A/N: What have I done? This….is really not what I normally write. This was done on an impulse, and written late at night. It's my first time writing something this…..risqué. The plot is by no means original; it's basically just testing the waters to see what I can write. I hope you enjoy reading this interesting piece of work.
At first, it hadn't been any different from any other night. The world meeting had lasted longer than planned, falling into inevitable chaos around the third hour. No, it wasn't any different from the many other chaotic gatherings. What made this particular night different was the downpour of cold rain that Germany and Italy faced as they exited the meeting hall. The two stood in the doorway for a moment, a peeved look on Germany's face and a slightly blank expression on Italy's, before the latter dropped his jacket from his shoulders and went racing across the parking lot with his arms flung out to his sides.
"It's raining, Germany!" he yelled back, as if his partner hadn't noticed the heavy rain creating large puddles everywhere.
"What do you think you are doing?" Germany shouted, gathering up Italy's coat and shielding his head with it as he ventured out into the rain. He threw open passenger the door of his forest green BMW. "Get in the car!" he demanded. "You'll catch a cold!"
Italy promptly ignored him (or perhaps he didn't hear), and continued to twirl in circles, catching fat raindrops on his outstretched tongue. With an exasperated sigh, Germany placed his things in the car and strode swiftly over to where the Italian was acting so foolishly. With a little dodging in an effort to avoid Italy's spinning outstretched arms, Germany managed to grasp the smaller nation's wrist, now slippery with water from the natural shower.
Italy's eyes met his, and his expression of pure glee instantly fell to subdued disappointment.
"Can't we play in the rain, Germany?" he asked in a pleading and slightly whiny voice. The German ignored the impulse to give into those puppy dog eyes.
"Nein. It's cold out and you can get sick. Let's get back home."
Italy gave one last wistful look up at the darkened sky and then let out a sad little sigh. "Okay then, whatever Germany says."
Great, now I'm soaked as well. Germany thought bitterly as he led Italy back to the car and closed the door behind him. As the soaked pair drove out of the puddle filled parking lot, Italy asked, "Can I stay at your place tonight, Germany? Por favore?"
Germany glanced over at his passenger. The Italian's water darkened hair was clinging to his damp face, and his saturated clothes clung to his slender body. The excess water was slowly was soaking into the BMW's leather interior. The German normally would have protested such a request by his partner, but Italy's place added a good amount of time to their trip.
Besides, Germany thought as Italy gave a quiet high pitched sneeze, this interior is expensive. And after all, the Italian would probably find a way to the larger nation's house in the night anyway.
"Fine." The blonde man muttered quietly in response to question.
"Really? Yay! I get to sleep with Germany tonight!" Italy exclaimed happily, as his enthusiastic nodding sent water droplets flying onto the car and the driver. Not that it mattered, they were both soaked already.
Germany, focused on driving, ignored this bold assumption. (Normally he would, stuttering, exclaim something along the lines of "I-I never said you could sleep with me! I just said you could stay at my house!")
For the rest of the car ride, Italy babbled loudly about the many different types of pasta while Germany listened in mostly silence, offering an occasional "Uh-huh.", or "Is that right?"
At last they reached Germany's house. Before the car was even stopped, Italy threw open the door, jumped out, and rushed into the house, kicking his boots off in the doorway. He left his jacket on the waterlogged seat, of course. The driver glanced at the seat for a moment, then, defeated, grabbed the jacket and exited the vehicle. As he walked into the house, he kicked the boots aside and draped his and Italy's jackets over the dining room chairs. With a second thought, he removed his pants and did the same with them. As he stood in his boxers and undershirt arranging the clothing into a position that allowed maximum drying potential, Italy came bouncing into the kitchen, still fully clothed and dripping onto the wooden floor.
"Mein Gott, Italy, you're dripping all over the floor! Go get out of those clothes!" Germany exclaimed, in a panic for the sake of his poor hardwood floor.
Italy looked frightened by this outburst. "Sorry! I'm sorry! I'll go now!" with a wet squeak, he plotted down the hallway leaving a trail of water behind him. Too tired out from the stressful meeting to be overly thorough, Germany threw a few towels over the puddles, turned out the kitchen lights, and followed down the hall.
As he reached the door to his bedroom, an odd sight reached his confused eyes. Italy stood in the center of the dim lamp lit room, his pants around his ankles and his small hands dancing in a futile attempt to unbutton his black shirt. When he notice Germany staring, his cheeks flushed and he spluttered "I'm sorry, G-Germany! I'm really trying to take off this shirt but I can't undo the buttons for some reason!"
