#ludfeli

They had been dating for about a month, now. Italy was so happy when Germany finally admitted his feelings to him. It had taken a while, despite Italy’s very obvious hints, but none of that mattered now, because at last they were together. Things were wonderful. Of course, they still argued, like any other couple, and Germany still got frustrated with Italy’s messiness and laziness, and Italy still got annoyed with Germany’s bossiness and strictness. But together, they were learning how to carve out a life of their own. 

Despite the fact that they had been sleeping in the same bed before they even got together, Germany was still shy with affection. Through some coaxing during late-night evenings of wine and beer, he’d learned that Germany really didn’t have a lot of experience with relationships. He’d only ever been with two girls throughout his life, one when he was young and inexperienced, and another when he was older. Germany hadn’t ever been with any guys, despite the fact that he was obviously gay. Well, that’s what Italy thought, anyway, even though Germany hadn’t admitted it yet. He supposed it made sense, with how repressed the man was. He didn’t speak ill of his former relationships with women, but spoke of them as he would an old friend, not a former lover. Italy got the impression they hadn’t exactly been physical that often, given that Germany said he’d only had sex a few times. Speaking of…  

Today was their one-month anniversary, and Italy was excited. They’d spoken about the progression of their relationship more than a few times, and hadn’t been intimate yet, Germany preferring to take things slow and court Italy, almost traditionally. The man seemed to be a romantic above all else, and didn’t want to rush Italy. He thought it was sweet, but to be honest, Italy was the one struggling not to rush Germany. He just… wanted, so much. It was hard not to, with Germany’s amazing body. More than once, he’d imagined what it would look like, Germany’s blond hair falling out of its perfect, slicked-back state, messily into his sweaty face, what his eyebrows would look like drawn together in pleasured concentration… He wondered if Germany was loud. Probably not, he seemed like the type to try to hold back. Italy would coax that out of him soon enough, though. He knew he seemed innocent and cute, but he was hardly inexperienced. 

Which brought him to another train of thought… of course he didn’t mind Germany topping, which he would most definitely do, repressed as he was, but he couldn’t help but think about, well, the other way ‘round. That would definitely take a while, though, and they’d have to be very comfortable with each other, both in and out of the bedroom. Italy wondered whether Germany would ever actually be okay with it. If he wasn’t, that was alright with him. Still, he thought it would be quite fun to… take care of Germany, like that. He deserved to be made to feel good…

“What are you thinking about, schatzi?” Germany asked, startling Italy out of his horny reverie. “I can practically see the gears in your head turning.”

“Oh, uh, nothing much,” he responded, not wanting to give too much away. “Just thinking about tonight…” He flashed Germany a salacious smile. The other man flushed a bit, which he still did, despite their dating. It was adorable. 

“R—right,” Germany stammered. “Um, about that… are you still okay with it?”

They’d discussed this, before, after much cajoling from Italy. Tonight would finally be the night they joined together, in the flesh, where Italy could show Germany just how much he loved him. 

“Of course, caro! Are you?”

“Ja,” Germany mumbled shyly. 

“Are you sure?” Italy said, knowing it sometimes took a few tries for Germany to admit his true feelings. While he was very much looking forward to it, he didn’t want to pressure the other man into something he wasn’t ready for. 

“I’m sure. I’m just… nervous,” Germany admitted. “I’ve never done this before, with another guy… I don’t want to accidentally hurt you, or anything. Or mess up.”

Italy giggled. “You won’t mess up. And you won’t hurt me. I promise, I’ll tell you if you go too far, okay? I’ll help you with everything.”

Germany nodded, once. “…Alright,” he conceded. He seemed to be a bit less fidgety now, obviously reassured by Italy’s words. 

They were sitting on the couch, Italy lazing about, and Germany reading a book, which he had since closed and laid on the side table. Suddenly, the trill of a cellphone rang throughout the air.

“That must be the restaurant, calling back about our reservations,” Germany said. He sprang up from the couch to swipe his phone from the kitchen counter. “Hello? Ja, it is he.” He listened intently as the person on the other end spoke, their words but incomprehensible babble to Italy from this distance. “Oh, wonderful. Thank you very much. Good day to you as well, madam.” He ended the call, then turned to Italy. “Great news, we got our reservations.”

Italy leapt up, running over to give Germany a hug. “Sìì, I’m so glad! I can’t believe you got us into this place, Germany, usually they’re booked months in advance!”

Germany smiled secretively. “Well, I have my ways.”

Evening had fallen, and a comfortable cool dusk descended upon their world. 

“Are you almost ready, bello?” Italy called to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, smoothing out his clothes. He was wearing a pinstripe suit in a beautiful, velvety red that matched his hair, with a finely tailored, light-blue shirt whose first few buttons hung open, exposing the hollow of his throat and the peep of his collarbones at once modestly and risqué, the perfect blend for Italy. 

“Ja, be right there, schatzi,” Germany responded back. Italy could see him through the doorway, combing the finishing touches through his hair. He was dressed in a deep blue suit, its darkness almost inky black in shade, but royal-hued and vibrant in the light. Italy admired the way the crisp white collar complimented Germany’s strong neck, its cuffs encasing his beautiful wrists, like the frame of an artistic masterpiece. Completing the ensemble was a tie that Italy had bought for Germany once, a silky fabric of velvety black with swirls of color like the ocean edging their way up its material. Germany pulled at the end of it, making sure the tie’s knot was firm and perfect. “Alright, I’m ready.” He stepped out of the bathroom, gleamingly polished dress shoes click-clacking upon the tiles. “Does it look satisfactory?”

Italy clapped his hands together lightly in approval. “You look bellissimo, amore mio! So handsome!” He leaned up to give Germany a sweet, short kiss on the cheek. 

The other man ducked his head, but Italy didn’t miss the small smile that appeared on his face. “Danke. You look magnificent, Italy, as always. That suit really brings out your eyes.”

Italy spun in place, like a ballerina dancer. “You think so? That’s what the tailor said, too.”

“Do I have to worry about this tailor, hm?” Germany chuckled.

“You know you are the only one for me, bello.”

“And you for me.” Germany straightened his shirt cuffs. “Shall we?” He offered his arm to Italy, who giggled slightly at the formality of it, alone as they were in their bedroom. Still, of course, he took the proffered arm, and together they walked out and into the driveway, where Germany’s car was parked. 

They talked about unimportant little things as they drove. Italy pointed to a flock of birds flying overhead in their V-shape. “I wonder what kind of birds are those!”

Germany peered up, then quickly glanced back at the road. “They’re too high up to tell.”

The drive was forty minutes. Normally they would never go out this far for a restaurant, but this was a special occasion, after all. A song that Italy knew came on the radio, and he turned it up to sing along, bouncing slightly in his seat to the rhythm. Germany glanced over at him with a fond smile. 

Finally, they reached the place, and Germany pulled into the parking lot specially designated for the restaurant. They were surrounded by gleaming, fancy cars, evidence of the gleaming, fancy folk who usually dined here. The more expensive a restaurant doesn’t necessarily mean the better the dining, but this was one was renowned for its food and atmosphere for many kilometers around. Italy had wanted to go to this place for a long time, even before he and Germany had started dating. Once Germany had learned of this, he’d tried for ages to get them a reservation here, and to Italy’s delight, they had finally managed to land one. And on today, of all days! What a perfect coincidence. 

Germany offered Italy his arm once again, the crook of which Italy gladly nestled his hand in. Germany was very shy about PDA, so Italy leapt at the chance to indulge in it whenever Germany allowed him. Together they walked up to the elaborate doors, which Germany opened for them. 

“Good evening, sirs,” the maître d’ greeted. 

“Good evening,” Italy chimed, with Germany nodding his head in concurrence. 

“Names, please?”

“Two for Beilschmidt.”

The man perused his book of reservations, following the list of names with his finger. “Ah, there it is. Follow me, sirs.” He grabbed a couple of fancy, leather-bound menus and led them to their table. It was beautifully set, with a pristine white tablecloth and two tall, white candles in elaborately carved silver holders. The candles bookended a small bouquet of alluring roses, clad with deep, vibrant red. 

Germany pulled out Italy’s chair for him, then sat down himself. With a flourish, the maître d’ laid the two menus in front of them. “Your server will be right over. Please let any of us know if there is anything else you need.”

“Thank you,” Germany said. The man nodded and disappeared, weaving through tables and waiters carrying plates of delicious-looking food. 

“What shall we have for aperitif?” Italy asked, perusing the drink menu. 

“Hmm, why don’t you pick? You’re better at this sort of thing.”

Italy nodded, eyes landing on one entry in the list. “How about a nice Cava?”

“Sounds great.” Germany smiled at him. 

Shortly thereafter, their waitress appeared at the table, beaming at them. “Good evening, sirs. Can I start you with anything to drink?”

“Some water for the table, please,” Germany said. “And…?” He nodded at Italy.

“Two glasses of the Cava, as well.” 

“Right away, sirs.” She swirled away, her server’s apron swishing about her.

“Ooh, this looks good,” Italy said, looking at the food menu now. “This steak entrecôte.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s the third one under the meat entrees.”

“Ah, I see it. Hmm, that does look good…” Germany mused. “This beef bourguignon also looks good, though.”

“Is that what you want?”

Germany looked carefully at the rest of the menu, then nodded. “Everything sounds great, here, but I think I’ll go with that.”

“Perfect, I’ll choose the steak. Then we can share a bottle of red.”

“Why don’t you pick? I have no understanding of that sort of thing.”

“Well, it’s a French restaurant, so they will have French wines. The best years for French reds are 2014, 2016, and 2018. 2019 also, but you should avoid 2017,” Italy said, shaking his head. “2017 was not a good year for French wines.”

“What about white wine?” Germany asked curiously.

“Years don’t matter as much for those. It’s harder to find a bad white wine than a red.”

“Ah, I see. How do you learn such things?”

Italy tapped his forehead knowledgeably. “Experience.”

“So, drinking a lot,” Germany chuckled.

“Not necessarily. A fine red is made for enjoyment, not for getting drunk.”

“Of course.”

Italy scrutinized the wine list. “This looks good.” He pointed at one of the wines, flipping the menu around for Germany to see. “This Château Perron Graves, from 2014. 2014 is the best year, in my opinion, but it can be harder to find these days.”

Germany nodded, not really understanding. “I trust whatever you say.”

Beaming back, Italy said, “Aw, you’re so sweet.”

By this time, the waitress had brought their Cavas and waters. As they sipped their sparkling aperitifs, they chatted back and forth about wines a bit longer. Italy explained more about different wine regions.

“Did you know, in the 1800s, almost all of the French vineyards were destroyed?” Italy said. “There was some sort of pest that destroyed the grapes.”

“Oh, really?” Germany steepled his fingers, looking inquisitively at Italy. “How did they save the vineyards?”

“A lot of them grafted their vines to American ones which had been brought over, that were resistant to the pest.”

“So a lot of the French wines are actually from the U.S., then?”

“Exactly! I think it was known as the ‘reconstitution’, or something like that.”

“What was, the destruction of the vines?”

“No, the recovery of them.”

They fell silent as the waitress came by to collect their empty glasses. “Are you ready to order, sirs?”

“For me, the entrecôte, please. Medium-rare.”

“And for me, the beef bourguignon.”

“And then a bottle of the Perron Graves, please,” Italy finished.

She nodded, not bothering to write it down. At restaurants like these, the servers were trained to keep everything in their heads. “It will be out momentarily, sirs.” They nodded at her, and she bowed her head slightly, then walked away.

Germany continued, “I had no idea. The impression I got from French wines, was that they were many centuries old.”

Italy shook his head. “Unfortunately, not.” He adopted a mock-tearful expression. “Think of how many good wines were lost…”

Germany chuckled. “At least they were able to save the wine industry in the end.”

“Grazie Dio!” 

“Did that happen to any other countries? The destruction of the vines?” Germany asked.

“No, just the French. Luckily, Italian vineyards weren’t destroyed like that. But…” He lowered his voice secretively. “Don’t tell my brother this, he would disown me. I prefer French wines over Italian.”

Germany put his hand to his chest in parodied consternation. “Heresy!”

They both giggled, then abruptly stopped, as the waitress came by their table once again. Germany adopted a sheepish expression. She looked at them with amusement. “L’entrecôte, for monsieur over here.” She delicately placed the elegantly plated steak with roasted vegetables in front of Italy. “And for monsieur, the bourguignon.” Germany admired the pretty bowl in which his French stew lay, its scalloped edges and delicate floral detailing along the outside. 

She set their two wine glasses in front of them, graceful stems flowing into a large, tapered bowl. Then she presented the wine bottle to Italy, who nodded. She produced a wine opener from one of her apron’s pockets, expertly twisting off the cork, and pouring a small amount into Italy’s glass. He took a delicate sip, and smiled at the waitress. “It’s perfect, thank you.” She inclined her head in agreement, and filled up Germany’s glass, then topped off Italy’s.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sirs?”

Italy looked at Germany, who shook his head. “That will be all, thank you very much.”

“Enjoy your meal.”

As she walked away, Germany smiled at Italy over the rim of his wine glass. “How is it?”

“Delicious, give it a try.”

The other man picked up the glass, its dainty stem incongruous with his large, strong hands. He took a sniff first, then a small sip, and his eyebrows raised in pleased surprise. “Oh, wow, it’s amazing.”

“I know how to pick ‘em, eh?” Italy ribbed.

“You sure do.”

“Wow, this looks delicious!” Italy said, admiring his steak. The aroma coming off it was inviting, the smell of perfectly done fine meat. He carefully cut off a small piece and popped it in his mouth. “Mmm, it tastes even better than it looks!”

Germany set down his wine and picked up a spoon, its elegant, silver handle flashing in the candlelight. He ladled some of the bourguignon in his mouth. “This is delicious, too.”

Italy smiled at Germany, his mouth still too full to respond. They didn’t say much, then, happily digging into their flavorsome meals. The only sound was the clink of their cutlery, and the quiet murmur of conversations around them. Their table was set a little ways apart, under a refined-looking lamp that cast a dim, cozy glow over them. It afforded them a bit more privacy, which Germany was glad for. 

“How are the vegetables?” Germany asked. “Also good?”

“They are perfect!” Italy said, putting some into his mouth.

Gradually, they slowed down as their bellies filled up with the luscious food. 

“Ohh, I’m so full…” Italy said, patting his tummy. 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “Not too full for dessert, I hope?”

“Of course not, never!” Italy responded indignantly, to which Germany gave a huff of amusement. 

The waitress came by again to collect their empty plates, and to top off their wine glasses from the ever-dwindling bottle. “Would either of you be interested in dessert, sirs?” 

“Can we see the menu?” Italy asked.

“Ah,” she glanced at Germany, very briefly, but Italy still noticed. “For you monsieurs today, there is a special dessert.”

Italy looked quizzically at Germany. “Special…?”

Germany worried his bottom lip between his teeth, bashful. “Um, well, when I called to make the reservations, I said this would be a special occasion… They offered us a unique, handmade dessert, on the house. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

At this, Italy threw a wide grin in Germany’s direction. “You did that for us? Oh, how sweet!”

“Will that be alright…?” Germany asked nervously.

“Of course! I can’t wait to see it.”

Germany nodded then at the waitress, who smiled and said, “It will be out shortly,” and swished away again. 

Italy gazed adoringly at his partner across the table, his curled hands under his chin. “I can’t believe this, how amazing!”

Ducking his head shyly, Germany said, “I just hope you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Shortly thereafter, the waitress reappeared, bearing an ornate silver tray. On it, there was a large slice of tiramisu, drizzled with chocolate syrup in ostentatious loops, the apexes of which were crowned intricately with clusters of raspberries and strawberries. A few mint leaves at the corners of the tray completed the ensemble. 

“Ohh, how exquisite!” Italy exclaimed.

“This is specially made by our in-house dessert chef,” the waitress explained. “I hope you enjoy it, sirs.”

Once she walked away, Germany conspiratorially whispered, “They only make this for special guests, like royalty or celebrities who come.”

“Wow, how did you get them to make it for us?”

Germany shrugged nonchalantly. “I emphasized that it was a special day.”

Eyeing the dessert excitedly, Italy said, “I can’t wait to try it.” 

“Why don’t you have the first bite?”

Italy beamed at Germany, then picked up his small dessert fork, and carefully sliced off a corner of the cake. He slipped it in his mouth, and closed his eyes to savor the taste. It was a perfect tiramisu. Not too heavy, the ideal lightness, it melted creamily in his mouth, the layers of chocolate complementing each other and melding into a world of flavor.

“Mmm… it’s so good!” He couldn’t help but take himself another bite. “Sorry,” he giggled. “You go ahead, Germany.”

Obliging happily, Germany took a small forkful of cake for himself. His eyebrows drew together as he let the chocolate swirl in his mouth. “Oh, wow…”

“This is the best tiramisu I’ve ever eaten in my life. And that’s saying a lot,” Italy said. “Seems almost unfair that a French restaurant makes the best Italian dessert!”

“I heard the dessert chef is Italian, apparently.” Germany speared one of the raspberries on his fork, popping it into his mouth. 

“This is perfect, Germany. Thank you.”

“Anything for you, schatzi.” 

They smiled dopily at each other, and continued to eat their godly dessert. Italy was actually sad when it was over, knowing any other tiramisu he’d eat from then on would never be able to compare. 

When they had finished, Germany sipped some water, clearing his palate for the last of the red wine. He poured out the rest of the bottle, making sure to give Italy more. 

“Oh, come on, don’t be stingy! Have some more,” Italy offered. 

“I have to drive, remember.”

“Oh, right.” He smiled apologetically.

“It’s alright. I had enough of the wine to know that it’s very good,” Germany smiled.

They leaned back in their chairs, satisfied at a meal well-done. Quietly, they chatted about all sorts of things. Germany flagged down the waitress to ask for the check, which she brought.

“It’s for me, by the way,” Germany said.

“Oh, Germany, no! Let me at least pay for some of it.”

“Nein.” He shook his head. “I invited you out.”

“Fine.” Italy pouted. “But next anniversary dinner, I’m paying!”

Germany gave him a serious look. “Next anniversary…?”

“Eh??”

The other man couldn’t keep up his charade, and smiled broadly, Germany’s equivalent of bursting out into laughter. “I’m just teasing you. Of course you can.”

Italy held a hand to his chest. “You scared me for a second there!”

Germany pulled out his card, laying it in the leather-bound receipt-book, and handed it to the waitress who came by to collect it. When she returned, he signed it.

She took it back again, eyes scanning the tip section, and her eyebrows raised. “Oh, thank you, monsieur,” she bowed her head slightly in Germany’s direction.

“Thank you, the service was excellent,” he replied modestly.

“I wish you two a very pleasant rest of your evening.”

“You as well!” Italy responded cheerfully. 

Germany scooted back from the table, rising in his chair. “Shall we?”

Italy nodded. Arm in arm, they walked back to the car. Italy sighed happily, taking in the cool night air. “I had a wonderful time. Grazie, Germany.”

“Me too.” Germany smiled at him. 

