They had settled on an agreement. They had to because otherwise they would never get to see each other beside worldly politics and that was just a terribly depressive thought.

So they reserve a weekend, once a month, to spend entirely in each other's presence. It is a tentatively new arrangement, in their tentatively new relationship.

Well, Matthew likes to call it a relationship. Gilbert often calls it a treaty. Lovino dismisses it as a compromise of mutual interest. Honestly, it's that Matthew knows that they're all in love with each other that he allows their stubbornness to slide.

The first weekend they spend together, they spend at Gilbert's. Or better, at Ludwig's. That is, until Lovino decides that he does not want to spend his time in Germany's basement, for fuck's sake, Gilbert, so they end up searching for an apartment for most of Friday and Saturday. Ludwig gladly funds the adventure, confiding into Matthew that he is somewhat glad to have Gilbert stand on his own two feet again.

Lovino somehow interprets it as Ludwig wanting to rid himself of his older brother, so as some weird, petty, twisted revenge, he fixes Gilbert a gorgeous apartment just outside of Potsdam. It's more a penthouse suite, taking up most of the top floor, with huge windows and a balcony overseeing a large neighbouring park.

When Matthew asks how much it costs, Lovino dismisses it as something Ludwig could take care of because Gilbert had damn well raised him.

They're walking around the big empty space on Sunday, Ludwig pulling other strings to get them a contract and the keys earlier than should ever be possible. Gilbert is keeping a list of things he needs for when he moves in, as his basement stuff barely even fills the new bedroom, and from time to time Lovino and Matthew walk by it and cross out things he absolutely does not need at all.

"Why can't I have a pool table?" Gilbert whines.

"I can give you a whole list as to why not," Lovino sneers, scowling at him from where he stands in the middle of the would-be living room.

Matthew leans on the counter of the open kitchen so he can keep an eye on both his boyfriends in case of escalations.

"Well, I can give a lot of reasons as to why it'd be a great purchase!"

"D'you need some paper to write those down too?"

Gilbert huffs, stalking up to Lovino to loom over him. Lovino, never one to back down from a fight, meets his eye haughtily.

"You're such a spoilsport," Gilbert says and leans closer to whisper, "Any idea what we could do on a pool table?"

Lovino's nostrils flare, but the corners of his mouth twitch in clear bemusement. He presses his lips in a thin line when Gilbert takes his hand.

Gilbert runs his thumb across his knuckles, leaning impossibly closer. Lovino counters this by leaning back himself. It starts to become ridiculous when Gilbert starts to make kissy-noises and Lovino goes to extremes not to indulge him, spine at an odd angle and the most valiant effort yet to not burst out in laughter. He fails when he finally loses his precarious balance and they topple to the floor. Gilbert wastes no time in pinning Lovino down and peppering him with kisses as he snorts with laughter.

"Danke," he sighs again and again between kisses until Lovino grabs his cheeks and forces him to press their lips together.

Matthew watches in amusement, supporting his head in his hand. He loves their contrast, the way Gilbert's pink lips look melded with Lovino's dark ones, how Lovino's freckles stand starkly against his dark skin while Gilbert's are sometimes hardly noticeable, or with Gilbert's hair catching the light of the setting sun, burning tresses as Lovino's dark fingers run through it.

They break apart slowly, and Gilbert sits up, straddling Lovino's lap as Lovino's fingers slide down his arms. They glance at Matthew, both a little flushed, and he chuckles, walking around the counter and kneeling on the floor next to them. He runs a hand through Lovino's soft curls and kisses Gilbert.

"You're so beautiful," he says to them and loves the reaction those simple words incur.

Lovino blushes bright red and smiles, honest and freely, though his does try to hide it poorly behind his hand. Gilbert's flush starts below the collar of shirt, slowly creeping up his neck and colouring his ears. He glances down, catches Lovino's eye, flushes even more and quickly looks away altogether.

"Not so much now," Lovino says, pushing up a little, touching Gilbert's cheek. "Lobster."

