Chapter Text
When Italy came careening wildly into the house, crying "HUUUUUUG!" Prussia began to wonder if there wasn't something to Germany's worries about lack of oxygen causing brain damage.
He knew for a fact that his brother left to visit Italy yesterday (why, he'd shoved the dithering fool out the door himself!) so either this was Italy Romano – in which case Prussia had gone mad and needed to end his own suffering before he began to think he was Napoleon – or West had actually been so bloody stupid that he'd let the tasty little morsel get away. Which meant the only fair thing was for Prussia to end his suffering. Permanently.
"Uh, I thought West was with y– "
That was when Italy smacked into him and Prussia, who was very much not used to wild tackle-hugs, stumbled over the carpet. They both crashed to the floor, causing Italy's forehead to impact with his nose.
His nose, which was still broken courtesy of his over-enthusiastic, depraved and very much no-longer-a-virgin little brother.
So Prussia screamed and tried to protect his poor abused face. That in turn made Italy flail in panic and while they were both still screaming at each other, Germany walked into the house, calmly picked Italy up by his shirt and deposited him on the floor.
"I told you to take it easy," he grumbled, glowering at Italy who rattled of a rapid excuse in Italian. "And as for you..."
Respectful little brothers, Prussia thought, really shouldn't manage so badly to hide their smirk when looking at their elders.
"Don't bother," he growled, but still accepted Germany's hand up.
"He wanted to speak to you," Germany said with a nod towards Italy. "Try not to tear the place down, would you?"
"Ve, Germany, Germany, where are you going?" Italy asked, immediately all a-flutter.
Well, well... Prussia noted with interest that when the little nation attached himself to Germany's waist, his hands slipped just a bit lower than before. Of even more interest was that Germany, instead of furiously blushing and running for the hills, allowed this for a few moments. Unfortunately, he then seemed to remember that they weren't alone, and began blushing, quickly removing Italy's hand and – Whohoo! He kissed him, in public! Only a peck on the lips and the public consisted of one, but still! They'd finally fucking done it; hallelujah, ring the bells, etcetera, miracles could still occur!
"I'm going to make some coffee," Germany muttered, his hand touching his own lips as if he couldn't quite believe what they'd just done. "Behave!"
"I knew that as soon as someone made a man out of you, you'd have no problems getting laid, West!" Prussia called after him and cackled triumphantly when Germany's ears glowed crimson. Oh, he was such a nice and generous older brother, he even impressed himself.
"Um, sorry that I hurt you, Prussia," Italy said, looking adorably worried.
"What? Oh, these! Never mind." Prussia waved his concern off, only belatedly realizing that Italy probably couldn't see all the other little ouchy places on him.
After three days, Prussia looked far worse than he felt. To spare his brother another ulcer, he'd bundled himself up as much as possible, so that no postman or passing neighbour would see. Besides, it might traumatise the puppies and chickens.
While his nose and assorted other areas still smarted, it wasn't that bad. In fact, Prussia rather fancied the way that every movement reminded him in a new way of what they'd been doing so pleasurably. It also made West spoil him quite nicely, and hello, who'd be stupid enough to complain about that?
Ruffling his hair, grinning at how cutely Italy struggled against his hand, Prussia couldn't help but congratulate himself on finally kicking Germany's ass hard enough to make him confess to the other nation.
"So, whaddya want to talk to me about, then? I thought you and West would be going at it like wild monkeys for at least a week." He glanced at the door then pitched his voice to carry in a fine stage-whisper. "Don't tell me you wore him out, already!"
"I heard that!" Germany called from the kitchen.
"Stop snooping, start cooking!" Prussia yelled back, and with a smirk gestured Italy along to his study. Might as well get some use out of it. It wasn't as if he ever worked in there.
Italy followed happily enough. He brightened even more when he saw the birdcage and its residents on the desk. "Ohh, hi birdies!" He went over and wiggled his fingers through the bars, exclaiming in delight when one of them jumped up on his finger.
"You've changed this room, Prussia, haven't you?" he asked, looking around.