They drove home in comfortable silence, content to listen to the soft crooning of the radio. Italy noticed that Germany’s relaxed state became more fidgety as they approached the familiar streets of their neighborhood. He didn’t have to second-guess why. 

He laid a reassuring hand on Germany’s arm. “You know, we don’t have to if—”

Germany shook his head. “It’s alright. I’m just nervous about these things. But I want to.”

Italy smiled softly at him. They pulled into their driveway, the automatic outdoor lights clicking on to welcome them home. Slowly, they ambled into the house, reminiscing about the tiramisu. 

“It was so good…” Italy said. 

“I know, it was truly amazing.”

“I won’t be able to get that tiramisu out of my mind for the rest of my life!”

Germany chuckled. “Well, hopefully, we can go back.”

“Maybe you can get the name of that dessert chef!”

“That’d be a good idea.”

Germany halted in the hallway, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Um, so…”

Deciding to take the lead for Germany’s sake, Italy took hold of his hand. “Let’s go. If you’re ready,” he said, smiling softly.

Germany nodded, once. He let himself be led by the hand to the bedroom, where Italy drew the curtains. Italy turned around to see Germany had already hung up his suit jacket, and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.

“Oh, let me!” he said. “That suit really looks so good on you. It brings out your eyes.”

“You think?” Germany said shyly.

“Si.” Italy’s nimble fingers began making quick work of the buttons on Germany’s dress shirt. As if emboldened by Italy’s actions, Germany helped Italy slide out of his own suit jacket, and started unbuttoning the other’s light blue shirt. Italy couldn’t help but notice that Germany’s hands were shaking slightly. 

Trying to reassure Germany, Italy stood up on his tiptoes to kiss the other, and instead of pulling away when they had unbuttoned each other’s shirts, he simply let the smooth cloth fall from his body, wrapped his arms around Germany, and deepened the kiss. 

Intertwined, Germany stepped them backwards, until they fell onto the bed. He seemed more at ease now, kissing Italy, which they had done many times before. Italy undid Germany’s belt, sliding his hands under the waistband and squeezing Germany’s ass.

“Mmph!” the other exclaimed, muffled through Italy’s tongue in his mouth. He could feel Germany’s lips stretch into a slight smile, and Italy smiled back. Finally, he pulled away, to catch some breath, and to undo his own belt and shoes. Germany stood back up to do the same, then shimmied out of his pants, folding them neatly over a nearby chair. He pulled inquisitively at the ends of Italy’s pants, and Italy leaned back against the bed, allowing Germany to take them off. Similarly, Germany folded Italy’s pants and laid them over his own on the chair. His movements measured, he crawled onto the bed, his knees on either side of Italy’s thighs. Slowly, he kissed down Italy’s neck, who shivered and made a slight breathy noise. 

“You know, I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time,” Italy sighed dreamily.

“Have you?” Germany said, tugging at Italy’s underwear. The latter let himself fall back against the bed, allowing Germany to drag his underwear down. Germany sat up and took off his own underwear, then laid down against Italy on the bed, large hands trailing up and down his sides.

They continued kissing, tongues sliding against each other, their breaths growing hotter and heavier. Italy could feel the urgent insistence of Germany’s hardness against his leg, and he ground against it, hearing Germany’s breath harshen in his ear. 

“Germany—” he began.

“Please,” the other panted. “Call me Ludwig.”

Italy’s eyes widened in surprise. Though many of the nations knew each other’s personal names, it was something that was very private to them, only used when the nations wanted to conceal their identities, or among, for example, very close friends or lovers of many years. 

He smiled, glad that Germany—Ludwig—was trusting him already with such an intimate thing. 

“Ludwig,” he breathed out, feeling the man shudder against him. “You can call me Feliciano.”

“Feliciano,” Ludwig said, kissing him all over. “Feliciano,” he repeated, caressing his body. 

“Please,” Feliciano said, aching with want. “I need you.”

Ger—Ludwig swallowed audibly, then leaned over to open the nightstand which they’d pre-stocked. He carefully picked up the bottle of lube. They had no need for condoms, having both gotten tested already. Ludwig uncapped it, hands shaking slightly, and smeared some on his fingers. He placed it delicately on the nightstand, then leaned over Feliciano, one hand supporting his weight.

“Are you ready?” he exhaled. 

Feliciano nodded, the pit of his stomach thrumming with anticipation. “Go slowly,” he instructed. “Start with one finger, and if I say it’s alright, you can keep adding them one by one.”

Ludwig bobbed his head in understanding, drawing a shaky breath, and slowly circled his finger around the rim of Feliciano’s entrance. He was being hesitant for Feliciano’s sake, but to the latter, the feeling was just excruciatingly teasing.

“Please,” he whined, wrapping his arms around Ludwig’s neck. “I’m ready.”

Slowly, with some effort, Ludwig pushed his finger in, wiggling it a little to get past the tight entrance. Feliciano bit his lip at the foreign sensation; it’s not that he was unused to it, it just always felt a little strange at first to have something entering his body. Ludwig’s finger popped past his tight ring of muscle, then sunk deeper, deeper, always slow, always gentle. Feliciano looked up at him, wide-eyed gaze a little hazy. 

“That’s good, amore mio. Just like that.” He pulled Ludwig closer. “Lay with me.”

The other man obliged, positioning himself so he could lay on Feliciano’s side, his other arm folded underneath him. He leaned over to kiss Feliciano again, his tongue slipping inside and lapping at Feliciano’s teeth, as if he were counting each of them. He leisurely drew his finger in and out, pausing when Feliciano inhaled sharply.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, brows creasing in worry.

“No, no, it’s just that right—” Ludwig pushed in again, brushing against his sweet spot. “—there. Oh, yes, Ludwig. Right there, just like that.” He could feel Ludwig’s cock twitch against his thigh when he moaned out the other man’s name, so he decided to try it again. “Mm, Ludwig, it feels so good. Don’t stop, please.”

“I won’t,” the other man promised, voice shaky. 

“I’m ready for another.”

Ludwig withdrew his finger, leaving Feliciano feeling strangely empty. He could feel his hole flutter at the removal, and Ludwig stared at it, his mouth slightly open. He then leaned over Feliciano to grab the lube off the nightstand, and poured some more over his fingers. Feliciano was a bit impatient, but he knew that taking it slowly was just as, if not even more, important to Ludwig as it was to him. 

Still, he couldn’t help but keep the whine out of his voice when he said, “Please.”

Ludwig sucked his lip between his teeth, staring at Feliciano with bright, wide eyes. His finger teased at Feliciano’s hole again, now slicker with lube, and this time it accepted the digit more readily. Once inside, Ludwig prodded at his entrance with another finger, pushing it in. His big, long fingers brushed against Feliciano’s sweet spot once again, sending a jolt of pure heat deep into his stomach.

“Ah!” he moaned.

“Does it really feel that good?” Ludwig asked. 

“S—si,” he responded, tempted to say, ‘you should try it’. But that would perhaps be too much, right here, right now. Maybe he’d bring it up another time. “You’re doing so well,” he praised.

Ludwig flushed at this. “I’m barely doing anything.”

“You’re making me feel good.” Feliciano smiled dazedly up at him. “Keep going, per favore.”

The other obliged, pushing his fingers slowly in and out.

“You can—ah—crook your fingers and spread them a little sometimes. Like this,” Feliciano demonstrated with two of his own fingers. Ludwig nodded and bent his fingers, brushing them against Feliciano’s prostate. “Mmngh, si, si, Ludwig…!” It felt much more intense than other times he’d done this, despite them barely having gotten started. It must be because it was with Ludwig. Everything felt so, so intimate, so monumental, the enormity of each minute movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

“It feels good right there, huh?” Ludwig asked, staring at Feliciano intently. 

“Mmhmm,” Feliciano nodded. He brushed a hand lovingly through Ludwig’s hair, disturbing his slicked-back bangs and letting a few strands of hair fall down onto his forehead. He looked so perfect, so handsome.

Ludwig scissored his fingers, seeming to marvel at probing the soft, wet heat inside Feliciano. He drew in and out again, taking special care to rub against the spot that made Feliciano’s toes curl. 

“Hnng, more Ludwig, please. Another finger,” he whimpered.

“Are you sure?”

Feliciano glanced down, relishing the sight of Ludwig’s big, hard cock, standing at attention against his leg. “I’m going to need it.”

Ludwig followed his gaze, then flushed, understanding what Feliciano was saying. He smeared some more lube on his fingers, then pushed back in, adding a third. It slipped in more easily than the first two, Feliciano having been opened up a bit by now. 

Feliciano let his legs fall open, allowing Ludwig easier access. He clutched at the pillow, the sheets, Ludwig’s arms. He let himself voice his pleasure, knowing it would bolster Ludwig’s confidence. 

“Mmm, harder, faster, please,” he moaned. Ludwig was compelled to obey, enraptured as he was by Feliciano’s body, wound up so tight, just for him. He fingered Feliciano more, capturing the other’s lips in an occasional kiss. It felt even better when they were making out, when Ludwig would thrust in, and Feliciano could groan into Ludwig’s mouth. God, he couldn’t wait until he had Ludwig’s cock inside of him. It would feel amazing. 

Eventually, he felt that he was opened up enough, and he said, “I’m ready, Ludwig.”

The other man swallowed. “You sure?” he said, voice cracking on the dryness of his throat. 

“I’m sure.” Feliciano smiled sweetly up at him. “I’ve never been more ready for you.”

Ludwig let out a rush of breath at that. He grabbed the bottle of lube again, pouring some onto the palm of his hand. He tilted his head back and sighed when he finally touched his cock, neglected as it had been during his ministrations to Feliciano. 

“Make sure to get it nice and wet,” Feliciano said. Ludwig nodded, unable to speak, mesmerized by Feliciano. He crawled up on all fours, framing Feliciano’s body with his own. Feliciano wrapped his legs around Ludwig’s hips, angling his body perfectly for him. 

“Please, please, angelo,” he begged. “I want you, I need you.”

Ludwig lined up his cock with Feliciano’s entrance, pushing inside. Despite his preparations, it was still a tight fit, and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his teeth worrying his lower lip. Finally, he managed to push inside, just the head of his cock, and Feliciano’s mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ at the intensity of the feeling. 

“Is it alright?” he asked shakily.

“Give me a moment,” Feliciano breathed out. He relaxed his body, trying to adjust. After a few moments, he nodded. “Keep going. Slowly.”

Inch by careful inch, Ludwig pushed inside, so painfully slowly, his teeth gritting. “You feel…” He swallowed. “You’re so tight… you feel amazing.” He ducked his head to kiss the side of Feliciano’s neck. “So perfect, nur für mich…” he murmured. 

“Just for you,” Feliciano whispered back, knowing enough German by now to translate what Ludwig was saying.

Finally, blessedly, Ludwig was completely inside, his hips flush with the backs of Feliciano’s thighs. Feliciano couldn’t help but throw his head back at the impossibly full feeling, his eyes fluttering. 

“It’s not too much? You’re alright?” Ludwig asked.

Feliciano nodded dreamily. “It feels good. Just, give me a moment.”

“Anything,” Ludwig said. “Anything for you, meine liebe.”

Wrapping his arms tightly around Ludwig’s shoulders, he pulled him close. They kissed again, hot, wet lips and tongues sliding against each other. When Ludwig pulled away, a strand of saliva connected them for a second, before it broke out of existence. 

Feliciano dipped his head, signaling for Ludwig to go further. Just as achingly slowly as he’d pushed in, Ludwig withdrew again, not wanting to hurt Feliciano, but having the unwitting effect of letting the man acutely feel every inch of his cock as it slid through him. 

“Oh, cazzo,” he moaned. “Feels so good…”

“So do you,” Ludwig panted, his body trembling. He started up a slow rhythm, gently sinking into Feliciano’s tight, wet heat, then pulling out again. 

“Più, more,” he begged. “Faster, please.”

Ludwig snapped his hips forward, tearing a loud, wanton moan from Feliciano’s lips. Then he did it again, and again. 

“Aah—oh—cazzo—si, si!” he wailed loudly, clutching at Ludwig’s shoulders.

Ludwig buried himself, over and over, sinking in so impossibly deeply, his blunt cockhead hitting against the spot that made pleasure rush through him, warming every part of his body. The bed creaked, increasingly louder as Ludwig’s thrusts grew harsher, but it was still drowned out by Feliciano’s cries.

“Yesss, Ludwig, just like—oh—ah—si, just like that, per favore, non fermarti, ti senti così bene..!” he babbled, barely aware of the words being torn, unbidden, from his throat.

Ludwig moved his arms to pin Feliciano’s wrists to the bed, leaning in close. “So gut,” he panted. “So gut, für mich, nur für mich, meine, Feliciano, oh Feliciano,” he repeated, prayer-like.

“Io sono tua,” Feliciano prayed back. “I am yours.”

Suddenly, Ludwig pulled out, leaving Feliciano whining at the loss, and scrambled off the bed, then grabbed Feliciano by the ankles and pulled him down. Feliciano let himself be man-handled—it was hot—into a position where he was sideways across the bed, his ass half-hanging off the edge, with Ludwig standing in front of him. The latter grabbed Feliciano’s legs, positioning them on his shoulders, and kissed one of his calves. Then he slammed back in again, and Feliciano screamed. 

“Ludwig! Oh, fuck! Oh, Dio mio!” It felt, somehow, even better at this angle, Ludwig’s thrusts hitting his sweet spot over and over. The pressure built deep in Feliciano’s belly, impossible heat swirling around. His hands clenched at the sheets, pulling them from where they had been tucked underneath the mattress. His back arched off the bed, his legs trembling on Ludwig’s shoulders, threatening to slip if it were not for Ludwig’s tight grasp on his ankles. His head lolled from side to side, eyes rolling back in his head. “Così buono… non fermarti, don’t stop, please!”

“Never,” Ludwig groaned. His hips snapped forward, over and over, pushing the bed to one side with the ferocity of his thrusts.  

Feliciano’s hair spilled out onto the sheets like an oil slick. “Favore, per favore, non smettere di fottermi così, sei così buono, è così buono,” he babbled, in-between the ‘ah’s and ‘oh’s that he couldn’t stop escaping his lips. 

With some difficulty, Ludwig bent forward, so he could rest his forehead on Feliciano’s. “Ich liebe dich,” he whispered, barely audible over the wild creaking of the bed.

Feliciano heard him, though, and answered back, “Anch'io ti amo,” I love you too. 

The slap of skin on skin, Feliciano’s fevered cries, Ludwig’s panting, ragged breathing, all a symphonic cacophony, crescendoing, until Feliciano felt the tightness deep in his belly about to snap. 

“Ludwig, Ludwig, ah, si, I’m going to—” His mouth hung open as he wailed, come spurting from his cock and landing on his stomach. Ludwig kept fucking him, and he whimpered at the intense sensation of his fucked-out hole, pounded into again and again. 

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” Ludwig growled. He grabbed Feliciano’s hips and flipped him around, so his feet were on the floor, stomach on the bed, with his ass in the air. Mercifully, he gave Feliciano some slight reprieve, while he lubed up his cock again. Then he slid in smoothly once more, with a wet squelch. Feliciano whimpered loudly, helplessly, overstimulated, tears springing to his eyes. It was too much, all too much, he’d just come, and Ludwig showed no intention of letting up. And he loved it. 

“Please!” he moaned, unsure of what he was pleading for. His head slumped forward onto the mattress, burying his face into it and clutching the sheets for dear life. He felt Ludwig grab a fistful of his hair and pull it, still not too harshly, Ludwig still careful not to hurt him. “Oh, cazzo, yes! Like that!”

“You like it when I’m rough with you?” Ludwig said, his voice coarse and deep. 

“Si,” Feliciano cried. “Use me, per favore, I belong to you!”

“Ohh, fuck,” Ludwig groaned, and thrust in harshly. He’d been rather possessive from the start of their relationship, and appealing to that possessiveness only seemed to drive him even crazier. He leaned forward, latching his lips onto a patch of Feliciano’s neck, and lightly grazed his teeth. 

“Hnng, harder,” Feliciano begged.

“Fuck you harder or bite you harder?”

“Both!”

Ludwig obliged, biting down more harshly with his teeth, at which Feliciano yelped. He grabbed Feliciano’s hips with his hands, using it as leverage to pound him roughly. Every thrust against his overstimulated prostrate made tears spring to Feliciano’s eyes, and he grabbed fistfuls of the sheets and blanket, desperately trying to ground himself from the intense, dizzying sensation of being absolutely and completely fucked senseless. His head felt light, and there was only Ludwig, inside him, on top of him, around him, everywhere. 

“Hahhh,” he moaned, unable now to form proper sentences. “Si, si… oh, cazzo… amore mio…”

Ludwig’s thrusts grew irregular, his breath ragged. “Feli,” he panted. “I’m close.”

“Wait—ah—turn me—oh—I want to see your face when—mmh!—you come.”

Ludwig pulled out, letting Feliciano turn around, dazedly. As soon as he had, Ludwig grabbed his hips again and slid in, making Feliciano wail, the perfection of it. 

“Hnng,” he moaned, putting his fist to his mouth. “Ludwig—ah!” His words turned into a cry as Ludwig began pounding him again, stuttering, harshly. 

“Mein Gott,” Ludwig said. “You’re so perfect.”

“Come for me,” Feliciano breathed out, and with a strangled groan, Ludwig thrust in one last time. Feliciano could feel his cock pulsing inside, and the other collapsed on top of him, Feliciano’s legs still on top of his shoulders. 

They laid there, intertwined, panting, their bodies stuck together with sweat. Feliciano’s legs began aching from the awkward position they were in, and he made a small noise of discomfort.

“Sorry, sorry.” Ludwig pushed himself up on his arms, a drop of sweat beading down his face and onto Feliciano’s chest. He disentangled himself from Feliciano, then flopped over next to him to continue catching his breath. The air was heavy. “…Was that okay?”

“Well,” Feliciano wiggled. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.” He winked at Ludwig. “But that’s alright.”

“Oh.” Ludwig’s brows furrowed. “Sorry.”

“No, no! That’s not a bad thing.” Feliciano turned onto his side to face Ludwig. “It was amazing, Luddy.”

“Good.” Ludwig smiled softly, then wiped some sweat from his forehead. “…Shall we take a shower?”

“Oh no, I’m not ready for round two.”

Ludwig laughed. “Trust me, neither am I. Just a shower, I promise.”

Feliciano looked down at the sticky come covering his stomach. “That does sound good, actually.”

“Alright.” With a satisfied sigh, Ludwig pushed himself off the bed, then extended a hand to Feliciano. “Let’s go.”

Feliciano took his hand, happy to follow him anywhere.

----

They had been dating for about a year, now. Feliciano was so happy when Ludwig finally proposed to him. It had taken a while, and Feliciano pretended to remain oblivious, despite Ludwig’s very obvious hints, like asking if he perhaps wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Things were wonderful. Of course, they still argued, like any other couple, and Ludwig still got frustrated with Feliciano’s disorderliness and leisureliness, and Feliciano still got annoyed with Ludwig’s overbearingness and harshness. But together, they had learned how to carve out a life of their own. 

