I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I'm starting my senior year of high school, and I needed to get my AP summer projects done because I am a procrastinator.
And as promised (sort of), here's a smutty Germany x Italy lemon. Next chapter is Spain x Romano!
Italy just kept getting bigger and bigger. Up until that point in time, 22 weeks along into his second trimester (Germany would definitely know. He was keeping a calendar.), Italy had gotten along fine with wearing Germany's shirts as dresses, since his own clothes didn't fit him, and Germany's pants were too big (Germany didn't want Italy wearing a belt either). They were long enough to cover him to mid thigh, and since he wasn't allowed outside anymore, he didn't have a problem with it. For Christ's sake, he'd rather run about naked like how he did at his house.
But no. He was at Germany's house, and Germany wanted him to wear clothes. So he did.
"Germany, Germany~" the boy sang, staring down at the buttons stretching and tearing at the seams. "Your clothes are too small now."
"That's hard to believe," was the call from the kitchen, the clicking and clanking heard too as Germany cleaned up after breakfast.
"Ve~! Look, look!" he cried, springing up from his seat at the dining room table and waddling as quickly as he could to Germany. His stomach felt tight against the stretched cotton, and he pointed and jumped about excitedly, ready to prove himself right. "It's too small!"
The German leaned against the countertops to give an overview of the plump boy, bouncing on his naked heels. His shirt really was too small, at least at the baby bump. Italy's arms and legs were still drowning in sleeves and shirttails meant for a bigger man.
"...I guess I should buy you new clothes, huh?" he muttered, still staring down intensely at his baby's mama.
"Ve~!" Italy complained suddenly, "But I like wearing Germany's clothes because they smell good."
"Well I can't very well fix that," the German replied, stretching his arms behind him on the countertop with a few healthy pops, "I'll go to town right now, alright?"
The Italian zipped his mouth and puffed his cheeks out, staring at the floor. Germany sighed, but his face twitched up a bit in a barely-there smile.
"...Would you like to come?"
Italy didn't answer (Even though Germany probably already knew the answer), but sped off to his bedroom to safety pin himself a pair of Germany's makeshift pants. In only a couple of minutes, they were off to do some shopping
Germany kept him close, and even gave Italy a pair of really cool sunglasses. Not like that would hide the telltale ahoge bouncing on his head. But Germany was smart, and gave Italy a neat fedora. He felt like he was ni-chan, all suave for the mafia. He proceeded to make gun noises under his breath as they walked closely on the sidewalk.
"Pew, pew~ Kaboom!" he whispered. Germany had told him to keep quiet, so he did (Except for when they walked by the bakery and he reeeaaally wanted some fresh breadsticks so he yelled on accident). And Germany had told him to walk real close together, so he did (Though he tripped a couple times and almost fell, but Germany saved him). "Puchoo!"
"Italy, what are you doing?"
"I'm in the mafia, Germany! See?" He stopped to pull a gun on him. But it wasn't really a gun; it was just his pointer finger and his thumb. He wouldn't ever shoot Germany. "Ve~! I'm not going to shoot you! I promise! Please don't be mad!"
Germany had given him a strange look, like he was surprised. But he only smiled and leaned forward to kiss his Italian on the forehead, tipping back the smooth fedora. Italy put his gun away.
"Come on already," Germany said quietly, pulling him by his former-gun hand into a clothing store that had a bunch of dresses on display.
"Ve~! This is a girl's store, Germany!" Germany shushed him and went deeper and deeper into the store, keeping his head down and his feet focused. Italy could still see his red face.
They practically hid in the deepest part of the store, even though there were only a few ladies in the store anyway, just so they couldn't be seen. Italy hid in one of the round racks, like he was just a little kid again. Germany frowned at him, so he got out really fast.
"Find something you like," he told him, still very red faced. Italy blinked, but smiled and went on his way. Hungary used to give him all kinds of pretty dresses when he was little. He wanted ones like that.