Prussia nodded and sat on the desk, smartly saluting his avian troops. They chirped back cutely and still didn't seem inclined to salute back, undisciplined (but adorable) little buggers that they were. He'd need more than one chair in here, he mused, especially if he was going to start using the place regularly.
"Eh, kinda had to remodel a bit. All my stuff couldn't fit into our bedroom, not even when it grew."
Truth to be told, it had been kind of nice to put his things up on proper shelves. With Germany gone, Prussia had spent the entire previous day sorting out treasure from trash. He'd found many dear old mementoes that had languished forgotten on his floor for years. Annoying how he couldn't quite recall why he'd never gotten around to do this before – even more annoying that old excuse that he must have been busy with something more awesome rang a little hollow these days.
Shaking off his mopey and decidedly un-awesome thoughts, Prussia gestured at the room. He was really proud of how cool all his weapons looked when polished. "Do you like it?"
"Yes, a lot! You have a lovely colour on the wall in here," Italy said, looking at the room with an artist’s eye. "Vibrant but still soothing. And it matches the carpet great!"
"West insisted we change the wallpaper and shit a while ago," Prussia admitted.
And boy, had he not felt like taking part in his brother's little 'physical therapy' round, before his 'cure'. All in all, he did end up with a nice room in the end. The only downside Prussia could see was that this might make West believe that involving him in more home-improvement efforts was a good idea. He'd have to make sure to disillusion him on that point, he reminded himself, preferably before spring and gardening season rolled around again.
Anyway, now the room was a beautiful deep green, instead of the bland cream-colour he'd avoided improving for decades. He had even put up a collection of old flags on the empty wall, their colours looking splendid indeed against the verdant backdrop.
Italy nodded and waved goodbye to the birds. "It's pretty, but it still feels very much like Prussia!"
"Thanks. So, uhm, what did you want before?"
Italy looked down at his clasped hands then, drawing a deep breath, straightened up in the neatest attempt at standing at attention Prussia had ever seen from him.
Oh shit, this could be bad. He felt his grin waver a little. Caught already?
While he hadn't exactly forbidden West from talking about what they'd done, he really thought even a macho-brain such as him would have the sense not to tell his new lover that he came straight from shacking up with his big brother too.
Especially not when Germany had so adamantly reminded him not to tell France, Spain, France, Austria (as if he would!), France, Hungary and especially not France!
"Prussia!" Italy said, managing an almost military tone even, oh dear oh dear. "I, Italy Veneziano, northern half of the Italian Republic, want to extend to you my biggest thank you!" And he bowed, arms at his side and freaky hair-doink swaying with the speed of his movement.
"O-kay..."
"Really, Prussia," the other nation said when he straightened. "Thank you so much."
"What for?" Prussia asked, completely bewildered now.
"The Holy Roman Empire."
"Oh no. No, no, no!" He shook his head, leaping off the desk in agitation. "You and West have been dancing around each other since, what, the First World War? You are not allowed to mix him up with a brat you knew hundreds of years ago and think that's why you're fucking each other!"
He frowned, suddenly worried that somehow, the macho-idiot had managed to foul things up anyway. Would he never be allowed to spend some time without worrying about his stupid brother?
"Hang on, you have done it, right? I mean, actual fucking, not a bloody football game or something. West seemed a bit more relaxed out there, but he can be so weird sometimes."
Fighting down a blush, Italy nodded. "Um, yes. Germany and I, we, um..." He giggled suddenly and bent forward to whisper hurriedly to Prussia. "We did it! Four times! Next time he promised we can do it in a gondola, and I wanted to this morning already, but Germany looked kinda scared then or tired, I don't know really, but oh!" He giggled and almost clapped his hands in excitement. "Oh, oh, I already got Germany to try it with oli-"
"Okaaaay, thank you! That's more than enough." Hearing about your little brother's sex life, Prussia was surprised to discover, was much more disturbing than being involved in it. He wasn't quite sure why, probably had to do with hormones. Everything that couldn't be explained by quantum (How come you're at the pub tonight when you promised to cut the lawn? Prolly quanthum, Wescht... 'ave a beer!) could usually be blamed on hormones. Such as his very, very short fling with Russia, and dear God, he hoped West never got that one out of him!