There was maybe just one thing they hadn’t explored together, and Feliciano really wanted to try. Of course, if Ludwig was totally against it, he wouldn’t push it. But, he’d carefully toed the boundaries, trying to see if perhaps Ludwig was open to it. After that first time they’d been in bed together, they’d had many more fun times, and not always with Ludwig totally commanding the bedroom. Sure, he’d always technically topped, but Feliciano definitely took the reins now and again. 

He thought, maybe, it was finally time. 

They were reading together on the couch late one afternoon, in the house they’d bought together. Not Feliciano’s or Ludwig’s house, but their house. Feliciano kept glancing up from the top of his book, over at Ludwig, who was intently reading one of his romance novels. 

Finally, Ludwig sighed, closed his book, and took off his glasses. “What is it, Feli?”

“Oh!” Feliciano squeaked, not realizing his furtive glimpses had been noticed. “Well, um..” He nervously twirled a strand of his hair. “There was something I wanted to talk about with you.”

At this, Ludwig cocked an eyebrow inquisitively, and put a bookmark in his book, placing the novel on the side table. “What is it?”

Feliciano was unsure how to begin broaching a topic like this. He decided there was no better way than to just dive in headfirst. “I was wondering if I could top you.”

Ludwig opened his mouth as if to say something, but then did not continue. He stared at Feliciano, mouth gaping open. 

“…Luddy?”

The other man opened and closed his mouth a few times, and Feliciano had to hold back a giggle; he looked like a fish. Finally, he found his words. “…Where does this come from?” Then he frowned slightly. “Have I… not been satisfying you enough?”

At this, Feliciano quickly waved his hands in a placating manner. “Oh no, Luddy, not at all! Definitely not! You’re wonderful, trust me, amazing. You give me exactly what I need.” At Ludwig’s doubtful look, he continued, “Trust me, really.”

“Then why?”

“Well… I’ve just been thinking about it, for some time. It’s something I’ve wanted to try.”

“…Why?”

How to answer such a question? “I… I just think it would be fun.”

“Fun?”

“You know, to take care of you like that. Make you feel good. The way you make me feel.”

Ludwig’s eyebrows creased pensively. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Not a bad start. At least, he didn’t immediately brush off the notion as ridiculous, like Feliciano had worried he might. “What do you think of it?”

“Well, I… I’ll have to think about it a little bit.”

“Of course, take as much time as you need. And,” Feliciano held up a finger. “If you realize that you don’t want to, then we don’t have to.”

“But you’ve been thinking about it.”

“It’s just a thought, bello. I would still be perfectly happy with you if you topped me for the rest of our lives. Trust me,” he giggled. “More than perfectly happy.” 

“Can I ask you something?” Ludwig asked after a few heavy moments of silence.

“Of course.”

“How does it feel?”

“Hm…” Feliciano tapped a finger against his chin in thought. “I’ll admit, it feels a little weird at first. Almost like, well, like you have to poop. But then, it feels really good. Really, very good. If the other person is good at it, that is. And trust me,” he waggled his eyebrows. “I am very good.”

Ludwig snorted. “We’ll have to see about that.” Then, his eyes widened as he realized what he’d just said. “Um, if we do it.”

Feliciano suppressed a smile. “Just think about it, Luddy. And remember… there’s absolutely no pressure. I wouldn’t like it if you felt like you were forced to do it.”

Ludwig nodded slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

----

It had been a few weeks since Feliciano’s proposition. He’d caught Ludwig staring at him sometimes, a contemplative look on his face. Whenever caught, the man would startle and apologize, averting his gaze shiftily. 

It was a rainy morning, over breakfast. Feliciano was busy stuffing eggs into his mouth, used to Ludwig’s pensive silences. He was always like this, even before Feliciano’s suggestion. So he was caught by surprise when Ludwig said, “I think I’m ready.”

He stared at the other man, egg on a fork halfway to his mouth. “…Ready for what?”

“Oh Gott, don’t make me say it.”

“Oh!” Feliciano’s eyes widened in understanding. “For me to top you?”

Ludwig flushed. “Ja.”

He laid his fork down, putting his hands together in excitement. “Oh, Luddy, I’m so glad! I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise. And I’ll be super gentle. When did you want to try?”

Looking down at his plate, Ludwig mumbled something.

“What was that?” Feliciano said.

“…Um, maybe, tonight? If you… you wanted to?”

“Only if you really think you’re ready.”

“I’m nervous, of course, but… I’m ready.”

Feliciano smiled reassuringly. “You can be open with me, amore. What are you nervous about?”

Ludwig worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I know you said you would be gentle, but… you know, well, of course you know, that I’ve never done this before. I’m just worried that it’ll hurt, or, I don’t know, I’ll mess up, or not do something right, or—”

“Luddy.” Feliciano held up a hand. “It’s sex, not a competition. There’s no possible way to mess this up. And I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt. You can trust me, okay? We’ll go really slow.”

Ludwig nodded. Feliciano got the feeling that there was more. “What else are you nervous about?”

“Um,” Ludwig began. He was staring resolutely down at his plate. “You know how I told you a little bit about… uh, my… orientation?” He winced slightly even as he said the word. “And how I repressed it for a long time?”

“Si,” Feliciano said softly, waiting for Ludwig to continue. When he began, like this, it often took a long time for him to explain himself fully, so Feliciano knew to give him time. 

“Well, I had… a lot of issues. With accepting it.” Ludwig twirled his fork idly on the plate. “Still do.”

Feliciano reached out and gently took Ludwig’s other hand, laying on the table. He smiled softly when the man glanced up at him at the action. 

“I just…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I was raised to be a good soldier. A strong man.” He looked briefly at Feliciano. “Not that… uh, my—um, being g-gay isn’t—doesn’t mean you can’t be strong. But, you know,” he said, looking down again at his plate. “You know how it is.”

“Yes, I know,” Feliciano agreed, voice kind.

“And… there was a lot of pressure, all around me. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to disappoint my brother.” At this, Ludwig sighed, and gazed out the window. He seemed to be reminiscing. “Not that… well, he’s not against it. I know that now. But I was afraid, when I was young. Afraid of what he would think. Afraid of what everyone would think.” He looked back at Feliciano, who nodded encouragingly. “So I um, have a lot of, trauma, I guess you could call it that? About being—” he frowned, “about, well, what—who—I am.” He sighed once more, deeply. “And I’m afraid that I’ll… react…” He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “…strongly.”

Feliciano took a moment to consider all this, one of the rare times in his life when he thought before he spoke. “First of all, thank you for telling me, caro. Second of all, I understand. It’s been difficult for you. And I’m sorry for that,” he smiled sadly. “But I’m glad you can talk about it now. If you react… strongly, I’ll be there for you. Don’t worry, I won’t be upset, or anything. I’ll take care of you, amore mio.”

Ludwig’s mouth set into a thin, hard line, his tell when he was suppressing some strong feelings, and he blinked rapidly. “Thank you,” he whispered, hoarsely. 

Smiling brightly, Feliciano said, “Of course.” A few beats of tense silence passed between them. Sensing that Ludwig was done, Feliciano broke the tenseness, one of his strong suits, and began eating his eggs again. “Grazie Dio for the rain! It’s been so dry, lately, I was worried about my flowers!”

Ludwig squeezed Feliciano’s hand, still covering his, then withdrew it, to also continue eating his breakfast. “Ja,” he said, giving the tiniest of smiles. “It is good for the flowers.”

----

Later, after a dinner buzzing with nervous anticipation, Feliciano put on some mindless television. He sat down on the couch, where Ludwig was already perched, looking nervous. Mindful of keeping the atmosphere as normal as possible, Feliciano swung his legs over to put his feet on Ludwig’s lap, and leaned back against the cushions. Silently, they watched the commercials.

“Vegetable pasta?!” Feliciano exclaimed suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at the spiralizer that was being shown on TV. “Mio Dio, what heresy! Where do they come up with such things?”

“America,” Ludwig responded. “Look at the ‘Made in USA’ down at the bottom.”

“Of course,” Feliciano groaned. “All the worst food ideas come from America. They are really giving Britain a competition.”

At this, Ludwig chuckled a bit. Feliciano gave him a smile, glad that he was seeming less nervous. They gazed like that into each other’s eyes, a beat of silence passing, then another. Slowly, hesitantly, Ludwig took Feliciano’s feet from his lap, then crept closer. He had an unreadable look in his eyes. He touched Feliciano’s shoulder with a faintly trembling hand. It was almost like the first time, such trepidation he showed. 

Feliciano was loathe to break the silence, but the tension was getting too much for him. “It’s okay, bello.”

This seemed to break some sort of dam inside of Ludwig, who pulled Feliciano towards him and placed a firm kiss on his lips. “Sorry,” he breathed into the kiss.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Feliciano said when he pulled away. He put his arms around Ludwig, rubbing the other’s back soothingly. 

“It’s just—I’m so nervous.”

“I know. It’s alright. It’s still just me, Ludwig. You can be comfortable around me.”

Ludwig carefully considered his words for a few moments. “Ja. I suppose you are right.” He leaned in close again, brushing a stray lock of hair from Feliciano’s face. This time, Feliciano took the opportunity to close the gap between them, feeling Ludwig’s surprisingly soft lips against his. Slowly, he licked his way into Ludwig’s mouth, the other’s grip tightening around him. The TV long forgotten, they relished in the soft groans against each other’s mouths, the wet sounds of their tongues sliding against each other. Ludwig sucked gently on his bottom lip.

Feliciano felt the thronging of want diffusing through him, making him warm. He slid his hand into Ludwig’s hair, caressing it softly. His other hand crept under Ludwig’s shirt, feeling the strong, solid muscle underneath. Ludwig’s hands on his back gripped tightly, holding him close. 

They were attached to each other, in every which way, at every point of their bodies. The kisses grew hotter, heavier, their breaths becoming harsher. Feliciano fell down on top of Ludwig on the couch, their hands grabbing at each other’s flesh. 

“Mph—Ludwig—” Feliciano said through heated kisses. “Let’s—take this—mph—to—the bedroom—” He managed to pull away, somehow. 

The crimson color high on Ludwig’s handsome cheeks deepened. He swallowed. Feliciano watched the bob of his throat. He wanted to lick on it, suck it, bite it. “Ja,” Ludwig finally said. 

Feliciano smiled salaciously. He sat up, not-so-accidentally grinding against Ludwig’s crotch in the process, and making the man suck in a sharp inhale of breath. Springing up from the couch, he extended a hand. “Let’s go, amore.”

Saying nothing, Ludwig took hold of Feliciano’s hand, and let him lead them to the bedroom. Once there, Feliciano pinned Ludwig against the door, kissing him hard. 

“Oh, wow,” Ludwig said, looking like he was dizzy. “I’ve never seen this… side of you.”

Feliciano grinned. “You’ll see a lot of different sides of me tonight, caro.”

Eyes widening, Ludwig said, “Scheisse—” before he was cut off by Feliciano capturing his lips again. Ludwig let Feliciano lick his way into his mouth, then suck his way down his neck. 

Sticking his hands under Ludwig’s shirt, Feliciano said impatiently, “Off.” Ludwig complied, pulling it over his head and throwing it somewhere on the floor. Wasting no time, Feliciano continued trailing down Ludwig’s chest, reaching his left nipple and delicately tracing his tongue around it. 

“Oh, fuck,” Ludwig said. 

“These are sensitive, aren’t they?” Feliciano murmured, taking the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and rolling it gently. When Ludwig didn’t reply, he said, “Answer me, Ludwig,” without looking up. 

“J-Ja.”

“Good boy.”

Ludwig actually moaned at that, something higher-pitched than his usual voice, breathy and so, so fucking hot. Hm. Feliciano would have to file that away for later. 

For now, he switched nipples, latching onto Ludwig’s right and sucking gently, like he would a clit. He played with the other, always lightly. If Ludwig reacted so strongly when Feliciano was barely doing anything to his chest, he’d get too overstimulated if it were any more intense. And Feliciano needed him to feel everything.

“Nngh,” Ludwig was moaning softly. “Oh, Feli…”

It was at this point that Feliciano noticed Ludwig softly rutting against him, his hard cock rubbing against Feliciano’s thigh. He decided it was time to move things along. 

“Bed,” he commanded, giving Ludwig’s nipple a final squeeze before he moved back. 

“Right,” Ludwig said, dazedly. He tried to hide his half-stagger to the bed, but only partially succeeded. 

Feliciano took his own shirt off, then made to unbutton his shorts when Ludwig said, “Wait—” Looking up at him, Ludwig continued, “Can I?”

“Of course, caro.” Feliciano smiled, and walked over to the bed. He let Ludwig’s by-now practiced fingers undo his fly, and slip the shorts down his slim hips. Then he kicked them off, but got caught on one of the cuffs and fell forward, only saved by Ludwig catching him. They both laughed, some of the tension broken. Sexual tension wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes it was laid on, too thick, right away. Feliciano wanted to apply it slowly. 

“Careful, schatzi,” Ludwig said, still chuckling. He helped Feliciano out of the shorts. The latter then sat on Ludwig’s lap, and pushed him backwards onto the bed. 

“Now your turn,” he said. He undid Ludwig’s belt and pants and slid them down, not quite as easily, over the strapping frame. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?”

Ludwig blushed a little (still, after all this time. How adorable). “A lot, ja.”

“Then I don’t tell you nearly often enough.” Having stripped Ludwig of his underwear now as well, he took his own off, flinging it in some corner of the room. It was a testament to how completely Ludwig was entranced by him that the man didn’t even look to see where it landed, so he could catalogue it for later and clean it up. He motioned for Ludwig to scoot up the bed, so they could lay properly. Then, crawling on top of the other man, he looked down, gaze soft. “You’re so handsome and perfect. And even better,” he leaned down to kiss Ludwig. “All mine.” 

He pulled away with some difficulty, and sat back. He pointed to the nightstands on both sides of the bed, giving Ludwig a quizzical look.

Ludwig shrugged. “I don’t remember where we last put it. I think it’s on your side.”

Feliciano leaned over to that side and opened the drawer. “Good memory.” He popped open the bottle of lube and poured a generous amount on his fingers. “You ready, bello?”

Nodding nervously, Ludwig said. “I wouldn’t have let it get this far if I still had doubts.”

“Okay.” Feliciano leaned down to kiss him sweetly, then laid half on top of him. Some part of his subconscious knew that the weight would be comforting to Ludwig. He wiggled around a bit until he could reach Ludwig’s ass, and circled the rim with his index finger. He kissed Ludwig’s neck softly as he pushed inside. He could feel Ludwig tense, but then relax. The man let out the tiniest of sounds, obviously trying to hold back. No worry. Feliciano would get Ludwig to make as much noise as he wanted soon enough. 

He slowly pushed his finger inside, wiggling it around a little until he could feel the hard roundness of Ludwig’s sweet spot. The other man gasped. “Ja!—uh, I mean, do that again. Please.” Feliciano obliged happily, pushing his finger in as far as he could, and gently massaging the place that made Ludwig whine softly, clenching his hands in the sheets. “Oh, scheisse. Fuck, that feels good.” He seemed almost surprised. 

“What, you think I was just faking this entire time?” Feliciano chuckled. 

“N-no, it was just… I don’t know, I’ve never done this before.”

“Never?” Now it was Feliciano’s turn to be surprised. “But you’re gay. Not even with yourself?”

Ludwig made a face. “I repressed it for a long time, we talked about that. Which is part of why I was so nervous for this.”

“Are you still nervous?”

Averting his gaze, Ludwig said, “Ja.”

Feliciano smiled softly. He kissed Ludwig’s forehead. “It’s okay, let’s just take this slow.” He pumped his finger slowly in and out for a bit. Ludwig shivered beneath him. “Does it at least feel good?” Ludwig nodded. “Good.”

After a little bit, Ludwig said, “I think—I think I’m ready for another.”

“You sure?”

“Ja.”

Feliciano pulled his finger out, watching Ludwig’s hole clench around nothing. It was like it was hungry… He figured that kind of dirty talk would be too much for Ludwig right now (but, maybe, another time) and kept his mouth shut. Reaching over to grab the bottle of lube, he poured some more on his fingers, slicking them together. Then he settled on top of Ludwig again, kissing him as he gently prodded at Ludwig’s entrance with both fingers. He could feel more than see Ludwig’s legs falling open below him, allowing him better access. 

“Good boy,” he said. “You know exactly what to do.” Ludwig moaned again, into his mouth. “You like it when I call you that?” Feliciano said, breaking the kiss. Ludwig nodded mutely. “Call you what?”

Flushing a deep red, Ludwig stammered out, “Good—good boy.”

“Mm, you are, aren’t you? Look at you, you’re doing so well,” Feliciano praised, pushing two of his fingers slowly inside. Ludwig sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes were wide as he looked up at Feliciano, with pupils blown, barely a thin ring of ice blue around them. “Being so good for me,” Feliciano breathed out. “So good. Così buono. Così perfetta.”

Feliciano’s suspicions were confirmed when Ludwig whined at this, and clenched around Feliciano’s fingers. Oh, he was going to shower praise upon him. He would worship him. 

Ludwig’s hips bucked upward, but Feliciano pressed them down with his body. “Be patient for me, angelo,” he whispered. 

The man below him nodded, barely trusting himself to speak. “I’m so dizzy,” he gasped. “Is that normal?”

Feliciano frowned. “Uh, no, not really, I think?” He pulled his fingers out, Ludwig whining at the loss. “Do you feel okay?” he said worriedly, and put his other hand on Ludwig’s forehead to check his temperature. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I think,” Ludwig paused to do just that, “It’s you. Not—not in a bad way!” he quickly assured. “You—I—” He swallowed. “I’m just very emotionally overwhelmed right now.” At Feliciano’s ensuing frown, he continued, “Again, not in a bad way. It’s sort of like, ugh, what’s the right word… catharsis!”

“Catharsis?”

“You know, when you release a lot of strong repressed feelings, and it helps you feel better about them.”

Feliciano thought for a second, then said, “Oh! Catarsi! It’s a similar word in Italian.”

“Ja,” Ludwig nodded. “In German it is ‘katharsis’.”

Even so, Feliciano looked doubtful. “I’m still going to get a glass of water. You said you felt dizzy.”

“Don’t leave me!” Ludwig cried out, before slapping his hands over his mouth. He looked wide-eyed up at Feliciano, who gazed at him curiously. Tentatively, he let his hands fall. “I mean, uh, I mean… T-that’s fine. That’s what I meant.”

“Wow,” Feliciano said, not really meaning to let that out. Ludwig flushed. “This is really intense for you.”

The other man swallowed audibly. “Ja.”

“Are you sure you want to keep going? I haven’t even put my dick in you yet.”

Ludwig’s blush grew more intense. “P-please. I really don’t want to stop now.”

“Okay, caro.” Feliciano looked at him worriedly. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

The other man shook his head. “You’re not. I promise. I’ll tell you if that happens.”

“Promettere?”

“Verspreche.”

