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Mea Culpa(s)	By : mykonosparadise Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1120 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. I make no money on the fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Mea Culpa(s)
- 1
Pairing: Germancest
Warnings: human names, some groping and kissing, swearing, not beta'd
Summary:Part of the meinbruder winter exchange over at lj. Prompt: Germany and Prussia bake a cake together. Prussia makes a mess and it pisses Germany off, they fight and one of them leaves. It's up to anon how they get back together again.
A/N: Not much to say. I'll just briefly explain the title in case someone's not familiar with the phrase. "Mea culpa is a Latin phrase that translates into English as 'my mistake' or 'my own fault'."
Enjoy…
- Mea Culpa(s) -
Why did it have to happen every single year?
Christmas was always like this.
One of the rare days in the year he had free, and obligatorily ruined. He shook out the cherries a bit too forcefully and the carnelian syrup splashed around, making a true masterpiece out of his usually speckless kitchen counter.
He groaned inwardly.
It will never change. Just when he thought he could spend a whole day in the comfortable atmosphere of a warm home alone − maybe he included Gilbert in his plans as well − Italy invites him over to the party and he can't refuse. That Christmas celebration which was by far the worst kind of party yet invented.
The whole event is planned out in details, half of the world's nations will be there, and Gilbert's whines weren't helping either.
There was no escape from the crowded, tedious party. There never was.
"Uuuh, this is what I've found."
The platinum-blond lifted the container and moved it from side to side childishly as he stood there in his luminous red hoodie.
"What should I do with a mould?" Ludwig asked gruffly. Seriously, was the other retarded?
"How should I know. It's the only thing I found in the storeroom." The older German shrugged nonchalantly.
"I need a round pan for the cake, Gilbert."
Said man gave him a teasing wink in response before disappearing from his sight again. The younger blond fought against the urge to groan out loud this time.
Whose fucking idea was to bring something home-made to the gathering?
But it didn't even matter anymore. Everything was settled and the only thing he could do now is to follow the rules.
He pursed his lips in displeasure and focused on the matter at hand. There was more than enough time left, but it was better to finish the cake on time than arrive at the party late.
His choice fell upon the Black Forest Cherry Cake, not only because it was an authentic German cake, but because it was a fairly simple one to make, despite it looking complicated.
His first basis for the cake just ended up in the garbage can. Not because he wasn't able to prepare it, no. His brother was the one who had laughed so hard few minutes ago that he gloriously sneezed into the sponge cake and he had to throw it away. So much time wasted.
"Here." Gilbert said laconically and handed him the needed item.
"About damn time." He snapped.
"Hey, don't bite my head off because of a shitty pan, West."
He didn't offer an answer.
Gilbert misleadingly interpreted it as a sign of silent agreement and moved his hand over his brother's clothed back in few stroking, innocent movements. Ludwig's brows only furrowed further.
"I still can't believe I actually agreed to this."
"You know how the Russians say, West." Gilbert started loquaciously and bent down to lean his elbows onto the counter. "'As you cooked the porridge, so must you eat it.'"* He said and patted his younger brother on the back, one, two, three times.
"I don't care much for porridge… or Russians." Ludwig mumbled out. Gilbert's hand 'accidentally' fell lower and made a successful attempt to grope him with a mischievous grin that evaporated as soon as the blond's spatula connected with his head.
"You're all work and no play, West…" The platinum-blond complained as he rubbed the abused place.
No wonder Gilbert tried everything possible in order to convince him to attend the Christmas party. His idea of life consisted of drinking alcohol, eating large meals − possibly at the expanse of others − playing games, and generally doing nothing. The party was a unique opportunity to find people of similar… tastes. But what was he thinking as he tried to talk him into joining?
Not that he wished to suggest that Gilbert thinks.
He gave a weary sigh and started spreading the filling on the first basis that wasn't ruined by his brother.
In the meantime, Gilbert was busy messing around with the ingredients. As Ludwig spared him a glance after some time, the man was sucking on a maraschino cherry, letting him see his tongue. Ludwig returned to his cake hurriedly with a spreading flush, keeping a blank expression.
"Stop that." He barked at the male who insisted on annoying him with his flippant and lewd demeanor. His cheeks were heating up and he hated that. Gilbert only responded with a chuckle as he chewed deliberately on the glazed fruit.
Ludwig was forced to deduce that his brother decided to help him out of lucrative rather than Samarian reasons. His irksome attempts of flirtation were starting to become irritating. Had he been condemned to spend a whole day without sex or at least a grope, Gilbert would have been probably found dead around noon. And his idea of baking a cake together obviously consisted in making him work while he was merely supposed to hover around.