Besides, according to Spain who was probably the world's leading expert until his brother caught up with him, Italians had a wicked kink for food and kitchen sex. And while Prussia was happy to contemplate West's ass from many directions, imagining it on the table where he ate dinner was not quite his deal. And really, olives? Feh, and here they called him kinky!
Somehow, Prussia managed to grab his scattered thoughts and return his attention to Italy. Who had by now wandered over to admire his flags, which at least showed that the kid had taste.
"Seriously, Italy," he said, tapping the shorter nation on the shoulder to bring him back to the issue at hand. "You're not mixing him up with the Holy Roman Empire or some shit now, are you?"
"No." Italy smiled, with that special warmth that Prussia had always envied him, and this time his hug was restrained and gentle.
"I know Germany," he said. "I know he's strong and handsome and brave. Even if he didn't really dare tell me he liked me until now, I've seen it in how he acts. And I knew because when he saved me or when he was yelling, especially after he stopped yelling at me and began yelling for me, I could always hear what he really meant. Although if I run away he still yells at me with the different kind of yelling."
"Uhm, Italy? Getting a bit lost here."
Italy drew back, surprising Prussia with the sombreness of his face. "Sorry; but that's Germany and I know him. See, that's how they're different," he said, a smile peeking out. "But the Holy Roman Empire was always weak. Even if I didn't realize how bad it was until much later... I did love him too, Prussia. I think he loved me too, even if we never really got to know each other. Not like I know Germany."
This time when he was hugged, Prussia found it in himself to hug back. Awkwardly, perhaps, but still something he had to try.
"I always thought he died alone," Italy whispered against his shoulder. "I was so horribly sad that I never helped him or say a proper good bye at least! But when I couldn't be there, I know now that he had his big brother with him. And Germany also has his big brother, who helped him grow up much stronger. And now I have Germany and I know that the Holy Roman Empire is in a way also there, even if Germany is much more than him, and I think he'd be happy for me, I really do. And it all makes me so, so happy. So that's why I want to thank you, Prussia."
"Uh. Yeah, sure." Prussia scratched the back of his neck, feeling a certain secret grow larger and more awkward by the second. "Look, Italy, there's maybe a little something that West and I need to tell you..."
"Ve~?"
Germany opened the door and peeked inside the room, clearing his throat to get their attention. "The coffee's done," he announced when they turned to look at him. "Why are you molesting Italy, Brother? Stop that. Also, we have fresh cinnamon rolls"
"Fuck off, West, we're having a moment here."
"Oh! Germany, Germany, do you have any biscotti left?" Italy asked.
Germany nodded. "Yes. As well as some chocolate cake from yesterday. Are you coming?"
Prussia followed them, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Italy was positively radiant when he clung to Germany and prattled on about something only his quirky Italian brain could grasp. And West...
Ah, his little brother walked with a new spring to his step, an arm sneaking around Italy's shoulder and then staying there, naturally as that. Prussia had rarely seen him so peaceful as when he could pour coffee for them all, serve cake after cake and softly wipe the crumbs off Italy's lips. It was almost comical, how he forgot to eat his own share and sat stirring the coffee until it grew cold while chewing now and then on half a cinnamon roll.
Maybe, Prussia reflected, he should try and learn from his mistakes some time. It wasn't as if Germany had the best track record in being useful to him...
When he tried to slip away, though, a strong hand grasped his wrist. He was held gently enough, but still with a firmness that indicated he was not to leave any time soon.
"West?"
"You should finish that," Germany replied. He gestured to the uneaten biscotti on Prussia's plate. "Isn't it you who always tells me not to waste food?"
He snatched the biscotti from the plate, wrenching his hand free at the same time. "Yeah. Sure."
