He saw himself as your awesome protector.
The Prussian in shining and awesome armor.
His faithful sidekick; Gilbird.
With calloused fingers he traced the wrinkled spines of the books in the library, that was the heart of the house.
It was a house he built, partly to show off how awesome his skills were, and to impress you; show you he could provide for you and that being part of the 'Bad Touch Trio' was just a title. He didn't really creep on woman or date many at a time. He wanted to prove his faithfulness and show you he would always be there for you.
Plus, he thought he looked awesome building the house from the ground up in a dirty wife beater with the sweat dripping down him.
However, Gilbird didn't. He found it hard to rest on his owners shoulder with the sweaty sheen that made his muscles glow, so he tended to nestle himself on your lap throughout the day as you read a book.
Books used to be your enemy. Memories of Macbeth and the Merchant of Venice being forced down your throat brought disdainful memories of reading to your mind. However, Gilbert introduced you to the history of Prussia, and slowly you began to read historical books about the country he represented, to historical and adventurous tales of fantasy, to romance books. And the occasional steamy romance novel of coarse. Though only for something to read; you'd never take an interest in such vulgar literature. Though some did have enrapturing story lines, you admit.
In your cozy home, you liked to spend time in the library.
The smell of books and the words drawn together to create stories were your perfect fantasy. You wished you could live in there; but the call of work, friends and Gilbert sadly drew you out of your hobbit's nest.
He poked his head around a bookcase, spotting you curled in a ball on the couch, covered in warm blankets in front of the fire. He watched the flickering flames create shadows across the expanse of your face and neck, shadows of dancing flames giving your skin life.
"Hey, Schatz," he called out, grinning when you remained immersed in your own world. He noticed the Prussian flag dawning the cover and felt his heart rate speed up as it always did when he found you reading about his history.
It was somehow personal, like you were looking at his baby album thrust at you by an embarrassing mother; of when he'd made mistakes and conquered and lost and won. Though he loved dear Old Fritz, whenever you were able to engage in conversation with Gilbert about his life and how it disappointed you that the Allies effectively destroyed the remainder of Prussia, that hadn't merged with Germany; it left him unnerved, since you'd seen so much of him.
He felt so exposed as you would speak about his history with the knowledge of who he was, openly expressing your views on things.
It flattered him the attention you gave him.
Though embarrassed him as well.
"Schatz?" he sang, plopping down beside you on the couch. He propped your legs over his and you melted against him, never lifting your head or addressing him.
He knew how to get your full attention though; on the present and current Gilbert, not the one written about in the book you read.
With experienced fingers, he slid his hands under your numerous blankets and under your (skirt/shorts/trousers/dress etc) to trace your womanhood through your underwear.
With a shrill gasp, you jumped and glared at him with dilated eyes. "Gilbert!"
He gave his signature laugh, bending his head down to rest it in the curve of your neck. You smelled of firewood and books and the faint trace of perfume that you'd spritzed on hours before.
"I missed you," he said, hot breath tickling the nape of your neck.
"So that means you can just put your hand down there?!"
"No. I did zhat 'cause I vanted to!" He beamed, tongue flicking out to lick the shell of your ear. His finger slipped past your underwear and began to play with your button, turning your face red. To cool down, you took deep breaths.
"Stop," you moaned, shutting the book and gripping it tightly.
"Nah," he laughed, his other hand climbing up your back to entangled in your hair, which he tugged on. That always drove you crazy.
You whimpered and clenched your eyes. "Stop. You can't just.... just do things like that... unwillingly."
"Who says your unvilling?"
"You didn't ask if we could... you just... Gilbert! Damn it, do me already!"
"Zhat's an order I like to hear. Kesesese!"
The Prussian threw away the many blankets, much to your relief. It was too hot for them. The arrival of Gilbert was more than enough to keep you hot and bothered.
"Gil," you moaned airily, holding your arms out.
It was a fact Gilbert knew that you liked close contact during intercourse. It made you uncomfortable to stare at each other far apart while he entered you. You thought it somehow ruined the act if you weren't in each others embrace, which made it more loving.
He leaned over you, capturing your lips with his.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, nails scraping his scalp and down his spine. His shoulder blades looked like angel wings to you, and you enjoyed feeling them move as his hands roamed your body.
The hand in your underwear came out and he began to tug your (pants/dress/skirt etc) down.
Cold air cooled the layer of sweat already forming on you, and you quickly worked to slip his sweater off.
