[fic fill] Dedication;
TITLE: Dedication;
AUTHOR/ARTIST: absynthess
RECIPIENT: raikana_sakaro
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Hungary ; Austria ; Prussia (& pretty every pairing possible therein)
RATING: PG-13
NOTES (optional): n/a
SUMMARY: Written for the prompt "Something sweet and maybe romantic about Prussia and Austria and Hungary as a dedicated threesome."
Dedication;
When Hungary arrives at the house and notices a series of pots, pans, and various kitchen ingredients strewn about Austria’s usually immaculate hallways, she immediately knows something is wrong. Her brow furrows as she slowly makes her way to the kitchen, hands on her hips. Her expression is reserved, as though she’s about to walk onto a battlefield. And that is precisely what she finds.
Austria and Prussia are both in the former’s kitchen. There is a kettle boiling on one stove, and a mixing bowl filled with what Hungary hopes is chocolate has been overturned. Various utensils are scattered across the tiles-steak knives and large forks. And that makes what the two nations are doing even more dangerous.
Prussia is on his knees, his hands wrapped in a vice-like grip around Austria’s neck, who is flat on his back. They are both fully-clothed (which, Hungary readily admits, makes the entire situation a bit less interesting), but they are not in their normal military regalia. Instead, Prussia’s in jeans and a plain shirt, while Austria is in his own version of “casual”-carefully tailored slacks and a sweater vest.
“So, Priss, you mind saying that again?” Prussia demands roughly. Austria sputters something unintelligible in response, and Prussia releases him with one hand to cup it around his ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Austria’s hands come up at once to push Prussia forcefully back against the kitchen cabinet. He sits up, coughs delicately, and then mutters acidly. “You were choking me, moron. How did you expect me to say anything?”
“Yeah, well, next time you’ll let me mix the batter.” Prussia’s voice is lackadaisical, coupled by a shrug.
“I’ll do no such thing!” Austria snaps at him. “Just look what you’ve done!”
Prussia grunts out what is probably something antagonistic, but before Austria can respond Hungary clears her throat authoritatively and steps into the room, hands on her hips. As Prussia and Austria exchange a nervous glance, she glares at them both.
“Well?” she demands. “What the hell is going on here?”
Prussia looks sheepish for just a moment, but then shrugs it off and wraps one arm around Hungary’s shoulder, kissing her lightly on the cheeks. “We’re just trying to make you dinner, babe.”
“Uh-huh,” Hungary tuts with an eye roll, clearly disbelieving. But she doesn’t pull away from him, and the kiss warrants no negative response.
Austria, however, has now crossed his arms over his chest and glares openly at Prussia. “I’m standing right here, you know,” he reminds him with devastating effect.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Priss,” Prussia says in a way that assures all those present that he not sorry in the slightest. He detangles himself from Hungary and walks over to Austria. “Did you want one, too?”
“What-no-!” Austria’s stuttering is abruptly cut off as Prussia catches his chin in one hand and plants a rather impassioned kiss on his lips.
When they break apart, Prussia guffaws out a laugh and Austria’s cheeks are bright red. Hungary, however, just smiles softly to herself, because her life has finally reached an equilibrium, and one that she is more than happy with.
Austria, for his part, simply mutters, “Don’t think that gets you out of cleaning this up, moron.”
- - -
Hungary is the one who ends up cooking the meat, while Austria attempts to salvage the dessert. Prussia, with much grumbling, begins cleaning up the kitchen. When he goes to clean up the hallway, Hungary turns to Austria.
“I don’t know why you even both doing things together, if it ends up like that,” she murmurs slyly.
Austria’s cheeks have hardly lost their color, yet, and her remarks aren’t helping. “We were simply trying to do something nice for you.”
Hungary smiles-her winning, confident, gentle smile. “And I do appreciate it. I’m just wondering how doing something nice for me somehow translate as the two of you wrestling on the floor.”
“We weren’t wrestling,” Austria chokes, aghast. “That would have been most undignified.”
“So? What were you doing?”
Austria sets down the strawberries he’d been using to adorn the small chocolate pastries and sighs. “He wanted to mix the batter. I advised him against this. He insisted, and I continued to refuse. Finally, the idiot came up behind me and grabbed the whisk, effectively knocking the bowl out of my hands. The whisk itself went flying, and when I shoved Prussia away, he collided with the butcher’s block. And that’s when he pulled me down after him.”
Hungary can no longer help it; she steps away from the stove and covers her face in her hands, laughing. Austria shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, embarrassed in the face of her mirth.