Feliciano gazed into his eyes, as if he could find any possible doubts by staring hard enough. This time, Ludwig looked right back at him, unlike many times tonight when he’d averted his gaze. Feliciano took this as a good sign, and picked up the bottle of lube again, smearing it on his fingers. He laid back down on top of him, kissing his neck, as he circled Ludwig’s hole. 

Ludwig swallowed, then opened his mouth, but closed it again.

“What is it, tesoro?”

The other man contemplated for a moment. “You don’t have to be so gentle with me, you know. I’m not made of glass.”

Feliciano raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” Ludwig nodded. Feliciano pushed his fingers in deep, crooking them slightly. He watched Ludwig’s eyes unfocus.

“Ohhh, Feli… like that, ja…” 

Feliciano continued, speeding up a bit. After a little while, Ludwig said, “Mm, more. Please.” 

Drawing back, he said, “You’re being so good for me,” and put some more lube on. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, relishing Ludwig’s shudder. Carefully, he pushed in his fingers, one by one, until he was up to three. He bent down to lave at the other man’s nipples again, curling one of the buds into his mouth. 

“Nng,” Ludwig moaned. Feliciano closed his lips around it, sucking it softly into his mouth. “H-harder.” He was only happy to comply, sucking his cheeks in. Ludwig’s back arched slightly, pushing his chest further up against Feliciano’s mouth, practically grinding against it. 

“Such a needy boy,” Feliciano murmured, letting the object of his ministrations fall from his lips for a moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. My needy boy.” He bent down again to suck at the other nipple, pulling it hard into his mouth. 

“Ah!” Ludwig’s hands flew up to tangle in Feliciano’s hair, not pulling away or pushing, just holding. Feliciano scissored his fingers, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. “Fuck, Feliciano…”

“That’s the plan.” He drew back his mouth and fingers, drinking in Ludwig’s noise of protest, and put some more lube onto his hand. Ludwig didn’t need another finger, but he’d probably feel more comfortable opened up a bit more. Not making Ludwig wait too long, he pushed four fingers in slowly, marveling at how Ludwig was letting him in so beautifully. 

“Ohh,” Ludwig moaned, his fingers tightening in Feliciano’s hair. The latter bucked down to suck a nipple into his mouth again, crooking his fingers at the same time. Ludwig moaned again, higher-pitched this time, his back rising off the bed. He seemed unsure whether he wanted to grind up into Feliciano’s lips or down onto his fingers. 

God, he was driving Feliciano crazy. “So good,” he muttered, thrusting his fingers deeper. “So good for me.” He was starting to get impatient. He wanted to fuck Ludwig so badly. His head spun at the thoughts of what noises he could get Ludwig to make, and he suddenly understood the dizziness the other man had been feeling earlier. 

Taking a breath and putting a lid on his impatience, he concentrated on opening Ludwig up, slicking him nicely for Feliciano. The man’s flush had spread down to his chest now, tinging his pale skin a pretty pink. Feliciano admired his nipples, hard and spit-shiny. Ludwig’s hair, always so perfectly styled, was a mess, his bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat. 

“I’m ready,” Ludwig breathed. “I’m ready for you.”

“Si,” Feliciano murmured sweetly. “All for me.”

“Ich gehöre dir,” the other man whispered back, echoing the same statement—I’m yours—Feliciano had cried many times before, when their positions were switched.

Letting out a breath, Feliciano pulled his fingers out, and sat back to spread lube on his cock. He saw that his hands were shaky. 

Ludwig lay on the bed, his head and shoulders propped up slightly by a pillow. He gazed fondly at Feliciano, eyes half-lidded. The latter crawled back towards him, bracketing the other man’s frame with his hands and knees. “How flexible are you?” he asked.

Grimacing slightly, Ludwig said, “Definitely not as much as you.”

“That’s alright. Can you spread your legs a bit more for me?”

Ludwig nodded, letting his legs fall open. Feliciano kneeled down between them. “Good boy.” He heard the sharp exhale of Ludwig’s breath at the praise, and lined up his cock, then wasted no time pushing the tip inside. 

“A-ah,” Ludwig groaned. His chest heaved. 

“Okay, angelo?” 

The other man nodded. “Just, just give me a moment.” Feliciano waited, peppering Ludwig’s face and neck with kisses. After a bit, Ludwig nodded again and said, “I’m ready.”

Feliciano pushed inside, excruciatingly slowly, pausing every so often to let Ludwig adjust. He closed his eyes briefly in bliss, exhilarating in how tight and hot Ludwig felt around him, despite having opened him up so much already. “Mmm, mio Dio, you feel like a virgin.”

Blushing deeply at that, Ludwig mumbled, “I guess I am, at least for this.”

Feliciano grinned salaciously. “Oh, you are right. I wonder what would our friends say, if they knew I was taking your virginity. If they knew how much you liked it.” Ludwig’s eyes grew big at that, and Feliciano feared he might have gone too far, if it were not for Ludwig’s ensuing whimper, and his hole clenching tightly around Feliciano’s cock. The latter groaned, and said, “Mio Dio, do that again.”

“W-what, this?” Ludwig clenched up again, squeezing Feliciano’s cock so pleasurably. 

“Mmm, si.”

“Oh… I see.” Ludwig did it again, and Feliciano grinned a bit nervously.

“Don’t do that too much, caro. You’re already so tight, I don’t want to come yet.” Ludwig nodded, biting his bottom lip, unaware of how sexy it was. 

With a groan, Feliciano bottomed out. He looked at Ludwig, whose mouth fell slightly open, his eyes hazy. “Tell me whenever you’re ready for me to move.” The other man nodded, his movements slow, stupefied.

Feliciano traced delicate circles on Ludwig’s chest while he waited for the man to adjust, followed by the occasional kiss. Eventually, Ludwig said, “I’m ready.”

Inch by careful inch, Feliciano pulled out, making Ludwig whine. Then, just as slowly, he pushed in again. He started up this agonizing rhythm, until Ludwig said, or rather moaned, “Faster, bitte.” His thrusts grew a little faster, and he experimented minutely with the angle, until—“Oh, fuck!” Ludwig’s back arched underneath him. 

He hooked his arms under Ludwig’s knees, folding him slightly, letting him thrust into the other man more easily. Ludwig’s mouth fell completely open, and he let out a strangled noise about an octave higher than his usual tenor. 

Feliciano stared at him, enraptured. “I’ve never heard you make that noise before.” Mortified, one of Ludwig’s hands flew up to cover his mouth. “No!” Feliciano tried to pry it away. “I like it! I want to hear it! You sound so sexy when you’re moaning for me, bello.” He gave Ludwig a pouting stare. “Please?” The other man’s eyes darted side to side, then he pulled his hand away. Feliciano smiled at him. “Grazie, angelo.”

“I didn’t think I could make that noise,” Ludwig admitted.

“Please,” Feliciano said, pulling himself out all the way, “make as much noise for me as you want.” Then he thrust back in, burying his cock inside completely. 

“Ohhh, Gott!” Ludwig cried out, eyes wide. His hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets. “Mmng, Feliciano!”

Spurred by Ludwig’s encouraging sounds, Feliciano began a harder and faster pace. His cock throbbed with every beautiful moan and whine that flew from Ludwig’s lips.  

Sing for me, angelo, he thought, but did not say aloud.

“Ahh, fuck, Feli—ja—Gott—bitte, bitte, just like that,” he pleaded with every thrust. “So gut, bitte!” His eyelids fluttered, eyes rolling back in his head. Mio Dio, he was louder than Feliciano was. It turned him on so, so much. 

Feliciano fucked him even harder, making Ludwig wail. He hooked Ludwig’s ankles behind his knees and leaned forward so he could sloppily kiss the other man. He wanted to drink in every sound Ludwig made. Ludwig whined into his mouth as Feliciano continued pounding him, sinking into that tight heat over and over again. He only pulled away when he felt wetness on his cheeks. 

To his surprise, Ludwig had tears running from his eyes. Feliciano immediately stopped and pulled out, prompting another whine from Ludwig. “Oh, no, tesoro! Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“Nein, nein, it just feels so good, I don’t know why I’m crying, just please don’t stop, if you stop I’ll cry harder,” Ludwig babbled, shaking his head in frustration.

“Oh, fuck, okay,” Feliciano said, instantly sliding his cock back in. 

“Ahhh, Feliciano,” Ludwig moaned. “Bitte hör nicht auf, bitte fick mich weiter, bitte, bitte, bitte…” His pleas rose into a high-pitched scream as Feliciano pounded him as hard and fast as he could, lost in the rhythm of Ludwig’s beautiful noises. “Fuck, Feliciano, fuck, oh Gott, I’m gonna—” His words cut off as his mouth opened in a silent wail, his back arching off the bed, his cock spurting come over both of their bellies and chests. There was so much of it, covering them in the sticky, hot liquid. Ludwig clenched impossibly tight around Feliciano, who was driving in again and again, desperately trying to fuck Ludwig through his orgasm before he came himself. 

“Tesoro, così perfetto, così buono per me, tutto mio, Ludwig, Ludwig,” Feliciano was chanting, as if in prayer. “Ludwig, I—” His cock pulsed as he came deep inside, for what felt like forever, his vision growing dim and hazy. 

After the eternity of that brief moment, he collapsed down onto Ludwig, rising up and down on his chest with the other’s rapid breaths. Ludwig immediately wrapped his arms tightly around Feliciano, as if he wanted to meld them into one. He buried his face into the crook of Feliciano’s neck and began crying harder. 

“Ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich, ich liebe dich, danke, danke,” he gasped out between barely-suppressed sobs. He hadn’t told Feliciano much about his trauma, but he’d gleaned enough from past conversations, and certainly seen enough now, to know that this ran very deep. Ludwig really, really needed this. All of this. 

Feliciano wrapped his arms around Ludwig as best as he could, lying as he was on top of him, and held him, stroking his hair occasionally. He got the sense that Ludwig was holding back very much, and would probably be crying a lot harder if he wasn’t there. Feliciano only wished that Ludwig felt comfortable enough to talk about it with someone, anyone, even if that person wasn’t him. Of course, he wouldn’t mind if that person was him. He supposed it would take time.

After a while, Ludwig had calmed down, and was now hiccupping softly into Feliciano’s shoulder. He sniffed, and said, “Sorry,” in a watery voice. 

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything, angelo,” Feliciano said softly. “I’ll always be here for you, whatever you need.” He tapped the finger with his engagement ring against Ludwig’s shoulder. “Remember? Always.”

Ludwig nodded. Feliciano realized he was still inside, and slipped out carefully, making Ludwig suck in his breath sharply. “Scusa, caro,” he said, knowing Ludwig was probably very overstimulated by now. He glanced down at their bellies, sticky with cum. “Do you want to take a shower?”

The other man frowned slightly, also looking down. “Kind of, but… I’m honestly not sure if I can move right now. My body feels so heavy.”

“That’s okay. I’ll bring some washcloths.”

“Not the nice ones,” Ludwig protested.

“Not the nice ones,” Feliciano acquiesced, chuckling softly.

He clambered out of the bed, then limbered to the bathroom to run some washcloths under the tap, making sure the water was a comfortable temperature first. He returned and gently wiped down Ludwig, massaging the cloth in soothing motions. The other man’s eyes drifted slowly shut. Once he was done, Feliciano wiped himself down, and returned to the bathroom to lay the used washcloths on the edge of the hamper. He would rinse them later and then launder them properly, but right now, that was not important. 

Padding softly to the bed, he climbed in again, embracing Ludwig. The other opened his eyes, looking adoringly at Feliciano. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he said.

“And I you,” Feliciano responded. They lay in silence then, drifting off to sleep. Feliciano knew they should talk about Ludwig’s reaction at some point, but now was not the right moment. It was still too raw, too fresh. If he tried to coax anything out of Ludwig now, the man would only retreat back into his shell, embarrassed by the display of emotion.  

After some time, Feliciano thought Ludwig was asleep, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Buona notte, amore mio.”

Ludwig, who was only half-asleep, cracked one eye open and murmured, “Gute nacht mein liebling.”

It was hot. So hot. Germany could feel the sweat beading down his back, collecting in all his nooks and crannies. He wasn’t used to this kind of heat, and his body wasn’t made for it. Even parked in front of the fan as he was, it only provided him a modicum of relief. 

“Germanyyy,” Italy whined, slumping into the living room. “It’s so hot.”

“I know,” Germany sighed. “It would really be nice to have some air-conditioning in here…”

“It’s not very common in Italy, they have more of it in the south, but still.” Italy flopped onto the couch with a huff, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “How much longer is this heat wave supposed to last?”

“The weatherman on the news said it’s going to be all week.”

“Ughhhh.” Italy picked up one of the random pieces of paper scattered about and started fanning himself with it. “You’re hogging the fan!”

“You’re more used to this kind of weather,” Germany pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s still way hotter than it usually gets here!”

“Fine,” he conceded, and moved away from the fan a bit, allowing it to blow across the room. 

Italy stood up and grabbed a chair, scooting it closer to the fan, and sat next to Germany to enjoy its cool breeze. Germany found himself fascinated by the trickle of sweat sliding down Italy’s collarbone and down, down, into the depths of his white tank top. 

They sat there in sweaty silence, Italy with his eyes closed. Suddenly, his head snapped back up. “I know!”

“What?”

“Let’s go to the beach!”

“Won’t it be very crowded? Probably everybody has the same idea as you.”

Italy smiled secretively. “I know a place.”

“This means you’ll drive, I suppose,” Germany groaned. As did anybody who valued his life, he was hesitant about stepping into a car where Italy was the driver. 

“I’ll be more careful this time!”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Come onnnn, I promise.”

“Well…” It would be nice to feel the crisp sea-breeze, and cool off in the waters. “As long as you actually drive the speed limit this time.”

“I told you to drive the speed limit!” Germany screamed, holding on to the edges of the car for dear life.

“There is no speed limit in Italy!” the other man replied cheerfully, changing lanes without turning on his blinker, and zipping past a slow van. 

“I swear, if you kill me in a car accident, I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life!”

Italy just giggled, infuriatingly, at that, then dashed impossibly through several lanes of traffic to swing into the exit, tires squealing. Mercifully, he slowed down as the exit turned into a slower road, passing by little cottage-white houses with red roofs. 

“We’re almost there, don’t worry.”

“I’ve been worrying this entire time!” Germany huffed.

“I didn’t get into a car accident, did I?” Italy flashed him a beaming smile.

“Keep your eyes on the road, verdammt! And no, you didn’t, but with the way you drive, it’s only a matter of time!”

Germany was very relieved to see the approaching, distant blue of the sea carved out against the paler hue of the sky. His relief quickly turned to split-second nausea as Italy swerved wildly around traffic hazards, then screeched to a stop, somehow squeezing his gleaming red car into an impractically tiny parking spot along the cobblestoned road. His right hand remained tightly clenched around the handle above the door, while the other had been desperately clinging to his seatbelt for some semblance of something to hold onto. 

“Relax, we’re here now! It’s time for the beach!” Italy undid his seatbelt, which he mercifully wore, and practically sprang out of the car. 

Germany followed, a bit slower, uncurling himself from the nigh-fetal position he’d been clamped in. His brain still felt like it was speeding at 140 kilometers an hour. “You’re lucky I don’t really get motion-sickness,” he muttered. 

Clicking a button on his key fob, Italy watched the trunk swing open automatically, then began pulling out the beach bags. “Oh! Can you check if we have to pay for parking?”

“Fine,” Germany grumbled, still grumpy from the reckless drive. He paced a little ways over to where the ticket tower stood, inspecting it closely. “No fees on Sundays,” he said, raising his voice so Italy could hear. 

“Grande! Let’s go, Germany!” Italy walked, or rather skipped, over to where Germany was standing. “It’s just down this way.”

They walked down winding streets, passing the occasional group of kids kicking around a soccer ball, or an elderly woman sitting on her porch, who waved back when Italy waved at them.

“It doesn’t seem very busy here,” Germany remarked.

“Si, it’s a very quiet neighborhood. Which is why the beach won’t be so full!”

“I think you just disturbed all that quiet when you pulled in here.”

Finally, they reached the bottom, where the street’s worn stones melted into the sand. It was a tiny beach, surrounded on all sides by towering, red rock, but there were scarcely any people. There were a few families, with children playing in the sand, and couples or groups of friends tanning themselves.

“Isn’t it nice?” Italy waved his arms around. “I love this spot.”

“It is pretty nice,” Germany had to admit. “Quiet, too.”

“Si, it’s perfect!”

Germany pointed at an empty spot bordering the edge of the cliffs, where the rocks threw a patch of shadow onto the sand. “Let’s sit over there, then we can have some shade if we want it.”

“Okay!”

After kicking off their shoes, they walked over to the spot, and busied themselves setting up their belongings. Germany took out his neatly folded towel from his beach bag, smoothing it down on the sand and making sure all the edges were laid perfectly flat. Italy struggled to pull his towel out, stuffed haphazardly as it was, and when he finally did, a bunch of his other stuff came spilling out. 

“Your things are getting everywhere!” Germany scolded.

“These are things I need for the beach anyway!” Italy bent down to pick up a tube of sunscreen that had fallen, and brushed the sand off of it. “See?”

Germany just rolled his eyes, but he really couldn’t keep being annoyed. It was a beautiful day, and the sun shone overhead, but the cool breeze coming off the water lessened its blazing heat. Gulls circled lazily in the sky, crying their familiar calls. Occasionally they dipped into the water. Wind-checkered waves lapped at the edge of the sand, stretching out in deeper and darker hues as the sea met the horizon. 

Once their towels had been set up, Germany began unbuttoning his shirt. They had put their swim trunks on at home already, to make things easier. He took off his short-sleeve and folded it carefully, then stowed it neatly away. After grabbing some sunscreen, sunglasses, and a book, he zipped his bag again, so as not to get sand in it. Italy had taken off his tank top, then folded it (not as neatly) and laid it at the head of his towel, to serve as a makeshift pillow. He dug out a frankly enormous pair of sunglasses and perched them on his head.

Germany snorted. “You look ridiculous.”

“Hey!” Italy mock-pouted. “I like these sunglasses. They make me look cool.”

“Whatever you say.”

They flopped down onto the towels, relieved to no longer have the hot sand burning their feet.

“Do you want to go swimming right away?” Italy asked.

“Hmm, let’s put on some sunscreen first and let it soak in.”

“I never get sunburned,” Italy boasted.

“I do. Besides, even if you don’t get sunburnt, it’s still important to put on sunscreen.”

“Fineeee,” the other acquiesced. 

“I’m surprised you even brought sunscreen.”

“It’s the one you bought for me and forced me to take along last time we went to the beach,” Italy said.

“Of course.” Germany rolled his eyes fondly. He picked up his own bottle of sunscreen and began smearing it on his skin, making sure to get every area. 

“Germany, can you put sunscreen on my back?” Italy asked, handing the bottle to him.

“Sure, come here.”

Italy turned around, allowing Germany access to his back, and the latter began smearing on the cream.

“Oooh, it’s cold!” 

“Stop wiggling away!”

“Sorry,” Italy giggled.

