Fic: More than a brick - Epilogue
Mar. 28th, 2009 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drcalvinFandom: Hetalia Axis Powers
Title: More than a brick
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Germany/Prussia
Rating: Fic contains NC-17 parts
Warnings: Incest, sex
Summary: The reunification of Germanyor how Ludwig got his awesome brother back even though he damn well didn't deserve it.
Prologue here
Main chapter here
-- November, 1989 --
There were things he had to do, places he had to go and a whole bunch of people he had to talk to... but for just a little while Ludwig Beilschmidt wanted to simply be. Lie here on the hard ground and float on the soft clouds of emotion that carried him along.
So this was what being whole, united and at peace felt like? He could get used to it, he really could...
“Hey, East?” That many warm feelings needed to be shared, even if the person he wanted to share it with was liable to destroy the moment as soon as he opened his big mouth. Though right now, even a silly argument sounded just peachy as far as Ludwig was concerned, because he planned to spend the next hundred years getting annoyed with his brother and then fuck him into sweet submission when he just couldn’t stand it anymore and there’s no time like the present, correct?
Opening his eyes, however, seemed a bit too much like work right now. So he reached out for the brother who must be lying around here somewhere pretty damn close since his presence was like a steady thrum in Ludwig’s soul. Close, but not close enough, because right now he just wanted to hold him tight for as long as he was allowed.
When he found no sated body near his own, Ludwig was finally forced to open an eye.
There was nobody there, no gently smiling brother... well, he’d be quite shocked at finding that any day, a howling demon of mischief was more what he expected. But anyway, the brother who should be there, whose natural pallor ought to be stealing away his earlier blush of pleasure and with it all his softness, that one was nowhere to be seen eithers.
“East? Gilbert?”
Germany felt a twinge of uneasiness until he recalled the rash promise of free beer, It wasn't as if his brother was the most mushy person around anyway. Yes, that must be it. Off to the nearest beerhall then, and try to catch up with Gilbert who is probably trying to drink the west dry all on his own.
Since his tie was quite ruined anyway (and not even Ludwig feels the need to wear a tie when he’s planning to get plastered) he used it to wipe off the worst mess before sitting up to see where his pants had ended up.
But something, be it the movement, or that little twinge of pain in the wrong place, or the fact that there’s not even a trace of another body ever having laid here beside his own... something told him things were seriously wrong.
Ludwig was familiar with that mellow ache from a number of experiments with an old ally. But should he feel that pain now? No.
And then, as he shook his head to clear away the confusion and another old familiar thing which was, somehow, even more wrong appeared.
The cross. It tumbled off his chest where it must have gotten stuck with sweat or rather, he hopes it’s only sweat. But it puzzles him, because this cross that was once so familiar – he hasn’t worn it for years, has he?
When his fingers reached up, when they touched the chain and cross, they confirmed what memory suggested. There are subtle differences in weight and texture and Ludwig knows. He hasn’t worn this cross since the war. He hasn’t.
And so, all the little details Germany’s mind wouldn’t acknowledge break free; the hair, he knows without looking, has become two shades lighter. The voice, subtly older, hoarsher... the self which suddenly contains strange foreign parts.
And how disquieting isn’t that? Like finding unknown depths in the little lake you remember from your childhood and as the knot in his chest draws ever tighter, Germany realizes that these depths contain sharks.
Hesitant hands move over his belly, feeling how the old, healed over scar of the Saarland has become the deeper scar of East Prussia, with Königsberg as a dull pain to this very day.
Perhaps this realization was the key, because as steadily as the wall in his lands has been breaking apart these last months, the wall in his mind is torn down. Ludwig cries out in shock as his mind is filled with memories of another time, another life. Memories which are nevertheless his, Germany’s, now.
Finally a country both united and at peace. Wealthy and whole. In his head, there’s a recent memory of cocky smirk beneath fearless red eyes as Gilbert sketches an ironic bow. For he is not really leaving, now is he? No, East is closer than he ever was before, and so the pale memory of a once great nation bows out from the world stage as the curtain of history prepares to drop.
“BROTHER!”
They promised him! Italy said it wouldn’t happen! And, and Gilbert can’t just give up! Of all the selfish pricks in his world, isn’t his brother the least likely to just fade away into memories?
Most of Germany is still full of gratitude, all those parts that are made up of his people and his bosses, but in every nation there is something more. The self that makes him Ludwig, orders all his conflicting parts into one coherent being... that self is crying in anguish beneath a monument while the world sings around him.
Unified. Whole.
Wretchedly alone.
Such are the rules for nations, he knows this clearer than ever before. He ought to be happy that they had this last time together, that their union was such a peaceful event without more bloodshed and strife.
