It was certainly not Prussia's fault. Germany was the one that slowly chewed his pens during meetings. Germany was the one that allowed one or two strands of corn silk blonde hair to fall out of the normally neat hairstyle when he was bored. So whose fault was it when Prussia followed his little brother to the bathroom during lunch with less-than-pure intentions? Obviously Germany's.
That was when Prussia made a discovery about his dear Germany. He had caught up to the younger nation and tackled his back. At some point in the resulting fray, one of Germany's gloves had come off, and Prussia leaned forward to nip the offending limb gently.
Germany's knees buckled without warning. "The hell?" Prussia mumbled as he struggled to untangle himself from his now writhing brother. Then he saw the missing glove and tiny bite mark, and put two and two together. Before Germany could protest, he grabbed his bare hand and pushed two fingers into his mouth. Tongued and suckled them.
The last things he expected to happen was for Germany to shove those fingers even further down his throat and roll on top of him. He grunted indignantly, but he was effectively pinned by his brother's hips, which were straddling his, one arm under his back and the other held down while the larger nation plunged his fingers in an out of his mouth. He was about to protest when Germany bent down and whispered in his ear.
"Next time, Bruder, I'd like to see this mouth put to a better use."
And Prussia conceded, because his little brother needed the upper hand every once in a while, and not because he started rolling his hips while nipping the albino's neck. Even though he did it in quick skillful snaps of his pelvis that caused Prussia's length to rub the inside of his trousers (commando, baby!) in a just-rough-enough way and Oh Gott, the man really was huge.
Then he switched hands, his bare one unbuttoning the ex-nation's shirt so he could flick and roll one nipple between his fingers and the still gloved one went into the open mouth.
"Clean." came the undeniable order, and Prussia did, sucking and laving the delicious leather gloves. For a second, his brother's tongue joined his, kissing him around the gloved hand, then it trailed down the side of his jaw, hot and wet. He paused to nip at a pale jugular before descending on a now cherry red nipple. At the same time, that heavenly cock was pressed harder through layers of clothing turning up the friction another notch.
Prussia could feel his orgasm coming at him like a freight train, and he bucked up frantically, trying to meet his lovely, dirty brother halfway. He was getting fucked into a bathroom floor and he just didn't care, not when his cock was getting rubbed raw in his beyond too tight trousers. Crimson eyes met sky blue, hips ground harder and seams pressed into a pink, agile tongue. Prussia's eyes slid closed. This was utter perfection, how it was meant to be, just him and his beloved West, opinions and pants be damned. Just when he was about to beg, that heated voice came again at his ear.
That was all it took. An order, combined with his real name, spoken by his lover, had him shooting load after load of seed into his pants. Ecstasy gripped him and whipped him, made him scream around the hand in his mouth even as the nation above him stilled, then thrust repeatedly, groaning his name.
They laid there on the tile for a few moments, panting. Prussia casually licked the gloved hand still in his mouth. Hand fetish, huh? He planned to use that. When he could move again, that is.