Done with the sunscreen on Italy’s back, Germany now turned around as well. “Can you get my back?”

“Of course.”

He heard the clicking of the bottle being uncapped, then Italy’s small hands rubbing the sunscreen into his skin. It felt rather nice, despite the unpleasant oiliness from the cream first being applied. Germany would have to get Italy to give him a back massage, sometime…

“All done!” Italy announced.

“Danke.”

They lounged on their towels, enjoying soaking up the sun, and watching people splash each other in the water. Once they grew sufficiently hot, Germany rose to his feet, extending a hand to Italy. 

“Shall we go?” he said.

“Sounds good to me!” Italy took Germany’s outstretched hand, letting the other pull him to his feet. Germany made to drop his hand, but Italy kept holding on. “Please?” Italy whined, turning his big puppy-dog eyes on Germany. 

“You know I don’t like PDA…” Germany grumbled. He looked around. “I suppose there’s not that many people here… fine. You can hold my hand.” 

“Yay! Grazie, thank you!” Italy skipped along, happily clutching Germany’s hand, as they made their way down to the edge of the water. Tentatively, Italy dipped his toes in. “Ooh, it’s not as cold as I thought it would be!”

“The sun has probably warmed the water a bit.”

Slowly, they waded their way in, up to their midriffs. Italy shivered slightly. “It’s colder now.”

“Ja, your body is covered by the water. You have to swim to warm up.”

Pouting, Italy said, “But then I have to let go of your hand…”

Germany rolled his eyes. “I’ll hold your hand some more when we get out, okay?” Did he really withhold that much affection that even a simple handhold meant that much to Italy? He felt kind of bad, now. However, he wasn’t used to being a touchy person, and definitely wasn’t used to the kind of touchiness the Italian was familiar with. He’d gotten better with physicality since they’d started dating, but there were still some areas that didn’t come naturally to him. 

Germany dove first into the water with a loud splash, slicing through the waves expertly. He swam a little ways, then turned around, beckoning to Italy. “Come on! It’s really nice when you’ve swam a little, then you’ve warmed up.” Unclutching his arms from around himself, Italy eyed the water with trepidation. “Just do it!” Germany called. 

With a sigh inaudible from this distance, but obvious from his body language, Italy splashed into the water, rather ungracefully. “Aahh! It’s cold!”

“Swim over to me, then you will warm up.”

With a mixture between doggy paddling and some semblance of real swimming, Italy sloshed his way over. Upon reaching Germany, he righted himself, and they bobbed there, treading water. “You’re right, Germany, it’s really not so bad once you’ve swam a bit.”

“It’s an old trick I learned, I forget from who. Swim at least thirty or forty strokes, then you will not feel cold anymore in the water.”

“Unless you’re swimming in, I don’t know, Russian water or something!”

“Well, I don’t think anybody sane would do that.”

“Aren’t there people who do those cold water challenges?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, where they will purposefully go and swim in really cold water,” Italy said.

“Oh, I suppose. There’s always people crazy enough to do anything.”

“But this is much nicer.”

“I agree.” Germany dipped himself further into the water to float on his back, paddling slightly to keep his face above the surface.

“How do you do that?” Italy asked.

“Do what?”

“Float on your back like that.”

“You mean you don’t know how?”

“I’ve tried, but I always end up getting water in my face!”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Germany righted himself again. “You have to relax, or otherwise you won’t float. It’s easier in salt water like this. Here, watch me.” Slowly, he leaned back again, letting most of his body bob underneath the surface. “If you do it right, most of you will be underwater, and just your face and maybe toes will be showing.” He paddled his arms a bit. “You can kick your feet and arms sometimes to keep yourself afloat.” He kicked the water to float back upright. “You try.”

“Okayyy…” Italy said hesitantly.

“I’ll make sure you won’t drown.”

Italy slowly let his shoulders fall back, sinking deeper into the water. 

“Gut, just like that!” Germany said encouragingly. “Now, make sure to relax. If you’re too tense, you will have trouble floating.”

For a split second, Italy managed to float on the surface, his face just out of the water, before he flailed and managed to inhale a load of saltwater up his nose. “Gahh ahh! It hurts!” 

“I told you to relax!”

“I’m just no good at this!”

“Here, why don’t we try this in shallower water? Then I can hold you up at first.”

They swam back to where they could feel the soft, sandy bottom underneath their feet. 

“Try again,” Germany coaxed. Italy lay back, and this time Germany put his arms underneath, to support him. “Make your body straighter,” he instructed. Italy made a face at that, but complied. “Gut, ja, like that.”

“Don’t let go,” Italy whimpered. “I don’t want to get saltwater in my nose again!”

Germany sighed. “If you’re not prepared to feel uncomfortable sometimes, then you will never learn new things.”

“Oh wow, that’s so wise!” Italy looked up at him with big, round eyes.

“Concentrate on floating,” Germany admonished. 

“Yes, commander!” They both chuckled at the use of the old nickname. 

“Ja, that’s the right pose. Does it feel like you’re floating?”

“A little bit, but only because you’re still holding me up.”

“I’m going to let go now. Don’t panic.”

“But what if I do?!”

“I’ll just grab you again, okay?” Slowly, Germany removed his arms from under Italy’s back, making sure to correct his posture and give pointers where needed. “If you feel yourself sinking, kick lightly with your feet or wave your hands. You don’t need to move a lot.”

With his lower lip anxiously between his teeth, Italy did as Germany suggested. Miraculously, he managed not to flail this time. “Wow! Look, Germany, I’m doing it!”

“You are.”

“I’m floating!”

“Good job.”

“You taught me well!” Italy giggled, then kicked his legs a bit. “Oh, it really works! Amazing!”

Germany smiled down at him. Italy seemed so happy to have accomplished something so small. He supposed it really was the simple things in life. 

“Float with me, Germany!” he said. 

Wordlessly, Germany laid on his back in the sea, and they floated together, treading the water occasionally. Eventually, Italy grew bored of this, and stood back upright. “Let’s race!” he announced.

“To where?”

Italy pointed to the other side of the beach, where the rocks bordered the cove. “There!”

“You know I’m probably going to win, right?” Germany said.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s about having fun!”

“If you say so.”

“Okay, ready?” They lined up together at the same spot, while Italy counted them off. “One, two… three!” With a loud splash, they dove into the water, Germany immediately launching into a vigorous breaststroke. At the halfway point, he looked back, to see Italy desperately paddling behind him. “Don’t… go… easy… on… me…!” he panted. 

Germany shrugged, then turned around and continued swimming. A few moments later, he reached the finish line, and turned around to wait for Italy. Eventually, the other man reached him, then stood with his hands on his thighs, gasping for breath. “You win… this time…” he wheezed. 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “This time, huh?”

“I think… I’m ready to… go back and… sit… a little…”

At this, Germany huffed a breath of amusement. “Alright.” After letting Italy catch his breath for a little longer, they trudged through the water back to shore, leaving ripples in their wake. Upon reaching their spot, Germany unzipped his bag to take out a fresh, small towel. “To dry ourselves off with,” he explained.

“Oh, that’s so smart!” 

They dried themselves, then laid down upon their beach towels. “I’m going to take a nap!” Italy announced. He flopped over belly-first on the towel, his head on the tank top he had folded into a pillow. 

“I’m going to read some.”

Italy didn’t respond, probably already dozing off. Germany wondered how the man could fall asleep so easily. Then again, he seemed to live a rather carefree life. Often, Germany wished he could be a little more like that. But then, who would take care of the responsibilities… He dashed such thoughts from his head, resolving to relax on this little beach trip. He then picked up his book, a German romance novel that was rather cheesy, but quite riveting. Currently, Friedrich was saying he couldn’t be with Hildegard, because he had to embark on a quest across Europe to fight for his honor. Quickly, Germany was lost in the book. 

After an hour or two baking in the sun, Germany gently shook Italy awake. “I’m going back in the water. Do you want to come?”

“Mmm,” Italy said sleepily, having rolled over onto his back by now. “No, it’s nice here. I think I’ll stay.”

“Okay. Maybe you should put on more sunscreen. You don’t want to get sunburned.”

Italy waved him off nonchalantly. “I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” Germany stood up and wandered off in the direction of the sea. He busied himself swimming a couple laps from each edge of the cove to the other. Marveling at the purity of the clear water, the way he could see all the way down to the sand, in the shallows at least. At one point, he even spotted a shoal of tiny fishes that fled before him, their thin, silver bodies darting to and fro. Once he grew tired enough, he trotted back to the towels, finding Italy still fast asleep. He dried himself off and picked up where he’d left off in his book, letting the sun dry his swimsuit. Occasionally, he glanced fondly over at Italy’s restful form, the soft rise and falls of his breaths. 

Soon enough, the shadow cast by the rocks had crept across the sand, advancing slowly but surely. It reached halfway down their towels by now. Italy gradually awakened, first his foot twitching, then his eyes hazily blinking open. “How long was I asleep?” he yawned. 

“For a few hours, at least.” Germany chuckled. “That swim must have really tired you out.”

“I guess so.” Italy stretched, then sighed happily. 

“Are you ready to go home soon?”

“Si.” He looked over at Germany, his book still open. “Did you have fun?”

Smiling softly, he said, “I did.” Then, remembering his resolution to try to be more affectionate, he said, “Thank you for taking me here.”

At this, Italy grinned at him. “Nessun problema, amore.” Germany couldn’t help but flush a little at the pet name, still unused to such things. 

Unhurriedly, they packed up their belongings, shaking out their towels and pulling their shirts back on. They trudged through the sand, less hot underfoot now that the sun had pulled back in the sky. Upon reaching the edge of the street, they brushed off their feet and put their sandals back on. 

“I forgot about having to climb all the way back up those streets…” Italy moaned.

“It’s less hot now, so it won’t be so bad. Then we can take a nice cool shower when we get home,” Germany suggested.

“That does sound nice.”

“We can walk slowly.”

They did, chattering occasionally, or remarking upon particularly quaint and beautiful little houses they’d pass by. 

Once back at the car, Germany frowned slightly, remembering how they had gotten there. “Can you please drive slower this time?”

“I promise, I promise.” They loaded the bags into the trunk and got in. “Mio Dio, it’s hot in here,” Italy complained. It was, the stale, heated air almost suffocating. “I will open the roof.” He pressed a button, and the roof folded back with a groaning, mechanical sound, letting cool, fresh air wash through the cabin. With less urgency this time, Italy pulled out of the parking spot, and they were on their way. 

Thankfully, Italy kept to his promise, and actually drove the speed limit the rest of the way home. Once there, Germany motioned for Italy’s beach bag, and took the towels out of both of their bags. He shook them out once again and laid them on chairs in the garden, for them to dry. “Come, let’s take a shower,” he said. It was still quite hot, and despite the car’s open roof, they’d both worked up somewhat of a sweat. 

Germany stepped into the bathroom first, peeling off his swim trunks, which by now were completely dry. He filled the bathroom sink with water and put the swimsuit in there to soak. “Are you coming, schatzi?” he said, more comfortable with affection now that they were alone. 

“Si si, just getting some water,” Italy called from the kitchen. After a few moments, he walked into the bathroom, taking off his swim trunks and depositing them into the sink. Germany set the water to lukewarm, knowing his regular cooler showers would probably be unpleasant for Italy. They both stepped under the spray. Germany was grateful for Italy’s massive shower, which had a showerhead that provided enough water to douse the both of them at the same time. They scrubbed each other’s hair, but when Italy turned his back to Germany, the latter gasped.

“Your back is all red!”

“Oh, really?” Italy tried to crane his neck to see. 

“I told you you would get sunburned!”

“It’s not a sunburn,” he said dismissively. 

“I will still put some lotion on it.”

True to his word, once they were done, Germany went hunting for some lotion in Italy’s messy bathroom cabinets. After locating the bottle, he instructed Italy to sit backwards on a chair. He spread the cool cream on the other man’s back and neck, concentrating on the spots that looked the most red.

“Aahh, that feels nice…” Italy sighed.

“What do you want to eat tonight?” Germany said. “And don’t say pasta.”

Chuckling, Italy responded, “It’s too hot for pasta anyway. Maybe something more refreshing.”

“We can eat some of that fish we got at the market.”

“That’s perfect. I can make a salad to go with it.”

After dinner, they settled onto the couch. Normally, they would cuddle, but it was still too hot for that. Italy winced as he sat back against the pillows.

“Your back?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Italy waved a hand. 

“Mm hmm,” Germany said, unconvinced. He decided not to press the issue. 

They watched some TV, an Italian drama that Italy had convinced him to start. Germany had to admit that it was quite good, and they interspersed the dramatic moments with discussion about what they thought the characters would do next. 

Germany checked his watch. “It’s getting late. We should go to bed.”

“Let’s move the fan to the bedroom.”

“We already have a fan there.”

“I know, but this way we will have two. One for you, and one for me!”

Germany made a little shrug of agreement, then stood up to unplug the fan from its spot on the desk. He moved it to their bedroom, positioning it on the other side of the room from the fan that was already there. Once done, he joined Italy in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. 

He was glad that their bedroom was relatively nice and cool, and the sheets actually did feel refreshing against his heated skin. They lay apart, not wanting to share each other’s body heat, but with their fingers intertwined, to feel a little intimacy. 

Italy sighed happily. “Today was fun. I’m glad we went to the beach.”

“Me too.”

“And I learned how to float!”

Germany chuckled softly. “You did.”

“Buonanotte, bello.”

“Gute nacht, liebling.”

Germany awoke the next morning, already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He realized what had roused him, Italy was tossing and turning next to him. 

“Hm?” he said, voice cracking with sleep. “What’s wrong, Italy.”

Italy suddenly whipped around to face him. “Oh, you’re awake.”

This woke up him fully; Italy was normally never awake before him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Italy’s eyes darted from side to side, obviously telling that something was wrong. 

Germany was used to it by now when Italy acted cagily, so instead of prying, he would remain patient until the truth, eventually, came out. “Okay, then. If you say so.” He reached over to try to hug Italy, but as soon as his hands touched the man’s back, he cried out in pain. Italy’s hands flew up to cover his mouth, and he looked, wide-eyed, up at Germany. The latter’s eyes narrowed, already suspecting the cause of the problem. “Turn around.”

Italy, hands still covering his mouth, just shook his head mutely.

Germany tried his sweetest voice. “Turn around, schatzi.” When Italy still refused, he forcefully grabbed the man’s shoulders.

“No!”

“Come on, show me your back!” His superior strength won out, and he managed to flip Italy over. The man’s back looked painfully red, and was starting to peel. “Aha, I knew it! You did get sunburnt! ‘Never get sunburned’, my ass!” he crowed, using one of the crude phrases America had taught him. 

Italy sighed, admitting defeat. “Fine, fine, yes! I got sunburned! You were right, okay, I should have listened to you!”

“I told you,” Germany said smugly, still not wanting to give up.

“I knowww,” Italy whined. “Now will you put some lotion on me, please? It hurts.”

“Fine, but only if you admit that I was right.”

“I already did!”

“Say it again.”

“You just love hearing it, don’t you?”

“Maybe I do.”

“You were right!”

“And will you listen to me next time?”

“Si si, I will.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Italy turned to look up at him with sad eyes. “Lotion? Now? Please?”

“Alright, alright. Let’s go.” Germany sat up and threw off the covers.

“And get that smug smile off your face!”

The air was alive with the cries of happy children, people bustling, carnival games being won and lost. The air was crisp, too, the evening falling on another day. He inhaled its brittleness, relishing in the sharp cool of it flowing through his nostrils. It was different here, the heat less oppressive, the sky more gray. He found that he didn’t mind it. 

Tugging Germany along by the hand, he pointed to a food vendor’s stall. The handwritten sign advertised ‘Würstchen im Schlafrock!’ Whatever it was, it smelled delicious. “I want to try that!”

Letting himself be pulled along, Germany took a moment to read the sign. “That does sound good…” he mused. 

They walked up to the stall, where Italy excitedly inspected a line of sausages on display, wrapped in dough and laid neatly in little paper cartons. “Two please!” he said, holding up two fingers. 

The man behind the stall’s counter nodded, then barked something in German to his right. “Dat will be two euros,” he said in a heavy accent. 

“Here you go, sir!” Italy fished the coin-piece from his wallet and plopped it into the man’s outstretched hand. 

“Please wait eine moment. They will be ready soon.”

“No problem!” Italy responded cheerfully. He spun around to face Germany, who was standing next to him. The tips of the other man’s ears were slightly pink from the autumn evening’s chill. It was rather adorable, he thought. 

Noticing Italy’s attention was on him, Germany quickly glanced away, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Er… are you having fun, so far?”

“I am!” Italy beamed. “Thank you for taking me to this festival.”

“Ah, of course. You said you wanted to experience some German culture, after all, so…”

“This is perfect!” Italy smiled again. He did not miss the slight pinking of Germany’s cheeks. 

“Hier they are,” the man said behind them. Italy turned around again and took the proffered food. He handed one to Germany, who reached around him to grab a few napkins from the dispenser on the counter. Together they walked through the bustling streets of the festival.

“Mmm, this is delicious!” Italy exclaimed. The sausages were wrapped in a light, flaky dough, and served on sticks so as to make them easier to eat. “Do you know how to make this, Germany?”

“I’ve never made them before, but I could try, I suppose.”

“Maybe we can make them together!”

“Ja, maybe.”

They stood for a moment, watching a balloon vendor tie a long, stretchy balloon into an animal of indeterminate species, then hand it to a delighted child. The child skipped off holding her mother’s hand, her long twin pigtails bouncing behind her. Italy glanced to his side, seeing Germany’s soft smile. 

“Do you want kids, Germany?”

The other man startled, caught unawares by the question. “Um, I suppose so, ja. Maybe one day.”

Italy giggled. “My brother always says I’m too irresponsible to take care of children. Maybe he’s right, but, I think it would be fun!”

“Taking care of a child is not always ‘fun’, you know.”

“I know, but don’t the fun parts make up for that? I mean, could you imagine me running around with a little kid that looks just like me? That would be so cute.”

Germany cleared his throat, seeming uncomfortable. “I… I suppose.” By this time, they had finished eating their food, and threw the empty containers into a nearby trash bin. “Oh, you have some crumbs on your coat,” Germany said, obviously trying to change the subject. Italy let him. “Here, let me…” He briskly brushed down Italy’s coat, ridding him of the crumbs. “Do you have to be such a messy eater?”

Giggling, Italy said, “It’s just because I enjoy my food so much!”

“I suppose.” Germany sighed, but fondly.

They continued walking, taking their time, ambling slowly and stopping occasionally to look at the foods or toys this or that stall was offering. They passed a vendor offering samples of all sorts of German beers, which Germany side-eyed. 

“Do you want to try it?” Italy asked.

Germany quickly glanced away, obviously not expecting Italy to have noticed. “Well…”

Knowing Germany, Italy decided to make the choice for him. “Come on, let’s go!” He took hold of Germany’s hand again, pulling him towards the stall.

