A/N: ...Enter the Hetalia kingdom with glee! It's about time I empty my head of some of these plot bunnies. X3 This has got to be the most adorable series ever. Except for possibly Hamtaro. But hamsters and countries are totally different, so. It doesn't count. XD

Enjoy the Germany/Italy love. :D

I own nothing.






"Germany, Germany!"

Ludwig bristled, knowing that whenever Feliciano was in such a good mood, he was generally up to something that would get him in trouble. But seeing as Feliciano was always in a perpetual, hopeless good mood, that couldn't really be avoided unless he found a way to get rid of the Italian.

Against his better judgment, he just couldn't seem to bring himself to do so.

With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead with one hand. Better to brace one's self for the coming headache before it became the inevitable migraine. "What do you want now, Italy? I've got too many things to do today, such as war, you know… I'm all stressed out, and no, I don't need a hug to make it better."

"Yes you do!" Feliciano grinned, launching his arms around the other man. "How come you always lie about that, hm?"

"Well…I'm not lying…" Clearly caught red handed, Ludwig's voice was a defeated mumble. "Neh. Fine. But what is it?"

The stupid, content fool's grin on his face was like a spike through Ludwig's pride. "Huh? Oh, nothing, actually! I just wanted an excuse to hug you."

Grimacing, Ludwig sighed. Idiot. Well, it was expected by now. The German had certainly known him long enough to understand he couldn't help it. And unfortunately, he wasn't always immune to giving in to that adorable jester, as was made rather clear by the occasional kisses they'd shared.

(Perhaps a few more than occasional.)

(Not that those trivial little technicalities mattered.)

"Italy…" Ludwig breathed, absently looping his fingers through the other man's, "I swear I don't know what to do with you. I'm not sure if you're a stress reliever or the absolute cause of the stress. Good god."

Feliciano considered, looking down at their hands, an unlikely but pretty pair to watch swinging lightly back and forth together. "Well," he began thoughtfully, "You may not know what to do, but I might."

"Don't tell me it's a pasta run."

This made him giggle, the tinkling, childish sound that Ludwig loved the most. It was far more soothing to hear than the violent, brash gunfire the plagued the rest of his life. "Awh, Germany! Is that all the faith you have in me? No, it's not pasta this time. You're close though."

"Really, now?" Ludwig eyed him suspiciously, intrigued. "Is that so?"

"Mhm!" Feliciano chirped, tugging his partner to come with him. "My country is good for other things too, just you wait and see!"

"Sure it is…" A sarcastic drawl spilled out of his throat, but he let himself be led away. If you were ever good for anything, it stopped with your grandfather. Poor thing. You really are oblivious, aren't you?

…Ah, oh well. At least that oblivion always leaves you happy. You're very lucky in that respect, my Italy. His lips smiled a bit as he thought of his haphazard ally. Some days, in small doses, he accidentally found himself almost wishing he could be more like Feliciano. There was a strange appeal to the way he found it so easy to be the fool, always with that dopey grin.

If Ludwig didn't already have so many responsibilities to take care of, he might take a whole day off just to see what it was like to be happy just because he wanted to be.

He did want to be. But with the world at war, he knew he couldn't risk that. It was expected of him to go on and be the conqueror. He couldn't change years of being the aggressive fighter. This was what was expected of him on the world stage now, and he had to finish it all before he could consider being simpler like Italy was.

For now he was glad to be able to be with Italy.

Now, if only he knew where the hell he was taking him…

This better not be a pasta restaurant after all… Why is he such an addict?


"Ta-daaa!" Feliciano announced proudly, flapping his free arm wildly like an excited toddler. (That wasn't actually such a far description from how he always acted… Jesus. He was incorrigible, wasn't he?) "Isn't it amazing?!"

"…An ice cream shoppe…?"

"Not just any ice cream shoppe; it's gelato!" He corrected, wide eyed and in shock that Ludwig hadn't known right away. Turning on him, he wildly poked "North Italy's specialty! Oh no, you don't know?! You are deprived, deprived, depriiiiived…!"

Rolling his eyes, Ludwig grabbed hold of Feliciano's flailing wrist to defend himself. It didn't take much effort to render the smaller man helpless. With a soft coo to calm him down, Ludwig offered a tiny kiss on his forehead. That ought to keep him content. "Okay, now. Deep, even breaths. We can't have you passing out, can we? No. So, what is this place and why am I deprived…?"

He pouted some, but was blushing from the tender peck. "You're deprived 'cause it's gelato and you don't know it, silly."

"Yeah, and that is so more definitive than before how?"

"Germany is a meanie. You are, you are…quit making fun of me or I won't get you any gelato!"

"But if I don't know what I'm missing, then why would I care?" Logic never escaped the German, and he did love how cute Feliciano looked when he got all flustered. Those pouty lips were fantastically kissable.

"If you don't stop being a meanie, Germany, then…then…" He searched for a suitable comeback. "Then I won't sleep with you tonight! So there! Ha…!"

Ludwig laughed, shaking his head in defeat. "As much as we all know you wouldn't keep that promise, alright. I'll be nice to you."

"Yay! I win…!" Feliciano grinned, and tugged his lover into the shop, explaining. "It's ice cream, silly, and it's way better than anything you've ever given me to eat. Where my brother comes from, it's made a little differently, but in my half of the country I think it's better 'cause it has milk in it. Here, here, you have to have some, Germany!" He pounced on the woman behind the counter, talking rapidly in Italian, with an occasional flirtatious glance back at Ludwig. He thought he heard his name in their conversation a few times, too.

Damn him. If he's talking about me…well, I guess as long as he's boasting it's not so bad. With a sigh, Ludwig selected a small table for them and leaned back in the spindly chair, head cocked as he watched them. Stupid Italy.

Soon Feliciano came trotting to meet him, wiggling with so much glee he was worried he might drop the two bowls of ice cream that were apparently so delicious. "Germanyyy, aren't they pretty?"

A small smirk traced his lips again. The way he said his name… "Yeah, I suppose so. They're pretty." Almost as pretty as you are.

It was different than any other frozen treat he'd had before, but he had to admit it was rather lovely. Already it was melting on his spoon, but that didn't matter. According to Feliciano, that was the way it was supposed to be. However, Ludwig couldn't quite place the taste. "I'll go ahead and admit it. You were right."

"It's good?" He was hopeful, pausing to glance up with wide pupils.

"Very." Ludwig nodded, that half smile still in place. "But…what kind is it? It's sort of hazel-y or something…has it got a name?"

"Ah, I was hoping you would ask that, Germany!" Feliciano clapped his hands, grinning. "It's called Bacio. Know what that means in Italian, Germany…?"

He blinked. "No?"

"Kiss!" His little jester translated, pleased to pieces. "Hee hee, and you think I'm not clever… It means kiss!"

Looking down at the ice cream and back up at Feliciano, he knew exactly what his cue was. At last letting that half smile bloom into a full one, he leaned across the table, pecked him on the lips, and murmured softly, "Thank you for the bacio, my dear Italy. You're very yummy."