Author's Note: Late birthday present for ChibiStarr here because college is stupid and takes up too much of my time and I'm a procrastinator now that I'm a senior and yeah. Okay, no more excuses.
Beware of ridiculous historical crack ahead. The prompt was "something with Prussia and Fritz involving a snarky, smartass Voltaire." Oh boy, here we go...
To say that Prussia had been displeased at the prospect of Voltaire coming to live with him and Frederick at Sanssouci would be a putting it lightly. To say that he did not like the philosopher in general was to state the obvious. To say he was incredibly jealous of the Frenchman stealing his beloved King's attention away from him was the understatement of the century. Perhaps multiple centuries.
Part of this was due to Prussia's narcissism and arrogance. It was no secret that Frederick thought higher of France and all it had to offer than he did of Prussia. He meant that only in the sense that he preferred the nation overall, not its personification, but that was lost on Prussia. In Prussia's mind, if Frederick preferred to speak French over German, to read works by French authors over Prussian authors, to adorn his castle with French art over Prussian art, and to study French philosophers over Prussian philosophers...then he obviously liked France more. To him, there was no difference between loving the country and loving the country's personification.
Of course, Prussia was an immature child who wanted what he wanted when he wanted it.
And, more than anything, he wanted his King. Anyone could see that.
So anyone would be surprised to discover that Prussia had never told his King how much he meant to him. Frederick had been his King for years, and Prussia had held back his desires the whole time. Quite the willpower.
So when Voltaire finally arrived at Sanssouci and immediately charmed the King's socks off, Prussia felt a violent rage bubble up inside him. He peeked around a corner of the palace that afternoon, glaring at the two men as they greeted one another excitedly. The look on Frederick's face was one of pure joy, with Voltaire looking back at him with a sort of content pleasure as the King went on and on of how happy he was that his friend was finally in his palace. Prussia narrowed his eyes and glared at the Frenchman. Why couldn't Frederick be that happy to see him every day?
At one point, Frederick turned and urged Voltaire to follow him so he could personally give his friend a tour of the castle. Voltaire agreed and waited for Frederick to turn around to glance over at Prussia. The nation watched him with an obvious disgust, and it did nothing but amuse the philosopher. He shrugged smugly, turned his eyes towards Frederick, and then looked back at Prussia with an amused grin on his face. Before following the King, he mouthed something to the nation, which only caused his fury to rise and his hatred to increase.
Oh HELL NO. That bastard had just declared WAR!
Things only got worse from there. Of course, Frederick just had to invite Voltaire into his library, his most favorite, most private place in Sanssouci. No one could enter that room without the King's permission, even Prussia. Such a fact left a bad taste in the nation's mouth.
Especially now, when Voltaire was freely walking around the room with the King at his side, with Prussia left permission-less out in the hallway.
"Of course, I've read every single thing you've written," Frederick went on, lavishing the philosopher with praise at his thoughts and theories. The man was brilliant in his eyes, one of the most intelligent men to ever walk the planet, for sure. He kept babbling on, his face lit up by a bright, blissful smile.
Prussia felt a hurtful pang in his chest. He wanted to be the one to make his King smile like that. He was doubly hurt since he had never seen his King smile like that before, ever. That meant that Voltaire was the first person to make him smile in such a way.
What the hell was so great about him anyway?
What made Prussia really angry though was the fact that Voltaire was just eating up the praise, as if he knew Prussia was there and wanted to rub it in his face. "Ha ha, I've got his attention, and you don't!" It was as if he and Prussia were mere children vying for the cool kid's attention in some play area. Ridiculous!
Prussia watched the two of them, once again peeking around a corner, careful not to be seen. Why he was hiding from his King was beyond him, but he was willing to do anything to find a moment when he could grab Frederick's attention. Anything, really! That was why he was hiding from Voltaire's view in particular, of course. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was an immature child. Nope.
So, when Voltaire turned his head briefly and caught a glimpse of the albino in the hallway, he smirked devilishly and turned back to Frederick. "Your Majesty," he began, interrupting the King's fanboy-like praise, "I must say, I never noticed how your eyes sparkle so when you're happy, if it's not too bold. It's quite...beautiful."
A blush bloomed on Frederick's face. Prussia almost screamed as he gripped the doorframe so hard his knuckles starting to turn white.
Voltaire's smirked widened. He turned back to Prussia and winked. "You mad?"
Prussia was going to kill him.
Now Prussia was going to kill Frederick. Except not really.
The King was presently giving his French friend a small, private concert, playing his flute oh-so-beautifully and unknowingly making Prussia weak-kneed. Once again, the nation was spying on the duo, peeking around a corner just enough so that he could see what was going on without being spotted. The little voice in his head scolded him, protesting that the great and awesome Prussia was way too awesome to be spying on the object of his affections and his rival in those affections like some lowly chambermaid. He shuddered at the mere thought of it, yet he pressed on, continuing to stare at the philosopher enjoying the show. But he didn't stay because of Voltaire! No, of course not! He was staying because HE wanted a private concert, too. Frederick was so talented when it came to the flute, so much to the point that even a crass brute like Prussia could appreciate music. Listening to his King play the instrument made him want him even more, so badly it ached.
