A/N Ugh I haven't been on FF in YEARS but I guess I'm baaaackkk… sort of just lurking, but Hetalia has drawn me back into bad habits (blushes) HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE THIS FANDOM IS EXACTLY MY BRAND OF HEROIN (oh yeah, I just went there). So, to commemorate my return I am… crap. I'm writing an M fic. Right. Remind me why I have any self respect, now?

Warnings - explicit smut, bad writing, ridiculously unbeta'd, crack pairing that I'm trying to pass off as canon... oh yeah I love these two.

No, but seriously, thank you SO MUCH HAYZE-CHAN; I wrote this in a fic exchange with her so yeah. The end.

I think I need to take a cold shower and perhaps regain my grip on reality, neh?

Kiku didn't move from the garden for a long time. Long after Italy had bounced out, his face a mask of confusion and contrition, Kiku sat on a large rock next to his koi pond and berated himself for being a bad host and not showing him out. However, the Japanese man could not really bring himself to do more than sit right now.

There were things to think about.

Like the viperous feeling that coiled in the pit of his stomach and would not go away. Would. Not. Go. Away.

Breathe. Do not think. Breathe. Do not remember his arms around your body, do not remember how his breath slid next to your ear, do not -

Kiku suddenly had the overwhelming urge to dunk his head in the pond. Anything to get the memory of the last five minutes out of his mind.

He had been lying when he said that it was his first hug; China had cuddled with him, as a child, and Im Yong Soo had certainly groped him far more times than he could count. But this… was different. Especially because he did not think about Italy as a family member. Oh, no, it was much more than that.

He had also been lying if he gave off the impression that he hadn't wanted that hug. He had spent more nights than he cared to remember thinking about Italy - imagining his wide, bright smile, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his skinny, warm arms - but the real thing was so much…more…

He could not precisely find the words. All he knew was in the moment that he had been closed in Italy's embrace he had been overwhelmingly happy. Shiawase.

Kiku knew very well that he should not be entertaining less-than-pure thoughts about one of his only friends. Enough of his own reading material and the books borrowed from Hungary (on the sly - he wasn't sure if they were on the same side of this war or not) told him that feeling this way about a friend would not end well. Not well at all.

But it did not help that Italy was so constant, so vulnerable. More than once Kiku had to excuse himself from training simply because Feliciano was there, panting heavily on the ground and complaining about how hard and tiring it was and forcing Kiku's face to progress to a shade of red that was definitely not healthy, while the rest of his blood moved to his pants.

And again, Kiku's mind was flitting to thoughts that were definitely not appropriate. He had better go inside - Italy would be long gone, and maybe he could make himself a cup of tea and calm down. His heart was still fluttering from the earlier contact.

Kiku trekked slowly up the winding garden path that lead from his back yard to the kitchen door. Sliding open the paper screen, he slipped off his sandals and peeked into the kitchen.

And almost ran out again. Italy was in there. Still in there.

He hadn't left after all, and that fact caused Kiku's brain to short out. His first thought was that it was not possible - he had been outside, musing, for more than half and hour; hadn't Italy gotten bored, just waiting? However, the original disbelief was thrust aside by a deeply ingrained need to be a good host. And he had definitely failed that task, so he must hurry to make up for it.

"Italia-san, I am so sorry, I didn't realize that you were still here, I would not have been so remiss as to-"

Feliciano had been rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes in the middle of the kitchen when Kiku had walked in, but in a few quick strides the Italian had closed the distance between the two and pinned the smaller Japanese man to the wall, kissing him firmly.

Spots danced in front of Kiku's eyes. What - what -

"Feliciano!" cried Kiku, putting his hands on the Italian's skinny chest and pushing him away, although it took him more of an effort to do that than it rightfully should have. Kiku's lips buzzed and his head throbbed with a feeling of happiness that was as wrong and painful as it was wonderful.

Italy just stared back at him, his big brown eyes radiating confusion and sadness. He looked… beautiful. That was the only word for it. Angry and sad and vulnerable and beautiful but Japan could not think about that, not right now, not after -

"Italia-san, what are you doing? I know I don't understand your culture very well, but in Japan we do not kiss someone unless we like them - no, unless we are in love with them!" Never mind that he was in love with Italy; this gesture could not be taken casually, could not be right unless Italy reciprocated his feelings.

Japan searched Italy's face, but the little brunette's eyes just grew sadder, more tinged with something that could only be frustration and perhaps even anger. Japan's heart twisted for a moment. Had he made Feliciano angry? He felt a sudden, horrible guilt, for making that cheerful, perpetual smile disappear.