“I’m sorry, it’s just so…so typical!” Hungary rolls her eyes. “I leave you two alone for what, two hours? And you manage to turn the entire house upside down.”
“It was only the kitchen,” Austria says defensively.
”Oh, of course, forgive me. I can’t leave you alone for two hours without you turning the entire kitchen upside down.”
The meat, on the stove, sizzles, calling them back to their original task. Hungary cuts a small bite from one of the shanks and hold it out to Austria on a fork. “Here you go,” she says, “try it.”
He opens his mouth delicately and she feeds him the meet, which he chews thoughtfully. She raises one eyebrow, asking his opinion, and he simply leans over and grabs the salt, sprinkling it generously onto the dish. Hungary smiles ruefully, but then he cuts another bite from the pork and holds it out to her, this time.
Licking her lips after she’s swallowed, she murmurs, “Alright, maybe it did need that.”
She’s about to lean down and turn off the stove when Austria grabs her hands from behind and turns her around. She gazes at him in question, but he simply kisses her very delicately on the lips as her cheeks flush with color.
“And maybe,” he says softly as he steps away, tucking a loose lock of her hair behind her ear, “I needed that.”
- - -
Dinner, miraculously, goes off without much incident. Afterwards, Austria goes into one of the sitting rooms to prepare dessert and drinks, and so Hungary and Prussia clean up. Hungary has never really had a problem doing dishes in Austria’s house, because she knows that wouldn’t mind doing it himself. Prussia, however, has a different viewpoint.
“Ever notice how I always get stuck doing this stuff?” he demands gruffly, practically throwing Austria’s fine china into the sink. “He just goes off and sprinkles sugar on cakes, as if that gets him out of cleaning up!”
“As I recall,” Hungary puts in, “last weekend the two of you did the dishes together.”
“Yeah, but that was like the first time he’s bothered to do it! And if you’ll notice, Hungary, I always end up here! What the fuck kind of arrangement is this?”
“One that took us a very long time to hammer out the details of.” Hungary sighs. “Or would you rather we went back to the way things were before, Prussia?”
“What, with you two macking on each other behind my back and then you throwing your kitchenware at me when you found me watching?”
“As Austria would say, ‘Kindly refrain from describing our lives so indelicately.’” She pulls off Austria’s soft accent and prim demeanor so well that both she and Prussia dissolve into laughter.
Though they are both elbow-deep in soap suds, Prussia wraps one arm around Hungary’s waist and pulls her close.
“You’re really something, you know that? Not quite as awesome as me, of course, but still.”
Hungary’s still laughing. “Thanks, I think.”
“What’s there to think about? With you and me, this’s always been natural.”
She can’t really disagree with him. They were together since the beginning, best friends and then enemies and then allies and then friends again. And throughout the ages, there had always been something more, there, lingering deep beneath the surface.
“Of course,” she tells him. “Perfectly natural.” This time, it is she who steals the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck even though she’s getting soap everywhere. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, as he grabs her by the waist and lifts her up, spinning her around.
When she releases his lips, she is laughing again. He has her practically over his shoulder, her hair flying out like a victory banner across her shoulders. He’s laughing, too-not his usual, manic laughter, but something more genuine, hearty and loud.
In the end, there’s only one way to describe it-natural.
- - -
“Well, that certainly took you two some time,” Austria comments blandly as Prussia and Hungary finally make their way to the sitting room. A gentle, melodic piano piece is playing in the background as they enter. Prussia scoffs at the recording.
“What, no live music today?”
“We could have some,” Austria says with some steel, “if you, oh genius, can somehow figure out how I could play it and eat dessert at the same time.”
Prussia waves a hand. “Eh, too much effort. Just serve us some food, Priss.”
Hungary smiles to herself as she sits down on the loveseat, legs tucked neatly underneath her. Prussia takes the opposite end of the couch, sprawled out without a care. Austria moves steadily, handing out small plates with chocolate dessert dribbled with berry sauce, and long, delicate flutes filled with dessert champagne.
Hungary tucks into hers immediately, and Austria, after squeezing in between them on the couch, does the same, but Prussia just stares at his.
“What?” Austria asks irritably. “It’s not poisoned.”
“Well there’d be no point even if it was,” Prussia retorts. “We all know I’m much too amazing to die.”
“How much better for us all if you had,” Austria grumbles beneath his breath. Aloud, he asks, “Then eat it, idiot.”
“No.” Prussia says simply. “I want you to feed me.”
Austria’s fork clatters against his plate as he stares. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I want you to feed me my cake.”
“What do I look like, your nanny?”
