miikka-xx: love love love this pairing.

Title: me, myself, and i and you
Rating:
T
Summary:
Prussia sins three times before he finally gets it. PrussiaHungary. Complete.
Disclaimer:
NO. (proceeds to cry in a corner)
Warning(s):
cussing, body reactions, implied sex.


me, myself and i and you


III

Prussia had thought it would've been hilarious to tease the boy a bit. He hadn't seen him before - dirty brown hair, dirtier clothes but damn clear green eyes. He must've been a new country, like him, and Gilbert took it upon himself to teach him how things worked around here.

It did not go over so well. So, now Gilbert was out for revenge.

Maybe knock him over and give him a taste of of his own damn painful medicine. And, really, why did Gilbert always get his ass kicked and now stupid, stupid little Hungary always won these scuffles? Hungary - who was such an obnoxious boy that he had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't a boy at all.

Obviously, this kid was Poland.

Minus the terrible, terrible vocabulary that made Gilbert vow to beat him up too. To his young, impressionable mind at that age, he had foolishly thought that beating Poland and Hungary was the same damn thing because, let's face the facts here, they were the same damn person.

Just to make sure, though, Gilbert decided it was a fabulous idea to feel Hungary's flat chest cause he had felt up Poland's a few hours back and the mold was imprinted right now and he needed to make sure. Not that Poland's chest made a mold or anything. It was more like a very warm, very flat board.

Hungary's board was not very flat (in his defense, it was flat enough) - but it was very warm and Gilbert didn't realize the significance of this at all other than scratching it up to maybe Hungary was the long lost twin brother to Poland, even if they looked nothing alike but still managed to kick ass and be obnoxious. Gross.

Five years later, Gilbert slams his head against a pillar and whispers a hurried confession in front of the Virgin Mary, who's probably turning in her grave over his complete and utter stupidity - seriously, he was Prussia, for god's sake, he should know the difference between male and female anatomy. A few seconds after this thought, Prussia's lower regions tell him they do now and Gilbert has to sprint out of the cathedral before the Virgin Mary can choke him with euchrists.


II

Hungary has a flower tucked in her hair and a pretty blue dress on. Prussia averts his eyes, sticks his nose up in the air and tells her she doesn't look pretty - nope, not one bit because, really, how can a man in disguise pass for a female?

There's a frying pan to the face later, and Gilbert realizes she can still kick his ass - dress or no dress. Not that he would actually admit this to anyone's face because he has his pride, damnit.

He follows her back into the house for the food he came here for in the first place and tries not to stare at the very manly decor. There's swords and guns hung on display, and a cabinet with different sizes of ammo in the corner. She's also placed a suit of armor beside the doorway to the kitchen and this is excuse enough for him not to enter.

Hungary comes out a little later with a steaming bowl of soup and Gilbert feels a twinge of pride that his obnoxious little boy has finally grown up to do something suitable in life - make edible food. He crushes the feeling under a healthy dose of Prussian ego.

'Whattya want?' sighs Hungary, sweeping past him and placing the bowl on her dining table.

'Keep talking like that and no one's gonna believe you're a chick,' drawls Gilbert, following and seating himself across from her.

She glares at him. 'Screw you.' She sticks out her tongue at him, for good measure.

His hands drum impatiently on the lacquered wood. 'Usually, a nice respectable person would share their food with their guest.'

Hungary sighs, propping her elbow on the table and leaning her chin on her hand. She stares at him long and hard, and Gilbert flashes one of his own patent 'trust me, darling' smiles.

'...Fine.'

He watches her enter the kitchen, hears banging shelves, and then greets her at the doorway of the room, taking the warm bowl from her. Hungary looks at him distastefully.

Soon, they're back at the table and Gilbert takes one mouthful before declaring, quite loudly, 'pepper! It needs pepper!'

The table shakes as two calloused fists bang on it in irritation.

'Gilbert...' she hisses in warning.

'Elizaveta,' he grins in return.

Hungary stomps back into the kitchen for the third time in ten minutes and he hears a rather feminine shriek of irritation. Slightly alarmed, Gilbert warily steps past the suit of armor placed at the entrance and sees the other country standing on her kitchen counter, trying to reach for the pepper in the back of the highest cupboard.

Mostly, Gilbert just sees her ass.

With the way the dress falls over it, then drags up as Hungary bends over more, it's a nice one. It's slightly plump and pleasantly rounded. To him, the waist really accentuated it, or maybe it was simply how dress shaped it. His eyes traced the silhouette in approval: the way her hips flared out, then curved and descended down into lean, muscled legs.