The younger blond drummed against the counter with his long fingers impatiently as he waited for the second layer to be moistened with the cooled syrup before he added it on the cake and then strode towards the storeroom again to get another can of cherry pie filling since Gilbert ate almost an entire one. Hopefully leaving his brother to whip the cream in the meantime wasn't a bad idea.
He sighed faintly while scanning the contents of the fridge, fighting against an oncoming headache upon the mere thought of the party.
Just as he spotted what he was looking for, there was a slight clatter coming from the kitchen. At the sound of glass being broken, Ludwig shut the fridge close and rushed back to the kitchen to see what has happened. Undoubtedly, Gilbert screwed up with something again.
A not really welcoming sight met him − his brother clutching a mixing device while a broken glass lay innocently on the tiled floor that was strewn with a generous amount of fine powder. There was flour on the ground as far as the eye could see.
Loosing his temper completely, Ludwig stared at the dirty state of his beloved kitchen, then at his brother.
"Look at what you've done, idiot!" He shouted in such a crescendo that Gilbert almost winced. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but a look of bewilderment and hurt flashed on the pale features for a millisecond before he scowled.
"Calm down, West, I only wanted to get the mixer. Whatever, we can always swee—"
Telling Ludwig to calm down, as Gilbert friendly recommended, was like a red rag to a bull.
"That's not the fucking problem, Gilbert! The problem is that you're making a damn mess here!"
"Well excuse me, I was only trying to help." He put the device onto the counter slowly and reached for a dishcloth but Ludwig spoke again, his tone an usher of an inevitable fight.
"You never helped me."
Gilbert gave him a look. "Oh, have I not!" He inquired, slightly irritated himself. Seriously now − that Ludwig should dare to attack him! Without knowing the reason why, he ascribed a generic meaning to his brother's appaling words and what Ludwig was implying there offended him deeply.
"And who raised you? Who taught you everything, huh? The most convenient thing is to ignore the past."
'Past?' — said a sudden voice in Ludwig's head. 'Who was speaking about the past?'
The sudden digression made him scowl.
"You think I'm delighted to have to deal with your churlish mood and grumpiness,West?"
Ludwig stiffened.
"Everything has to be perfect for you, doesn't it? Well screw you, you obstinate brat!" The ex-nation snarled at him. Gilbert's words begin to sting him like a scorpion and he could no longer pretend he didn't see what his brother was driving at.
"I'm only trying to help and you're the one making the fuss here." The final outcome could not be endlessly deferred. The fight was quickly approaching, just as he was foolishly moving toward it. "You miserable bastard − if you fucking think you're without any flaws then you've mistaken − and your constant pessimism is pathetic too!" He cried in a voice that Ludwig had never heard. A loud, wild, shaking voice.
Intentionally or not, Prussia had stepped over the line. This wasn't about the damn cake anymore.
But Ludwig was so taken aback by this outburst that he kept silent.
"Look at me, West! I'm not even supposed to live, yet here I am, as cheerful as ever. And happy!" His voice almost broke now. The last sentence was not very honest, but the whole speech caused a fierce pain to spread through Ludwig's chest, creating a chasm between the two of them.
"Why haven't you left by now...?" The younger blond started almost in a whisper. A strident contrast to the rage that was swelling within. He gripped the counter in anger, about to raise his voice as well.
"Why don't you go then? Why don't you disappear from this house if you hate me so much!" He was painfully aware that what he was suggesting there was utterly preposterous.
Not trusting his voice anymore, he grasped the heavy plate upon which the unfinished cake rested and, without lifting it, he precariously shoved the glass dish across the counter towards the platinum-blond and destroyed everything he had been working on for the past hour. The glass and its contents landed dangerously near to Gilbert's right leg.
What was he trying to gain through this? Confirmation of dominance? Satisfy his desire for revenge?
He didn't know.
It became too much for him, he couldn't stand the tension anymore.
Two glares were exchanged before he dashed out of the room in shameful surrender and went straight to his bedroom.
A loud bang of a door being shut echoed through the entire house.
A shaky breath which he had managed to restrain until then escaped him as soon as he slouched back against the door, not trusting the legs to support his weight.
Ludwig kept waiting in silence, hoping that someone will answer the call.
Muttering angrily, he increased his pressure on the phone and listened to the dial tone that clicked whole seven times before someone had the decency to pick up.
"Ve~ Germany—"
Too impatient to wait, Ludwig interrupted him.
"I won't be coming to the party, Feliciano. But I can't speak for Gilbert." He added quickly, ready to end the call. He was in no mood for a talk, and especially not with the Italian.
"But Germany..." The confused voice replied, and Ludwig took advantage of the pause.
"I'm sorry. Maybe next year. Bye." He hung up.
Before he knew it, two hours had elapsed.
Alone in his room, he sat at his working-table and leafed through a random book without any interest whatsoever in its contents. His own life seemed to contain the thrills of a hundred novels anyway.