"Ve~~~~!" he cried as he waddled about, looking at all the dresses. They were so colorful! He didn't know where to start, so he turned back to Germany, who had his arms crossed and his eyes down to the floor. "...What would you like to see me in, Germany?"
Had it been anyone else but Germany (His brother would be the best example of that), one would have made a joke about 'seeing you naked rather than in clothes'. But this was Germany, so he merely stuttered and stayed hot-faced.
"...Y...Y-You look good in blue..."
Italy smiled. "Really? I'm glad!"
Germany grumbled and tried not to watch Italy, but Feliciano caught him a couple times staring.
"...Ne, ne, Germany. Couldn't you have just bought me bigger shirts and stuff? At like, a guy's store?"
Germany looked like he was having trouble with his words, and became as red as a tomato.
"...The...The book said..."
Italy gave him a questioning look. "But...Aren't those books you read about ladies? I'm a boy, Germany! You should have gotten a book like that about boys!"
"I-Italy, there are no such books."
"But I'm preggernate or whatever, so there has be a book about that! Or else they wouldn't have a name for it!"
Germany fumbled on his voice again, but this time he rubbed his forehead like he did when he was tired. Italy veee~d at him.
"...T-The book said...Shopping for new clothes with your p...partner would make them feel more...secure...and more...a-attractive..."
"...But I am always secure with Germany! And he always tells me I look nice!"
Germany rubbed his head just a tad bit harder. But he sighed and watched his lover rock back and forth on his heels, staring at him with big chocolate eyes full of wonder.
"...That one," he muttered. Italy leaned forward to hear him better. "Veee~? What was that?"
"I like that one," he repeated louder, pointing at a royal blue summer dress on one of the racks. Italy cried out loud and ran to it excitedly.
"Veeeee~~~! It's so pretty! Can I have it, Germany? Can I?"
The fierce German nodded lightly. The Italian squealed and danced, splaying the dress against himself in comparison. He looked over to Germany happily, but noticed a tall blonde woman a ways behind him. She looked like she worked there!
"Miss~!" he cried out loudly, making Germany jump nearly a foot off the ground. The woman turned to him. "Miss~! Could I try this on, per favor?"
"Gewiss!" she answered with a smile. Italy's own smile faltered a little.
"Psst. Germany! What'd she say? Did she say yes?"
The German was so flustered, Italy was almost afraid he wouldn't tell him, which would just leave him guessing. "Y...Yes, she said yes."
Italy cooed and took Germany by the hand, dragging him across the store to the rooms the woman was showing him to. Germany pressed a flat hand to the side of his face, making sure none of the ladies in the store saw him.
The lady opened a door for him, and the Italian ran inside eagerly. When the woman turned to Germany, he quickly hid his face in his hand again.
She smiled and nodded to him before taking her leave.
Germany thanked God for the soft red leather chair they had placed right in front of the rooms. He threw himself into it and proceeded to rub his headache away, along with his utter embarrassment. He listened to the rustling of cotton and the whining of the Italian beyond the door. He sighed.
"...Does it fit?" he asked quietly, as to not aggravate himself. The door clicked open, and he waited for the Italian to step out, but he still hid behind it. "What's wrong?"
"...Would Germany still like me if I looked like a girl?"
The German couldn't possibly have much patience left.
"Yes, it doesn't matter what you look like," he answered matter-of-factly. "Just show it to me already."
The door opened.
The first thought in Germany's mind was practically every memory of a sexual encounter with the Italian condensed into 2 seconds, a terribly forceful burst of arousal.
The second thought in Germany's mind was something along the lines of practicing temperance for the rest of his life and shooting puppies in the face.
And when that wouldn't work, he just thought harder, dead puppies, no beer, dead puppies!
Seeing the Italian resting his hands over the big bump of his stomach, dressed in a thin-strapped blue dress (Which looked so dramatic with his russet colored hair and eyes) did wonders to Germany's sex drive.