“Guten abend!” the vendor exclaimed, noticing the two potential customers approaching him. “Probieren sie ein paar biere!” He gestured to an ornately carved wooden sign, which had a list of many German words that Italy assumed were the names of beers. 

“Guten abend!” Italy replied, melodic voice twisting strangely around the unfamiliar syllables. “How does it work?”

The man smiled, then began pulling miniature-sized beer glasses out from under the stall’s counter. “For ten euros, you may try a sample of these ten different, beloved German beers! You want to try, junger mann?”

“Not for me, thank you, but he does!” Italy pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, at Germany. “You did want to, right?” He turned around to assess. 

“Ah, well… yes.” Germany dropped the hand that was still holding Italy’s, to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “There are some beers on this list I have not tried before.”

“Perfekt! One sampler of die biere for mein freund over hier!” The man began pouring the first beer into one of the small glasses. “Das ist ten euros.”

Germany made to get out his wallet, but Italy stopped him. “I will pay, Germany! You brought me here, after all, it’s the least I could do.”

“But I’m drinking the beers,” Germany pointed out. 

“Come on, let me do this for you!”

“Ja, let dein freund here pay for you,” the man said, winking at Germany. 

The latter’s face turned red. “I’m not—we’re not—” 

Italy looked between the two, confused. ‘Freund’ was ‘friend’, right? Why was Germany suddenly so embarrassed? He chalked it up to Germany being Germany and handed over the ten euro bill to the man. “Here you go!”

“Danke, junger mann.” He turned now to Germany. “Hier ist das erste biere. It ist von der Schlenkerla,” he explained, lapsing into mostly German now that he was addressing Germany solely.

Taking the beer, Germany said, “Oh ja, I have heard of this. It is from a historic brewery.” He took a sip. “Ist sehr gut.”

“How is it?” Italy asked, looking curiously up at Germany.

The other man smiled. “It has this wonderfully smoky taste.”

“Ja, die Schlenkerla is ein famous brewery in Bamberg, known for its traditional rauchbier,” the vendor explained.

“That means smoked beer,” Germany translated for Italy.

“Oh wow! How do they make it?” 

“It ist ein historical way of making bier,” the vendor said. “Not done in many places anymore. In den old days, to dry the malt, they use ein traditional fire oven, which gives the bier its smoky taste.”

“That’s so cool!” Italy exclaimed in amazement. “It’s like you’re drinking a piece of history right now, Germany!”

Germany let out of a huff of amusement, then took another swig of the beer. “I suppose so.”

“Can I try?” Italy said. “Oh!” He turned around to face the vendor. “I hope it’s okay.”

“Ja ja, of course.” The man waved him on. “Only if, you don’t drink all of it!” He chuckled.

“Here.” Germany gave the glass to him, and Italy took a tiny, tentative sip.

“Oh, it’s… good.” Italy tried to stop himself from wrinkling his nose, but the beer’s taste was strong.

The vendor laughed, and even Germany cracked a smile. “Not ein bier mann, huh?” the man said. 

“I prefer wine,” Italy said, smiling apologetically.

“Kein problem. More for this guy, huh?” The vendor jabbed a thumb at Germany.

“Exactly!” Italy gave the half-empty glass back to Germany, who took a few more sips. The latter closed his eyes, savoring the unique taste of the beer on his tongue. Italy couldn’t help but wonder if the beer would taste better from Germany’s—

“Und this ist the next bier!” The vendor broke his suggestive train of thought. “Das ist ein Hefeweizen.”

“I have tried this before,” Germany said. He eagerly took the next glass, then took a large swig. “Just as good as I remember.”

The vendor kept offering fun tidbits about the beers, and he and Germany talked back and forth on a few of the finer details. Italy was admittedly a little lost, especially with the sprinklings of German thrown in, but he was happy to just watch Germany enjoying himself. Germany’s already seemingly semi-permanent blush when he was in Italy’s presence seemed to darken a bit more with each beer he drank. The man’s tolerance was impressive, to be sure, and the glasses were small, but it was still ten drinks in a row. And German beers were not exactly known for their lightness. 

Finally, the last beer was done, and Germany wiped his mouth with the napkins he had taken from the food stall earlier. “Danke,” he said, smiling slightly at the vendor. Italy liked it when Germany was looser like this, when he smiled more. It hadn’t been on his mind when he convinced Germany to try the beers, but it certainly was not an unwelcome side effect.

“Thank you! Have a nice evening, sir!” Italy waved at the man. “What do you want to do next, Germany?”

“We are at a festival, maybe we could play some of the games,” he offered, a bit shyly.

“That sounds fun! Let’s go!” Italy took Germany’s hand, dragging him away from the stall. He waved to the vendor one last time, who watched them go with a small smile on his face. Together they weaved through the bustling crowd of couples and families, pausing to linger at any games that seemed interesting. “Oh, let’s play that game!” Italy pointed at a brightly lit stall, where many empty cups were set up, covering a whole table set a little ways behind the stall’s counter. “It looks like they have fun prizes!” Brightly colored toys and big, soft plushies were lined along the back wall, waiting to be claimed. 

“Sure.” Germany smiled softly, still holding Italy’s hand, and let himself be led towards the stall. 

“Hallo, freunde!” The woman behind the counter raised her hand in greeting. “Würden sie gerne spielen?”

“Hallo,” Germany said. “How do you play this game?”

“Oh, ist simple!” the woman said, switching to English. “For fünf—five—euros you get twenty of these balls.” She held up a small, white ping-pong ball. “Your goal ist to land the ball in one of the cups. You get differing points for which color cup you land.” She turned around to gesture to the table. “The blue cups, nearest to us, are five points. The red cups are ten points.” She pointed at one of the red cups, which were randomly scattered throughout the sea of blue. “At the back wall,” she motioned towards the back line of cups, which Italy had to stand on tip-toe to see, “are the black cups, which are twenty points.” She nodded at a sign hanging from the top of the stall. “If you forget, there are the color codes for each points.” Then she spread her arms to indicate the wall of prizes behind them. “Prizes are worth different points. Ones on the bottom are twenty-five, above those fifty, then one-hundred, and so on. If you want to know how many points a prize ist, please ask me!”

“Makes sense to me!” Italy said. “Do you want to try too, Germany?”

He shrugged. “Sure, seems simple enough.” He fished out his wallet from his pants pocket. “I will pay this time.” Italy knew better than to protest. “Twenty balls for each of us, please.” He handed over two five-euro bills.

“Right away, sir!” She reached under the counter, and pulled out two small, woven baskets filled with ping-pong balls. “You may start anytime!” She quickly moved to the side to give them room to aim. 

Italy aimed carefully, then threw his first ball. It bounced along several of the glasses, all the way from one side to the other, then flew off the side of the table. He frowned, then tried again, with the same result. “This is harder than it looks! You try, Germany.”

He looked to the side, to see Germany, who had been watching him, quickly look away. “Okay,” he said, squinting at the table of cups in concentration. He took one of the balls in his hand, weighing it carefully. Slowly, he brought his arm up. Italy watched, enraptured. Then, all of a sudden, he flicked his wrist forward, and sent the ball sailing through the air. It bounced a few times off some of the cups, slowing gradually, then rolled around the rim of one of the blue cups and fell inside.

“Five points!” the woman said, marking something down on a sheet of paper.

“Verdammt,” Germany muttered.

“What do you mean?” Italy exclaimed. “That was great!”

“I was going for one of the black cups.”

“You still have nineteen left!”

“Let’s take turns, so we don’t interfere with each other’s throws.”

“Wow, Germany, you are taking this really seriously!” Italy decided to up it a notch, but waited until Germany had picked up his next ball and was on the verge of throwing it. “It’s almost like you want to win me something.”

Germany made a strange noise and flunked his throw, sending the ball sailing completely clear of the table and bouncing against the wall on the other side. “I—I don’t—I—” He glanced, wide-eyed, blushing, at Italy, then picked up his next ball, words dying in his throat. Italy allowed himself the briefest of smug smiles. “Your turn now,” Germany managed to say.

“Okay!” Italy said innocently. He picked up another ball, trying to aim it carefully like he had seen Germany do. He tried to do the same method with flicking his wrist forward, but his hand-eye coordination wasn’t great, and the ball landed short of the table. “Ah! Let me try again. That wasn’t good.” Sticking his tongue between his teeth in concentration, he decided to try to target one of the black cups against the back wall. With a bit more force, he threw his ball, and it hit against the back wall before bouncing against the line of black cups. He watched it jump from cup to cup, eventually settling, miraculously, and probably luckily, into one of the red cups. “Alright!” he cheered. Glancing up at the points board, he said, “That’s ten points for me!”

Germany glowered at him. “My turn now.” He took a deep breath, then remained silent and still for a few seconds. He chucked the ball in an elegant overhanded throw, and it ricocheted from cup to cup before settling into one of the black cups. Turning back to Italy, he huffed, “Twenty points.”

Italy pointed at him challengingly. “Oh, it’s on!”

They took turns throwing their balls, each crowing or morose at their respective outcomes. Gradually, the number of balls in their baskets dwindled, until there were none left.

“How many points do we each have now?” Germany asked the woman. 

She looked down at her notepad. “Your friend has 65 points, and you have 170.”

Germany smiled a full, wide smile at that. He crossed his arms haughtily in Italy’s direction and exclaimed, “I won.” Italy found that he didn’t even mind. Seeing Germany smile like that was prize enough for him. “Now, pick something.”

“Huh?” Italy stared blankly for a few moments, before realizing. “You were trying to win me something!”

Gaze falling to the ground, arms still crossed, Germany said, shyly, “Maybe.”

Italy couldn’t suppress a small smile as he perused the wall of prizes. His gaze landed on an adorable teddy bear wearing a shirt with a little German flag on it, and a slightly grumpy look on its snout. “Oh, that one!” He pointed. “How much is that one?”

The woman smiled apologetically at them. “Unfortunately, that one is 200 points.”

“Oh,” Germany said, crestfallen. “I don’t suppose… there is any way to combine points?”

“Well…” she said, glancing left and right. “Normally, no, but you two are just so cute that I think I’ll make an exception, this time. Just don’t tell anybody else!”

At this, Germany turned red and sputtered. “We—cute—I’m—we’re not—” 

“We’ll take it!” Italy interrupted, before Germany could do any damage. “Thank you so much!” The lady pulled out a small ladder to reach the bear, hung a little ways up on the wall. She pulled it down, and handed it to a beaming Italy. “Oh, he’s so cute! He reminds me a little of you.” Italy giggled.

“Because of the German flag?” Germany said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, because he’s so grumpy looking!” 

Germany huffed, but Italy caught the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. He turned back towards the woman and inclined his head slightly. “Danke sehr.”

“You two have a nice rest of your evening!” She waved after them as they walked away from the stall, Italy happily clutching his new soft friend. 

“It’s getting kind of late,” Germany said, checking his watch. “We can probably do a few more things and then we should head home.”

“Is there anything else you wanted to do?”

“Well—” Germany cut himself off. “I mean, what do you want to do?”

“You were about to say something.”

“No, no, we came here for you, after all.”

“Come onnnn, Germany, say it! I want you to have fun too!”

“I did. Have fun, that is.” Germany looked at Italy, then quickly looked away. “Well, I suppose… I did want to ride the ferris wheel. But I know you’re afraid of heights.”

“How did you know? I don’t remember ever telling you that.”

“You’re afraid of everything,” Germany pointed out.

Smiling sheepishly, Italy said, “I guess you’re right. But…” He tapped a finger against his chin. “If you’re there with me, I won’t be so afraid. Because you’ll catch me if I fall, right?”

Germany snorted. “Of course. And you won’t fall. They have railings and safeguards to protect you.”

“Then that decides it! Let’s go on the ferris wheel, then go home and eat some pasta.” Italy skipped off in the direction of the large wheel, visible from all corners of the festival. 

He could hear Germany following behind him, muttering, “You and your pasta…”

They reached the wheel, and luckily there was not much of a line at this point in the evening. Most people were beginning to go home now. They chatted a bit as they waited, and Germany even patted the teddy bear’s head when Italy stuck it in his face. Eventually reaching the ticket booth, Italy opened his mouth, but Germany spoke before he could. “Zwei, bitte.”

“Dreißig euro.”

Germany pulled out a ten- and twenty-euro bill, handing it to the man in exchange for two small white tickets, of which he gave one to Italy. They stood for a little bit longer, waiting for the wheel to complete a few tours. When it stopped, an attendant motioned them forward, unlatching the small door of an empty compartment, and they stepped inside, Germany bucking his head under the doorframe.

Seating themselves, Germany asked, “Are you sure you will be okay?”

“I’m sure!”

“You say that now, but once we’re off the ground…”

“If I get too scared, you can always hold me,” Italy said, casting a sideways glance in Germany’s direction. It was too dark now to see his blush, but he was sure that it was there. 

“Alles gut?” the attendant asked, after latching the door back closed. Italy gave him a thumbs up, and he nodded once and motioned to another attendant, who started the wheel back up. 

“Here we go!” Italy said. He couldn’t deny that he had some nerves, but it wasn’t a very big wheel, so it didn’t go too far off the ground. Besides, his happiness at being here with Germany was outweighing his fear of being in the air. He still clutched the teddy bear tightly for support, though.

Slowly, the wheel took them up, and they watched the people and stalls below them get gradually smaller. The twinkling lights of the festival began to blur together in a mass of multi-colors, and in the greater distance, dark buildings lit by a few windows rose against the backdrop of the inky sky. The carriage was completely enclosed, so even though it rocked slightly with the motions, Italy didn’t feel any wind. 

“Everything okay?” Germany asked.

“Yes,” Italy giggled, a bit nervously. As long as he didn’t look too hard at the ground, only the pretty sights around them, he could forget how far away they were from sweet land. “Just don’t do anything mean, like make the carriage shake!”

“I would never.” Germany seemed almost affronted at the suggestion that he would do such a thing. 

“It’s so pretty up here…” Italy sighed, relaxing and letting himself fall slightly into Germany’s side. He felt the other stiffen for a split second, but make no motion to move away. 

“Ja. It is.” Italy could see out of the corner of his eye that Germany was not looking at the scenery, but instead at him. 

“Imagine being a bird, and being able to see the world like this all the time!”

Germany huffed in amusement. “You’d be a terrible bird, being scared of heights.”

“But maybe if I was a bird, I wouldn’t be scared of heights. Because I’d be used to it, right?”

“Maybe.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying taking in the world around them. The night sky was twinkling with stars which had just risen from their beds, ready to take over from the sun. In the corner of the carriage’s front window, the crescent moon slivered through the deep blue of the sky. Everything was very peaceful up here, and quiet too. Much different than the loud but joyful bustle of the carnival below. It almost felt like they were the only two people in the world. 

Italy found it was not as scary to approach the ground as it was to leave it, and he watched with rapt fascination as the milling, but thinning, crowds below them grew larger. 

“Aww, I hope it’s not over yet!”

“I think they make a few rounds before we have to get off.”

“I hope so!”

“I hope so too, for thirty euro…” Germany muttered the last part, more to himself than anyone else. Italy just shook his head fondly, knowing the frugality of Germans, and knowing his German was no different.

To his delight, they passed the same spot they had entered the carriage in, and continued on, rotating slowly about the wheel’s center. Emboldened a bit now, Italy watched closer this time as the tents below began to look like tiny canvas squares out of a children’s playset. He wondered about each of them, imagining what games or foods they had to offer. It was always interesting to think about the fact that all the people you pass by have a complex internal life of their own, one that is insignificant to you, just as yours is insignificant to them. Wasn’t there a word for that…? He bet Germany would know, but right now he didn’t want to disturb the peaceful silence that had settled between them. He was content to lean against Germany’s side and absorb the beautiful world with him. 

The silence remained unbroken, and they went through the whole circle a few times before they eventually reached the bottom again, and the wheel slowed and stopped. This time, an attendant approached them from the other side door, unlatching that one and beckoning them out. Germany was closest to that side, so he went first. When Italy came out, Germany wordlessly offered him a hand to help him down the steps, and Italy took it without hesitation. 

Germany was fidgety. He’d been so for a while, now. There was something weighing on his mind. A certain something—or rather, someone—that he never had the chance to think about properly, because it was always around him. Speaking of which…

“Germany, Germany!” He heard the high-pitched voice. Speak of the devil.

“Ja, Italy?” He sighed imperceptibly, hoping Italy would not notice. It’s not that he minded the other man’s presence, but he wished he could have some alone time to sort out his muddled thoughts.

“Look, I made a painting of us!”

This piqued his interest. “A painting?” It was then that he noticed the square frame that Italy was holding behind his back.

“I hope you’ll like it…” Italy was suddenly shy. Such a strange and mercurial being, he was, with his moods.

“If you made it, then of course I would like it.” He winced internally as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He was so obvious! No wonder his brother teased him. 

Italy, mercifully, only gave him a wide smile at that, a smile that made his heart beat faster. He really had to figure out what to do with these feelings. “Here you go, Germany!” He produced the painting he had hidden behind his back, showing it to Germany.

Germany took the painting, handling it carefully. “Oh…” he breathed out. The artwork was beautiful. It was obvious that Italy had worked very hard on it, and his artistic talent shone through in the brushwork, the masterful play of colors and light. It depicted the both of them, sitting under a gnarled oak tree, whose leaves seemed to dance, speckled with sunlight. The viewpoint was that of a distant observer’s, but it was obvious that the two figures under the tree were them. Germany’s blond hair shone, partially lit by a sunbeam that glimmered through the tree’s branches. Italy’s brown-reddish locks were captured gorgeously, shining in the myriad of colors emitted by its real-life counterpart. And of course, that one curly strand, delicately depicted, coiling out from beneath his tresses. Italy’s hands were animated, a movement captured in a snapshot, as he spoke excitedly about something. He could just about make out the blue of his own eyes, rendered as lovingly as his half-smiling face, as Germany sat under the tree with Italy, listening to his lively conversation. 

“…What do you think?” asked Italy, toeing the ground somewhat nervously. His hands were clasped behind his back.

Germany realized he had been silent for a while, taking in every gorgeous detail of the painting. “It’s… it’s beautiful, Italy. Simply beautiful. How long did this take you?”

Suddenly shy again, Italy’s gaze turned to the ground, and a very faint blush could be made out on his cheeks. “Don’t you worry about that, Germany. I’m glad that you like it.”

Germany tore his gaze from Italy’s reddened face, with some difficulty, to look at the painting again. With every sweep of his eyes along the colorful artwork, he could make out more hidden details. A small flower here and there, an insect flitting about in the fields. Every blade of grass painstakingly carved out with pleasing color. The clouds in the sky looked so real, wispy and fluffy. “And this is for me?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes!” Italy beamed. “It’s a present.”

“But… why?”

The other man shrugged. “I just felt like making you something.” Again, his gaze cast downward.

“Well… danke—uh, thank you. It’s very beautiful. I cannot wait to hang this in my home.”

“You will?” Italy exclaimed with happy surprise.

“Of course! A piece this gorgeous deserves to be displayed.”