"You said that I should take responsibility," said Feliciano, smirking.

"Italy, that is not the way -"

"Dio! Kiku, I am dumb, not stupid!" Feliciano yelled suddenly, screwing up his face and balling up his fists. He looked exaggerated, almost comical, or would have if Japan had not seen that Feliciano was truly upset. "I know what kissing means and I want to do it anyway. Kiku, I love you!"

Well, this was new information.

"But -"

"But? But what? Don't you see that I keep trying to touch you and hug you? But you keep evading me -why, don't you like me back?"

"N-no! I mean, yes, yes, I do-" Japan could not quite grasp what he was saying. Was he confessing? To Feliciano? But he could not for even a moment let Italy believe that he didn't love him. That wasn't right!

"I… I like you very much, Feliciano…" mumbled Japan, his face becoming red again. Suddenly, a small Italian face was shoved right up into his, and surprisingly large, strong hands pressed Kiku's own to the wall.

Feliciano blinked, and Kiku could smell his breath, clean and fresh and scented lightly with tomatoes. He felt dizzy and unfocused.

"If you like me, then kiss me," ordered Feliciano.

And, well, if he asked like that, Kiku couldn't really disobey.

Their lips met in a soft brush, and Kiku found himself leaning into it, leaning into Feliciano, who murmurred happily and licked at Kiku's lower lip. The unexpected warmness, wetness made Kiku let out a small, surprised breath, and Feliciano took it as an invitation, sliding his tongue inside Kiku's mouth. Again, the Japanese nation found himself frozen in surprise, but Feliciano's gentle insistence was exactly what he needed to thaw, and before he could rationalize himself out of it, he found himself reciprocating every stroke of Feliciano's talented tongue with a hesitant but eager stroke of his own.

It wasn't long before there was a needy edge to each of the nation's movements, something that tugged at each of them, wanting more. Kiku was so confused, so out of his element, but inside something told him that he needed something warmer and closer than just kissing; he needed the contact that he couldn't admit beyond the confines of his own dreams. So he didn't protest when Feliciano's hands fumbled mischievously down the folds of his summer yukata, reaching inside its open collar and slowly stroking Kiku's chest. In fact, the Japanese man let out a shaky breath and began to move his own hands - tentatively, but with growing confidence as the light brushes up the Italian's side resulted in contented hums.

Feliciano's gentle but energetic fingers began to undo the complicated creases and ties of the yukata, sliding tantalizingly down the Kiku's chest, ghosting over his stomach and dipping so. close. to the waistband of the Japanese man's more-moder n boxers. Kiku mumbled a sort of quiet plea before he felt Feliciano smile against his lips. The Italian was teasing him. To add insult to injury, the rascal in question pulled his lips away from Kiku's, brushing them lightly along the line of his chin and then down, down his neck, nipping lightly in a way that almost made Kiku moan, if it weren't so embarassing. Again, Italy's lips quirked up in a smile. He was definitely teasing.

Well, two could play at that game. Because Kiku knew something about Italy that he was fairly certain that only he and his twin brother knew. Not even Germany, or Spain, or France had figured it out, but months of close contact and wishful observation had revealed something particularly …interesting about Italy

Kiku reached up and pressed Italy's hair curl lightly between two fingers.

The effect was immediate. Italy let out a high-pitched whine and shuddered, freezing up for a moment. His forehead, pressed against Japan's neck, heated up perceptibly. Japan could not help but grin. He had always wanted to do that.

Italy was gasping hard, his face bright red as he looked up into Japan's slightly-smug eyes. He looked… beautiful…

"Do you…. really wanna go there?"

The question was meant to be joking, Kiku thought, but Italy's uneven breathing made it come out as almost a plea. And Japan found himself unequivocally knowing the answer.


Italy chuckled a little, then rested one of his forearms on the wall above Kiku's head and using the other to finish divesting the Japanese nation of his yukata. He now stood naked but for his boxers, looking up into Italy's smiling face. It was strange to think that the Italian was taller than him, but he knew himself to be short. It was an Asian thing.

His mind was wandering; it was just too much for him to concentrate on - ahh….

Italy leaned his head down to run his tongue down Kiku's bare chest, sucking gently on one nipple, using the hand not on the wall to rub at the other. Kiku arched, his torso making contact with Italy's own - contact, contact, he needed Italy's warm flesh under his own fingers, he needed more of this wet, scorching tongue. With shaking hands, Kiku fumbled with the buttons of Italy's shirt.