“You fed Hungary,” Prussia mutters accusingly.
“You were watching?” Hungary asks, blushing.
“It doesn’t take that long to clean up a hallway.” Prussia laughs. “So c’mon, Priss-going to show Hungary here preferential treatment?”
Austria squirms under Prussia’s disparaging gaze. Finally, he reaches over and digs his fork into Prussia’s dessert, offering the bite to the other man begrudgingly.
Prussia leans forward and laps it up, licking his lips when he’s through. Austria rolls his eyes elaborately, but Prussia’s only response is a laugh and a look that says, “Well? There’s plenty of cake left.”
And so, as Hungary watches on and tries to hide her laughter, Austria feeds Prussia the entire cake. When it’s finished, Prussia mutters, “See? I knew it.”
“Knew what?” Austria wants to know. Now that Prussia has stopped, as he puts it, acting like a five-year-old, he has turned his attention back to his own dessert.
“You don’t prefer Hungary to me.”
Hungary immediately knows, from the tone of Prussia’s voice, that he is waiting for affirmation. Austria, however, does not respond, so it is Hungary who answers.
“How do you know, Prussia?”
“Cause,” Prussia says arrogantly, “He only gave you a bit of pork. He fed me the entire cake.”
Austria’s cheeks are scarlet as he sputters, “Only because you were being difficult!”
“Oh come on,” Prussia insists. “Like you don’t give in every time. You like it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
But Hungary chooses to believe that his red cheeks are caused less by anger and more by bashfulness.
- - -
By the time everything is put away and they’ve finished their conversations-also known as squabbles-for the evening, it’s getting late. The three of them make their way upstairs to Austria’s bedroom, where an elaborate four-poster bed stands, regal and imposing. There’s barely time for them to strip off their clothes before all three of them collapse against the covers, exhausted.
“Hey,” Prussia says, though he doesn’t open his eyes.
“What?” Austria asks, face in the covers. He had, thankfully, remembered to put his glasses aside first.
“Happy Anniversary, you two.”
“Thanks,” Hungary replies sweetly, reaching over to clasp Prussia’s hand. She does the same with Austria, and then, almost subconsciously, the two men do the same with one another. So now they are lying on the burgundy coverlet, linking arms in a comforting circle.
“I love you both,” Hungary murmurs, just before they fall asleep.
AUTHOR/ARTIST: absynthess
RECIPIENT: raikana_sakaro
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Hungary ; Austria ; Prussia (& pretty every pairing possible therein)
RATING: PG-13
NOTES (optional): n/a
SUMMARY: Written for the prompt "Something sweet and maybe romantic about Prussia and Austria and Hungary as a dedicated threesome."
Dedication;
When Hungary arrives at the house and notices a series of pots, pans, and various kitchen ingredients strewn about Austria’s usually immaculate hallways, she immediately knows something is wrong. Her brow furrows as she slowly makes her way to the kitchen, hands on her hips. Her expression is reserved, as though she’s about to walk onto a battlefield. And that is precisely what she finds.
Austria and Prussia are both in the former’s kitchen. There is a kettle boiling on one stove, and a mixing bowl filled with what Hungary hopes is chocolate has been overturned. Various utensils are scattered across the tiles-steak knives and large forks. And that makes what the two nations are doing even more dangerous.
Prussia is on his knees, his hands wrapped in a vice-like grip around Austria’s neck, who is flat on his back. They are both fully-clothed (which, Hungary readily admits, makes the entire situation a bit less interesting), but they are not in their normal military regalia. Instead, Prussia’s in jeans and a plain shirt, while Austria is in his own version of “casual”-carefully tailored slacks and a sweater vest.
“So, Priss, you mind saying that again?” Prussia demands roughly. Austria sputters something unintelligible in response, and Prussia releases him with one hand to cup it around his ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Austria’s hands come up at once to push Prussia forcefully back against the kitchen cabinet. He sits up, coughs delicately, and then mutters acidly. “You were choking me, moron. How did you expect me to say anything?”
“Yeah, well, next time you’ll let me mix the batter.” Prussia’s voice is lackadaisical, coupled by a shrug.
“I’ll do no such thing!” Austria snaps at him. “Just look what you’ve done!”
Prussia grunts out what is probably something antagonistic, but before Austria can respond Hungary clears her throat authoritatively and steps into the room, hands on her hips. As Prussia and Austria exchange a nervous glance, she glares at them both.
“Well?” she demands. “What the hell is going on here?”