"Oh!" Italy looked up from stuffing his face, even batting away Germany when he immediately tried to wipe him clean. "What did Prussia want to tell me?"
"Dunno." Prussia glared at West, hating that he lo– wanted to fuck him too much to just cut his losses and scram. "Do we want to tell Italy something?"
Still stirring his cold coffee, Germany pondered the question for a while, the frown on his forehead deepening. "Perhaps later tonight?" He looked up at them, then nodded, decision made. "We need to walk the dogs now. I am also certain that nobody has watered the plants since yesterday, despite the fact that it is his turn. Correct?"
Prussia rolled his eyes, not bothering to come up with a good excuse. As he agreed to go over the upper floor with the watering can later, he silently wondered why West ever fancied that his sadistic-dom tendencies were even close to being a secret from the world. Written on his bloody forehead, right over that damned worried crease.
And later tonight? Later was good; it was one of Prussia's favourite words. Right now it came somewhere after awesome and Fritz, he decided. Might just knock "alone" down from the third place.
The words continued to echo in Prussia, in pace with his odd new heartbeat. Later. Tonight. He kept hearing them while Germany poured him another cup and pressured him to at least taste the cakes properly, after which it took no time at all for the remaining ones to disappear.
Strange, how he had forgotten to be hungry while Germany was gone from the house. Strange, how the entire day seemed brighter now that there were three of them to walk the dogs instead of just Prussia struggling with the lines in the early morning. Even when evening fell, the world seemed filled with an invisible light and Prussia had to remind himself that everything was likely to come crashing down soon. But not yet, there was still a later for him to cling to.
Strangest of all? It was how familiar the smallest things felt, even when he knew the world had turned upside down three days ago.
Take such a thing as gloating at West when they watched football on the telly. Spain and France were duking it out on the field tonight, and with plenty of German beer and Italian snacks, the three of them gathered in the sofa.
In no time at all Prussia forgot to be self-conscious about the ring-shaped bruises around his wrists (it helped that an alternate spelling of Italy could have been 'oblivious') and he hardly even jumped when West brushed a surprisingly gentle hand against his cheek during the commercial break.
Fuck, he wondered, when did we manage to get so damn comfortable around each other? But then the game started up again, and Prussia became too absorbed to reflect further on the situation or worry about the future.
Germany rooted for France claiming that his victory would give their own team a much better chance in the tournament. As if that kind of lameass thinking should ever be allowed to influence a game of football! So, of course Prussia had to yell enthusiastic encouragements to Spain. Anyway, his players had much more style! Meanwhile, Italy cheered for almost every move. Then he almost fell off the sofa in excitement when they spotted his brother's curl behind the goal.
Italy Romano looked deeply unhappy to be there. But he bit his knuckles nervously during a French penalty and pumped his fist when the Spaniards successfully defended themselves, showing unmistakeable enthusiasm before the camera panned away. The three nations glanced at each other before breaking into helpless laughter.
"Di– did you see his face?" Germany gasped.
"When he realized they must've been filming straight at him? Yes!" Prussia laughed.
"I have to call Spain and say congratulations!" Italy said.
"He hasn't won yet."
"Nooo, but if Romano is there then he won't care if he wins or not! He'll be so happy anyway."
Prussia pursed his lips. "Oh, I think old Spain will be very, very happy if he wins. A little bird told me once that your brother is, heh, quite the little gambler."
Italy quirked an eyebrow at him, confused, and Germany hurried to direct their attentions back to the game.
It wasn't until several hours later when Italy was nodding off against Germany's shoulder and Prussia had begun swallowing yawn after yawn, that he began to hear the drum of those words again. Later tonight. Later tonight.
Teeth were brushed, sleepwear put on (rather unwillingly, in Italy's case), pets laid to rest and suddenly, later tonight had become right now.
"So," Prussia said. "How are we doing this, huh?" He crossed his arms and burrowed deeper into West's bathrobe (fair loot, Prussia considered, since he'd won the race to be first to the bathroom).
"Come over here?" Germany suggested and sat on the edge of the bed.