He had managed to remove the offending article of clothing when Italy laughed loudly, mischievously, as if he knew a secret. Japan tried to look Italy in the eyes, searching, confused, but instead he let out a long, aching moan as Italy ground his hips into the other nation, their prominent arousals brushing and sending thrills into the pit of Japan's stomach. Never… never had he felt this way, felt the contact of someone other than himself. It was intoxicating to realize that Italy wanted him as much as Kiku wanted Italy.

"Neh, Kiku, is that what you wanted?" teased Italy. His light tone was belied by the expression on his flushed face, his eyes hooded and mouth slightly open as he panted quietly. The expression was strange and desirous and so heady and arousing that Kiku bucked his hips into Italy's, returning the teasing gesture and grinning when he was met with a loud groan ripping from the Italian's lips.

Italy growled, a feline sound, and gently nipped at Japan's neck before stripping off his own pants. He then laid his fingers on Japan's lips. "Suck them," he demanded, tone almost petulant, but offset by that beautiful desire in his eyes.

Japan found himself, again, unable to disobey, running his tongue up and down Italy's long, thin fingers, coating them with saliva, realizing what was to happen, begging for it, and Italy did not disappoint. As Japan's mouth was busy, the Italian removed Japan's boxers and his own, letting them pool, forgotten, at their feel. He ran his other hand up and down Japan's shaft, fondling it and pressing his fingers firmly on the tip, causing Japan's vision to blur and twist as his knees locked and he pressed himself tightly against the wall to gain some semblance of balance.

Italy saw this, and wrapped the hand that was previously worshipping Japan's cock around Japan's waist to keep him upright. Japan whimpered at the loss of contact, then blushed deeply, realizing how embarrassing the sound was. He wasn't left with much time, however, to contemplate, because Italy withdrew his fingers from the nation's mouth and slowly, tenderly, slipped one, then two into Japan's entrance.

"Hnnhh…" whimpered Japan, pressing himself harder against the wall at the sudden pain. He hadn't realized the scorching, frightening pain as Italy's gentle fingers dug deeper inside of him, pulling, teasing, stretching.

"F-Feliciano…" Japan found himself whining, beginning, too far gone to care anymore, too far gone to call Italy by his polite name, too far gone for anything but himhimhimhim-

Italy pressed his nose against Japan's cheek, his hand tightening around Japan's waist, stroking his hips, supporting him. "I know it hurts. I know… just -"

"No. I want… I want- Feliciano, please, take me now." Never in his life had he dreamed of saying that phrase aloud, but now he could not bring himself to hold anything back. Those were the feelings Italy always awoke inside him, even from the first moment of their meeting. His carefree attitude, his wild happiness - it made so that Japan could let himself breathe.

"Neh… K-kiku," Feliciano panted. "Are you sure? I- It may hurt."

More than this? More than physical pain, what hurt was… the want. Anything to overcome this desire.

Kiku did not answer, though. Instead, he kissed the tip of Italy' curl, taking it into his mouth.

"Ah!" Italy shuddered, trembled, withdrew his fingers and stared into Japan's dark, knowing, begging eyes. Then, gently, he placed his member at Japan's opening, and with as much slow tenderness as he could muster, slid in.

Burning, fire, ripping, tearing, pain, pleasure and the feel of Italy inside him, filling him up until he could no longer breathe, no longer feel. He felt the rip of flesh but then he cried out as Italy's cock brushed his bundle of nerves and Italy was moaning shamelessly, pressing their bodies together from thigh to torso and chest, Italy inside of Kiku, Kiku's mouth on his curl, a sudden, momentary closeness, closer than they had ever been, to anyone. This. Was. Right.

And Japan had not been prepared for that. The feeling of completeness. He wanted Italy to be his, only his, only this, and the absolute feeling of wonder and wholeness and heat and sweat pushed him over the edge, quickly, absolutely, and he came with a strangled cry, letting go of Italys curl and letting his knees crumple completely, sliding down the wall, and Italy followed him down, coming as well into that tight head, but staying together, chasing that connection for as long as they could.

Kiku's chest heaved against Italy, who lay on him, braced against the wall, and Italy laughed unsteadily, voice full of strange, shaky joy.

"Ve~~ Ti amo, Kiku! Ti amo!" his voice was loud and irreverent and make Kiku's heart leap with a mirrored exhilaration. Pain was nothing compared to this.

For time interminable, they lay against the kitchen wall, feeling the warmth and heartbeat of another and realizing this, this was love.

I am aware this sucks, but specific, NICE criticisms are always taken to heart and totally appreciated. You know that I love you all.