Prussia looks sheepish for just a moment, but then shrugs it off and wraps one arm around Hungary’s shoulder, kissing her lightly on the cheeks. “We’re just trying to make you dinner, babe.”
“Uh-huh,” Hungary tuts with an eye roll, clearly disbelieving. But she doesn’t pull away from him, and the kiss warrants no negative response.
Austria, however, has now crossed his arms over his chest and glares openly at Prussia. “I’m standing right here, you know,” he reminds him with devastating effect.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Priss,” Prussia says in a way that assures all those present that he not sorry in the slightest. He detangles himself from Hungary and walks over to Austria. “Did you want one, too?”
“What-no-!” Austria’s stuttering is abruptly cut off as Prussia catches his chin in one hand and plants a rather impassioned kiss on his lips.
When they break apart, Prussia guffaws out a laugh and Austria’s cheeks are bright red. Hungary, however, just smiles softly to herself, because her life has finally reached an equilibrium, and one that she is more than happy with.
Austria, for his part, simply mutters, “Don’t think that gets you out of cleaning this up, moron.”
- - -
Hungary is the one who ends up cooking the meat, while Austria attempts to salvage the dessert. Prussia, with much grumbling, begins cleaning up the kitchen. When he goes to clean up the hallway, Hungary turns to Austria.
“I don’t know why you even both doing things together, if it ends up like that,” she murmurs slyly.
Austria’s cheeks have hardly lost their color, yet, and her remarks aren’t helping. “We were simply trying to do something nice for you.”
Hungary smiles-her winning, confident, gentle smile. “And I do appreciate it. I’m just wondering how doing something nice for me somehow translate as the two of you wrestling on the floor.”
“We weren’t wrestling,” Austria chokes, aghast. “That would have been most undignified.”
“So? What were you doing?”
Austria sets down the strawberries he’d been using to adorn the small chocolate pastries and sighs. “He wanted to mix the batter. I advised him against this. He insisted, and I continued to refuse. Finally, the idiot came up behind me and grabbed the whisk, effectively knocking the bowl out of my hands. The whisk itself went flying, and when I shoved Prussia away, he collided with the butcher’s block. And that’s when he pulled me down after him.”
Hungary can no longer help it; she steps away from the stove and covers her face in her hands, laughing. Austria shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, embarrassed in the face of her mirth.
“I’m sorry, it’s just so…so typical!” Hungary rolls her eyes. “I leave you two alone for what, two hours? And you manage to turn the entire house upside down.”
“It was only the kitchen,” Austria says defensively.
”Oh, of course, forgive me. I can’t leave you alone for two hours without you turning the entire kitchen upside down.”
The meat, on the stove, sizzles, calling them back to their original task. Hungary cuts a small bite from one of the shanks and hold it out to Austria on a fork. “Here you go,” she says, “try it.”
He opens his mouth delicately and she feeds him the meet, which he chews thoughtfully. She raises one eyebrow, asking his opinion, and he simply leans over and grabs the salt, sprinkling it generously onto the dish. Hungary smiles ruefully, but then he cuts another bite from the pork and holds it out to her, this time.
Licking her lips after she’s swallowed, she murmurs, “Alright, maybe it did need that.”
She’s about to lean down and turn off the stove when Austria grabs her hands from behind and turns her around. She gazes at him in question, but he simply kisses her very delicately on the lips as her cheeks flush with color.
“And maybe,” he says softly as he steps away, tucking a loose lock of her hair behind her ear, “I needed that.”
- - -
Dinner, miraculously, goes off without much incident. Afterwards, Austria goes into one of the sitting rooms to prepare dessert and drinks, and so Hungary and Prussia clean up. Hungary has never really had a problem doing dishes in Austria’s house, because she knows that wouldn’t mind doing it himself. Prussia, however, has a different viewpoint.
“Ever notice how I always get stuck doing this stuff?” he demands gruffly, practically throwing Austria’s fine china into the sink. “He just goes off and sprinkles sugar on cakes, as if that gets him out of cleaning up!”
“As I recall,” Hungary puts in, “last weekend the two of you did the dishes together.”
“Yeah, but that was like the first time he’s bothered to do it! And if you’ll notice, Hungary, I always end up here! What the fuck kind of arrangement is this?”
“One that took us a very long time to hammer out the details of.” Hungary sighs. “Or would you rather we went back to the way things were before, Prussia?”
“What, with you two macking on each other behind my back and then you throwing your kitchenware at me when you found me watching?”
“As Austria would say, ‘Kindly refrain from describing our lives so indelicately.’” She pulls off Austria’s soft accent and prim demeanor so well that both she and Prussia dissolve into laughter.
