Posting my kink!meme fills here. I went as Liet!Anon there!

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Germany's irritation reached its peak for the day when he learned, via Japan, that the missing Italy was not present for drills because he was currently taking his beloved siesta. He contemplated simply going to rouse the lazy Italian by ripping off his blanket and shouting, but then he'd already done that a hundred times before. A slow smirk grew across the blond's expression as he stumbled across an idea, and it was right in front of him.

The storehouse that Italy had chosen was almost empty, all of the supplies already used or moved elsewhere. Only a few tables and stacks of various items littered the ten by fifteen building. There was a small suitcase on the floor, but that was all. That, and the mound under the large white blanket near the back of the room, on the floor. Germany's leather boots were quiet as he approached, not that it would have mattered. Arriving at his destination, he knelt down.

Gloved fingers lifted the edge of the blanket, puling it back slowly as if carefully peeling the skin from a grape, to reveal his ally's sleeping form. He'd seen the blue uniform which had been carelessly tossed to lay in a crumpled heap just a foot away from where he lay, so he was not surprised to see that the brunette wore only his white shirt. Arms curled up under his small pillow, one knee was bent so that he could curl up, the other leg out straight. Dropping the sheet so that it settled just over that outstretched foot, he lifted his weapon of choice.

The small leather flap at the end of the crop touched Italy's thigh, trailing up along the sinuous appendage slowly. "Mmn..." The Italian murmured in his sleep, hugging his pillow tighter. Germany never stopped, nor slowed, tracing the curve of one supple cheek of his comrade's ample backside. Catching the end of Italy's shirt, he lifted it to move with him. Dropping it to settle at his lower back, he touched the smaller man's hip with his leather-covered hand. A gentle press was all it took for the other to move, favoring the warmth of the hand to the cold breeze he now felt. It brought him to lay out on his stomach, sighing softly. Too easy, Germany thought. Licking his lips briefly, he lifted the crop.

Snap! Italy's hazel eyes snapped open wide. Crack! A yelp not unlike that of a wounded dog filled the small room, and the Italian rolled away from the attack as he sat up. He tried to sit back on his heels, but found it impossible to do so. The blows had landed perfectly in line beside each other, just under that delectable backside. Settling for staying on his knees, his eyes fell on the blond who was fighting not to smirk. "L...Ludwig..." Eyes watered as he reached back to rub at the throbbing welts, but hissed as it did no good. "Ah, esso ferite!" He whimpered.

"Don't you put on those tears for me, Feliciano." The German warned, raising himself to stand at full height, tapping the crop against his leg. He kept his voice firm, all the while smiling inside. This should teach him, he thought. "What time did I say drill was this morning?"

"This morning? That was a long time ago..." Italy scratched his cheek, still pouting.

"Wann, Feliciano!" Germany snapped. The other cowered a bit, covering his head.

"A-at... three?"

"And do you care to guess what time it is?" One blond eyebrow rose.

"Ah, that's easy. Siesta!" Italy proclaimed, all too proudly. Snap! "Owwww! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The brunette rubbed the back of his hand, which had been struck by the end of the crop. "Ludwig's mean today...!" He stopped in mid-whine, blinking as the tail-end of the crop was presented directly under his chin. He tilted it up when tapped. Meeting those blue eyes, he suppressed a shudder.

"Falsch. Try again." Germany demanded. His tone had changed a little, as even if the answer was expected, it only grated on already raw nerves.

"It's... it's three 'o clock?" Italy proposed it in a question.

"Korrekt. And where should you be?"

"But... But I always sleep at three! Like a true—!" The fold of leather touched his lips, silencing him effectively.

"Let's try this again... Where did I tell you to be?" Germany rephrased. He traced Italy's lower lip with the leather, moving it over onto his cheek so that he could speak.

"L...Ludwig's being scary..." Italy whined quietly. "Nn!" He complained when the crop poked his soft cheek.

"Wo?" The blond snapped, though his voice was low. Italy squirmed with hands holding his shirt down, as he if could just now feel his nakedness, no matter how many times the German had seen his body.

"At...drill..." He said quietly, looking down. Finally, Germany thought, a reaction. The crop was pulled back, and Italy fought the urge to rub at his cheek to get rid of the feel. The blond who stood in front of him held the crop thoughtfully, running the length of it through his long, gloved fingers. Another swift lick across his pale lips, and he spoke again.

"I think... that this situation requires punishment." He said at length. Italy's head snapped up.

"L-Ludwig?" He gasped, eyes settling on the dangerous crop which had already given him two painful welts and a stinging hand. "Forgive me, I'll be good! I promise, just don't hurt me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you, you dolt." Germany muttered. "...Not if you're good. But no, I can't let you off this time. You've done it one too many times, and I think the only way you'll learn is to feel the repercussions of your actions. Maybe this will—"


"Don't interrupt me, it's very irritating! What is it?" Germany contradicted himself.

"I'm sorry!" Italy hunched his shoulders, his hands tangled in the hem of his shirt. "But, I just wanted to tell you that my knees hurt, and so if you're going to lecture me than could I please lay down?" He gave a small smile. Germany's eyebrow twitched, and his usual growing irritation with his comrade was hidden behind a mask of steel, and it reflected in those ice blue eyes of his. Just as Italy began to fidget with his shirt again, he spoke in a low tone.

