EDIT 5/1/13: I totally wrote and posted this at 2:30 in the morning so I've edited it. Let me know I've missed anything.

A/N: This was written as a thank you to my friend Pokeypie who kindly beta-ed my fic National Treasure and helps me with all my historical references. She is Prussia. Literally.

Wandering Lovers

Normally, days like this were spent squatting in Austria's place. Normally, days like this were spent with a beer in one hand and a smirk on his face as he teased his younger brother. Normally, days like this were spent laughing with Francis and Toño. But today…today Gilbert Bielschmidt was feeling melancholy. Not sad, just melancholy, thoughtful. And he will punch anyone who claims he doesn't think. Gilbert thinks a lot, he just doesn't try to think too deeply. Deep thoughts lead to deeper thoughts, deeper thoughts lead to memories, and memories usually lead to pain, and pain usually lead to melancholy.

Today he was leaning against a tree overlooking a valley in Cantabrian Mountains in the Spanish countryside. The valley was covered in fields just turning green in the spring weather and each field was surrounded by trees. This continued onward until it reached a lake and then on to the mountains on the other side. It was beautiful. Not as beautiful as his homeland was, naturally, but still beautiful. The brown earth, the green leaves, the rugged landscape, the wild flowers, the gentle breeze that brushed his ears like a whisper.

He almost succeeded in thinking himself into one of Toño's famous siestas when sly fingers began scratching his head just above the back of his neck and it became increasingly difficult to think anything at all let alone keep his eyes open. He heard a soft chuckle behind him and he smiled contentedly. "España," he murmured.

"Prruβien," was the whispered response, his accent rolling each 'r' like a river rolling over rocks.



"Cease and desist."

"Hmph," Spain chuckled, scratching harder. "No."

"Cease and desist."



"Aah, very well. If you insist." And the hand was gone and its owner promptly sat down next to the albino Nation, stretching out his legs and making himself comfortable. He shook his head to clear stray strands of chocolate brown curls from his eyes as he leaned back on his hands. His head lolled back so the shadows from the trees leaves moved across his brown skin. When the Spaniard was comfortable, the two Nations just sat together in companionable silence.

After several minutes, Gilbert cleared his throat. "Your hair is longer."

"Mmm, Lovi suggested I let it grow out a bit. I admit, I had forgotten how much of a nuisance long hair can be."

"I like it."

Antonio cracked open a single green eye and studied the pale face of the other Nation before closing it and relaxing. "Gracias, mi amigo."

Another comfortable silence fell between them and Gil let it be. Sometimes no words were needed. …Unless you were a certain Spaniard apparently.

"So," his Spanish companion said after a particularly deep sigh, "why, might I ask, are you sitting here, on my land, under my tree, and you still have not bid me buenas tardes?"

The East German threw back his head and laughed. "I didn't realize you craved attention that much. I'll be sure the wave next time."

Antonio sat up and mock pouted obviously fighting back a smile as he watched his friend laugh. "Of course I crave attention. Lovino is not exactly the gentlest of companions. His words bite. I much prefer the bite of teeth over words."

And suddenly Gil's attention was focused completely on his friend who had produced a large churro from seemingly nowhere and began chewing it. And licking it. And sucking it. And god, the bastard was a tease.

He could feel heat steadily creep up his cheeks although he would never admit it; he had his pride. But damn, that was hot. Then the churro was gone and Toño had moved so he lay straddling the Pruβien's left leg. His hands rested comfortably on either side of Gilbert's hip and his head tilted back so half-hooded leaf green eyes met wine red.

"I'm waiting," the Spaniard whispered, hot breath feathering against Gil's bare neck.

Gilbert swallowed his arousal. Damn tease. "Waiting? For what?"

Antoño tilted his head slightly and smirked. "For attention." Then Gilbert's iron cross, currently hanging from a chain around his neck, was snagged by a pink, narrow tongue before disappearing between tan lips, chasing away any chance of the Pruβein forming complete sentences.