Though they are both elbow-deep in soap suds, Prussia wraps one arm around Hungary’s waist and pulls her close.
“You’re really something, you know that? Not quite as awesome as me, of course, but still.”
Hungary’s still laughing. “Thanks, I think.”
“What’s there to think about? With you and me, this’s always been natural.”
She can’t really disagree with him. They were together since the beginning, best friends and then enemies and then allies and then friends again. And throughout the ages, there had always been something more, there, lingering deep beneath the surface.
“Of course,” she tells him. “Perfectly natural.” This time, it is she who steals the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck even though she’s getting soap everywhere. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, as he grabs her by the waist and lifts her up, spinning her around.
When she releases his lips, she is laughing again. He has her practically over his shoulder, her hair flying out like a victory banner across her shoulders. He’s laughing, too-not his usual, manic laughter, but something more genuine, hearty and loud.
In the end, there’s only one way to describe it-natural.
- - -
“Well, that certainly took you two some time,” Austria comments blandly as Prussia and Hungary finally make their way to the sitting room. A gentle, melodic piano piece is playing in the background as they enter. Prussia scoffs at the recording.
“What, no live music today?”
“We could have some,” Austria says with some steel, “if you, oh genius, can somehow figure out how I could play it and eat dessert at the same time.”
Prussia waves a hand. “Eh, too much effort. Just serve us some food, Priss.”
Hungary smiles to herself as she sits down on the loveseat, legs tucked neatly underneath her. Prussia takes the opposite end of the couch, sprawled out without a care. Austria moves steadily, handing out small plates with chocolate dessert dribbled with berry sauce, and long, delicate flutes filled with dessert champagne.
Hungary tucks into hers immediately, and Austria, after squeezing in between them on the couch, does the same, but Prussia just stares at his.
“What?” Austria asks irritably. “It’s not poisoned.”
“Well there’d be no point even if it was,” Prussia retorts. “We all know I’m much too amazing to die.”
“How much better for us all if you had,” Austria grumbles beneath his breath. Aloud, he asks, “Then eat it, idiot.”
“No.” Prussia says simply. “I want you to feed me.”
Austria’s fork clatters against his plate as he stares. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I want you to feed me my cake.”
“What do I look like, your nanny?”
“You fed Hungary,” Prussia mutters accusingly.
“You were watching?” Hungary asks, blushing.
“It doesn’t take that long to clean up a hallway.” Prussia laughs. “So c’mon, Priss-going to show Hungary here preferential treatment?”
Austria squirms under Prussia’s disparaging gaze. Finally, he reaches over and digs his fork into Prussia’s dessert, offering the bite to the other man begrudgingly.
Prussia leans forward and laps it up, licking his lips when he’s through. Austria rolls his eyes elaborately, but Prussia’s only response is a laugh and a look that says, “Well? There’s plenty of cake left.”
And so, as Hungary watches on and tries to hide her laughter, Austria feeds Prussia the entire cake. When it’s finished, Prussia mutters, “See? I knew it.”
“Knew what?” Austria wants to know. Now that Prussia has stopped, as he puts it, acting like a five-year-old, he has turned his attention back to his own dessert.
“You don’t prefer Hungary to me.”
Hungary immediately knows, from the tone of Prussia’s voice, that he is waiting for affirmation. Austria, however, does not respond, so it is Hungary who answers.
“How do you know, Prussia?”
“Cause,” Prussia says arrogantly, “He only gave you a bit of pork. He fed me the entire cake.”
Austria’s cheeks are scarlet as he sputters, “Only because you were being difficult!”
“Oh come on,” Prussia insists. “Like you don’t give in every time. You like it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
But Hungary chooses to believe that his red cheeks are caused less by anger and more by bashfulness.
- - -
By the time everything is put away and they’ve finished their conversations-also known as squabbles-for the evening, it’s getting late. The three of them make their way upstairs to Austria’s bedroom, where an elaborate four-poster bed stands, regal and imposing. There’s barely time for them to strip off their clothes before all three of them collapse against the covers, exhausted.
“Hey,” Prussia says, though he doesn’t open his eyes.
“What?” Austria asks, face in the covers. He had, thankfully, remembered to put his glasses aside first.
“Happy Anniversary, you two.”
“Thanks,” Hungary replies sweetly, reaching over to clasp Prussia’s hand. She does the same with Austria, and then, almost subconsciously, the two men do the same with one another. So now they are lying on the burgundy coverlet, linking arms in a comforting circle.
“I love you both,” Hungary murmurs, just before they fall asleep.