“That makes me happy.” Italy lifted his eyes to meet Germany’s. The latter wondered how Italy could speak his emotions so plainly. It was something Germany needed to learn to be better at. If only his emotions didn’t involve Italy, then he could ask the man for help. 

Germany gave a small smile, breaking the sternness of his face. “Are you hungry?”

“Oh, yes!” Italy threw his arms up, catching Germany in a surprise hug. He felt his face flush. 

He patted Italy’s back awkwardly, still clutching the painting in his other hand. “Shall we go get something to eat, then? Let me stop by my place first to drop off this painting.”

“Sounds good to me!”

“Bruder, was ist das?”

“Oh, das? Ah…” Germany rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to explain the painting proudly displayed in the main hallway of his home. He realized that the easiest explanation was the truthful one. “Italy painted it for me.”

Prussia raised an eyebrow. “Italy?” He studied the painting. “Wow, it’s awesome…” he murmured. “But not as awesome as me.” He turned back to Germany, grinning. “Why did he make you a painting?”

“I don’t know,” Germany shrugged. “He said he just wanted to make me something.”

“Okayyyyy,” Prussia said suspiciously, drawing out the last syllable. Germany sighed, knowing what was to come. “He’s definitely into you.”

“You can tell from a painting?”

“Normal friends don’t just spend weeks painting masterpieces for their friends.”

“Weeks?” Germany asked. “How do you know?”

“Well, weeks or months. It’s obvious, judging from the detail and amount of effort put into this.”

“Well,” Germany said sheepishly. “He’s just like that, I think.”

Shaking his head, Prussia answered, “Not for just anybody. Only for you.”

He sighed. “I suppose.”

“You really ought to do something about that.”

“What do you want me to do, bruder?” Germany asked in frustration. “It’s not like I can just tell him how I feel!”

“Why not?” Prussia looked back at him, no hint of mockery in his voice or his face.

Germany had no answer.

He couldn’t sleep. Usually he didn’t have much trouble getting to sleep, seeing as how he started his day so early, but tonight was different. In fact, he’d had trouble falling asleep the past few weeks. So many things on his mind. Well, really only one thing. Person. But that thing—person—made his mind swirl with unbidden thoughts.

It certainly didn’t help that said person was snoring peacefully next to him.

Sighing inaudibly, Germany pushed a hand through his messy bangs and rolled over to look at Italy. The man looked as carefree as he did when awake, albeit without the usual huge grin on his face. Often, Germany preferred this Italy, the one with the peaceful, calm expression. The one that was only for him. 

And all the other girls that have seen Italy sleeping, probably, his mind helpfully supplied. This is why he didn’t like to think about such things. His brain always managed to come up with the most negative take on a situation, and he’d spiral. He knew Italy liked to flirt and court lots of girls, it was simply how he was. Germany had no hope of changing that. So why, in his deepest fantasies, the ones he would never admit to anyone else, much less himself, did he imagine that Italy could settle down with him?

Germany rolled back over, now unable to look at Italy’s sleeping face. It made him feel bitter. His fantasies were better off as just that—fantasies—because they would never come true. 

He suddenly felt like crying, which was ridiculous, of course. Germany didn’t cry. That was a show of weakness, and one must never show weakness. Especially not about something as silly as this. But still, the thoughts swirled to the forefront of his mind, pipe dreams of Germany coming home after work to a kitchen smelling wonderfully of pasta, Italy dressed in a cute little apron, and he’d welcome Germany home, and then they’d kiss each other good evening, and Germany would tell Italy all about his day…

Wincing internally, he shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. It was no good thinking about such things. It would only make him feel worse. Then again, these peaceful delusions were the only images that could lull him to sleep these days. Germany weighed the cons of sinking deeper into emotional madness versus getting a good night’s sleep. Despite his conviction, the softer part of his brain won out, somehow managing to convince him that it would be at least better to sleep now, and he could sort things out in the morning. 

With more than a little bit of shame, he indulged again in his daydreams, letting himself sink into one of his favorite ones: him and Italy touring Europe together. Travelling as they often already did, but this time, as a couple. Getting couple’s massages in Sweden… visiting the famous Turkish baths… having a romantic candlelit dinner in Paris…

He sighed softly, feeling more peaceful now. Gradually, his body relaxed at the welcome musings, and he didn’t notice when he finally fell asleep. 

“Good morning, Germany!” 

Blearily, he opened his eyes, still only half-awake. Sunlight was filtering in through the gaps in the curtains, and he frowned. Turning over to check his alarm clock shocked him fully awake. “It’s… 12:30?!” he muttered in surprise. Normally up at 6 am sharp, he never let himself sleep in this much. Now he already felt like his whole day was wasted. “How did I…”

It was then that he noticed Italy standing there, nervously. Wait, nervous? Italy was never nervous, or at least didn’t show it, but yet there he was, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. “Good morning, Germany,” he repeated, softer this time. Germany noticed that he was wringing his hands. “I would have woken you up, but you seemed really tired. I know you haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.”

Italy had noticed? Damn, he’d hoped that wasn’t the case. He’d tried to be as quiet as possible in his late-night musings, but evidently the other man was more perceptive than he let on. 

Suddenly he realized something horrifying. Italy had, somehow, woken up before him. How was this possible? It must be those sleepless nights. He evidently really needed the sleep, as Italy had said. 

Italy was still standing there, smiling a nervous little smile, still wringing his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Germany asked.

At this, Italy’s eyes widened, and he dropped his hands to his sides. “Oh, nothing!” He let out a trepid little chuckle. “I just, umm…” Italy’s gaze dropped to the floor for the briefest of seconds, then shot back up to meet Germany’s eyes. He opened his mouth once, twice. “Imadebreakfastforyou.”

“What?”

The other man took a deep breath. “I made breakfast for you.”

Germany blinked. Was this what Italy had been so nervous about? “Oh… thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

At this, Italy waved a hand nonchalantly. His nerves seemed to be easing, which was good, because Italy was never nervous, and it made Germany nervous to see Italy so nervous. Nerves all around. “You deserve it! You’re so hard-working all the time, you need a break once in a while.”

“Well… I suppose. If you say so.” Germany yawned, blinking the still-clearing sleep from his eyes, then made to get out of bed.

“Wait!” Italy held his hands out. “I was, um, thinking that maybe… I could bring it to you?” He bit his lip. “In bed?”

Now Germany was confused. “Why?”

Back to the hand-wringing. “I just thought… it would be nice.” At Germany’s surprised gaze, he quickly amended, “I know you don’t like eating in bed because of the crumbs and the mess but I found one of your serving trays and I can clean up afterwards, I wanted… to do something nice for you.”

“But you always do nice things for me.” There Germany goes with his big mouth again, saying exactly what he feels. Italy’s habits must be rubbing off on him.

“I’m glad you think so.” Italy smiled widely, an action that made Germany’s heart beat faster. “So… can I do this for you?”

Germany thought about it. It was true, he really didn’t like getting crumbs in his bed, but he was a careful eater, and it did sound very nice… “What did you make?”

“Eggs and bratwurst. I have some fruit as well, and I thought about making toast, but then I realized the crumbs would probably get everywhere, so I decided against it.”

So thoughtful. Germany caught himself in the beginnings of a smile. “Alright then.”

Italy brought his hands together in glee, practically jumping up and down. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay with it! I’ll be right back.” Then he rushed out of the room, leaving a bewildered Germany staring back at him.

Italy was always rather over the top with his gestures of affection, but lately it had been… different. Germany couldn’t quite put his finger on how, but he could tell. Even Prussia had noticed, with the painting. The painting… breakfast in bed…

Germany sat up straight. It couldn’t be. No, it was just his lovestruck imagination, painting everything in rose colors. It couldn’t possibly be… that Italy was trying to court him?

He put his head in his hands. “Scheisse,” he whispered. This was all too much, and he was never any good at feelings. If it was true, and Italy was trying to court him, then Germany had no idea how to react. He would probably mess things up dramatically, like… He shuddered, banishing the thoughts of that Valentine’s Day from his mind. But what if it wasn’t true, and Germany was just reading into things too much? And then what if Germany thought it wasn’t true, and he brushed this off, but it was true, and he actually ended up hurting Italy’s feelings? He never let himself think about the possible positive outcome, because he was sure he would never be able to get there. He just wasn’t skilled enough at navigating an emotional minefield like this. It was all very complicated… he needed an outsider’s opinion. He needed help. 

At this moment, the object of his anxiety reappeared in the doorway, bearing a tray laden with food. Germany quickly lifted his head from his hands, not wanting to worry Italy. The smell of the freshly cooked eggs and bratwurst reached him, and his stomach grumbled. He suddenly realized that he was very hungry, which made sense, as he’d slept in six and a half whole hours past his usual waking time. “That smells delicious, Italy.”

“Oh, thank you!” Was that a very faint dusting of blush across Italy’s cheeks, or was Germany just imagining it? “But you haven’t tried it yet, you don’t know if it’s good,” he continued with a sly smile. 

“You made it, I’m sure it’s good.” Germany felt like an idiot for being so obvious.

Italy just stood still for a heavy moment, seeming speechless (a rare occasion). He swiftly jumped back into action, though, and walked to Germany’s bedside, balancing the tray carefully in his hands. 

“Here, let me help,” Germany said, quickly clearing some things from his nightstand so Italy could set the tray down. It did, indeed, look delicious. The eggs were sunny-side-up (his favorite), and the newly washed and cut fruit was beautiful, fresh strawberries gleaming red and ripe, with banana slices arranged neatly around the side. “Have you eaten breakfast already?”

“I did,” Italy said sheepishly. “I wanted to wait for you, but I was so hungry…”

“It’s alright,” Germany chuckled. Then he looked down at the rumpled bedsheets in front of him, weighing out his words carefully. “You can… still join me, if you want.”

Italy beamed. “Really? I would love to!”

“Ja, come on.” Germany patted the empty space next to him on the bed. “We can share.”

Wasting no time, Italy practically jumped in the bed next to Germany, scooting much closer than he usually did. Germany could feel the heat radiating from his body. It seemed to warm up his own face, and he hoped his blush was not too obvious.

Luckily, Italy immediately started chattering away, talking about wanting to make pizzas later that evening. The conversation (somewhat) distracted Germany from how close together they were. He picked up the plate of eggs and sausage and balanced it carefully on his lap, then grabbed the cutlery from the tray and began digging in. “Mmm, it’s delicious. Thank you, Italy.”

Smiling shyly, Italy said, “You’re welcome, Germany.” How Germany loved to hear his name coming from Italy’s lips, the soft, melodic sounds almost caressing the syllables. So contrasting to his own language. 

“Do you want a strawberry?”

“Sure!”

Germany took the bowl of fruit, plucking out a strawberry. The leaves and cores had already been taken out, just how Germany liked it. Italy opened his mouth, and automatically, without thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they had done this countless times before, Germany popped the strawberry into Italy’s mouth. Italy chewed on it, blissfully oblivious, as Germany’s thoughts caught up with what he’d just done.

“I…” he began, then snapped his mouth closed, teeth clicking with the force of it, as Italy looked up at him through his bangs. Was he doing this on purpose?

“What’s wrong, Germany?” the other man asked, tilting his head slightly. So cute. “We’ve been friends forever, you can tell me anything.”

He gaped for air for a few precious seconds, then blurted out. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Italy giggled. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“For…” Germany felt his cheeks redden. “For that.”

“Oh.” The briefest flicker of disappointment crossed Italy’s face, then he perked up again. “It’s okay! I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“Why would I?”

At this, Germany had no answer. Anyone else would probably be angry at such a violation of their personal space. Then again, Italy had opened his mouth, seemingly inviting Germany to do such a thing. What did it all mean? He was so confused. His heart was pounding through his chest, so hard that he was sure Italy could hear it. Was this normal? Of course not, for a normal person. But Italy was no normal person. Did he do this with everyone? No, only with Germany, Prussia himself had said it. Could he trust Prussia? His brother could be mean sometimes, but in the end, he did have Germany’s best interests at heart. What did it all mean? He continued staring at Italy, thoughts chasing each other around his head, heart still hammering in his chest. Was Italy closer than before? That couldn’t be possible, could it? Had he scooted even closer while Germany was blanking out? Why? What did it all mean? What did it all mean?

From Italy’s point of view, Germany had remained silent for a precious, laden few minutes. Germany caught the wisp of an almost imperceptible sigh, before Italy made to move away.

“Wait,” he heard himself say, almost as if someone else was controlling his body. He saw Italy freeze in place. Slowly, excruciatingly, Germany brought his hand up in the air between them. He had no idea what he was doing. Everything felt unreal. “I…” He trailed off. Brought his hand, quivering, to rest on Italy’s cheek. It felt so soft. “I…”

“Yes?” Italy whispered. 

There were so many thoughts drumming in his head that they all swirled into so much white noise. Through the noise, however, was one unbidden thought screaming at him again and again. Germany leaned forward before he could think about regretting it, before his nerves caught up with him, and saw the flash of Italy’s wide, surprised eyes, before he fully closed the distance between them and caught Italy’s lips in a soft kiss. 

It was cliché, but time really did seem to stop. Germany’s eyes fluttered closed. Italy’s lips were so soft, so warm, so much better than he ever could have imagined. He slid the hand on Italy’s cheek down and over to the back of his neck, fingers ruffling the soft hairs there. To his surprise, Italy didn’t pull away, but wrapped his fingers around Germany’s upper arms, seemingly holding him in place. It was a chaste kiss, their mouths closed, but it still made warmth wash through his body. The bowl of strawberries lay, forgotten, on the bedspread, at risk of toppling over, but he didn’t care. He wanted this moment to last forever. He could feel the soft breaths through Italy’s nose tickling his face. 

Finally, it was Italy who pulled away. He had a slight blush on his cheeks, and his eyes were so warm, so full of adoration. He smiled, a small, private smile. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to do that.”

It took some time for Germany to find his voice again. “…Really?”

The other man huffed out a breath of amusement. “Really.”

“Oh.” Germany was such an idiot. A few heavy seconds passed. “Then… do you want to do that again?”

Italy’s small smile broke into a wider grin. “I’d love to.”

“Hold on.” At Italy’s quizzical look, Germany took the breakfast plates that were still on the bed, having miraculously not spilled them, and placed them carefully on the tray on the nightstand. “While I would love to eat the breakfast you made for me, right now, I think there’s something else I’d rather taste.” Where had thatcome from? Was he suddenly smooth? The kiss had emboldened him. He felt like he was on top of the world. 

Italy giggled, the sweetest sound in the universe. “Oh, Germany, you—” He was cut off by Germany suddenly turning around from placing the dishes on the nightstand and pouncing on him. “Ah!”

Germany lay on top of him now, his hands cradling Italy’s face. “You’ve been waiting forever for me to do that, but you see, you’re not the only one.” He leaned in to kiss the wide smile on Italy’s lips. 

“We’re idiots, aren’t we?” Italy chuckled. 

“Ja, we are,” Germany murmured into Italy’s mouth. “Now kiss me back, idiot.”

Wrapping his arms around Germany, Italy whispered, “I’d love nothing more.”

The air was interspersed with the lively chatter of countries, clustered around the table. France was speaking excitedly to the UK, telling some story which he animated with grand hand gestures. The Italian brothers were conversing in rapid-fire Italian, which no one but them could understand. China, Russia, and Japan were sitting quietly next to each other, with Russia doodling some sunflowers on his notepad. Occasionally they would exchange a calm word with each other, or point at some of the louder countries’ antics and chuckle. America was talking with, or rather at, Germany, who looked somewhat exasperated, and like he’d rather not be the unwitting partner trapped in this conversation. The latter glanced surreptitiously at his watch, then his features creased in relief. 

“It is time to start the meeting, everyone!” Germany called, raising his voice above the din. One by one, they fell silent, except for France, who simply lowered his voice and continued to feverishly tell his story. Germany cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at France. UK looked back, giving an abashed smile that seemed to apologize for his brazen conversation partner. He elbowed France, giving him a shushed ‘the meeting is starting’. 

France, to his credit, turned around to look at Germany, who had by now crossed his arms and was tapping his foot, the picture of impatience. “Désolé, mon ami, I was simply too caught up in my story!” He grinned as if to apologize. 

“You can finish your story after the meeting. If we start on time, then we won’t have to end too late,” Germany explained, the paragon of reason as always. 

France waved a hand dismissively, to which Germany frowned. “Of course, of course. I am ready now, let us start.”

“Thank you for your permission,” Germany said, raising his eyebrow. “Now, let us begin. The first order of business for today’s meeting is…”

Italy tried his best to pay attention, he really did, but Germany’s words began to blur together in the background of his hearing. Sitting still at these meetings for an hour (or, God forbid, even longer) always bored him. He knew it was important to Germany that everybody pay attention, so he at least tried to look like he was listening. Under the table, he was playing with his fidget cube, which Germany had bought for him after he’d seen it at a store and begged to have one. 

“It just looks so fun!” he’d wheedled. Germany, despite his harsh exterior, could not help but acquiesce to Italy, like he often did. Italy gazed fondly at Germany, gesturing as he was at the head of the table. The man was dressed in a crisp blue suit with a yellow tie that seemed to match his hair. The deep blue really looked good on him, and brought out his eyes. Italy remembered when he’d brought Germany to his own tailor…

“Are you sure?” Germany had said, eyeing the prices suspiciously.

“Si, this is the best tailor in all of Italy!” he’d exclaimed. The tailor bowed his head shyly in recognition. “I always come here for my suits. You won’t regret it.”

“If you say so, then I believe you.”

He’d beamed at that, glad that Germany was more outspoken about his feelings now. It’d taken a little while, but finally Italy had managed to convince Germany that yes, he wanted to be together, and no, it was not him taking pity on the other man. They’d only been dating a short time now, but already Italy felt like he was the happiest guy on earth. He only hoped that Germany felt the same way. He knew the other was more hesitant about affection and intimacy, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t wanted to make their relationship public yet.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed of you, or us, or anything,” Germany had quickly explained, holding up his hands placatingly. “It’s just… well, remember whenever any of the other countries get together? Everyone else always asks them so many questions, and pries into their lives. I don’t want that for us… I’d rather we be left alone to see each other in peace.”

“That makes sense,” Italy had said, tapping a finger on his chin in remembrance. Everybody knew of France and UK’s tumultuous on-again, off-again relationship, and whenever they were on-again, they had to field many probing questions, and even teasing, from the other nations. Germany already shied away from intimacy, and such nosiness would only put him off even more. 

“Italy? What do you think?”

“Eh?” Italy sat up straight, noticing the other nations around the table looking at him. Oh no… he’d gotten lost in thought again, and hadn’t been following the meeting. 

Germany glared at him. “What do you think about holding a vote next meeting to decide where the next Olympics will be held?”

“Oh!” He grinned remorsefully, trying to signal to Germany that he was sorry, and also thankful, that the other man threw in a little reminder of what they were talking about. “That sounds great!”

Germany marked down something on his notepad. “That’s everybody, then. Well, that concludes this meeting. Thank you all for coming. Please don’t be late to the next meeting.”