Italy pouted at Germany's red twitchy face. "You don't like i-"
"We're buying it. Now. And then we're going home."
The finality in Germany's voice made Italy cringe, but he voiced his protest.
"B-But Germany! I can't just wear this every day! I need more clo-"
"Later," he ground out, standing quickly and pushing Italy back into his dressing room with as little force as he could hold back. Italy squealed but did what the German wanted, stepping out only moments later in the too-tight clothes. The German practically ran through the whole purchasing process, dashing down the streets, dragging Italy all the way.
But then he noticed the bulge in Germany's deep green uniform trousers, and smiled.
"...Maybe I really should wear it everyday!"
That Spain bastard had better stop touching him. At least, if he knew what was good for him.
But apparently he didn't, and continued to coddle and caress and coo at Romano as if he were the baby he had growing inside his belly.
"Damn it! Quit it already, stupid Spain!"
"But cariño, the bebito has to know who I am!"
"Fuck that! Stupid Spain, stop touching me like I'm some sort of hands-on experiment!"
"Shut up! I bet the baby can't even t-"
Too suddenly for Spain's liking, his Italy stopped all protest and tensed, hands immediately dropping to his stomach as if in pain. Of course the Spaniard was there in a second flat, kneeling in front of his lover's stomach and holding his hands tight.
"Lovino? Lovino, what's wrong?
"...Nothing, stupid Spain," he whispered, still a little frazzled, "...It just kicked really hard."
Spain stared up at his lover's face, still red with anger, but solemn from pain.
"...You didn't tell me you could feel it," Spain voiced, still kneeling with the round belly in his face. Romano huffed and puffed up his cheeks.
"If I had told you, you'd never stop touching me!"
It's not as if Spain would stop trying either way. He stared forward silently at the baby bump, slowly lifting up Romano's shirt.
"D-Don't you dare, you bastard..." died on Romano's lips as soon as he felt Spain's soft warm cheek press to his thinly stretched skin. The Spaniard listened intently to the harsh thumping of Romano's flustered heart, and waited for his baby to say hello.
"...Stop it," Romano whispered in all futility. Even he couldn't stand up to the sight of his lover with that focused and loving face trying his hardest to feel his child deep within. And as if the baby knew exactly who it was, it gave a soft kick from behind fleshy walls, pressing back against Spain's determined ear. Said man looked up at the red-faced Italy with an expression that couldn't possibly be happier even if he tried. Romano could feel his heart contracting even tighter in his chest.
"L...Lovino!" he murmured, palms flat on his lover's side, warming the taut skin. He soon looked back down, at the stomach with the belly button pushed out in strain, the stomach with his kid.
"...Mi niño!" he said to the bulge. Romano could have sworn he was crying. "You learned how to say 'hola'!"
The Italian boy could feel his knees going weak, from either the emotion welling up in his stupid pathetic heart, or the pressure on his legs.
"...Stupid Spain, let me sit down," he voiced with difficulty, trying to swallow his own tears. Spain nodded once, standing and leading the young nation to a nearby chair gently.
But as soon as he helped him to sit, he was back on his knees, talking to his baby.
"Niño...Your madre and padre are waiting for you! You can't imagine how happy we'll be! You will be absolutely...increíblemente hermoso!"
"...S-Stupid Spain," he whispered, hating himself for falling hard for the moment. "It's going to be a boy."
"Ah sí?" Spain laughed, still entranced with the hidden baby, "Well, even so, he shall be hermoso! How can he not be, with you as his madre?"
And suddenly, as if the waterways turned on, Romano let the tears fall over tomato red cheeks. He leaned forward over his exposed stomach and cried. Spain smiled carefully, petting Romano's hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it most romantically.
"Shh, no, no, Lovino," he whispered, "No derrames lágrimas."
But that only brought more choking cries to Romano's lips.
Good thing Spain was good at kissing those sorts of things away.
