A/N: Just a little something I wrote for the kink_meme. The request was for Italy to be all affectionate over Germany's baby belly. Instead of being cute and fluffy, Italy comes off as a creeper. Mpreg, and Italy waxing poetic about his kid.

It goes without saying that I don't own anything.


Italy sighed for the umpteenth time that night. It was just past one am and he couldn't sleep. It was rare that he had such trouble and when it happened, it was usually because he was hungry or in danger. He was pretty sure neither were the case tonight, however, though there was a heaviness in his stomach he couldn't place.

He rolled over to face Germany, who was sleeping on the other side of the bed. The moonlight filtering through the window caused his normally pale skin to glow vaguely silver. Without thinking, Italy reached out and ran his fingertips lightly down the German's face. His touch continued southward, lingering just a moment on the Iron Cross hanging from his lover's neck before ghosting down to where the strong chest became a softer curve.

"Così bello. . ." Italy whispered to the quiet air, his hand finally coming to rest on Germany's stomach. Beneath the stretched skin, a new life was forming. His child. Their child. It was a little overwhelming to think about.

Contrary to his youthful demeanor, Italy never much cared for children. They required a lot of attention and hard work, both of which Italy either didn't have the desire to do or simply didn't possess. Children were also messy, demanding, and expensive. They expected you to bend over backwards at their whim and give them everything they wanted, no questions asked. They rather reminded Italy of bosses he'd had in the past.

But this was different. Italy felt a rush of fierce possessiveness, his other hand coming up to touch the gentle swell. This was their child. Therefore, it was the exception. He somehow knew that he'd do everything in his power to be certain the baby was happy. He would move heaven and earth for them, if they only asked.

. . . was that the right way to go about raising a child though? Not having any experience, Italy was suddenly unsure of himself. The heaviness in his stomach - fear, he realized belatedly - clawed its way up his chest and squeezed his heart.

What if he messed up? What if he made a careless mistake (as he was prone to do) and Germany took their baby and left? What would he do then? Could he continue existing, even knowing that the loves of his life didn't want anything to do with him? Or, worst case scenario, what if the baby grew up to hate him?

He was brought from his dark thoughts when he felt movement. He peered down at the curve of Germany's stomach under his fingers. He saw nothing unusual but could feel something pushing weakly against his hand. It lasted less than a minute but he knew he would never forget it for as long as he lived.

"Ve? What's this?" As carefully as he could, he lifted the black muscle shirt Germany wore to bed. One of his hands slid under the material and he waited for a long while, expecting something to happen. Nothing did. He let out a sigh and was about to give up when the gentle pressure from before finally returned.

"Hello there," Italy whispered, smiling to himself.

The baby, as if in response, pushed against his hand with its tiny foot. Unthinkingly, he leaned forward and kissed the area.

"I-italy, what're y'doing. . . ?" Came Germany's sleep-worn voice, causing the Italian to jerk back in surprise.

"Nothing, I. . . nothing. Go back to sleep." Italy said, feeling inexplicably light all of a sudden. He pressed a kiss to his lover's mouth, which was sleepily returned. Germany then let out a sigh and closed his eyes, nodding off almost instantly. Italy turned over to stare out his window at the moon.

He felt tired. As he began to drift off, a single thought ran through his mind.

'I'll do my best to be a good father, il mio piccolo tesoro.'


Il mio piccolo tesoro - my little treasure

Così bello - so beautiful