Feeling the butterflies in his stomach turn into angry vampire bats, Prussia walked closer and re-crossed his arms. Stubbornly, he kept staring straight ahead, the line of his vision just above West's head.
Italy already lay on his stomach, busy fluffing the pillows when Germany poked him to get his attention.
"Ahem. Italy."
"Ve?"
Germany smiled, or at least bared his teeth, and cracked his knuckles. "Ehm, yes. You know how I said we had, somehow, solved Prussia's... little problem?"
Italy nodded, an immediate joyful smile blossoming on his face. "Yes! That's wonderful! It makes me so happy for Germany and Prussia!"
"Well, uhm, how should I put this," Germany threw Prussia a panicked glance, but he could only shrug. This was his brother's lover and as such, even Prussia realised it was up to him to explain things. Although, come to think of it, it may not have been entirely wrong to do the explanation before they jumped into bed. Or the tub of olive oil for that matter.
"Actually, maybe I- I'll just show you!"
West's hands slowly moved closer to his face. Ordinarily, Prussia would have been happy to allow him to remove the scarf that he'd worn almost constantly for three days. What with the state of his neck and the unfortunate ways rumours had a way of growing, he had agreed to it quite gracefully; it would be best if nobody saw his bruises and got the wrong idea. Especially since some-bloody-one already got half the world thinking that Prussia had one foot in the grave and they didn't want anyone to start thinking of a German civil war. God knew what the idiots could come up with, given the barest excuse.
In Prussia's opinon, the problem was peace; he'd always had something to blame the bruises on before! Just one of the many downsides to the whole concept, if you asked him.
One of West's hands brushed his face, breaking his chain of thoughts. Startled, Prussia realized that they were trembling and felt far too cool. When he met his brother's gaze, he realised that the other man was almost ashen in the face.
Ah. He sighed mentally. Never allowed to worry a bit about himself, that's how it was. First his troops, then his king, then his bloody brother; too fucking awesomely unselfish, that he was.
"It's like this," Prussia stated, taking a step back and shrugging out of the bathrobe in one smooth movement. The scarf remained in West's hand like a little flag. White, even, how fitting.
Prussia twirled around once, arms spread, to really let Italy see everything. In only his boxers, with the sideboard's light turned in his direction, the rainbow of bruises and rope burns stood out starkly against his pale skin. His throat, he knew, looked as if someone had tried to wring it off, his arms were striped from the ropes and four deep scratches went down the side of his stomach, continuing down into his boxers from when his brother had gotten the idea to jump him in the shower. Prussia considered it a blatantly unfair accusation that he had been groping West constantly during breakfast.
Italy's mouth fell open in shock. Slowly, clearly troubled, Germany rose to stand between them. Prussia thought for a moment, while his heart stood still and all the world waited, that he would try and hide him after all. Push him away, put him somewhere dark and secret where he would fade again, forgotten and alone.
Then West's arm went around his shoulder.
Even though his voice trembled and his entire being stank of fear, Germany stood by his brother, though he held out his hand to Italy while he pleaded with him to understand and accept.
But he did not take the easy way, did not make the choice Prussia had been dreading ever since he saw how fucking happy the two acted together.
"I did this," Germany said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I. To Prussia." He floundered, obviously not knowing how to explain what had happened. "But, but I'd never, ever do it to you!"
Even as tense as he was, Prussia felt like smacking West for that little gem. Really, had he been overestimating his ability to plan ahead that much these three hundred something years? No wonder they kept losing wars, with such a tactical genius at the helm.
To his complete lack of surprise, Italy seemed utterly bewildered, his confused gaze flickering between the bruises and Germany's face.
"I wanted him to," Prussia explained before West managed to scare the poor guy away for good. "And I still want it, a lot. It makes me... feel good." Something of an understatement.
And damn his rotten soul to hell, but he still felt the need. Even as Italy watched their shared mortification with obvious fear on his face, Prussia craved his brother's mastery with all his being, as he had wanted a master only once before.