His mind pipes up, Hungary, huh? And, of course, Gilbert flees.

Back in the cathedral, the Virgin Mary stares down at him like he's the biggest moron to ever step foot in the church. He agrees, tells her he stared at a man's behind and liked it. A few seconds later, he looks up and swears the Virgin Mary just rolled her eyes in disbelief. But it's gone, and she has his little brother's bitchface on this time, the one that said, leave idiot.


I

There is a line and it has been crossed.

Prussia knows he's dreaming because 1) he's in Hungary's house, 2) Hungary is on her couch and 3) he is on Hungary.

There is a line and his mind has just graffitied over it in delight and now Gilbert can't see the line and he really wishes he could because this line was the only thing keeping him from being not-Prussia and going all mushy-boyfriend and that was unnacceptable and now he must draw this line back in order to prevent this from happening ever again -

'Aren't you going to kiss me?'

Gilbert's mind stutters, skids and crashes with his common sense. They both explode when he leans his head down, his mouth pressing gently against her li -

Cheek?

Gilbert pulls back, wide-eyed, and Hungary's laughing. Laughing at his face.

'On the cheek? Seriously, Gilbert?' Her cheeks are coloured red and her eyes are shining with mirth. The brown hair that's grown so long falls over the cream coloured couch and he can feel it tangled between his fingers as they trace over her neck.

'Shut up,' he barks, embarassed.

Hungary's mouth snaps shut but her eyes are still laughing.

'I don't... want to,' he hears himself saying, 'not here. Taste, feel... it's all going to be different.' He feels slightly mortified as he blurts all of this out to her but it's a dream and it's not like anyone's going to know.

'Okay,' she says, and pulls him into a hug instead.

She's warm and it's enough for now.

Apparently, 'now' lasts for exactly eight seconds and Gilbert feels his pants tightening.

He pinches himself viciously.

Later, the Virgin Mary has his little brother's bitchface #14, I know the answer and I'm not going to tell you because you wouldn't believe me in a thousand years, so it's all up to you now, and I severely recommend you leave me the hell alone. He doubts the Virgin Mary would ever say 'hell', but he thinks she has enough spunk to probably punch him out of the church if she could. So he says what he needs to and leaves.


0

The next time Prussia visits her, she's throwing things at walls and yelling profanities he didn't even know existed till now.

Gilbert ducks a dagger aimed at his head and yells for her to stop.

'Elizaveta! Elizaveta!' He catches a metal helmet flying at him, recognizing it from the suit of armor she kept by her kitchen entrance. 'Oi, Eliza!'

Hungary turns on her heels and stares at him balefully. She throws the box of ammo in her hands at the wall. It leaves a surprisingly deep dent.

'What.'

Her voice is as flat as can be and he knows she's mad enough to burn the world down.

'Why the hissy fit? Time of the month?' He inwardly beats his head against the wall because if he wasn't going to die in the crossfire before, he was definitely going to die now.

'Shut up,' she snarls, all pre-girl Hungary, all I'm-a-boy Hungary, all I'll-kick-your-ass Hungary. Despite everything, he's getting excited.

'Aw, did little Eliza break a nail?' mocks Gilbert, 'Or maybe the boy she likes said no?'

Hungary stalks over in timed, predatory steps, 'you better shut your mouth, Gilbert.'

'Or what?' He chuckles. Gilbert can't help it, it's so nostalgic that he can't resist keeping it going.

'Or I'll kill you,' she replies. He throws his head back and laughs.

'Man, you're younger self had so many better comebacks than that.'

Just like that, her anger evaporates and she laughs too. Her laugh is rough, hoarse from screaming and a bit more hysterical than joyous but Gilbert thinks it could be worse. She could be crying.

She sobers up and watches him silently. He feels his face heat up under her gaze and averts his eyes, staring down at the helmet still in his hands.

'I'm getting married.'

Gilbert looks up in complete surprise, his voice dying in his throat. Hungary drags her fingers through her hair, parting the tangles and sighs, walking around the completely trashed living room.

'Well, married is a nice word,' she relents, and kicks a stray bullet out of her way, 'Austria's making our chiefs marry.'

'And you're letting him?' He sounds angry, pissed off, betrayed. He's never actually thought that someone could beat Hungary. Obnoxious, loud, dirty and ridiculously strong Hungary, who's always beaten him into the dirt and broke his bones and made fun of him and -

'What was I supposed to do?' she asks, looking at him, anger sparking in her green eyes, 'just keep fighting him off until all my suffering people have died?'