The Italians voice seemed stressed and frustrated, and Germany could hardly find the will to get angry with him. Instead, he released yet another sigh, walked over to Feliciano, and grabbed his still fumbling hands. As Germany suspected, they were freezing.
"Well this is why you couldn't do it." He scolded. "I told you not to play in the rain like that! All you do is cause unnecessary trouble, you idiot." His words were harsh, but as he spoke, he began to gingerly unbutton the small Italian's shirt for him. As he worked his way up the shirt, Italy remained silent. Droplets of cool water ran off of his hair onto the German's working hands. When Germany reached the top button and his fingers lightly grazed the delicate skin of Italy's collar bone, he suddenly became aware of the awkwardness of the situation. Before he could pull away or look up, however, he suddenly felt a warm droplet hit his hand. Shocked and slightly blushing, he looked up to find tears streaming down the cheeks of his friend.
"Wha…I…Italy, what's the matter?" he stuttered, in a panic. He grabbed the Italian's cold hands and cupped them in his own. "Do they hurt? What can I-" he was interrupted by Italy pulling his hands away and taking a step back.
"No, they're fine." He mumbled, obviously stifling as sob. He allowed his unbuttoned shirt to slide to the floor in a heap. Germany watched it crumple and quickly looked back up, clearly distressed.
"Well then why… are you crying?"
"I'm sorry I'm so stupid!" Italy gave in and sobbed, covering his face with his small hands. "I'm always getting Germany into trouble and making him save me. I understand if you don't want me here."
Germany stood in utter shock as Italy continued to sob. His small pitiful noises of despair coupled with the sobs wracking his delicate frame made the normally stoic German's heart feel as if it were being shattered.
Not quite knowing what else he could do, he took a single long stride forward and took the Italian in his strong arms. As he hugged his friend tightly, he felt hands grasp the front of his tank top and a wet face bury itself against his wide chest. Germany didn't know what to say to make Italy stop crying. He hated it, he hated that it was he who had caused this horrible tears.
"H-hey. You're not stupid. Stop crying. I don't entirely mind having to save you…and…I don't want you to leave. So stop crying…please."
With a small hiccupping gasp, Italy looked up at Germany, his large brown eyes filled with hope. They swam with miserable tears, and small droplets of water clung to the ends of his long lashes. Why had Germany never before noticed his eyes were so beautiful?
"Really?" Italy blinked innocently, a stray tear dripping onto Germany's chest."So you don't hate me?"
Germany's panicked expression softened a bit and he brought up his hand to brush over Italy's dampened face. His voice quieted. "Nein. I don't hate you. At all."
The large brown eyes flashed with joy and Italy once again buried his face into Germany's shirt, this time wrapping his arms around the larger man's chest torso and squeezing with all his might. "I'm so happy!" As Germany took a relieved breath, Italy pulled his face away looking troubled. The breath caught in Ludwig's throat. "What is it?"
Italy fingered the front of Germany's tank top. "I got tears all over your shirt. Sorry."
Thankful it wasn't something more serious, Ludwig shrugged. "That's not something you need to be sorry for." He reached down, pulled the dampened garment over his head and flung it into a corner. (It violated his strict neat freak policy, but he could clean later.)
"See? It's not a big deal." He saw Italy's eyes lightly scanning his bare torso and immediately regretted his choice of undressing. Of course, Italy had seen him shirtless before, (And he had seen Italy a lot more than shirtless), but he still wasn't accustomed to casually exposing himself like this. Italy seemed distracted though, and he lifted a hand to lightly trace with a finger over one of the many fading scars that ran across Germany's abdomen.
At this sudden unexpected contact between Italy's cold finger and Germany's warm body, the German's back stiffened and he became extremely still, his breath caught in his throat. He could feel light goosebumps raising wherever Italy made contact. His usually objective mind felt as if it were racing, though he couldn't seem to bring even a single coherent thought to the surface. It seemed as though a fire was spreading across his skin, a not entirely unpleasant flame that originated from Italy's fingertip that so gently traced his bare skin.
Unaware of Germany's reaction to his touch, Italy gazed into the taller man's blue eyes and met his frozen gaze. In a small, curious, almost cautious voice, The Italian mumbled "Kiss me." It wasn't a new request by any means, but somehow in this dimly lit room, everything was suddenly very different. Petrified, Germany somehow broke from his frozen position and leaned in to kiss Italy on the cheek as usual. This time, however, he could hear and feel his heart beating ridiculously loud and fast. For some odd reason all he could see were Italy's full lips, parted slightly and glistening with shed tears in the low light.