The hands on his skin felt like an electric blanket on a frozen December morning: Just what he needed.
A tongue nuzzled his nipples as finger played against his trembling cock. He rolled his hips against stronger, wider, bigger ones and gasped as if the breath before it was the last one he'd ever breathe again. His legs twined about the general's waist, pulling him forward.
"Please, I need it."
The German didn't say a word, but massaged the Italians soft ass with both hands, pulling it apart to touch his dick to that little hole, pressing the head to the opening and putting more and more force into it until-
Italy cried out as he escaped the dream unwillingly, thrashing in illusionary ecstasy against his sticky sheets. He panted hotly into his pillow, creating a damp spot from his unhindered saliva. His body was electric, and still a going.
"B-Baby, please stop! Let m-me sleeeeeep!" he whispered against the haziness of his brain, speaking through the heat still pooling in his groin like lava. He looked to Germany, who seemed unfazed by the erotic outburst. Italy whined, petting his stomach shakily. "L-Look what you're making me d-do!"
Italy's arousal begged like a man starving for food, twitching angrily against the cold wet spot in the sheets. The boy shivered.
"Germany," he whispered, pressing a hand to the general's shoulder. The touch made the German jolt to attention, but it took a few moments for his eyes to open and focus. He blinked and rubbed at his throbbing eyelids. "I-Italy? What is it this time?"
Italy wasn't going to say it. He was tired, and his whole body hurt, yet his horniness was something else entirely. The Italians were lovers, after all. So he simply waited for Germany to come to and notice his dilemma.
"I had a dream. About the two of us," he helped, feeling his veins pulsing, ready to burst when given the chance. Germany sat up on his elbows and stared forward blankly. Italy's hands fisted in the sheets beneath him sporadically, trying to stave off the intoxication, until he threw all cares aside. "Please! Please it hurts so much!"
Germany wanted to jump up and ask what hurt and what he could do to help ease it, like another massage or just a cuddle if it was an emotional pain. But instead, he was pushed back down and sat on by his plump Italian lover. The hard curve of his stomach pressed onto his rocky abs, and Germany swallowed any coherent complaints he could think of.
"Please, Germany, please!" Italy whispered above his general, rocking his hips down against him. The German bit his tongue, trying to regain his voice despite the lovely gratification his groin was being given.
"I-Italy, just calm d-down," he whispered, hands gripping the pregnant man's hips a little too hard, sitting up. Italy whined loudly and laced his arms around the German's neck, continuing to bounce.
"I need you, Germany," he gasped into the bigger man's ear, his breath wet with unopposed want.
The German gulped.
Even in the dark of the room, Germany could see the burning in the boy's cheeks and the sparkling in his eyes. His little arms trembled sweetly against his shoulders, and how could Germany say no to that?
"Alright, alright," as if he were a child being told to do a chore. He pushed Italy onto his back gently, ever so careful of that budding life between them, and caressed down his pale sides. He never liked rushing things, because that led to error, but the Italian kept making it harder and harder to do.
"Germany! G-Germany, please just fuck me! I need it so bad!" he cried helplessly beneath wary German hands, arching and squirming and rocking still against the other. Germany bit his cheek.
"Italy..." he muttered, looking down into the pitiful eyes under the ministration of his efforts, impatience too fierce. Germany complied yet again. "...If you say so..."
It always helped that the Italian slept naked. So Germany went straight for the gold.
"Ahhhhn~!" the boy cried as he was stroked sweetly, despite the rough calluses and strong fingers on Germany's hand. His thighs quivered as they touched Germany's sides, intent on trapping him in between his legs. "G-G-G-Germany!"
As one hand went up and down, the other drew patterns of love across white Italian skin. His hand skimmed under the little back pressed to the sheets and up to his front, trailing over pert nipples and a shivering belly.
"Yes, just a bit, hold on."