And, just as soon as the performance had begun, it ended. Frederick brought the flute away from his lips and bowed for Voltaire, who had risen from his seat in applause. Shyly, he straightened himself again. "You flatter me, my friend."
"Only because you deserve it," Voltaire replied, smiling warmly at the King. "I knew you were multitalented, Your Highness, but I never knew the extent of your talents. Nearly all of your battles have ended in victory, you are accomplished in the fields of art, poetry, and botany, and you have a glorious musical talent. You are nothing short of impressive."
Frederick's face lit up such a bright red that Prussia could see the color from the hallway. He narrowed his eyes and shook with anger. That was supposed to be him there, praising his King, making him blush! Oh, Prussia would have done anything to get that sort of reaction out of Frederick. Nothing else would matter anymore in the world as long as he had his King's love and attention. Was that really so much to ask for?
Apparently, it was to Voltaire. The Frenchman took a few short steps towards the Prussian King and gently took his hand. Prussia watched in horror as the philosopher kissed it gingerly. Then he slowly moved upwards and leaned in to place another kiss on the King's cheek. It was barely there and probably couldn't even be called a kiss. It was more like a simple press of the lips, but it didn't matter to Prussia. He was just about ready to call up the army and declare war on all of France just for those movements. Voltaire had gone way too far this time.
Frederick was frozen in surprise and awe, so he didn't see Voltaire's eyes glance over at Prussia in the hallway. That evil, sinister smirk from early reappeared on his face, as if to say, "Look at the beautiful prize I've won."
But, instead, Voltaire only mouthed two words.
Prussia glared back at him with an indescribable, raging fury. He didn't even say anything, he was so far beyond angry and jealous. Killing Voltaire couldn't even calm him anymore, he realized. There was only one thing he could do.
Yes, he would stay mad. He would stay mad until Frederick was his.
The next day, Sanssouci was rather quiet. Frederick had closed himself in his room earlier that day to focus on his work. Even though Voltaire was still present in the castle and even though the castle was supposed to be the King's retreat from his duties, he was still King of Prussia and had the occasional duty to perform. Thus, the quiet of his room was quiet welcomed. Not that it would have mattered anyway. Hardly anyone else in the castle was making any noise. Voltaire was mysteriously silent. The only sounds one could hear were those of Prussia's footsteps as he made his way towards the King's room and slammed the door open without knocking.
Frederick jumped up in his seat in scared surprised and gripped the part of his coat that covered his chest where his heart would be in an attempt to calm the thumping organ. Panting heavily and about ready to call for guards, he looked up and immediately relaxed, though his heart was still pounding. "Oh, it's you, dear nation," he sighed heavily, thankful to see the familiar face. "You startled me! I've told you hundreds of times not to sneak up on me. You damn near gave me a heart attack!"
Prussia did say anything. He simply charged forward towards his King, ignoring the man's protests and questions, and grabbed onto his collar. With a forceful tug, he pulled Frederick out of his seat and smashed his lips against his in one fluid motion, never missing a beat. The same could not be said for Frederick's heart.
The King tried to sputter out questions and demands on what his dear nation thought he was doing and if he had suddenly gone mad. It wasn't like Frederick disliked the action though. Out of all the words he wanted to say to Prussia in that moment, "stop" was not one of them.
Prussia barely pulled away from him for just a moment. "Shut up," he gasped, quickly diving back down and practically devouring Frederick's mouth. "Just shut up, "he repeated once he pulled away. "God, Fritz, you stupid...Oh screw it. I want you, you stupid, worthless mortal." Another attack on the King's mouth.
Frederick was about to forcefully push Prussia away and scold him for speaking to him like that, but the next words out of the nation's mouth made him freeze.
"You're a stupid, worthless mortal to the world, but you're an awesome, sexy as hell King who will live forever to me. Damn straight."
Frederick lost his will to fight back upon hearing those words. In Prussia's own odd little way, those were words of the deepest love. What kind of man would Frederick have been to refuse them? He stopped trying to fight back and submitted to his nation, allowing the albino to push him onto his desk. Paper flew everywhere but whatever. Sanssouci was the palace Frederick went to to get away from that crap. Besides, he would have been a dirty, rotten liar if he had said that he wasn't attracted to his nation. Now he was panting, sweating, and being thoroughly ravaged and violated by his dear nation and loving every second of it...
Outside the room, Voltaire just crossed his arms and smirked.
"Took him long enough. I thought I'd have to take a hint from my own nation and molest the poor man."
Sighing, he let his arms drop and walked down the hallway to his own room, opting to leave the newfound lovers alone.
Seriously, Prussians were so dense.
Author's Note: I turned Fritz into a total troll in Born This Hetalian Way. Now it's Voltaire's turn. Trolltaire. That's what I'm calling him.
I hope you enjoyed, my friend. I apologize again that it took so long.