Where the Wild Things Are

Song Challenge Numero Dos.

Pairing: PruHun

2. Where the Wild Things Are (Monsters) - Anarbor

"What will you tell Prissy Pants when he sees those hickeys on your neck?" Prussia is grinning, but the way his red eyes are gleaming in the morning light hints that he's not as pleased as he seems.

Hungary sends him a disgusted look and punches him in the shoulder. Even so, a small shiver runs through her naked body and she shifts closer to Prussia, seeming to think nothing of the gesture. He, on the other hand, is forced to swallow down all the emotions that always try to climb up from his throat, the ones that he knows will only make everything worse.

So, instead of saying "I think I actually love you" or "Why do we keep doing this?" or "You can't have both of us!", he snarks, "No, seriously. What do you tell him? He doesn't seem like the type to even get touchy-feely. I wouldn't be surprised if he's a virgin-"

Hungary reaches forward and tweaks his nipple.

"Ow! Okay, Christ, cut your nails," he snarls, pushing her hand off of him. There's a languid smile on her face and a glint in her eyes, one that remains as she begins to trail her hand down his stomach. He catches it before she can reach his belly button.

"Nein," he argues, shaking his head. "West will be home soon. Specs'll be wondering where you are." While his words aren't necessarily bitter, there's an edge to them Hungary just has to question.

"Is that a hint of jealousy I hear, Gilbert?" she says softly, her eyebrows drawing down in concern. She reaches forward, cupping one side of his face and gently pressing her lips to his. Just as he begins to kiss her back, his hand sliding towards her hip, she suddenly bites down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood.

"Fuck, you bitch!" Prussia rolls off the bed and into the crouch in one swift movement, taking the blanket with him. Hungary lets out a shriek of indignation, trying to cover herself with her hands. As soon as she realizes that the albino is smirking, she drops her hands and leers at him.

"Like what you see?" she asks when she catches him staring.

"Like hell I do," he sneers, finding his boxers on the floor and pulling them on. Their clothes are scattered around the room, like always. These nights never seem to happen quietly - and they're never planned. He could have sworn they both promised each other this would never happen again the last time it did. That clearly didn't last.

Prussia dresses quietly, not quite brooding but not exactly pleased either. Hungary finally relents and pulls on her panties. As she grabs her bra, she lets out a sudden growl of frustration.

"What?"

"I think you broke the clip," she complains, fumbling with the clip. He pointedly does not look at her chest, back to pretending she's a stupid, fugly bitch that he doesn't have time to deal with.

His only response is a snide, "Ha-ha."

She picks up the nearest item - a lamp - and chucks it in his direction. It doesn't go anywhere near him, mostly because she's still fixated on getting her fucking bra on, and instead crashes against the opposite wall. Prussia stares at it irritatedly.

"West is going to kill me."

"Good," she snaps, finally managing to clip the bra on. "I hope you die a painful, painful death, Gilbert Beilschmidt."

She begins pulling the rest of her clothes on. Prussia puts his hands in his pockets because he doesn't know what to do. He wants to leave, figures that he should leave, at least to pretend he has to take a piss or he's hungry or to save some verdammt dignity.

But he doesn't.

So.

He stands there, smelling a lot like sex and feeling like he's just been run down by an emotional goddamn tractor trailer. At one point, he walks over to the broken lamp, poking a piece of glass with his toe before Hungary finally speaks again.

And she's a bit too close for comfort, which is weird considering they just had sex. She presses Gilbert up against the wall and smiles at him, but it's a condescending look and one he does not like being given.

"You never did answer my question," she says quietly, "about being jealous of Roderich."

Prussia's face suddenly turns a violent shade of red, almost matching his eyes. Hungary's eyes widen in surprise - she just wanted to bug him - and before she can say anything, Prussia grabs her face with both hands and forcibly kisses her, knowing it may be their last.

When he pulls away, she still looks surprised and maybe just a bit angry. She suddenly shoves at his chest and steps back, hands curled into fists.

"You're so selfish!" she practically screams. "You're not supposed to have feelings for me!"

Prussia doesn't exactly understand how having feelings for someone else makes him the selfish one, especially when she's been fucking playing him and he has no verdammt chance against that goddamn aristocrat. If anything, she's the selfish one, but he doesn't know how he can open his mouth and say anything but, "I'm sick of being your toy!" (He can't say that because he's afraid that if he does, she'll just walk out, and he'll learn that he is a toy. Nothing more, nothing less. The idea of being replaceable is, well, terrifying.)

The brunette is visibly shaking, clenching her jaw and stiffening her back and continually gritting her teeth. She doesn't meet Prussia's eyes, instead looking everywhere but him. Then-

"I hate you, you know that?" she whispers, rubbing at her face ferociously. "I really, really hate you."

"Awesome," Prussia says, but his voice sounds weak even to his own ears. He finds himself leaning against the wall because he can't stand properly. This is it.

"Francba!" she suddenly snarls, leaning forward and briefly kissing him. Even though it's short, her teeth bite down again and he finds himself tasting blood again.

When she pulls away, her look is murderous.

"I love Roderich," she informs acidicly. "He loves me back. We're happy together. I - you - this wasn't supposed to be a regular thing! It doesn't mean anything-"

"Then why do you keep coming back?" Prussia demands angrily.

For once, she doesn't have an immediate remark. She falters and tries to kiss him again, but he abruptly shoves her away, deciding that his dignity is more worth saving than his heart.

"Aussteigen," he growls, pointing his finger to the door.

The look she gives him is incredulous, and when she opens her mouth to protest, to ask if he's serious, he repeats what he said in a sharper, colder tone.

They stare at each other for what seems like forever before she finally relented, letting out a sharp noise from the back of her throat before stomping out.

Almost.

When she hits the doorway, she stops. Doesn't turn around, but remains there. Finally, she says, very quietly, "He asked me to marry him. Again. Not a political marriage. A real marriage."

Prussia tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, quietly croaking out, "Ich liebe dich." He does it because it's his last chance. Fuck his dignity. She took it away just like she took his heart.

There's silence. She knows what the words mean. She knows damn well what the words mean.

And then, just as quiet as before, perhaps with a bit of pity in her voice:

"I said yes."

And she leaves.

Gilbert falls to the floor, back still against the wall. Suddenly, he takes his hand and slams it into the broken lamp beside him, ignoring the throbs of the pain the broken glass causes him as it digs into his skin, because there's nothing quite like the pain of a broken heart.