Completely isolated and avoiding to go out like some stubborn child, he kept sitting there ever since he came up to his room. But one thing especially upset him. He knew that Gilbert was probably doing the same. The possibility of any sort of communication between them was barred by their similar behavior. Yet the more he pondered on it, the more he perceived that in a certain sense Gilbert was right. There was no need to loose tempers over something as trivial as baking a cake.
Preoccupied by his thoughts rather than concentrated on reading the book, he re-read the same sentence for the fifth time when someone opened the door. His gaze lifted but he didn't look back. He was positive it was his brother.
The platinum-blond was quiet, it appeared to him that he was just standing there behind his back and it confused him.
Another minute of silence and Gilbert finally spoke.
"You might have your flaws, West… but you're still mine."
And with that, he left the bedroom again, leaving the blond even more puzzled than before.
A chocolatey smell danced in his nostrils and he made a semi-circle in his rolling chair to see where it was coming from. On the low, rectangular table two steps away lay a small chocolate cupcake, lonely on the wooden surface. He stared at it for good three minutes before standing up.
As he got closer, he saw it was topped with a frosting and an 'I Love You' written with a melting chocolate syrup, the letters awkwardly jumbled together in order to fit into the small area.
The little trick proved to be beneficial on several levels. Not only did every trace of anger vanish, but the confession coupled with the sentence from earlier worked as magic words opening every door.
He didn't want to dwell on it any longer, the paltry fight was pointless to begin with. Beside that, Gilbert rarely made the effort to initiate an apology. He must be really sorry if he bothered to do this.
With a slight narrowing of the brows he took the cupcake and gave a quick sigh, convinced that the whole affair was over and done with.
He opened the door with a small smile on his lips as he observed the still warm cupcake in his hand, but his heart skipped a beat as soon as he looked up.
Has Gilbert been standing there the whole time?
As if on cue, his brother's hand shot up to his neck and he scratched the back of it uncomfortably before speaking.
"I just went to make another one… you know, in case that one melts." Truly, Gilbert never knew when to shut his mouth, "I mean, not the cake itself, but the letters. The syrup melts quickly, you can barely read the letters after only a minute. I guess I should have let them cool—"
He never got to finish his rambling.
The taller blond embraced him, hands around the waist, pulling the man closer. Gilbert let out a short, soft snicker.
"… knew it won't take you long to come and apologize to your awesome brother." Gilbert was being hugged when he ought to have been rapped on the knuckles. But Ludwig shook his head and tightened his hold after a wave of quaint affection. He felt the obscure urge to shower Gilbert with a litany of excuses.
Gilbert leaned the chin on his shoulder and his brother's warmth felt good on his body.
"I love you?" Ludwig asked as he eyed the cupcake warily, twirling it between his fingers, his other hand twisted in the plush fabric of Gilbert's hoodie.
The platinum-blond laughed, but Ludwig felt that he was ashamed of something.
Gilbert shrugged. "It's not a lie."
They separated and created some distance between them but stayed close. Ludwig took the initiation this time and leaned in slowly as not to surprise Gilbert before kissing him on the lips. It was intended to be a chaste little kiss, but the older blond parted his lips immediately, quietly inviting him inside. Ludwig gladly took the offer but scoffed as Gilbert's hands magnetically connected with his ass to give him a valiant squeeze.
His brother tasted of chocolate and cupcakes, and he couldn't but smile inwardly at that.
"Not angry anymore?" Gilbert inquired as they parted, scarlet eyes a bit unfocused in sudden lust. Ludwig shook his head in a negative reply.
"And we're going to the party?"
"Yes."
With the cupcake still in his hand he headed downstairs and Gilbert waddled behind him, suddenly all hyper.
"Are we going to make a new cake?"
Ludwig gave a nod.
"And we're gonna wreck Italy's house, right?"
"Yeah." Ludwig gave a chuckle, already on the ground floor now.
"And we're having awesome sex afterward?" He continued with his stratagem.
"I'm not falling for that one." The blond said evasively.
"So mean! Where's my present~?" Gilbert whined childishly but his complaints fell on deaf ears.
"You're not a child." Ludwig reminded him as he was about to walk into the kitchen.
"Let's have a fuck-fest the—omph!" They collided in the doorway because Ludwig suddenly stopped as Gilbert was following him.
The kitchen looked even worse than before. Not only that Gilbert didn't clean the mess he made before, but new stains were visible, the dirty cooking wares scattered over the counter where he prepared the cupcakes, leaving the room in a chaotic state.
"Gilbert!" The younger cried, the party forgotten again.
- The End -
* 'As you cooked the porridge, so must you eat it.'- a Russian idiomatic phrase, roughly similar to the English phrase 'You've made your bed, now lie in it.' = You made a decision and now must accept its consequences.
- 1
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Mea Culpa(s)