The hands that had until a moment ago seemed content to rest comfortably on Gilbert's hip began massaging circles into the skin just below the hip bones. Gil leaned back against the tree, letting his eyes drop closed, tightening them when he felt ticklish sensations from Tony's hair brushing the soft underside of his chin. He buried one of his own hands into Toño's hair while the other spread out against the old cotton shirt on the Spaniard's back. He felt the weight of his iron cross drop back against his chest, just as the sharp pinpricks of teeth pressed against his throat.

Whelp, there went a calm, relaxing day.

And then Antonio's hands were no longer on his hips but steadily moving up his back. He wouldn't. Higher. He couldn't. His breath hissed when long, dexterous tan fingers slipped under his shirt, sliding it up as they moved. Oh god n- He jerked when one of the seeking fingers brushed his shoulder blade pressing firmly with a familiarity only gained through years of patience and careful exploration.

Slowly, he began arching his back, pushing his chest into Tony's darker body who chuckled against his neck, nuzzling it before leaning up to kiss him. The kiss may have been a bit more forceful then Antonio originally intended, but he wasn't going to complain. Instead, he just went with it, pressing his fingers against his lover's back, brushing old scars and sensitive areas teasingly. He greatly enjoyed being a tease. He enjoyed watching those he cared about come apart at the seams under his skillful hands; especially Gilbert, one of his oldest friends. They'd seen each other through their darkest times and still came out caring for each other. It was always an honor to see his proud companion become an adorable puddle of goo. Of course, this situation could and often did go both ways, but Antonio would be the first to admit he particularly enjoyed topping. His thoughts screeched to a halt when Prussia bit his tongue, nibbling it and sucking it. Needless to say, it became a little difficult to concentrate.

He allowed his friend several moments of gloating before breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Take this off," tugging insistently at Gil's black tank top. He eased off the pressure against Gilbert's chest as his friend carried out the quiet request. He groaned happily when his fingers could now feel nothing but skin underneath them. They took advantage of the situation by sliding over pale shoulders and down along muscular arms, kneading the skin as they went. He was perfectly content to just touch, until Gilbert inevitably found that old burn on the back of his neck just below his hairline. He gasped as an odd combination of discomfort and pleasure zinged through his nerves setting them aflame. His head fell back, pinching the offending fingers against his scar, keeping them there.

Gilbert took advantage of Antonio's distraction by snagging a much needed breath. Antonio's body was taunt and humming like a bowstring. He grinned at the high pitched whine a little more pressure against that specific area caused and kissed Tony's neck where his jaw met his ear. As far as he knew, even Lovino didn't know about this particular weakness of Tony's, or the story behind it. Some things were just not spoken of until enough time had passed. Gilbert scratched his fingernails against the old wound and the Spaniard's entire body jerked. A dark hand managed to dart the whole way up to Gil's arm, the other forced to remain on the ground to continue supporting its master.

Spain's breath was shallow and quick and his fingers twitched back along Gilbert's arm until his unclipped nails scraped against his lover's wrist. The new sensation caused the Pruβien to pause in his ministrations just long enough for Antonio to pin the now captive wrist against his lover's side. Their eyes met and whatever the Spaniard saw in Gil's eyes made him smile that dark, predatory grin that made the hairs on the back of the albino's neck stand up.

No more teasing games.

Gil barely had enough time to snag a breath before Antonio had captured his lips once more putting all of his weight against the Pruβein's body until he had no choice but the fall back onto his elbows and, eventually, his back. Then the lips were gone, replaced by long fingers which he readily drew in and suckled as if they were the most delicious morsels ever to grace the earth; which incidentally, they were. But the Spaniard's lips didn't remain gone for long. They reappeared moments later at the junction where Prussia's shoulder and throat met, biting just hard enough to draw blood. Gilbert stiffened and his breathed fluttered.

"Yourrr pants," Tony breathed gently into his ear, "take them off." The subtle hint of steel underlying every cadence, and Gil hurried to obey. However, Spain's deliberate tugs on his hair made it a bit hard to focus on something so menial. But it felt wonderful when he finished and was greeted by gentle words of encouragement and lips pressing just behind his ear. "What's the safe word, mi amorrr?"

