The first time France spends the night at Germany's house, they sit together in his living room, sipping strong coffee, and idly discuss the evening news. There is a certain tension—they are still a fledgling thing, uncertain and most importantly, unconsummated.

This, he decides, is unacceptable, and so, when their conversation lulls into silence, he leans in closely and kisses Germany. It is a slow, thorough gesture, and when France begins to unbutton Germany's shirt, he does not protest.

It is not long until both are down to only their pants and France has Germany pinned to the couch. Germany is moaning, a lovely sound, as France nips his neck and hooks long, slim fingers underneath the waistband of his pants.

And suddenly— "France?" A voice asks. "What are you doing to my brother?"

Germany is quick to push France off, sitting up as he makes a grab for his shirt. "Prussia," he says, red faced. "This—"

"Ah, Prussia, dear friend," France interrupts, nonchalant. "How good it is to see you."

Prussia snorts. "Wish I could say the same." He swats at Germany's head, not too harshly, and pulls him up. "Didn't I teach you not to associate with strange men? Christ, five year-olds know better."

"Brother—brother!" Germany looks as if he would quite like to disappear. "You are being ridiculous."

"I must agree," France says. "I do not believe that I have seen you protect your brother's virtue so fervently." If either brother heard him, they did not show it.

"Come off it, West," Prussia says, more humor in his voice as he pushes Germany toward the stairs. "I'm the one who had to walk in on you and him on our couch—I drink beer on that couch!—you're lucky I didn't throw up my dinner."

At this, Germany gives up. The mood had been thoroughly ruined, but there is no reason to provoke a fight with his brother, especially in front of a houseguest. "We will talk about this tomorrow," Germany tells Prussia with a sigh. To France he says, "I'm sorry about my brother, he is not usually like this."

"I am familiar with Prussia's moods." France ignores Prussia's 'hey!'. "It is late, regardless. I suppose we should call an end to this evening."

"Yes, that would be best," Germany says. "Goodnight, France. Brother." He rolls his eyes at Prussia and leaves.

France and Prussia stand in silence. It is decidedly uncomfortable, but neither moves away until finally, Prussia shoots France a look—it is hard to place, something sharp and angry, but perhaps not entirely disgusted—and follows his brother up the stairs.

France sleeps in the guestroom and leaves the next morning.

He begins to suspect foul play after the second visit—though both Germany and Prussia still train diligently, it is not often that Prussia challenges Germany to an impromptu spar match right after a day long EU meeting. Still, France sits to the side, watching the two men appreciatively. Boyfriend's brother or not, Prussia has a very admirable body.

It is only later, when the two of them are finally alone in Germany's bedroom, that it becomes evident that as entertaining as the fight had been, Prussia had been rough enough to successfully dash any hope France harbored of having sex that night.

"I'm sorry," Germany says, flinching at his protesting muscles as he pulls off his shirt. "I don't think I'm up for anything tonight."

France is not surprised, but still, he feels disappointed.

"That is fine," France replies good-naturedly as the other settles into bed next to him and kisses him chastely on the lips. He does feel the temptation to take things further (perhaps Germany would not mind if he did most of the work?), but does not press the issue. "There is always another time."

Several weeks away.

For how close the two nations live to each other—roughly an hour by plane—it is surprisingly difficult to find any time to spend together outside of business, as Germany is too devoted to meaningless work to visit nearly often enough. France, in contrast, is more than able (and willing!) to clear his schedule to spend a week with Germany, if only he did not fear that Prussia would have him at his complete mercy.

He usually gets along with Prussia just as well as he does with Germany—perhaps outings with Prussia are more likely to end passing out on some stranger's stoop than with making love, but they have their own charm. It is because of their friendship, really, that France thinks that eventually, Prussia will warm up to the idea of a relationship between himself and Germany.

When France reflects during his third overnight visit, he realizes that he has forgotten one vital fact: Prussia can be frighteningly dedicated when he has enough reason.

France sleeping with his younger brother, apparently, is enough reason.

It is a short stay, only over the long weekend, but France has planned it extensively—the first night, they will go out for dinner, a film, and perhaps a walk in the park and a discreet handjob on a dimly lit bench. They will have to leave for the restaurant immediately after meeting at the train station, of course. There is absolutely no need to waste time (and give Prussia a chance to interfere).

"What're you looking so surprised for?" Prussia laughs when he greets France in the boarding area.

"I was expecting Germany," France answers. "Not that I am not pleased to see you."

"Yeah, sure," he shoots him a crooked grin. "You made the same face when you signed the Treaty of Frankfurt. It was all pinched, like you ate an entire lemon."

The comment is not so much accusatory as it is simply uncomfortable for the sake of being uncomfortable, a staple of Prussia's humor. "Your eyesight is failing you in your old age, I see," France says. "And your memory as well. I have never made such an unseemly face, my friend."

Prussia snorts.

"Regardless," France is quick to change the topic. "Where is your brother? He said he would meet me here."

"He got held up—said he was going to take awhile at work and he wanted me to pick you up."

"Ah," he sighs. There will probably not be enough time to go out for dinner and still catch a film, but least, France thinks, there is still a chance to salvage the evening. "Well, let's go, I suppose."

Prussia slings an arm around France's shoulder, grinning maniacally. "C'mon. We're gonna have a great time."