"Dann... auf dein händen."

"W...what?" Italy tilted his head slightly.

"Auf dein händen und knien, schnell!" The crop swished harmlessly out to the side, but Italy still yelped. The brunette dropped to his hands and knees as ordered, swallowing. His cheeks were beginning to color, and he couldn't meet the blond's blue eyes anymore. As wary as he was, he couldn't even think of disobeying the irritated German. "Now..." One boot slid forward slightly, until it was under Italy's head. "Küssen Sie es." Came the rest of the order. Italy surveyed the boot before him as if it was one of Germany's wursts he that hated so badly.

"But it's—!" Snap! "S-sorry!" Italy winced as he felt the new welt throb, German having lent down enough to give his ass another strike. The brunette swallowed hard, taking another look at the boot. It was Germany's boot, so it wasn't worn or dirty as his own were. In fact, it was quite clean. All hard black leather, and polished to a gleam. Or rather, they normally were.

"Feliciano." Germany reminded. Italy bent down swiftly, resting on his elbows. Full lips touched the toe of the boot, pressing there a soft kiss.

"Th...there." He murmured, pouting.

"You call that a kiss?" Germany asked with raised brows. The Italian glanced up, thinking about how impossibly tall that Germany looked from where he was. As the blond moved the hand holding the crop moved, he winced and closed his eyes. But the tip only just touched his lower back, and began to slide towards his shoulder blades. Shuddering slightly, he brought his gaze back down. Lips touched the boot's toe again, and cool air assaulted his back as he felt his shirt being pulled upwards to reveal his back. "Getting better..."

The tickle of leather moved to his side, where it ran from his ribs to his hip. Another slow kiss to the cold, dry leather. "Now... apologize."

"Sorry..." Italy murmured, his voice little more than a whimper as the crop traced the other hip, and slid up along that side of his body. "Sorry," He repeated, giving another kiss, "Sorry, I'm sorry Ludwig..." The kisses began to move, over the top of the boot and all the way to the laces. "I'm sorry... Ya!" He jumped at the strike delivered to one full cheek of his supple ass. "I said I was...!" The tip of the crop danced threateningly, and he stopped his complaint in mid sentence.

"Not sorry enough." Germany's voice had become huskier somehow, and Italy picked up on it. Subtly glancing upwards as if for direction, he noticed the light shade of color that had come across the stoic blond's face. A blush came over his own face as he realized that the other was getting some sort of pleasure out of this. He wanted to protest, but Germany's next words stopped him cold. "Lecken Sie es." He demanded in a voice that was not to be compromised. Italy had pushed his comrade's buttons far enough to know that without a doubt. Though it frightened him, he trusted the blond.

This time he didn't protest, preferring not to feel the bite of the crop again if he had a choice at all in the matter. He licked his lips briefly to moisten them, as they suddenly felt dry. The next time that his tongue slipped out from his full lips, it touched the toe of Germany's boot. Sliding it from the toe to the laces, he was almost relieved that it tasted simply of grass and leather instead of shoe polish as he feared. Crack, the sting of the crop reminded him of his job once again. "My apology?" Germany wondered.

"S-sorry..." Lick, "I'm sorry..." Kiss, lick. "Sorry, sorry." His kisses were becoming wet, and his saliva gave the German's boot a shine. Each kiss now made an obscenely wet, soft smack, like that of wet lips across a lover's bare skin. Each lick was wet and slick, so that Italy had to swallow now than then not to let his saliva build, which created a quiet slurping sound, not unlike that of the sound that it made when he worshiped something else of the blond's. "Sorry," Lick, lick, kiss. "I'm sorry, Ludwig..." He was close to tears as he continued, wishing for this confusing punishment to end. And finally...

"Enough." Germany grunted. "Sit up." He demanded, and Italy did so. The brunette wiggled his hips slightly as he held his shirt down, hands pressed tightly between his thighs. "What's this?" The leather sole of the blond's boot pressed to Italy's closed thighs, and one eyebrow rose.

"N-nothing...!" Italy protested, trembling slightly. But Germany would not be detoured that easily. Leather-covered fingers seized Italy's errant curl, squeezing tightly. "Nghk! L-Ludwig!" The other gasped, nearly squealing as one hand shot up to grasp his comrade's wrist. Lips fell slack as Germany began to rub the curl firmly between those long fingers of his, his chest rising and falling with shortening breaths. His body began to tremble as his hips squirmed. Slowly, he removed his other hand, knees sliding apart. Soon both hands were wrapped around the German's wrist, though he didn't dare try and pull his hand away. "Ha...ha... AH!" He cried out loud as the toe of Germany's boot slid between his thighs.

"What do we have here?" Germany mused, finding the source of the trouble with his boot. Italy's arousal was pressed firmly back against his stomach by his foot. Giving a low moan, the brunette tried to move into the foot to create a friction. "Ah-ah." The crop tapped his thigh, and Italy remembered that Germany still held the weapon in his free hand. "Don't. Move." His voice was hot, yet hard as iron. Italy nodded slowly.