The Pruβein sighed, digging his fingers into Spain's back as he struggled to remember his preferred word for these situations. After a couple false starts, he groaned, "Weiβ."

A kissed pressed against his ear and Tony whispered, "Weiβ it is then." And then no more words were spoken. None were needed.

There was a brief moment of fumbling as Antonio worked his crimson belt off and leaned back from Gilbert's body long enough to thoroughly tie his lover's wrists together, buckling it around a root that stood up just enough from the ground to act as a suitable anchor. Then there was nothing but tongue, teeth, nails, and moans as the Spaniard proceeded to find and indulge every sweet spot he could find on Gilbert's body until his lover was hard and shaking. But not begging. Never begging. There was an unwritten rule between the two of them to never force the other to beg if they could help it. Too many dark memories.

But where words failed, actions screamed. Gilbert was obviously enjoying Antonio lavishing his legs with attention if the left leg wrapping securely around his lover's back was any indication. Tony kissed and suckled the supple skin of Gil's thighs as he slowly worked first one then two fingers into his lover's hot, tight body punctuating each new breach with a well-timed bite. All the while, he kept up a steady stream of whispered words, phrases, and endearments almost absentmindedly. The words just spilled from his mouth in a constant ebb and flow like the sea he once commanded.

And god, Gil loved it. He wasn't a quiet lover, not by any means. Words required actual thinking and he wasn't exactly capable of that at the moment, but he most certainly was not silent. Moans spilled from his throat like a river of indistinguishable sound. And Antonio loved it. The more sound poured from Gilbert, the more he would whisper and indulge and stir his fingers so they brushed his lover's prostate just…so…

They both loved foreplay. Neither would ever deny that. Foreplay was usually what made the sex that followed so incredible. But the best part and personal favoriteof both parties would always be the act of lovemaking itself. No matter what position they were in, who was on top, and how much, if any, foreplay was involved, the actual sex would always remain the best part. And they always saved the best for last.

So when Antonio first began to push into his lover's body, Gil arched and groaned, biting his lip to silence the cry that clawed at his throat, begging for escape. Now that just would not do. Antonio pushed harder and dragged his nails along Gilbert's cheeks, down his neck, and across his shoulders with just enough pressure to leave red welts. Gilbert cried out and just shuddered, his continuing vocalizations swallowed by Toñio's lips locking on his own.

When he felt the first tentative twitch of his lover's hips, the Spaniard began rocking. Gentle at first, but building to a strong, steady rhythm that brought him deep and hard into his lover's arching body. And still, he could not stop the steady stream of whispers. Lovino always complained how he just could not be quiet, but Gil never complained. He just blushed and clung tightly to him, holding him close; so close in fact that they were literally chest-to-chest half the time. It was…it was…words…what are words?

They had both been together long enough that they could read each other like books. So when Tony began to stutter, his constant string of words breaking up, becoming less clear and complete, Gilbert knew he was close. Not that he was far behind, what with Antonio pounding into his body hard enough that he was sure there would be more than a few flecks of blood at the end. And his aim, god, perfect. Every. Damn. Time.

One of his lover's hands freed itself from Gilbert's silvery locks and began pumping his own painfully hard penis, and he only just bit down the cry of relieved pleasure. But Antonio was apparently having none of that. He broke the kiss, bit Gilbert's ear, and whispered in his heavily accented voice between short, stuttering gasps, "Scrream for me, Gilberrto. Porr favor, mi amorrr. ¡Grrito!"


And it was over. Well, for now anyway. They lay panting for a good several minutes gathering their wits about them before stirring. Tony kindly removed his belt from Gilbert's wrists, kissing them gently where the leather had rubbed the skin raw. Then they had used Antonio's old, cotton shirt to mop up the mess they'd made and now they were just resting beneath the tree, just inches from where they'd made love.

Antonio was currently napping comfortably between the Pruβien's legs. Gilbert looked down and smirked at the sleeping Spaniard sprawled out on the grass below him. He tangled pale fingers in messy chocolate curls and brushed through them gently. The adorable idiot; barely able to get comfortable before falling asleep again. Typical.