Hetalia kink meme ([personal profile] hetalia_kink) wrote2014-02-10 06:09 pm

Hetalia kink meme part 27

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hetalia kink meme
part 27

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| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 |
| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 |
| Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 |


Re: Deux par Deux [2 & 3/15]

(Anonymous) 2015-07-14 04:38 pm (UTC)(link)
ii. Prussia is entirely nonplussed.

“I definitely thought you guys were at least sleeping together,” he says. He pauses for beer; when he sets his glass down and Germany is still staring incredulously at him, he shrugs.

“You just have that unmistakable air of being together,” he adds, “when you’re, you know, together.”

“Except it is mistakable,” Germany says. “Because we’re not together.”

“Don’t be so sure. My sixth sense is never wrong.”

“You don’t have a sixth sense.”

“Yes, I do. I have a sixth sense that tells me when my bro is gettin’ some. Maybe it’s some kind of paradox. Maybe you are together, and you just don’t know it yet.”

Germany sighs.

“Hey,” Prussia says. “My sixth sense is never wrong.”

“If your sixth sense is telling you that I’m sleeping with France,” Germany says, rubbing the veins in his temple, “then it’s wrong. Because that’s definitely not happening.”

“Do you want it to happen?”

“I-” Of course not. “No.”

Prussia pauses, his beer glass raised halfway to his lips. “You,” he says, “are the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

iii. Perhaps over crepes and coffee on France’s Nice balcony is not the best place to make his assertion.

“You like Nutella in your crepes, am I right?” France calls from the kitchen.

Germany stares out over the beach, the morning sun splashing golden triangles across his face, and he is reminded, as the salty air blows through his hair and seagulls call overhead, that he is weak.

“Yes, please,” he calls back.

“You have something on your mind,” France says when they settle back after breakfast. He taps an idle finger against his coffee mug and leans back in his chair, one arm hanging over the balcony to test the cool of the brittle sea wind. “And I can’t imagine you came all this way to talk about the weather.”

“We’re not married,” Germany says, and France raises an eyebrow.

“So you came all this way to talk about us.”

“I just wanted to make it clear,” he says. “I’m sorry if I’m being…”

He trails off, struggling to find the right word in French. “If it seems that I’m being crass,” he continues. “But people keep talking, and I don’t want to give them the wrong impression that there is… something between us, when there’s not.”

France sets his coffee down. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll put an end to it.”

Germany breathes again. “Thank you.”

“Of course. But, if you wouldn’t mind, I could use some help with these dishes…”