Yes, he wants to say. Yes, and stay here, beside me, not gone. Don't leave.

'You could've asked for help,' he points out, his voice steady despite everything. 'Allies, Elizaveta.'

'I don't have any, Gilbert,' she shoots back.

Me. Gilbert's throat tightens. No, he probably wouldn't have helped her at all. He would've sat back and watched the girly asshole be beaten by his not-a-boy-but-still-badass Hungary. Except, she had been beaten instead.

'Don't.' He strides over to her. 'Not him, at least. He's so... prissy!' His hands wave around snootily, imitating the straight-backed asshole that was Austria.

She laughs, and Gilbert feels his chest lighten.

'I don't deserve clean men in my life?' she says in return and he has the decency to look offended.

'I'll have you now that I am the best-smelling country in all of the world.' Gilbert goes as far as to open his arms out to her. She steps in, closer, and he could've just wrapped her against him right then. He doesn't and watches her take a dainty sniff.

'You might have a point,' she concedes, her tone light but her shoulders are still slumped in defeat and that is all it takes for Gilbert to hug her.

She's just as warm as she was in his dream and he tightens his hold instinctively. Hungary presses her nose against his shoulder and cries. He props his chin on the top of her head and let's her scream and sob against his shirt.

Five minutes drift by, then ten, then five more until she's calmed down and hiccups weakly in his embrace.

'Sorry,' she mumbles in his now wet shirt.

'S'okay,' he replies.

'Thanks,' she says.

'I love you,' he tells her.

The world ends.

Or, at least, Gilbert's mind explodes and his throat closes so tight he has trouble breathing. She's stiff in his arms, but he doesn't have a brain anymore to tell himself to let go of her. Instead, he's frozen on the spot and Hungary clutches at his shirt in shock.

'I-I -' chokes out Gilbert.

Hungary shakes her head.

He shuts up.

'I'm getting married to Austria, and I'm going to have to do... things for him.' Her voice wavers. 'I've never let anyone see me completely, you know? And, for some reason, I don't... I don't want him to be the first... Not him but, maybe - not that I -'

Gilbert has enough brain functions left over to know what he wants, and he kisses her shut, trying to swallow her up and make her his before she belongs to Austria. She tastes like sugar - so sweet and not-touched and all-girl and dear lord, Gilbert could feel her press up against him. Every curve of not-boy: her breasts against him, and his hands on her curving hips, her plush mouth against his own, as she kept surging against him, trying to drown him.

And right there, on the cream coloured couch he has dreamed over, he slid his down her sides and saw her. Completely, utterly saw Hungary: all curves and scarred skin and callouses and battle scars yet purely, dangerously female. His hands mapped out each inch of skin and he let her do the same, pushing up and memorizing each harsh piece of geography Prussia had.

Gilbert felt her trying to melt against him, make her part of him so she wouldn't be a part of her impending future. She kissed him harshly and brought her nails down his back and it was half battle and half surrender. Gilbert took her in and kept her there for as long as he could until they went up and crashed down in a fury of bliss and hopelessness. Gilbert felt the couch sag under their exhausted forms and he defiantly wrapped an arm around her waist, tucking her head under his chin and fell asleep.

The morning after, he had her nice and slow. She rocked against him like morning waves, lapping against the seashore peacefully - unlike the raging tempest she was the night before, drowning him in her scent and feel and affection. Gilbert had held onto her waist and watched her mouth curl up in a lazy smile, until, finally, Hungary curled into him and sighed in contentment - sleep enveloping them once more. Later in the day, Austria's men knocked at her door, and she opened it as rebelliously as she could: men's trouser's pulled on and Gilbert's shirt over her shoulders, open at the neck to display the marks he left on her (a declaration of war, if anything, but he doubts Austria, the prissy bitch, will realize it).

'Next time we meet,' he hears her call over her shoulder, 'I'm gonna kick you ass!'

Gilbert cackles and defiantly sticks up his middle finger, 'let's see you try, sweetheart!' and feels a little part of himself gone when she shuts the door behind her, leaving him alone in the cold, abandoned house of Hungary.


Austria comes to him years later and asks for an alliance against the rapidly growing France. He is about to snap a no and break his arm when Elizaveta ducks past her husband and knees him in the stomach.

Doubling over and coughing his guts out, Gilbert hears her say, 'he'll join,' and really? That was the end of that.

Because some things, despite everything, never change.


an: fina-freaking-lly. i spit out a prussia/hungary. this is the greatest het couple of aph, guys. trufax.

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