five meters." They both moaned, and the Austrian started up a fast rhythm.

In this position, Gilbert could do little more than direct Roderich's movements with his hands and simply enjoy the pleasurable feeling of Roderich's inner walls gripping his dick. The rhythm was set by Roderich, and any adjustments in the angle were the brunet's doing as well.

The bed began to squeak in protest as Roderich quickened the pace, pulling moans from both their throats and pushing them both closer to the edge. His head suddenly rolled back after he changed the angle, and Gilbert knew by the moan that sliced the air, higher and louder than its predecessors, that a certain bundle of nerves had been struck.

They moved faster now, rougher, moans echoing around the room and filling the air along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. Gilbert felt the impossible heat around him constricting and knew Roderich was near his end, as if the German groans of "So close…" weren't clue enough.

"Who's lost… fuck … their, uhn, tongue now?" Gilbert shot back, revertying to German as well since Roderich had already lost. He moved one of his hands from the brunet's hip to his neglected cock. The Austrian opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a strangled moan as Gilbert pumped him in time with their thrusts. The walls around the Prussian suddenly tightened as the combined pleasure from his sweet spot and his member proved too much for the pianist, and with another strangled moan, Roderich came, painting Gilbert's hand and both of their stomachs in white. He rocked his hips a few more times and dragged Gilbert over the edge into ecstasy as well, earning another loud, drawn out moan.

They both stayed there for a long moment, panting and basking in the post-orgasm glory. Eventually Roderich pulled off of Gilbert, wincing as some of the semen slid out of his hole, and collapsed on the bed beside the albino. They laid there for some time as they slowly recovered. Gilbert glanced sideways and smirked at the blatant hickies along Roderich's neck.

"Out, whore," Roderich muttered after a while, speaking in German once more. Gilbert sat up and delicately retrieved his cross.

"'Til next time, slut," he replied once the necklace was back around his neck. He dragged himself up off the bed and looked around the room for his clothes.

"Don't you mean salope?" Roderich asked. Gilbert frowned, trying to remember where he'd even heard the word before. He had no clue how he knew it. Roderich seemed to realize this, and it only made him look even more smug. "Try asking your friend Matthew."

Gilbert's eyes widened, and then he burst out laughing, realizing he must have picked it up when he heard Matthew singing in French. He wondered how Roderich knew the word though, and an entertaining possibility came to mind.

"Say hi to Francis for me next time," he said. Roderich turned away from him.

"Go home."

Gilbert snickered and pulled on his boxers and pants before leaving the room, searching for the rest of his clothes.

A/N: Thank you very much for reading! This chapter is so long; it's thus far the longest in the story.
I feel like I should apologize for writing porn, but...well at least a fourth of the reasons this story is even being written are smut based so...

This chapter begins the deeper parts of this story. As the main pairing is PruCan, there's a chance that most of these deeper moments will involve those two, but there will be a few deep things for all the boys, as evenly spaced as I can manage.
Believe it or not there's actually a legitimate reason for this one night stand. I swear I didn't just write smut for the hell of it.

Editing smut is amazingly awkward.

Next chapter will be the gig finally! I can't wait, I hope you are just as excited as I am.

And as always, thank you for editing, Hornet394.

Translations for this chapter:
Ja: German; Yes (please see earlier notes on Gilbert's usage of Ja)
Hallo?: German; Hello? (see previous notes on Gilbert's usage of Hallo to answer the phone)
S-salope: French; S-slut.

Thank you very much for reading.

~VV