Tears welled up behind his closed eyes as Germany continued to rub and pull at his curl. His body began to tremble all over as the blond's boot pressed and rubbed against his member. Biting down on his lower lip, he whimpered helplessly. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt the knot in his stomach tense tightly. Just as he opened his mouth to cry out in ecstasy, he felt a sharp pain shock through his system instead of pleasure. His curl had been released, and Germany's boot now pressed painfully hard against his all too-ready arousal. "Ludwig...!" He nearly sobbed.

"Stand up." Germany ordered, stepping back. Italy did so, on rather shaky legs. "Don't—" The crop snapped across the back of Italy's hand again, "—touch yourself!" He demanded. He didn't have to shout for his voice to cause Italy to shudder again. "Go over to that table," The blond pointed with the crop, "and bend over. Put your hands flat." Italy swallowed as he moved to obey, laying his sweaty palms flat against the hard surface of the cold table. His legs shook with the effort to stand as he heard Germany fiddling with something behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that it was the small suitcase that had been beside him while he slept.


"Schweigen! Eyes front!" Germany barked, lifting the item that he required as Italy looked away. This time he let the sound of his boots be heard as approached from behind. There was a quiet pop, and then something spilling. Another quiet sound, a chink of glass. The moment that the scent entered Italy's senses, lips opening to speak, he found two gloved fingers inserted between his lips.

"Hnn!" He gasped in surprise. That surprise soon heightened when he felt the equally warm, equally gloved fingers sliding between his thighs, slick with oil. Olive oil. Germany leaned down until his chest touched the brunette's back, lips brushing his ear as he tilted his head back by use of the fingers in his mouth.

"Verbreiten ihnen." He murmured. Italy spread his legs a bit eagerly, moaning into the intrusive fingers as he felt the first digit enter his tight body. Eyes closed, his legs continued to tremble as Germany prepared him. His tongue played at the fingers in his mouth, tasting of sweat and leather, which was not much different from that of the blond's hands without them. He bit down once by the time the third finger entered him, groaning as loudly as he could around the ones in his mouth.

Italy gave a low whine when those teasing fingers removed, but the sound of a belt buckle jingling was music to his ears. Germany's oil-slick fingers gave his own aching arousal a quick run-over, biting his own lower lip to hold back a groan. Italy bit down on Germany's gloved fingers as he felt the man's generous arousal push into him slowly, raising to stand on his toes as he gave a muffled cry. Once the blond was fully inside, he finally removed his fingers from Italy's mouth, a thin line of saliva breaking off. Before either of them could properly control their breathing, Germany pulled back to deliver the first thrust.

Italy barely kept his hips from crashing into the end of the table, damp palms sliding an inch before he got his grip. Restraint was not a word that would be listed in Germany's vocabulary. At least, not when sex was involved. Though the same could be said of Italy, as he shouted with each and every thrust that sent the table's legs scuffing the hardwood floor with jarring movements. Nails scraped uselessly against the table's surface as his fingers curled, glove-covered hands seizing his hips as an aid to keep them from being bruised by the table.

Warm, wet lips sealed on the side of Italy's neck, stinging as they rose a mark. The store room was filled with the sound of Italy's shameless voice, Germany's more reserved and breathless groans, the grating table, and the unmistakably messy and vulgar sounds of bodies joining. Hot breath flowed over Italy's ear as Germany's kisses reached it, tickling the hair there. The gloved hand that was slick with oil released his tightly-gripped hip, moving instead to wrap around Italy's neglected arousal. The brunette's arms gave out as he was stroked in time with Germany's merciless thrusts, resting on his elbows.

At the pace that they were going, and with the rather unusual brand of foreplay that they'd just endured, neither of them were able to last much longer. Italy came first, fingers curled as he rose up onto his toes again, his cry of fulfillment ringing in Germany's ears. The blond stood up straight, body tensing as he came, clenching his jaw as he thrust until all of his essence resided deep within the shuddering Italian.

Germany pulled back, still panting heavily. Italy's upper body laid flat on the table, as if boneless as he caught his breath. Pulling off his gloves, Germany lifted the brunette's cast off blanket to wipe himself clean. Tossing it to Italy, he fixed his pants as he headed for the door. "Tomorrow... be there at three o' clock. For now you'd better clean up, because dinner's in an hour. I'm making wurst." With that, he was gone. Italy sighed, standing to look at his soiled blanket in loss. As if he hadn't been 'punished' enough, now he was going to have to eat Germany's beloved wurst again! He sighed dramatically, pouting as he began to clean up, already making plans for where to hide for tomorrow's siesta.

Someone pressed flat against the wall of the storehouse as Germany exited, crouching down on the ground. They peeked around the side to make sure they he was gone before they stood up, just beside the window there. He smudged the mess he'd made on the grass with his foot, until it was gone into the dirt, and buttoned his pants. If he knew Italy, and he should by now, he was going to be a true Italian man and find a place to sleep tomorrow instead of making it to drill.

And Japan was going to make it his personal mission to make sure Germany knew just where that place was, just as he had done today.