A/N: Music inspires me. It inspires all of us. But I think there are a lot of songs out there that fit Prussia and Hungary in their own respective ways, and since PruHun is like, one of my top OTPs, I write drabbles for each song. Sound good? Good. But this series will probably be updated rather erratically since I only write this kind of thing when the muse hits me.
"Bushes" - Hot Chelle Rae
She sat at her window, the light behind her. Waiting.
Her window was cracked open half of an inch, enough that she could hear the sounds of night creaking and singing outside. The crickets whistled softly, and the wind danced through the hot night of summer. Even the stars had taken it upon themselves to grace the night sky with their brilliance. Other than that, it was silent. The silence was killing her.
She tucked a lock of wavy brown hair behind her ear and curled her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her heart pounded in her head in the excitement of what she wanted to do, what she was going to do. The darkness of nighttime seemed to call to her, the bright city lights glittering and alluring, the moon shone, as if to show the way to excitement. She glanced up at the bright silver circle in the sky, her toes clenched in anticipation. When will he come?
She closed her eyes, remembering. Remembering how she danced in the street lights with him, the cool night air blowing past her limbs as she spun. His red-violet eyes, dark in the shadows, glimmering with something she couldn't place, not until the softness of his mouth touched hers, spreading warmth in her limbs. The feeling of their skin sliding together, her hands in his hair, his lips on her body, how they seemed to move in harmony.
Some nights they would cruise the streets and chase after the bright city lights, her arms wrapped around his torso as she sat on the motorcycle that roared through the streets, through buildings that shone bright lights from within, little squares decorating the skyline, with the stars dancing above them. The speed of the motorcycle gave her a rush that she would not admit to anyone.
And then some nights they would go to the club, with its flashy strobe lights and expensive liquor and crowded dance floors, packed with sweaty bodies moving and jumping up and down to the music, although she wouldn't call it music. It was just the beat, the thumping bass and the rip of the deejay fiddling with the music. It was just her and him and the music, so close that he could lean down a couple inches and kiss her, so close that she could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of their shirts, so close that she could smell his obnoxious cologne that she always tried to get him to stop wearing.
And always, always at the end of the night, the sun would stretch out his golden rays across the sky, staining the clouds pink and purple and orange, and he would take her back to her house, and they would kiss again, their last meeting before the sun retired again behind the earth and went on to a different part of the world. And they would wait, agitated, wait for the sun to go down again and for the stars to rise again, for the moon to shine his way to her so they could be together again.
The time was here. The moon was nearly full, not quite a circle, but not anything quite less either. She shook her hair out and pressed her fingers against the window. Nervous feelings of excitement and anticipation swirled inside her, and she longed for his touch, his pale skin, his rough voice, his wild ideas and his energy. She longed for how they fit so well together, how their bodies seemed to mold into one, like they were two puzzle pieces joining together.
The bushes shifted outside, and she threw open her window to see him, grinning up at her. Her knight in vintage t-shirt and faded jeans, bleached platinum hair shining silver in the moonlight. He saluted, and her heart skipped a beat. Her head felt light with the lack of oxygen. Her feet moved on their own, but she didn't protest. They took her down the stairs and out the back and into the bushes where he stood.
And he kissed her. His warm, lean figure, his hands uncertain at first with surprise, and then moving to her hair, her jaw, her waist, and the tingles followed his touch. She felt more alive than she been all day.
"Gilbert, what are you doing?" she whispered. "We're still standing outside my house. He could see us."
"Don't worry. No one can see us," he whispered. "It's our secret."
He kissed her neck softly, a light feather tickling the spot just under her jawline. "I'll have you back before he knows it," he added.
She looked up into his eyes, green meeting crimson, and something passed between them, something that she couldn't describe with words. Passion? Understanding? Neither of them tasted right in her thoughts.
"Lizzie," he whispered. "Just trust me."
"Then let's go," he said, grinning that smile that always got her.
And she let him take her hand and lead her into the shadows of the night.