No, his mind tells the world, the memory, the brother that ought to be but isn’t, no I will not!
Everything in Ludwig refuses, and his hands scratch madly at the old stones, searching for his brother, the one who promised to remain. Prussia has gone. The GDR is fading but Gilbert is not allowed to go!
In his mind, that pale face is twisting in familiar anger. Germany knows that here the seeds of future antipathy, of jealousy and misunderstandings are sown by his own egoistical hand. Yes, there are rules and he has followed them all his life.
So can he not break them, just this once? Didn’t their people already break all the rules in this world, for them to be able to come together in the first place?
Without further thought, without any thought at all but driven by the deepest, most selfish need, Germany rips the cross off his neck. There’s a wrench in his soul which will most likely echo through the years to come, but the pain and the future is nothing as Germany tears himself apart once again.
“Brother!”
Let me keep you, let me be with you, let us stay together just a little while longer...
There ought to be a sound, perhaps a clap of thunder. For how can destiny bend and break against the will of one being in complete silence? But no, only the mindless pigeons are there to witness how two that were briefly one is now two again. Two again, but different – not enemies, not strangers in all but name, but two who have fought to come together even as the times kept them apart. Brothers.
They’re sweaty and dirty, but now they are both here, sitting opposite each other in the shadow of the monument and... West can’t help it, he just has to laugh (or he might have cried).
Because his brother, his dear brother, is sitting there without a thread on his body and wearing the most furious face one could imagine. So what if his lips are still swollen from kisses or his hair looks as if it has recently housed a whole flock of chickens? He is wearing that beautifully proud sneer that only Gilbert knows how to do and he’ll probably start yelling any moment now and Ludwig? Oh, he can’t wait to hear it.
“That was goddamn stupid, West!” he begins, but then his eyes are drawn to a broken necklace and he positively quakes with rage.
“Look what you did to my cross!” Gilbert snatches it from the ground and protectively holds it close. “I got this from the bloody pope, didn’t you think of that?”
If he could, Ludwig would like to tell him that he knows that perfectly well, but when their eyes meet something sticks in his throat, choking both laughter and any reconciliatory words. Now, he finds that he just can’t speak, all words have escaped his mind so when Gilbert continues to rant he does what he’s wanted to do since he woke up alone beneath the Brandenburger Tor. So he grabs this infuriating, lovable, dear man and (thank god) that makes him shut up.
He holds him, his brother, who’s always twice as much trouble as he’s worth and who will, no doubt, continue to be a pain in the ass to poor Ludwig for as long as there’s even one German left in the world.
And if proud old Prussie, the steely-tough former GDR, notices that his brother is crying like a child, well, it might just be that he’s too busy crying himself to criticize in just this particular moment.
So they stay for a while, West and East, holding each other close. Then Gilbert is softly kissing his brow, like he would do when a much younger Germany woke up, crying about nightmares about great shadowy empires tearing him apart.
“I was willing to give it up,” East whispers, “to just stop for your. No, for our future. You know?”
“I know,” West whispers, “I remember. No more east or west, just Germany.”
He more feels than sees his brother’s nod. “Just Germany.”
“I’ve been Germany on my own,” Ludwig begins, but falters. Gilbert squeezes his arm.
They both remember the dark years when Ludwig grew so drunk on his strength that he confused power with right. All the while, a Prussia made feeble by the loss of his land lay sleeping in a near-forgotten bunker, until the bitter despair of overwhelmed Germany called him to join the final hopeless battles.
“It’s pretty overrated,” Ludwig finally says.
“Heh. Certainly didn’t stop you from doing stupid shit,” Gilbert says, and their hands find each other. The world that was briefly out of balance snaps back into it’s familiar old ways. “I guess someone like you just can’t cut it, eh?”
Ludwig snorts and pulls back a bit. “I don’t know if I’d go that far...”
His brother, true to form, is no longer listening. “So, it’s a good thing you’ve got this kickass spirit of the east to keep you on the right path!” He’s wearing the grin of a madman again and there’s a disquieting glint in his eyes, which West really ought to remember to watch out for.
“HAAA! Surprise attack!”
Their teeth clash together quite painfully and Ludwig hits his head on the base of a column, but they’re kissing and it will all be okay and if someone whispered thank you against someone else’s lips, well, nobody can ever prove anything and Gilbert will kick their hoity-toity Wessie ass if they even try. Ludwig was probably just hallucinating from pure awesome overload anyway.
THE END
Thanks to all the lovely anonymice at the Hetalia kink-meme for providing a poor student with lots of wonderful time-wasting material. This fic wouldn't be written without youso please don't blame me...
Comments of all flavour are warmly welcomed!
