Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Hetalia, or any affiliated licensed ideas.

Not meant to cause offense in any way, shape, or form. :) Per request, crazy obsessive Germany. And a Germany, Russia, America love triangle.

I own nothing. ;)

OoOoOo

The brush of her fingertips across her lips. The very action entices him in ways she could not begin to understand. The flash of white teeth as she smiles with amusement at some other country's rambling attempt at humor... causes his heart to constrict nearly painfully.

She's his.

She just doesn't know it yet.

He tugs absently at the tie, which feels more like a noose at the moment. But, he wants to use it to bind her too him. To keep those hands from touching anything but silk and his skin. Those delicate fingers, blushing cheeks, and sweet lips. He nearly wants to devour them. He wants to watch her as she comes apart in his arms. Under the onslaught of his touch and mouth. He wants to see her shake and tremble as he claims every inch of her for his own.

Because she belongs to him.

Its fairly obvious, and everyone should know it. It should be a matter of historical record by this point.

He pretends that it doesn't burn him alive to watch her talk to any nation that isn't him. To see those wide smiles directed at the unworthy bastards. The ones that were clearly trying to steal her from him. It would never happen. It wasn't a possibility. It wasn't allowed to be a possibility.

America...

Sweet America. Was his.

Germany flushed slightly as he watched her. The combination of the heat, and her peak farming time was getting to him. She smelled of fertile lands and summer breezes. He wanted her so badly, that it made him ache. But his irritation was swiftly mounting as well. Her neighbor to the north was monopolizing her again. As was South Korea. Germany also was highly displeased with the way America kept glancing over at the U.K.

As if England were anything special.

The island nation was testing his limits, and aggravating the world over with his decision to leave long held unions. However, Germany would be a liar if he said he was wholly displeased by the choice. It made one less competitor for America's affections. Not that Germany even bothered to recognize him as such. Because he would never permit someone to chase after America openly, nor for long.

No good came from letting stray dogs attempt to abscond with his love. The rage he felt toward the others, was deep and nearly consuming. It rivaled the undying affection he had for America. But the darkness inside of him, the part that wanted to harm the other nations for even speaking to her, it grew ever so slightly as America laughed sweetly, musical and lyrical to his ears, at something South Korea said.

His blue eyes narrowed briefly at the dark-haired nation with a fury that would be unsettling if anyone could see it had nothing to do with the interruption of the meeting.

"America!" He called out sharply, but there was a warm undertone in his voice at her name.

Delicate features, turned toward him, as Sky blue orbs widened behind Texas. She blushed faintly at being called out.

"...Yes?" She said nearly softly, and Germany was almost undone. The look of chastisement on her face was awakening parts of him that were best left away from prying eyes.

"Please move over here," He commanded steadily. It was clearly not a request, and he watched as she swallowed quickly and nodded.

"Uh, yeah, sure." She glanced over to South Korea, who shared a quick grin with her. Like two small children that knew they had been caught. Germany felt his agitation calm slightly at how quickly she changed seats, and with her there beside him, he knew he could protect her from the unsavory souls that wanted her. But they could never love her as much as he did. To Germany, she was as essential as breathing.

OoOoOo

She loved him too.

Germany knew it. America had said it many time during the course of their friendly years. 'See ya!' and 'Gosh! You're great Germany!' Declared so openly. Boldly. Like she did not care what anyone else thought. He mused that she very well might not. His brash little love.

So, it is not terribly surprising to him, when his gaze covertly glances to America every now and then. He studies her under his lashes. Watching that stray lock of hair, Nantucket, jut up proudly. How her lips twitch into a smile and how that smile transforms her features into something bewitching. Germany feels a deep sense of satisfaction, just being near her.

However, there is one slightly large irritant to this otherwise delightful moment with her at his side.

Russia.

That Slavic nation is watching him, watch America. Germany was no fool. He knew of the twisted nature that Russia possessed, the very predatory way that he saw all of life. Nearly in a Darwinian fashion. Only the strong survived. Some part of Germany is aware that it makes a great deal of sense and that in some cases it has been proved true. Yet, that is not why Russia watches him now.

Russia has made it very clear, that he wants Germany. Yet, the smaller nation has no want of the brute. It is not Russia's violet eyes that fill his dreams at night. Nor does the Slavic nation possess the feminine laughter that causes Germany's heart to clench.

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Russia goes missing, and the world is on edge.

Blue eyes watch the meeting with heightened interest and paranoia.

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"What are you doing?" Russia demands, snarling despite the swollen features and cut lip.

America gazes at him, but there is something about her eyes that cause Russia to pause in his rage. He is hurt and lashing out. Partialy, he blames her. She knows that.

"When you get to the door," she whispers calmly, "take a left, and then at the end of the hall go right. Run, Russia. Run and do not look back."

The suggestion seems to have irked his pride, for he tenses and sneers at her.

"Please." America half-begs in desperation. Her tone turned suddenly urgent. "Just this once, listen to me."

Her hands reach for him then, brushing away the blood-matted hair to the best of her ability. Her blue eyes are unreadable behind Texas as she looks him over. "Good." She mutters to herself.

Russia knows now that the damage is not as extensive as he thought, or had been concerned about. Questions burn in the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored. She's a fool. Germany will kill her for this.

"I will not leave."

America seemingly ignores him as she works against his restraints. Russia loves Germany, craves him like a sickness in his soul. The other nation is the only one that understands what the obsession does to you. How hard it is to fight against day in and day out.

"Yes, you will." She comments under her breath as she snaps the last set of chains. They both know she doesn't have the key, and time is running out until Germany returns. He will notice that America is missing from the meeting. That will agitate the European nation.