The sound of rustling and moving chairs could be heard, along with the chatter of conversations starting back up. Italy was a little surprised that he’d managed to daydream through the whole meeting. It must’ve gone pretty quickly. He hoped Germany hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t paying attention at all…

Speaking of, the man approached Italy where he was still sitting at the table. The latter glanced quickly at his notepad in front of him, wincing when he saw it was completely blank. Oh well, he didn’t usually take notes anyway, so hopefully Germany wouldn’t notice anything. In fact, usually he doodled a bit, so it was probably better that his notepad was completely empty. 

Italy sat up even straighter, trying to appear as if he’d been paying attention the whole time. Germany was scowling a bit as he walked over, which made him nervous. Mentally, he crossed his fingers that Germany wouldn’t scold him this time. 

“Hey Germany, great meeting!” Italy said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“Ja, ja…”

Tentatively, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’m sorry…”

At this, Germany glanced at him inquisitively, and a little bit suspiciously. “About what?”

Oops, he’d better not give himself away. “Um, clearly something is on your mind! I’m sorry about whatever is bothering you!”

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just…” Germany pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. “I have the worst headache right now.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, caro,” Italy said softly, looking up at Germany sympathetically. No one would hear the pet name, busy as they were getting ready to file out of the room, or chatting to each other. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t suppose you have any painkillers, do you?”

“No, but I think there’s a pharmacy not far from here.”

“Alright. Let me just put away my notes, and we’ll go.” Germany walked back to the head of the table and shuffled a few papers, putting them neatly in his briefcase. Then he stepped back over to Italy, who had stood up by now and put his own notepad into his bag. “Let’s go.”

The streets outside were relatively busy, as it was a nice day. Italy glanced to the side to see Germany massaging his temples. True to his word, they reached the pharmacy shortly, and Germany groaned at seeing how long the line was.

“Seems like everyone has a headache today,” Italy said, trying to commiserate.

“Hm,” was all Germany responded. His eyebrows were drawn, and Italy could tell by the downturn of his mouth that he must be in a lot of pain.

“After this, let’s go home and you can rest some, amore.”

Italy busied himself by looking at all of the products on the shelves, reading their labels. He figured his usual chatter would probably be grating on Germany’s aching head. Gradually they shuffled forward as the line took them closer and closer to the counter. Finally, they reached the front. 

“Some painkillers, please,” Germany said. 

The pharmacist nodded once, then typed some things into his computer. He turned around to pick up a small white box, showing it to Germany. The latter inclined his head in agreement, and the pharmacist scanned the box.

“Five euro forty, sir.” 

Germany fished his wallet out of his pocket, then counted out the exact change and handed it over. 

“Thank you, sirs. Enjoy your day.”

Germany grumbled something in concurrence, and they walked out of the store.  “I don’t suppose you have any water, do you? I’d like to take these now, then they can start taking effect.”

“No, sorry.” Italy pointed across the street at a small grocery store. “We can get a bottle of water there, though.”

They waited at the crosswalk, watching cars pass by, until the light changed. The group of pedestrians they found themselves in milled across the road, weaving through each other. They walked into the store, greeted by the welcoming ding of its opening doors. The cold beverages were along one side, and Germany perused them, grabbing the cheapest bottle of water.

“Do you want anything?” he asked. 

“I’m alright, thank you.”

“Let’s go through the self-checkout.” Germany pointed to the area to the side of the cashiers. Luckily, there was no line, so they quickly scanned the water bottle and walked out of the store. Germany fidgeted open the box of painkillers, popping two out of the foil, and uncapped the bottle to throw the pills back with a gulp of water.

“Good thing the parking lot is not far from here!” Italy said, trying to cheer up Germany.

“Ja.” 

They ambled slowly to the lot, where Germany dug around in his pocket for his keys. Together they got into Germany’s car, which was much more modest and less flashy than Italy’s own.

“Do you want me to drive, caro?”

“No,” Germany gave a brief, small smile. “I think my headache might get worse if you drive.”

“Ha, you are probably right.”

They pulled out of the lot, not speaking much as they drove home. Content as they were to sit in amicable silence, Italy watched the other cars and scenery flash by. 

The crunch of driveway gravel under the tires signaled that they were home.

“Do you feel any better, tesoro?” 

“A little, ja.”

“That’s good.”

They walked into the house, Germany visibly relieved at the cool darkness soothing the throb in his temples. “I think I will lie down some in the dark,” he said.

“I will lie with you!”

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” Italy said. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Of course.”

They stepped into the bedroom, where Italy drew the curtains to throw the room in comforting shade. Germany busied himself with grabbing a tank top and some shorts from the drawers, then opened the closet to neatly put his suit away. Italy also took off his suit, but threw it over a nearby chair. He’d hang it up later, he didn’t feel like it right now. He crawled into bed, naked as usual except for his underwear. 

“Join me, caro!” he called. 

“Ja ja, schatzi, I’ll be right there.” Germany appeared from putting his suit in the closet, then folded himself, sighing, into the bed. “Ah, that’s nice.”

“Do the world meetings stress you out that much?” Italy said, turning over to cuddle up to Germany.

“I mean, a little… I don’t usually get headaches from them, though.”

“You didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, maybe that’s why.”

Germany flushed a bit at the memory. “That’s true.” He wiggled his arm out from between them to wrap it around Italy’s shoulders. “I’m going to rest a bit now.”

Italy nodded, taking this as his cue to fall silent. He snuggled happily into Germany’s chest, not needing any conversation to entertain himself. Slowly, he felt the clutches of sleep making his body heavier, and he allowed his eyelids to drift closed. 

----

The first thing he heard was the chirping of insects outside, getting ready for their evening symphony. He yawned, stretched, feeling his joints pop. 

“Guten abend, schatz,” he heard from his side. He rolled over to see Germany looking at him softly through half-closed eyes.

“I’d thought you’d be up by now.”

The other man lazily brushed a hand through his bangs. “I thought about it, but I decided to keep lying here with you. It’s nice.”

Italy leaned in to kiss his nose. “I agree. How’s your headache?”

“It still hurts a little bit, but it’s feeling much better now.”

Italy smiled mischievously. “I know something that may make you feel better.”

Suspiciously, Germany eyed him. “I think I know what that something may be.” 

Walking his fingers slowly up Germany’s chest, Italy said, “Oh, really? Why don’t you tell me.”

Suddenly, Germany flipped them over, pinning Italy’s wrists to the bed while he hovered above him. “Well, you did promise me all sorts of things last night.”

Italy grinned. “Did I? I don’t quite remember. You’ll have to remind me.”

Tapping his chin as if to think, Germany said, “Let’s see… for one, you said you’d make me feel as good as I made you feel.”

“I think I do remember that, now.”

Germany raised an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t you make good on your promises, then?” His naughty grin was infectious, and Italy couldn’t help but teasingly smile back. Germany leaned in to kiss Italy’s smile, and Italy opened his mouth to let the kiss become deeper. Slowly, they licked into each other’s mouths, Germany now lying fully on top of Italy and letting him feel the hard planes of his body, and something else hard.  

“Why don’t you let me take care of that for you,” Italy whispered. “Lay back against the bed, caro.”

Germany clambered off of him, and they rearranged themselves. Italy pulled down Germany’s shorts and underwear, licking his lips lustfully at Germany’s hard cock springing out from under the clothes. He shuffled down, kneeling between Germany’s legs, and gave his cock an experimental lick. Relishing in the way it twitched against his mouth, he took the head between his lips, sinking down slowly. He couldn’t take it all the way in, though he’d tried, many a time, but it wouldn’t stop him from doing his best. 

“Mmmhh,” Germany groaned. “That feels good.”

Italy hummed, knowing the vibrations would send shivers down the base of Germany’s spine. He managed to get two-thirds of Germany’s cock in his mouth, and wrapped his hand around the rest. Hollowing his cheeks, he bobbed up and down, letting his tongue trace along the veins. He followed with his hand, applying just the right amount of pressure that Germany liked. He drank in the soft moans from above him. 

Spurred by the other man’s enjoyment, he started moving faster, the lewd noises of his wet mouth around Germany’s cock filling the air.

“Mein Gott… you’re so good at this…” Germany murmured, tangling a hand in Italy’s hair. “Can I—” he began, then stopped.

Italy let go of Germany’s cock with a frankly obscene-sounding pop. “What is it?” He looked up, through his lashes, smiling sweetly at Germany’s red face. “Tell me, caro,” he sing-songed, still idly palming Germany with his hand. 

“Well,” Germany said, his eyes flitting from side to side. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but…”

At the heavy silence, Italy raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He spoke quickly, as if in a rush to get the words out that he’d been holding in. “I’ve always wanted to—wanted to fuck your face.” 

Italy grinned with a filthy look. “Oh, angelo, you’re a dirty boy.”

Germany flushed even redder, if that was possible. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable with it, I understand—”

Cutting him off, Italy said, “No no, go ahead. I think it’s sexy.”

“Oh,” was all Germany said. Then, blinking a few times, “But you’ll tell me if I go too far?”

“Of course, amore mio.”

“Then,” Germany took a deep breath. “Keep going.” Italy dove back in, feeling Germany’s cock hit the back of his throat, as the other’s hand tensed in his hair. “Are… are you ready?” Germany asked.

He hummed in agreement. Germany’s other hand fisted in his hair, holding him tight, and began moving his head up and down. Italy slacked his mouth, trying to relax as much as possible. 

“Can I… go faster?” Germany said, voice raspy. 

“Mmhmm,” Italy tried to say, around the cock in his mouth. 

At this, he began forcing Italy’s head back down, thrusting his hips up slightly to meet him halfway. Italy gagged at the feeling of Germany’s cock so deep in his throat, and tears pricked at his eyes. 

“Okay, schatzi?”

“Mmm.” Italy gave a thumbs up, at which Germany huffed a breathy laugh. He rose up once more, Germany letting him. “I thought you said you wanted to fuck my mouth.” He raised one eyebrow, gaze challenging. 

“Scheisse,” Germany breathed. “Okay then. But be careful what you wish for.” His hands in Italy’s hair guided him back to his cock, forcing him down, down, farther than Italy had ever taken his cock before. Italy spluttered, throat working around it. 

Germany began fucking his mouth, then, in earnest, hips rising up from the bed to drive his cock deep into Italy’s wet, willing mouth. “Oh, fuck,” Germany groaned. A tear slipped from the corner of Italy’s eye, running down his cheek. He grasped Germany’s thighs, hands barely encircling half of them, fingers digging in hard. Trying to match Germany’s pace, but soon giving up, Italy let Germany thrust up into him, his lips spit-slick and red. 

The bed creaked, his throat would be sore tomorrow, but he didn’t care. His tongue lolled, sliding around Germany’s cock sloppily. One of his hands wandered down from Germany’s thighs to roll his balls between his fingers, massaging them gently. 

“Mmngh, Italy,” Germany groaned. “You feel so good. I—I want to fuck you, for real.”

Italy popped off Germany’s cock with a wet sound. He coughed a few times, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Gladly,” he grinned, voice hoarse.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Germany asked worriedly.

“No, caro, I’m okay.”

“Do you want some water?”

“That would actually be nice. Thank you.” Germany stood on shaky legs. “Can you grab the lube? I’ll start prepping myself,” Italy asked.

“Oh,” Germany said.

“I know you like to do it, but I’m rather impatient.”

“Ha, that’s alright.” Germany bent down to get the lube from the nightstand drawer, Italy admiring the flex of his ass. “Here.” 

He threw it to Italy, who missed it and watched it land on the bed. “Oops. Hehe.” 

Italy began slicking up his fingers, and Germany shuffled to the bathroom, throwing one last glance back. He heard the sounds of a glass clinking, then the tap running, as he reached behind himself and quickly pushed a finger in. “Mmmh,” he groaned, louder than necessary. He wanted Germany to hear him. 

Sure enough, Germany hurried back, almost spilling the water in the glass that was clenched tightly between his fingers. “Here you go.” 

He handed over the glass, which Italy gratefully took, and gulped water from. “Aahh,” he said, giving the glass back to Germany to put on the nightstand. “Why don’t you lay back, bello? Enjoy the show,” he said, mischievously.

Germany nodded, his bottom lip between his teeth, and sat back down on the bed, laying against the pillows along the headboard. By this time, Italy had lubed up another finger, and had pushed it inside, scissoring them. “Ohh, Germany,” he moaned.

He could practically see Germany’s pupils dilate in real time, the other’s gaze fixed on him. “You know,” Italy began, letting soft ‘ah’s and ‘oh’s spill from his lips. “Sometimes, when I finger myself, I like to pretend it’s you.” He grinned wickedly. “Even before we got together.”

“Fuck,” Germany breathed out. “That’s hot.”

Italy slipped another finger in, kneeling, splayed, back on the bed to let Germany enjoy the show. “Mmm, yes. Just like that.” He let his eyes slip closed, losing himself in the feeling. A shock of heat ran up his spine when he nudged his prostate again. “Ohh, si, Germany. You feel so good.”

He felt Germany’s hands settle on his thighs, gripping tightly. “Bitte,” the other said. “I want to fuck you so bad.”

Opening his eyes, Italy wagged a finger teasingly. “Patience, my tesoro.” He pumped his fingers in and out again, exaggeratedly, eyelids fluttering. He tilted his head back, exposing his smooth, bare throat. “Ah,” he moaned. “I do wish these were your fingers, but this is pretty good, isn’t it?”

“Ja,” Germany breathed out. Italy looked back down at him again, Germany’s icy blue eyes staring at him, drinking in every detail. 

He made sure to look Germany straight in the eye as he thrust his fingers back in, letting out a loud moan. The other’s mouth parted slightly. Italy bit his lip. He wanted to put on a good show, sure, but he had already been impatient, and was growing ever more so. For good effect, he drew his fingers in and out a few more times, then took them out, wiping them on his thigh. 

He clambered back up to where Germany lay, hovering over the other man. Leisurely, he leaned down to kiss Germany passionately, Germany’s tongue sliding between his lips. With some difficulty he broke away, and squatted over Germany’s thighs, guiding his cock to his hole. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he sunk down, gasping as Germany’s hard length filled him. Germany’s hands grasped at his thighs, trembling. Finally, he was fully seated, groaning slightly at the feeling. He looked down at Germany, whose intense gaze seemed to burn through him. Grinning slightly, he wiggled a bit, feeling Germany’s cock grind against his insides.

“Mmmhh,” Germany moaned. He was so hard, filling Italy up so fully and perfectly. It felt amazing, and Italy felt like he could just sit there forever, having Germany’s cock plugging up the emptiness inside of him. But that would be cruel to Germany, so after a few moments to adjust, he slowly rose back up again, thighs quivering. Then plunged down, groaning at the stretch, its slight painfulness adding just that more edge to the pleasure. “Ohh, Gott,” Germany said, his eyes wide.

Gradually, Italy set up a languid pace, rising up and sinking back down onto the hard length. He twisted his hips ever so slightly, the blunt cockhead striking all the good parts inside of him. Germany thrust his hips up, meeting Italy’s, as their harsh breaths mingled with the creaking of the bed, and their soft sighs of enjoyment. 

“Ohh, Italy,” Germany groaned. “You feel so good.”

“Mmm, so do you.” Italy put his hands on Germany’s chest for balance, pushing his hips down, feeling Germany’s cock grind so deep into him. He sped up the pace a little, feeling the burn in his legs. The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the room. Germany shifted slightly, striking right at Italy’s sweet spot. “Oh!” he moaned. “Si, Germany! Just like that!” He lifted himself up, almost all the way off, just the tip still inside, then heavily sat back down. Germany’s hands flew to his waist. 

“You feel amazing,” Germany whispered. “So gut.” The muscles under the skin of his arms flexed, Italy admiring them in the dim light, as he grasped Italy’s waist firmly, then lifted him up to slam him back down on Germany’s cock, roughly. 

“Aah!” Italy moaned loudly. He loved it when Germany man-handled him like this. “Again!” he begged.

Germany could only comply, using Italy like a fucktoy as he pounded him up and down, hips thrusting up to match his harsh pace. Italy could barely even voice his pleasure, as out of breath as he was, only letting out the groans and whimpers that were ripped, unbidden, from his throat.

Suddenly, Germany hooked an arm around his waist, and in the blink of an eye, flipped them over. Italy’s breath whooshed out of him as he was flung down onto the mattress. He barely got any respite before Germany slid into him again. 

This time, he couldn’t help his moans increase in volume. Germany used the change in position to drive into him, hitting his prostate again and again. 

“Ah—oh—Germany—si! Cazzo! Oh, fuck!”

“Mmm,” Germany said, voice rough. He wrapped his large hands around Italy’s hips, hold bruising, using the leverage to pound into him. “I love it when you ride me, but I can fuck you better like this.”

Italy could only whimper in reply. His cries became louder, more desperate, as Germany thrust into him, the bedframe banging against the wall. “Please!” he moaned. 

“You want to come?” Germany panted. “You want to come on my cock?”

“Si, si!” Italy pleaded. “Please let me come on your cock sir, your big hard cock, oh it feels so good, I love it deep inside of me—”

Germany groaned. “Call me that again.”

“S-sir?”

“Ja,” he said, gaze intense as he looked down at Italy like he wanted to eat him. 

“Please let me come, sir, I want to come so bad, want to come on your cock,” Italy babbled, his eyes rolling back in his head as Germany mercilessly pounded his sweet spot. 

“Come for me,” Germany growled. 

“Ohhh!” he moaned, back arching off the bed as the heat coiling deep within his belly curled tighter. “Si, I’m so close, sir! Please, you fuck me so good!”

Germany pushed Italy’s legs forward, practically folding him in half, as he thrust into Italy’s tight, slick hole. The heat wound up to a fever pitch before it snapped, Italy’s cock pulsing as he came, wailing, untouched, all over his stomach. 

“So good for me, so perfect, all mine, all mine,” Germany gasped, hips stuttering, once, twice, as his own cock throbbed and he spilled, deep inside Italy. 

Almost as if on instinct, Germany thrust in a few more times, weakly, as he lowered his forehead to Italy’s, muttering sweet nothings in German. Italy held his shoulders tightly, sure he had left scratches on the other man’s back. Germany collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, sweat coating his body. They lay there, unthinking, heavy-limbed, coming down from their high. After a few moments, Germany pulled out with a wet, lewd sound. He rolled off of Italy, laying next to him on the bed, continuing to catch his breath. He turned his head to the side, to gaze at Italy, who turned also, so they could look into each other’s eyes. Half-lidded, Germany’s piercing stare had softened, and he raised a hand to tuck some hair behind Italy’s ear. 

“…So,” Italy began. “You like it when I call you sir, huh?”

Germany probably would have blushed, if his face wasn’t already red from the exertion. “Uh… ja. It’s hot.”

Tapping a finger against his chin in thought, Italy said, “What if I called you commander?”

Germany seemed to choke on air, hand freezing where it had been caressing Italy’s face. “Um, uh…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Italy grinned.

Swallowing heavily, Germany said, “M-maybe.”

Italy knew him well enough by now to know that this was a yes. He’d have to try that out, next time. 

Suddenly, he remembered something. “How’s your headache?”