Title: More than a brick
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Germany/Prussia
Rating: Fic contains NC-17 parts
Warnings: Incest, sex
Summary: The reunification of Germany
Prologue here
Main chapter here
-- November, 1989 --
There were things he had to do, places he had to go and a whole bunch of people he had to talk to... but for just a little while Ludwig Beilschmidt wanted to simply be. Lie here on the hard ground and float on the soft clouds of emotion that carried him along.
So this was what being whole, united and at peace felt like? He could get used to it, he really could...
“Hey, East?” That many warm feelings needed to be shared, even if the person he wanted to share it with was liable to destroy the moment as soon as he opened his big mouth. Though right now, even a silly argument sounded just peachy as far as Ludwig was concerned, because he planned to spend the next hundred years getting annoyed with his brother and then fuck him into sweet submission when he just couldn’t stand it anymore and there’s no time like the present, correct?
Opening his eyes, however, seemed a bit too much like work right now. So he reached out for the brother who must be lying around here somewhere pretty damn close since his presence was like a steady thrum in Ludwig’s soul. Close, but not close enough, because right now he just wanted to hold him tight for as long as he was allowed.
When he found no sated body near his own, Ludwig was finally forced to open an eye.
There was nobody there, no gently smiling brother... well, he’d be quite shocked at finding that any day, a howling demon of mischief was more what he expected. But anyway, the brother who should be there, whose natural pallor ought to be stealing away his earlier blush of pleasure and with it all his softness, that one was nowhere to be seen eithers.
“East? Gilbert?”
Germany felt a twinge of uneasiness until he recalled the rash promise of free beer, It wasn't as if his brother was the most mushy person around anyway. Yes, that must be it. Off to the nearest beerhall then, and try to catch up with Gilbert who is probably trying to drink the west dry all on his own.
Since his tie was quite ruined anyway (and not even Ludwig feels the need to wear a tie when he’s planning to get plastered) he used it to wipe off the worst mess before sitting up to see where his pants had ended up.
But something, be it the movement, or that little twinge of pain in the wrong place, or the fact that there’s not even a trace of another body ever having laid here beside his own... something told him things were seriously wrong.
Ludwig was familiar with that mellow ache from a number of experiments with an old ally. But should he feel that pain now? No.
And then, as he shook his head to clear away the confusion and another old familiar thing which was, somehow, even more wrong appeared.
The cross. It tumbled off his chest where it must have gotten stuck with sweat or rather, he hopes it’s only sweat. But it puzzles him, because this cross that was once so familiar – he hasn’t worn it for years, has he?
When his fingers reached up, when they touched the chain and cross, they confirmed what memory suggested. There are subtle differences in weight and texture and Ludwig knows. He hasn’t worn this cross since the war. He hasn’t.
And so, all the little details Germany’s mind wouldn’t acknowledge break free; the hair, he knows without looking, has become two shades lighter. The voice, subtly older, hoarsher... the self which suddenly contains strange foreign parts.
And how disquieting isn’t that? Like finding unknown depths in the little lake you remember from your childhood and as the knot in his chest draws ever tighter, Germany realizes that these depths contain sharks.
Hesitant hands move over his belly, feeling how the old, healed over scar of the Saarland has become the deeper scar of East Prussia, with Königsberg as a dull pain to this very day.
Perhaps this realization was the key, because as steadily as the wall in his lands has been breaking apart these last months, the wall in his mind is torn down. Ludwig cries out in shock as his mind is filled with memories of another time, another life. Memories which are nevertheless his, Germany’s, now.
Finally a country both united and at peace. Wealthy and whole. In his head, there’s a recent memory of cocky smirk beneath fearless red eyes as Gilbert sketches an ironic bow. For he is not really leaving, now is he? No, East is closer than he ever was before, and so the pale memory of a once great nation bows out from the world stage as the curtain of history prepares to drop.
“BROTHER!”
They promised him! Italy said it wouldn’t happen! And, and Gilbert can’t just give up! Of all the selfish pricks in his world, isn’t his brother the least likely to just fade away into memories?
Most of Germany is still full of gratitude, all those parts that are made up of his people and his bosses, but in every nation there is something more. The self that makes him Ludwig, orders all his conflicting parts into one coherent being... that self is crying in anguish beneath a monument while the world sings around him.
Unified. Whole.
Wretchedly alone.
Such are the rules for nations, he knows this clearer than ever before. He ought to be happy that they had this last time together, that their union was such a peaceful event without more bloodshed and strife.
No, his mind tells the world, the memory, the brother that ought to be but isn’t, no I will not!
Everything in Ludwig refuses, and his hands scratch madly at the old stones, searching for his brother, the one who promised to remain. Prussia has gone. The GDR is fading but Gilbert is not allowed to go!
