Gilbert snarls like an animal. “Fuck, no. Why the hell should I?” he snaps, grip on his brother now almost painful. Ludwig takes a slow breath, ever composed.
“Feliciano wants to meet you.” Feliciano, the noisy Italian. “I want…I want you to make this trip. It will do you good.”
“Like a brick to the face it will,” he spits before he winds his fingers deep into Ludwig’s sleeve. “We’re staying here. We’ll go to the Ostsee and get a Strandkorb and watch some naked girls on the FKK beach. That’s a billion times better thanfucking Italy.”
Germany tries to pull away, but Prussia’s not going to let him leave that easily. Germany raises his voice slightly. “…It’s not. Please.”
Prussia imitates him, mouth twisted in sarcasm. Even he knows this is rapidly descending into childishness, but Gilbert likes the sound of that, because when they were children he always got his way.
Germany pulls his arm off of him, eyes narrowed in anger. “It’s not. You think lying around here in your house is going to help you, Gilbert? Well, it’s not. This…ghost-house is nowhere as good as ‘fucking Italy’.”
A predatory grin. “-Because you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you, Ludwig?”
Prussia almost regrets it. He almost regrets saying it when he sees his brother’s face flush in rage and embarrassment, when he grabs his older brother by the hair and shoves his face down into the pillows and storms off. Gilbert rolls onto his back again and brings his hand up to eye level.
He can still feel Germany’s warmth when he brushes it against his lips.
-
The two of them stare at each other, eyes taking in their military uniforms, the formidable difference in height and their shared perpetual scowl. It takes Prussia a whole 3 seconds to decide that he hates the man in front of him.
“Do you damn potato-bastards spawn in pond scum or something?”
Prussia grins toothily. Well, at least his hatred is mutual.
They end up eating (because it’s what all Italians do), but Gilbert sits rigidly in his seat and glowers, because even if Germany can make him come, he can’t make him enjoy himself. Instead of watching as his brother and his friend sitting side by side, he picks fights with South Italy with well placed insults. They spit and rage and give each other the cold shoulder, almost as if they’d both rather fight than sit and accept the sight before them- and when North Italy tries to feed Germany a mouthful of pasta, despite the other county’s protests, they try all the louder.
Because Gilbert knows what Ludwig has in his pocket. And although it’ll take years for Ludwig to build up the courage, he’s seen it nonetheless and Feliciano will wait for him. Gilbert can’t take that chance.
-
Lovino pours himself another glass of wine and flops down onto the couch. Feliciano stands in the light of the doorway and watches. He takes a step forward.
“Do you…I think soccer tomorrow would be fun, hmm~ Lovino? But I’m too tired today. Vee- do you think soccer’s a good ide-”
“-You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”
Something between them wilts. Lovino thinks he feels it die.
“…I won’t, Lovino. You know I would never do that.”
He snorts. His brother’s voice draws closer.
“Lovino came back from Spain’s house. He loves me, and I love Lovino. You know I wouldn’t.”
South Italy drains his glass, then closes his eyes.
Auferstanden aus Ruinen (4/5)
Gilbert snarls like an animal. “Fuck, no. Why the hell should I?” he snaps, grip on his brother now almost painful. Ludwig takes a slow breath, ever composed.
“Feliciano wants to meet you.” Feliciano, the noisy Italian. “I want…I want you to make this trip. It will do you good.”
“Like a brick to the face it will,” he spits before he winds his fingers deep into Ludwig’s sleeve. “We’re staying here. We’ll go to the Ostsee and get a Strandkorb and watch some naked girls on the FKK beach. That’s a billion times better thanfucking Italy.”
Germany tries to pull away, but Prussia’s not going to let him leave that easily. Germany raises his voice slightly. “…It’s not. Please.”
Prussia imitates him, mouth twisted in sarcasm. Even he knows this is rapidly descending into childishness, but Gilbert likes the sound of that, because when they were children he always got his way.
Germany pulls his arm off of him, eyes narrowed in anger. “It’s not. You think lying around here in your house is going to help you, Gilbert? Well, it’s not. This…ghost-house is nowhere as good as ‘fucking Italy’.”
A predatory grin. “-Because you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you, Ludwig?”
Prussia almost regrets it. He almost regrets saying it when he sees his brother’s face flush in rage and embarrassment, when he grabs his older brother by the hair and shoves his face down into the pillows and storms off. Gilbert rolls onto his back again and brings his hand up to eye level.
He can still feel Germany’s warmth when he brushes it against his lips.
-
The two of them stare at each other, eyes taking in their military uniforms, the formidable difference in height and their shared perpetual scowl. It takes Prussia a whole 3 seconds to decide that he hates the man in front of him.
“Do you damn potato-bastards spawn in pond scum or something?”
Prussia grins toothily. Well, at least his hatred is mutual.
They end up eating (because it’s what all Italians do), but Gilbert sits rigidly in his seat and glowers, because even if Germany can make him come, he can’t make him enjoy himself. Instead of watching as his brother and his friend sitting side by side, he picks fights with South Italy with well placed insults. They spit and rage and give each other the cold shoulder, almost as if they’d both rather fight than sit and accept the sight before them- and when North Italy tries to feed Germany a mouthful of pasta, despite the other county’s protests, they try all the louder.
Because Gilbert knows what Ludwig has in his pocket. And although it’ll take years for Ludwig to build up the courage, he’s seen it nonetheless and Feliciano will wait for him. Gilbert can’t take that chance.
-
Lovino pours himself another glass of wine and flops down onto the couch. Feliciano stands in the light of the doorway and watches. He takes a step forward.
“Do you…I think soccer tomorrow would be fun, hmm~ Lovino? But I’m too tired today. Vee- do you think soccer’s a good ide-”
“-You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”
Something between them wilts. Lovino thinks he feels it die.
“…I won’t, Lovino. You know I would never do that.”
He snorts. His brother’s voice draws closer.
“Lovino came back from Spain’s house. He loves me, and I love Lovino. You know I wouldn’t.”
South Italy drains his glass, then closes his eyes.
“…Soccer sounds good.”
-