Scars from war and many years of life marred his flesh, all which made him more manly and mature looking. This was about the only physical aspect that showed Gilbert's true age; his withered scars. New and old, some on top of others, long, small, silvery or barely noticeable. All of these you kissed, and he cursed in German because he knew you loved his accent and because it felt so nice to have someone love him so wholly.
He knew you were with him for him; not who he was or what he'd accomplished, or his attractiveness or anything like that. Gilbert didn't ever doubt that you loved him with everything in your being.
Each day passed him by with him knowing he had something that many other countries sadly never got to experience in their long lives; true love.
Not just physical lust or fleeting summer love between teenagers.
He would watch you age with grace, and be by your side when your last breath left your body. And then he would keep living, knowing that he had lost himself with you. Dying as a country wasn't impossible, but hard. And he didn't think he could face loosing his brother and his friends to suicide or purposefully throwing himself into harms way to die in a war. Though living without you seemed so bleak. Both options weren't favourable, and he dreaded that day coming.
Thoughts liked these always saddened him, so Gilbert tried his best to live for now.
Live with you in the house he's made in honour of everything you meant to him; stocked with books that left him feeling so exposed and inadequate though fully trusting you to never judge him based on his past.
Live with you as a family, loving how you teased his brother and got on well with him at the same time. How you'd learned to cook from Feliciano and made him dinner everyday when you didn't have to work; a warm and delicious dinner was out of reach to the Gilbert who had sat in cold trenches fighting countries he'd known since he was a young and only formed country. He could never have hoped to have found you.
He hoped to add another addition to the family. Maybe another after that.
Which was part of the reason why he pounced on you so hungrily in the library. Time slipped like sand through the cracks in his fingers, because he had all of it and it wasn't important to him. But you didn't. And already years had passed since he'd met you. That and, he loved the closeness he felt with you during this intimate moment.
How he cherished every blush and slick embrace from the sheen on your skin, to the raspy calls of his name, both human and his country, whispered in his ear. Chills racked his body as your nails grazed his skin, never cutting the surface but firm enough to give pleasure.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, aiming for his lips until he entered you unexpectedly.
He was gentle so it didn't hurt, but it surprised you so your spine arched in shocked pleasure and you knocked your head against his chin.
"Scheiße," Gilbert winced. "Zhat hurt, Frau!"
You hissed up at his, eyes half-lidded from pleasure and the slight pain from knocking your head against his pointy chin. "Then don't fucking put it inside without at least a, like, warning. Like "Hey, I'm about to insert myself inside your fucking body". I think that'd be nice!"
He ignored your sarcasm and gave a smirk that made you immediately suspicious. "Put vhat inside you?"
".... You know!"
"No, I zon't. Enlighten me, Frau."
You glared at him. "Don't make me say it!"
He loved to torture you about how uncomfortable you got about saying words like 'penis' or 'blowjob's' and the likes, because it made you embarrassed. Cursing wasn't a problem, but bodily and sexual terms were. He found it sweet and charmingly childish, but when he forced you to say those words, it was hilariously cute.
"I von't keep going unless you say it," he threatened.
You huffed. "Fine then! Fine by me. Don't do anything!"
He knew you weren't really mad, just embarrassed. "If you say it I'll make you cry tears of pleasure," he promised.
"Go fuck yourself."
"Co..." he began.
"Co.." he started again.
"Ck," you finished.
"No, ze whole thing."
"Oh, piss off."
"Co... ck," he pronounced.
You glared, face entirely red. "Cock."
He laughed, resting his head on your shoulder as his laughs wracked his body. "So niedlich!" he exclaimed, leaning his head up to nuzzle your nose before thrusting unexpectedly. Your back arched painfully.
He smirked. "Es tut mir leid."
Before you, Gilbert never realized how truly valuable human life was.
It was so short, yet many people died in wars and through murders and accidents and suicides.
Despite how fragile humans were, and how they foolishly deluded themselves into believing that they were the top of the food chain, he wished to be human.
He'd give up his experience and the things he'd learned just to live a normal life with his brother and you; never having to worry about watching you die in his arms, or if your time would come before old age could take you.
Daily things he worried about was cancer and other illnesses (it seemed new diseases formed every day, those dastardly infections adapting so they could take more lives; though cures came far and few between), accidents and having to keep you safe by being your crazy possessive protector. Everything he viewed as a danger that would take you away from him.
You told him to live for the moment.
And he did.
But the thing about moments is that they only last for a moment; whereas he wanted eternity with you.
You called him greedy.
He said he was only human.