Disclaimer: Hetalia and all affiliated characters do not, and will never, belong to me.
In celebration of my newfound free-time, here is a Prussia/Austria one-shot. Cheers, ja?
Prussia enjoys kissing Austria. He enjoys the way the other man's lips move sensually beneath his, even if they always start out somewhat hesitantly, and he most certainly enjoys the other nation himself – the way Austria always tastes of that infernal tea Prussia often catches him sipping delicately never fails to put a smirk on his face. Very rarely does Prussia attempt to decipher and analyze the feelings behind the actions. After all, kisses are kisses. The emotions behind them hardly matter.
Love, hate, affection, loathing, devotion – he cares not for any of it. The only thing Prussia cares about is that Austria is here and willing enough to participate in what Prussia has in mind. It is only very rarely that the other man refuses, as shocking as this may be to some of the other nations like Germany and Switzerland, who believe Austria to be almost too uptight and unyielding. This amuses Prussia further. Austria is very accommodating. One just has to know what buttons to push.
Luckily, Prussia has had years to perfect and develop his technique.
Austria's hand curls up to fist in Prussia's shirt, and the albino nation grins lightly, breaking the kiss as crimson locks with violet.
"Eager, little master?" Prussia purrs, his mouth hovering dangerous close to the other nation's as Austria's body goes slack against the wall Prussia has pushed him up against, turning his head away slightly.
"I do not know… what you are talking about."
But he does, and they both know that. Smirking, Prussia leans down so that his lips are by Austria's ear, and he delights in the shiver that courses through the aristocrat's body as Prussia licks the shell, purring again, his eyes half-lidded as Austria's go wide and narrow.
"I think you enjoy this, little master – every. Single. Second of it."
"I do n-ot!" Austria's voice changes octaves as Prussia bites down on his neck, relishing in the pleasured moan that leaves the usually refined nation's throat as he sucks harshly.
"Oh, but you do," Prussia says as the Austrian lets out another undignified groan, his head hitting the wall he is being supported on. Looking pointedly downward, Prussia displays a cocky smirk on his face as Austria tries to glare at him through hazy, lust-filled violet eyes and a flushed face. Prussia just maneuvers his head and captures Austria's lips once more.
There are many different kinds of kisses, Prussia thinks to himself as his hands slide behind Austria's slim frame. There are violent kisses, usually initiated when Prussia has finished goading Austria into something, or after a particularly stressful meeting; there are soft kisses, when neither of them feel up to dealing with turbulent emotions; there are chaste kisses, stolen when they know no one is watching, and finally there are reassuring kisses, like the ones they give each other when comfort is best expressed through actions instead of words.
There are no kisses of love, or affection. For even though they have had sex many times before, it has yet to be out of love. Once the kisses are initiated, the emotions don't matter, even if Prussia knows damn well that they are there, crackling between them like a B.C. forest fire.
The emotions never. Fucking. Matter.
Prussia enjoys kissing Austria. He enjoys the way the other man's lips move sensually beneath his, even if they always start out somewhat hesitantly, and he most certainly enjoys the other nation himself.
But sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes the kisses themselves meant something more.