Matthew laughs as Gilbert flushes even further, pouting. Lovino takes the opportunity to peck his lips, then wriggles a little so he can fully sit up and kiss Matthew, lingering as if to catch up.

"Now," Matthew says, patting their thighs, "what shall we order for takeout?"

Gilbert immediately bounces to his feet, rattling off his favourite fast food places he knows in Potsdam. Lovino groans because he hates takeout and lies back down on the floor. Yet, he has to agree that cooking in a barely equipped kitchen was out of the question. And besides, he likes to indulge Gilbert, so in the end the only thing he demands it's that whatever they're ordering isn't Italian because if there's anything worse than German cuisine, it's German cuisine pretending to be Italian.

Gilbert eventually decides on Chinese, walking around the empty rooms as he orders, adding onto his list in a sudden bout of productivity. Lovino refuses to move from the floor at the stage and makes a home of Matthew's lap as the Canadian absently brushed his hair.

Gilbert joins them once the food arrives, and Matthew sidles up next to him as Lovino remembers that eating while lying down is not a great plan.

Matthew makes great use of his position wedged between his boyfriends, occasionally stealing from either's box.

Lovino hisses as Matthew goes in for some more shrimp, using his fork to block Matthew's chopsticks. "You have your own damn food, Matthew."

"But I want yours," Matthew sings, snapping his chopsticks together threateningly. "Now—"

Gilbert spears the contested shellfish, humming as he plops it in his mouth. "You two need to grow up."

The look Lovino shoots him catches somewhere between I-do-not-want-to-hear-that-coming-from-you and I-cannot-believe-you-just-betrayed-me-like-that-how-dare?

You," he growls.

"Gilbert, out of all of us, I can honestly say you have no right whatsoever to accuse us of immaturity," Matthew says dryly. "You owe me some of your duck now, though."

"I'll fight you for it." Gilbert brandishes his chopstick, just the one because he's hopeless and refuses to use a fork instead.

Matthew grins and, with quick movements, slaps Gilbert's hands. Gilbert yelps and Matthew takes his price.

"And after a short, decisive battle," he says in his best impression of a sport game announcer, "Canada defeats the Kingdom of Prussia with minimal losses on the field."

Gilbert narrows his eyes, and Lovino wisely decides to scoot out of harm's way, manoeuvring food containers away from both contestants, as Gilbert lunges for Matthew. The Canadian catches his hands, but is not quite prepared by Gilbert's weight, hitting the floor with an oomph.

Gilbert is quick to pin him down, straddling his waist and holding his arms above his head. Gilbert grins and takes his victory spoils, kissing Matthew hungrily.

"The Kingdom of Prussia rules," Gilbert mutters before slipping his tongue into Matthew's mouth, tasting of spicy Peking duck, and Matthew couldn't quite muffle the groan as Gilbert shifted just so.

"You're both fools," Lovino says through a mouthful.

Gilbert and Matthew glance at him, look as Lovino sits cross-legged behind his acquired food, twirling some beef on his fork thoughtfully before he eats it. And he looks so very smug, so very handsome that Matthew has half a mind to kiss that expression off his face, to unbutton his shirt and undo his belt—But Gilbert is still in the way, and also not helping the situation at all with the way he sits on Matthew's crotch, and also also no longer doing anything about that because he has caught Lovino's bait so, so easily.

"You," Gilbert says, and he's halfway across the space between them before he pauses and realizes Lovino's plan. "You."

The Republic of Italy raises an eyebrow, grinning as he holds up Matthew's contained in a victory toast. "Viva l'Italia."

This fic is blamed on Gizmo who, when I was stuck in an airport for an entire night after missing the last train to my hotel, convinced me to write some smut for this severely underrated OT3 and then it just straight-up ended up as this entire fic. As FF is the way it is, I won't post that chapter (these first three are SFW). If you want to read the last chapter, I suggest jumping over to my AO3 of the same username as here :D