"Does hurting Prussia, make both make Prussia and Germany happy?" Italy finally asked, his voice very small.
"More than happy, Italy. I can't explain it, but it makes me whole."
West, still standing beside him, nodded frantically.
"It's part of what saved me," Prussia admitted with a wince.
"But doesn't it hurt?"
"The hurt is what makes him happy, and me too. I become happy. When I see him hurt, when I know I've hurt him in this way," Germany whispered.
"It's about power, Italy, and, and– Shit, I don't know. About abandoning myself," Prussia said, trying to put words to something he'd always avoided explaining before. "It's like when something is so good that it almost hurts, only this is, um."
"So much hurt that it becomes good. It makes all the other things that hurt; time and loneliness and bad memories become less important, even if they're still there," Germany filled in and Prussia had to grab his hand and squeeze tight.
"You knew I liked these things," Germany said, not quite begging, but a bit too close for Prussia's comfort. "I still like them. And I know you asked and I said that it's not something I want to do with you, which is still really true! I promise, I only like to hurt someone, if they like being hurt by me."
"Ooohh and Prussia does?" Italy bit his finger, looking hesitant, and they both nodded.
"It's the best fucking thing to happen to me in a century," Prussia said. This time, Germany squeezed his hand.
Maybe, Prussia thought, maybe. He was Italy, right? It wasn't impossible? He managed to love even his hopeless tomato-freak of a brother and that old lecher France.
Prussia hadn't prayed for his survival, knowing that all gods had abandoned him long ago but when he felt West tremble beside him and knew what risk his little brother had taken for him – for them – he almost wanted to cross himself one last time.
"But Germany won't yell at me and make me run all day to fight England? Even if he likes hitting people?" Italy asked. "And he'll only hit Prussia and won't hit me because I'm too weak and scared?"
Something in Prussia unclenched slowly. Maybe, praise the Lord, maybe it could work out!
"I won't," Germany promised. "Never again!"
Then, Italy yawned and scooted backwards on the bed and somehow, Prussia knew it was going to be all right. Perhaps not always easy, no, nothing was likely to be easy for them. But it might be all right.
"Hm, you know what?" Italy was frowning, but his dimples were deepening and it felt as if Prussia could breath again at that sight.
Italy waved a finger at them. "I think it's really unfair that Germany gets to yell at people and hit them and get hugs and pasta from me when I'm not even allowed to take my pants off! When we sleep," he added when he noticed the tic developing beneath Germany's eye.
Now it was Prussia who found himself shaking, but in relief. How glad he was, that West was bound to be too embarrassed to confess tonight's events to anyone. Hopefully, Italy too was suitable distracted by his new boyfriend's reluctant agreement that he was, but only tonight until further negotiations, allowed to take off his underwear too. And, perhaps they could discuss Germany's underwear and potential lack thereof. Tomorrow!
Because it was such a release to laugh that he couldn't be arsed to keep up any barriers right now. Italy was being silly, his brother an awkward idiot (as usual) and it was too perfect, this moment.
The joy bubbling up through him swept away the last worries and he practically fell into bed, desperately trying to hide his laughter against a pillow.
West was having none of that, shaking him and sternly asking if he was having a hysterical attack, or had he lost it completely? Italy too reached for him, a careful hand that Prussia grabbed and clung to as if it was a life-line (it was, oh God, he'd never know how his smile had saved Prussia from drowning in nothingness). Though Prussia snorted, gasping for air to explain, the elation left him no room for words. He could only shake his head and laugh until he thought he might shatter from the force of it.
Then somehow, bless whatever braincells hadn't been crowded out by muscle, West somehow got it. He pulled him closer, held Prussia firmly and allowed him to hide his face and laugh against his skin. Even if West kept grumbling under his breath, he held him there and listened to his laugh, pulling a now chortling Italy close as well. And for the first time in two-hundred-and-twenty-some years Prussia laughed himself into a real crying fit, wild tears spilling down his cheek while the raucous cackle went on and on. And he was happy, so splendidly happy.
The End