The Italian whined loudly into the sheets meeting the side of his head as Germany leaned over him to reach the tube of lube on the bedside table. Italy wept in the shadow of Germany's larger body, his hands coming up to trace every bump of his abs. Soon, he felt the telltale pressure of a finger at his hole. He raised his feet to rest at Germany's shoulders, keeping them high in the air for better leverage. "P-Please hurry!"
One oily finger turned to two in a matter of seconds, and from two to three, scissoring and pulling and pushing. Italy was about to go crazy. The fingers wiggled inside him, touching familiar places, exploring nothing new. But after an excruciating moment, the fingers retreated to be replaced by the German's very own arousal. The Italian squealed in anticipation, holding steady to Germany's neck again as he leaned over into his ear.
"Sorry if this hurts," he warned quietly, pushing forward into that tight little opening, his head breaching it and resting in Italy's insides as he waited for the boy to calm down. Italy's toes were curling against Germany's shoulders, his thighs shaking in pleasure.
"G-Gyaaahh!" he cried, biting onto the sheets fisted in his hands, arching up harder. "G-Germany, faster! Germannnyyyy!"
The general sighed into the whining Italian's neck, reluctantly pushing all the way in at once and pulling all the way back out, starting his harsh rhythm. His hips snapped clean against Italy's ass, every tug and shove making the boy beneath him slide against the crisp sheets. The stomach between them bounced in tune, and Germany was pressed so close, he could practically feel the baby kicking back at his stomach.
"Ahhhhhhn! Ah! Ah!" the Italian cried out, rubbing against quickly heating sheets. His feet fidgeting like mad against the German's shoulders, groping for a release it had yet to obtain, even with the strong pale hand jerking up and down around the boy's erection.
Germany watched the way his lover's curl bounced with every thrust forward, like a cat's eyes trained to a feather on a string. His thrusts grew harder, pumping almost angrily, as he reached his unoccupied hand out to brush a finger around the curl.
Italy barely had time to scream as he exploded in Germany's other hand, his face streaked with tears and red with arousal. He trembled violently and thrust his arms around Germany's neck as he kept going inside him, fucking him for his own satisfaction now. Italy's grip screamed 'no more, no more, I can't handle it!', Germany's hand still milking the last of his pearly seed out. But soon, the German let out a loud suppressed grunt, pushing into his pregnant lover as hard as he could one last time and cumming deep within. The Italian squealed after the moment was over and Germany slipped out of his used hole and flopped down to the bed, ready to go back to sleep.
Next thing he knew, the boy was straddling the German's naked hips. Cum dripped down his thighs and coated Germany's skin lightly, making him shiver and stare up at the smiling nation, whose new erection glistened in the white moonlight through the window.
"I never said we were done~!"
Spain never thought maternity play could be so absolutely beautiful.
But Romano being Romano made things that much better.
Spain saw him walking down the mud colored hallways, a light waddle to his step, a chupa chup in his mouth.
"It's not as if I like this shit," he said, "My teeth hurt so I need to suck on something."
Spain almost felt happy tears prick at his eyes. "Really? Are you sure mi hijo doesn't love the taste of his padre's favorite candy?"
"No, of course not!" He spat out, pulling the candy from his mouth angrily, "If anything, this shit is making my stomach turn! Stupid Spain!"
"I could have given you something better to suck on," he muttered, leaving farther back into his soft red couch, rustling the newspaper he had been reading before Romano had made his appearance. His nonchalant comment made the Italian bristle like a cat.
"Wh-What?" he screamed, face red with anger or embarrassment, who knew? "You perverted freak! What's wrong with you? Don't talk to me like tha-"
"So what's your favorite flavor?"
"Melon, but what does that have to do..."
After a pregnant pause, with the pun completely intended, Spain sputtered out a snicker.
"I'll fucking kill you!"
Spain threw the newspaper to the side, the pages flying out and scattering all across the floor as he readied himself for the angry head butt his Lovino planned for him. Instead, Spain wrapped his arms around the furiously struggling boy as he launched himself at him and laughed wholeheartedly.
