A non-angsty PrussiaxAustria fic ahoy! This idea came to me while I was eating ice cream, and I thought it would be a funny story. And is was, I smiled the whole time writing this. Poor Roddykins, I should write some fluff for him later.
If I owned Hetalia, England would be a girl. Because Igiko is awesome. And maybe Prussia...
It was a criminally hot day in Vienna, Austria. And the Edelstein manor wasn't spared from the blistering heat. Windows that were usually left open to let in the refreshing air from the Alps were tightly closed to keep the cold air inside. The heat was only the beginning of the young lord of the house's problems; so long as he knew a certain carmine eyed silverette, his troubles were never limited. The aforementioned annoyance was currently sitting on the large couch in Roderich's music room, legs crossed and a magazine propped open in his lap.
Now, this normally wouldn't be a big deal, seeing as how Gilbert had made a habit of treating Roderich's home like his own. After decades upon decades of dealing with the Prussian barging into his house, the aristocratic nation had grown used to it. Today however…however…
Gilbert was eating ice cream. Vanilla ice cream. In a short-sleeved top that just happened to practically hug his body. This was the source of Roderich's troubles. He couldn't stop staring at him. Oh, he tried to stop, Gott bless him he did! But despite his best attempts to quell the very improper thoughts that were running rampant in his head, (Gilbert truly was corrupting him) via his beloved piano; nothing worked.
The Prussian in question seemed to be far too absorbed in his magazine to notice the Austrian's dilemma. No, no that couldn't be it. Were that the case, it wouldn't seem that Gilbert was actually going out of his way to lick the spoonfuls of the dessert as sensually as possible, that accursed brat must have planned this!
Suppressing a growl of annoyance, he turned back around to face his piano. Long slender fingers pressed against the black and white ebony, eyes closed to clear his mind as his fingers began to play a soothing melody they had memorized so long ago. Roderich's musical therapy seemed to actually be working this time, until yet another image of shirtless Gilbert drifted into the edge of his consciousness.
The sudden mash of the keys was enough to make Gilbert jump slightly. Crimson eyes torn away from his magazine to look at the slightly slouched back of his unwilling Austrian companion
"The hell was that?" The silverette inquired, placing the spoon back into the bowl of ice cream on the table in front of him. Roderich, realizing how uncharacteristic he must have looked, straightened his posture and adjusted the rims of his glasses, more out of habit than need.
"None of your business." The brunette almost snapped back, glancing over his shoulder at the littlie-surprised Prussian, and the spill on his shirt. It was in his nature to notice something as small as a spill on someone's front, and if he didn't say anything, no doubt Gilbert wouldn't notice it.
"Don't snap at me 'cause your precious muse seems to have died in the presence of my awesome, Specs." The ex-nation replied snarkily as possible. Taking up his magazine and snapping it before continuing his reading.
That spill was so there…
"You have a spill on your shirt." Roderich could have mentally slapped himself. The albino raised a brow before looking down at himself, frowning slightly at the spill before scooping it from his shirt to his finger.
Oh Gott…Oh Gott
A fierce blush spread on the brunette's face as the not-innocent dessert covered digit was popped into Gilbert's mouth; being sucked clean of the cool substance (Roderich swore he saw Gilbert's tongue for just a second.)
Once again, a sound that was so foreign for the instrument resounded throughout the room.
"Christ, Frills! Twice within the hour?"
Roderich abruptly stood from his piano bench and walked over to the couch, grabbing the Prussian roughly by the arm and dragging him towards the door.
He would be damned if Gilbert saw the discomfort that he was causing in the Austrian's trousers.
"Out." The violet-eyed nation said sternly, opening the door and all but shoving the other man out, the only thing stopping him from slamming the door was Gilbert himself
"What's your problem?" Gilbert asked, both confused and annoyed that the aristocrat was throwing someone as awesome as him out of the music room. He didn't even do anything this time!
"My problem is you." The brunette said coolly, hoping that the keen-eyed war loving nation couldn't see the prominent blush on his cheeks. Finally, the door was closed and locked, Roderich leaning his back against the fine wood, willing the tightness in his pants away.
"What about my ice cream?" Gilbert almost whined from the other side. This question earned the Prussian a rather hard slam from the pianist's side.
Well, this was fun to write. What do you guys think? Was Gilbo doing it on purpose? I think he was, since I can totally see him doing that o3ob