Russia pulls up to his full height, now no longer confined to a certain position.

"Nyet!" He growls.

America grabs his face then, her fingers were gentle on his bruised skin, but he still all the same. She takes a deep breath. He thinks she is an idiot if she feels she needs to explain the situation.

"I-.."

"Amerika, I-"

"Let me finish!" She said in a normal voice, which felt like a shout in the small and dark room. She is breathing quickly.

Russia falls into silence.

"I will never understand," America continued with luminescent eyes filled with tears, "why you wanted him?"

He's about to tell her, or tell her off, when her lips press against his injured ones with a butterfly-light pressure.

"Why did you want him?" She questioned looking lost and determined at the same time. "When you could have had me?"

The breath leaves him, as she knocks the proverbial wind from him with that simple set of questions. Violet eyes search guileless blue. She wasn't at fault and neither was Russia. They simply... were not for each other. It was lamentable and pitiable. Even now, his blood thrummed for Germany, and he could not return her affections.

"Am...Amerika," he said quietly.

She smiled then, understanding everything he wasn't saying. She nodded.

"I know." She answered as she pushed him toward the door. "It's alright. Go."

It occurs to him the sacrifice, she is making, for him. He had thought her a fool, and moron. But, she had known that he was taken, where he was, and had come to get him. Russia raised a battered hand and gently brushed her wheat-gold hair behind her ear. She reluctantly glanced up at him.

"Forgive me." Russia said, knowing that he could not give her what she wanted, but Germany would finally be happy. Which would make Russia happy for him. In a twisted sense. He would still try to conquer Germany. He needed to.

She smiled briefly, and nodded. She would forgive him anything, but she could not tell him that. Russia placed a soft kiss on her forehead, a small bit of reddish blood was left behind as he pulled away.

"Go." America commanded, once more. A sense of finality in her tone.

His hand drops from her warmth, and he shuffles out of the door without a backward glance. It is a kindness, she believes, because he won't have to see her cry.

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America snoops around the house to find what she is looking for. And, Dear Lord, how she wished she hadn't.

He's prepared everything. He has all other lotions, skin products, clothing sizes, and tastes picked out. In a room that is made for her. She fights back a bit of bile at the sight. Sher understands in a single minute, that he is utterly obsessed with her.

However, she has come this day to save Russia and everyone else. Germany included.

She can't allow him to become what he had once been. If being what he wanted, saved millions of lives...

Then so be it.

The Star-Spangled nation swallowed against the rolling waves of nausea as she steeled her resolve. From the look of the room, everything from the colors to the décor was to appeal to her softer side.

Which meant...

Ah, she understood.

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Germany strides through his front door, highly irritated and concerned that America had not been in attendance. He wonders where she has gone or what has happened to her. But he cannot seem to cool his temper. He is fully in control of his facilities, but he needs an outlet for his rage. The others had no right to speak of America in that manner. None.

He'll kill them all, if anyone harmed a single hair on her head. He'd-

His blue gaze rivets to the slightly ajar door that leads to his basement. His mood darkens further. Either Russia has escaped, or someone has come into his home. Germany narrows his eyes, moving forward to deal with either occurrence. His expression is unforgiving as the blood thrums in his veins to deal with the cause head-on. He notices that the lights are on.

He had left Russia in the dark.

Germany represses an urge to shout expletives at this unwelcomed circumstance. Slowly, he descends the stairs, ready to deal with another damned nation causing a fuss. His hand slips into his pocket, holding onto a knife inconspicuously carried there. He flips it open, still in his pocket, ready to take care of any potential 'problem'. Yet, as he reaches the bottom step, he forgets all about the weapon.

He forgets about his anger and rage.

Germany forgets everything except the sight before him.

America is sitting in the blood-stained chair. A simply nightdress on. One of the ones he had purchased for her and kept in the room he had prepared for her. For when he finally had her by his side. He could smell the scent of the shampoo, her shampoo -he'd gotten the exact brand to make her happy-, wafted in the previously stale air. Her blonde hair was still slightly damp, and it was down around her shoulders.

Blue eyes met blue as she smiled.

"Welcome home, Germany." She said sweetly.

For him, it was a fantasy come true. He froze. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and he stared at her.

She bit her bottom lip, looking slightly worried. She smoothed the nightgown down a bit.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a gruff voice, laced with lust.

"Waiting for you," she answered truthfully.

Germany could no longer hold himself back. He didn't care about Russia or the others in this moment. All that mattered was that America had come to him. He knew it. He knew she loved him too. No matter what that bastard Slavic howled out. Germany strode forward, and America was pliant and willing as he grabbed her to him. His lips decended in a searing kiss.

She was everything he had dreamed of and more.

She pulled back, blushing slightly, and his pants tightened considerably at the sight.

"Up stairs?" She questioned, looking at the surroundings.

Ja. Germany agreed with her. It was too dark and the scent of stale blood and bile was still slightly detectable. Not a worthy place to consummate their love. Without a word, he swept her into his arms, and started up the steps again.

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The only country not surprised at the next meeting, is a stiff looking Russia, whose violet eyes burn with a white-hot intensity as he watches Germany possessively guard America. She is submissive to him.

Smart woman. She knew what Germany's deepest fantasy was. The one he had confessed to Russia in the height of the worst torture. The sort that Russia had reveled in because it was attention from Germany. Attention that is now solely on the Star-Spangled nation.

Russia swallows the sick feeling tearing up his stomach. His anger mounts, but not for the reasons he would have originally believed. The Slavic nation wants... he wants...

Both of them.

And, he intends to have them.

His fists clench in his lap, as a spark of insanity grows in his violet eyes. Da, of course... he had to have them as a pair. That is where he went wrong with Germany.