"Lovino! Oh my Lovino, you are precioso!"
"Don't talk to me like that!"
"Then I'll talk to mi hijo!"
"No! No, I've had enough of your baby talk!"
"But he hasn't!" Spain smiled out, rolling Lovino onto the couch and lifting his shirt up to stare at the bulge beneath. "Mi hijo! Mi hijo, hola!"
"Stop that! He's going to learn Italian first!"
"Eh?" Spain lifted his head up to see Lovino's face just beyond the large curve of his stomach, red-cheeked and pouting. "Mi querido, do you ever talk to him?"
If possible, Romano's puffed cheeks got even puffier, and his gaze slipped down to the floor.
"...What does it matter? He can't hear me."
The disheartened response made Spain frown. "Of course he can, cariño! See? Can't you feel him say hola?" he placed his hand low on the bump, and as if to provide proof, the baby kicked softly against it. "Hola, padre!"
"He's going to like you more than me!"
Spain looked back up to Romano's face, analyzing the emotion in his eyes. "Querido, you know that won't happen. You're his madre!"
"When I talk to him...When I talk, he doesn't kick! He," and Romano suddenly felt hot tears on his face, "H-He only listens to you!"
Spain frowned again, which wasn't something he normally did twice in one day.
"Lovino," he whispered, leaning over and stroking his bangs from his moistening eyes, "our hijo will love you even more than I ever possibly can. He came from you."
"S-So?" the Italian cried, rubbing his sleeved arm across his eyes, only making them redder, "He doesn't know me! He doesn't want to know me! He doesn't even like the sound of my voice!"
"Shhhh, shush, shush," the Spaniard uttered under his breathe, kissing a trail of tears right in the middle, "Do you think that's all he likes? He likes the way his madre feeds him, and keeps him warm, and is always holding him, no matter what. Padre can't do those things."
Without a proper retort, Romano only sobbed and covered his face. The last time Spain had said wonderful things about the baby, Romano had cried. Now, saying wonderful things about Romano himself, the result is the same.
"...Lovino...Lovino, do you regret it? Is that why you cry?"
Romano promptly shoved the Spaniard hard in the chest with his tight fists, oxygen hissing from clenched teeth.
"You don't know what it's like, carrying around a baby! A baby that won't kick when I sing to it, a baby that won't stop kicking when I plead for it to st-stop! Even wh-when you want it to love you, it won't! It won't!"
Lovino's hands fisted in Spain's dress shirt, almost as if trying to get a grip on his very heart. Spain couldn't say it wasn't working.
"You try giving birth to a baby that you know won't love you!"
"Lovino, stop it."
And he did, with teeth chewing on his bottom lip and more salty tears falling down trembling cheeks. He gasped for breath like a fish out of water, and relaxed back into the arm of the sofa. Spain remained trained and attentive over his lover. He grazed the back of his hand across the side of his lover's wet face. A kiss was pressed right under his ear and up his jawbone, along his temple, down his cheek, beside his nose. Romano tried to breathe.
"Lovino, you need to calm down. You don't know anything about that bebito, and neither do I. Just because he kicks when I talk doesn't mean he likes me. For god's sake, he could be kicking to tell me to shut up!"
The tears didn't stop, but flat sad cheeks grew just a bit rounder for a pout. His shining brown eyes turned up to Spain's own emeralds, giving him the look that told him he had said the correct thing. "...If that were true, he'd be a smart baby."
Here are some translations for all the words that you can't immediately recognize.
Gewiss = Of course
Hermoso = Beautiful
No derrames lagrimas = Cry no tears (Poetic of "don't cry")
Chupa Chups = Famous Spanish lollipop that has a variety of unusual flavors
Hijo = Son
Excuse me if any of those are incorrect. The only languages I know are English and Japanese, and what little German I get from my mother, which are usually just curse words and commands haha.
TBC! I hope to get the next chapter out faster than I did this one!