In his mind, that pale face is twisting in familiar anger. Germany knows that here the seeds of future antipathy, of jealousy and misunderstandings are sown by his own egoistical hand. Yes, there are rules and he has followed them all his life.
So can he not break them, just this once? Didn’t their people already break all the rules in this world, for them to be able to come together in the first place?
Without further thought, without any thought at all but driven by the deepest, most selfish need, Germany rips the cross off his neck. There’s a wrench in his soul which will most likely echo through the years to come, but the pain and the future is nothing as Germany tears himself apart once again.
“Brother!”
Let me keep you, let me be with you, let us stay together just a little while longer...
There ought to be a sound, perhaps a clap of thunder. For how can destiny bend and break against the will of one being in complete silence? But no, only the mindless pigeons are there to witness how two that were briefly one is now two again. Two again, but different – not enemies, not strangers in all but name, but two who have fought to come together even as the times kept them apart. Brothers.
They’re sweaty and dirty, but now they are both here, sitting opposite each other in the shadow of the monument and... West can’t help it, he just has to laugh (or he might have cried).
Because his brother, his dear brother, is sitting there without a thread on his body and wearing the most furious face one could imagine. So what if his lips are still swollen from kisses or his hair looks as if it has recently housed a whole flock of chickens? He is wearing that beautifully proud sneer that only Gilbert knows how to do and he’ll probably start yelling any moment now and Ludwig? Oh, he can’t wait to hear it.
“That was goddamn stupid, West!” he begins, but then his eyes are drawn to a broken necklace and he positively quakes with rage.
“Look what you did to my cross!” Gilbert snatches it from the ground and protectively holds it close. “I got this from the bloody pope, didn’t you think of that?”
If he could, Ludwig would like to tell him that he knows that perfectly well, but when their eyes meet something sticks in his throat, choking both laughter and any reconciliatory words. Now, he finds that he just can’t speak, all words have escaped his mind so when Gilbert continues to rant he does what he’s wanted to do since he woke up alone beneath the Brandenburger Tor. So he grabs this infuriating, lovable, dear man and (thank god) that makes him shut up.
He holds him, his brother, who’s always twice as much trouble as he’s worth and who will, no doubt, continue to be a pain in the ass to poor Ludwig for as long as there’s even one German left in the world.
And if proud old Prussie, the steely-tough former GDR, notices that his brother is crying like a child, well, it might just be that he’s too busy crying himself to criticize in just this particular moment.
So they stay for a while, West and East, holding each other close. Then Gilbert is softly kissing his brow, like he would do when a much younger Germany woke up, crying about nightmares about great shadowy empires tearing him apart.
“I was willing to give it up,” East whispers, “to just stop for your. No, for our future. You know?”
“I know,” West whispers, “I remember. No more east or west, just Germany.”
He more feels than sees his brother’s nod. “Just Germany.”
“I’ve been Germany on my own,” Ludwig begins, but falters. Gilbert squeezes his arm.
They both remember the dark years when Ludwig grew so drunk on his strength that he confused power with right. All the while, a Prussia made feeble by the loss of his land lay sleeping in a near-forgotten bunker, until the bitter despair of overwhelmed Germany called him to join the final hopeless battles.
“It’s pretty overrated,” Ludwig finally says.
“Heh. Certainly didn’t stop you from doing stupid shit,” Gilbert says, and their hands find each other. The world that was briefly out of balance snaps back into it’s familiar old ways. “I guess someone like you just can’t cut it, eh?”
Ludwig snorts and pulls back a bit. “I don’t know if I’d go that far...”
His brother, true to form, is no longer listening. “So, it’s a good thing you’ve got this kickass spirit of the east to keep you on the right path!” He’s wearing the grin of a madman again and there’s a disquieting glint in his eyes, which West really ought to remember to watch out for.
“HAAA! Surprise attack!”
Their teeth clash together quite painfully and Ludwig hits his head on the base of a column, but they’re kissing and it will all be okay and if someone whispered thank you against someone else’s lips, well, nobody can ever prove anything and Gilbert will kick their hoity-toity Wessie ass if they even try. Ludwig was probably just hallucinating from pure awesome overload anyway.
THE END
Thanks to all the lovely anonymice at the Hetalia kink-meme for providing a poor student with lots of wonderful time-wasting material. This fic wouldn't be written without you
Comments of all flavour are warmly welcomed!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Totally OT
Date: 2009-04-19 08:14 pm (UTC)I bet Gilbo's spirit made me write that, lulz!
Re: Totally OT
Date: 2009-04-21 08:58 pm (UTC)Re: Totally OT
Date: 2009-04-22 05:42 am (UTC)And yep, very tasty!