At the last second before Germany's lips his Italy's cheek, the storm caused the single lamp to flicker off, causing Italy to jerk his face ever so slightly to the right, where his lips met with Germany's. Both countries froze for a small moment, their lips lightly pressed against each other's. It was Italy who pulled back first, a startled look dominated his face and a pink blush glowed across his cheeks in the darkness.
Germany stiffened again, covering his mouth with his hand. His eyes filled with alarm. His pounding heart seemed to beat even faster now. "Italy…I'm sorry….I didn't mean…It was an accident."
He was interrupted by a hand grabbing his wrist. "It's okay, Germany." Italy quietly spoke, pulling the German's hand away from his mouth. "It was nice. Germany's lips are soft." A small, hesitant hand rested on the back of Germany's neck, and slowly the blushing Italy closed the distance between himself and his flustered partner.
When their lips met the second time, Italy closed his eyes. Germany vaguely wondered if he should do the same, but he was still frozen as the Italian's impossibly supple lips moved seductively against his own. Suddenly, a wave of what could only be described as pure desire washed over Germany. His widened eyes closed, his arms that had been hanging limp quickly seized Italy's slender waist, and his own inexperienced lips began moving awkwardly yet aggressively with Italy's. The auburn haired Italian melted into the kiss and used one hand to rake through Germany's damp hair while the other explored his muscled torso. As Italy's smooth hands raked across his burning abdomen, Germany let out a guttural moan of pleasure. Embarrassed by his lack of self control, he pulled back and leaned against the wall, panting.
Italy looked confusedly at him, and then cautiously approached. He stood close enough to feel Germany's warm breath on his face. "Germany? Are you- mmmmh..."
The close proximity of the Italian sent another violent wave of yearning crashing into Germany. With one hand he pulled Italy's face to his, and with the other he grabbed the smaller country's waist and brought their bodies crashing together. This time it was Germany who took the lead. He trailed his lips down Italy's exposed neck in an almost desperate way. His large fingers stroked through Italy's wet hair, located the single curl and gave it a slight tug.
At this action, Italy half gasped, half moaned and his body gave a longing shudder. His mouth moved near Germany's ear and uttered a single word in a hot breath.
With a low groan, Germany lifted Italy in his arms and placed him on the bed. Italy's breath was coming in short, shallow pants now, and with surprising strength he pulled Germany down to straddle his hips. Italy's slender hands once again caressed every inch of Germany's torso, and the blonde's large hands moved awkwardly, trying to find the bottom of Italy's tank top to pull it off. The fumbling caused Italy to let out an array of short, irresistible cries.
Germany's mind was lost in the heat of the moment, and when he still couldn't find where the tank top ended and Italy's shorts began, he seized the collar of the shirt and ripped the entire thing down the front. The German guardedly ran his hand over Italy's lightly muscled frame, eliciting a series of sensual whimpers.
"Germany…" Italy moaned, his chest heaving.
"Italy…Ich…Ich liebe dich." Germany gasped, and once again captured Italy's lips with his own, allowing his body to ease down closer, making contact without allowing his full weight to rest on the Italian. Their lips and tongues danced together gracefully, as if they had done this many times before.
The hot, arousing feeling of Italy's hips pressed against his own somehow brought Germany back to logical thought. Italy isn't ready for this…I'm not ready. Not here. Not tonight.
It took all of his willpower to disconnect his lips from Italy's and move away from his warm, shuddering body, but somehow Germany succeeded. As the two lay side by side catching their breath, Ludwig silently pulled Feliciano close and pressed his lip's to his lightly perspiring forehead. The Italian closed his eyes and a smile graced his perfect lips.
"Ti amo, Germany."
The burning feeling over Germany's skin was now replaced with a warm feeling in his chest. As their breathing steadied and the two drifted off to sleep, Ludwig thought with a faint smile
This must be what true happiness feels like.
"Good morning, Germany!" Italy chirped, though it was after noon and the morning had clearly passed. Germany blushed, recalling the events of the previous night.
"Oh…uh…Ita…hey." He mumbled lamely, mentally scolding himself for sleeping so late.
"Wasn't last night fun?" Italy's eyes shone without even a single trace of embarrassment.
Germany felt his face growing warmer. "Fun…I suppose you could call it that…" His eyes took in the sight of Italy's shredded tank top crumpled on the floor. He made a mental note to be more careful next time. Next time. The thought of this almost made Germany lean over and kiss Italy right then and there. "Sorry about your shirt."
Italy wrapped his arms around Germany's neck. "Vee? Oh, that. It's okay! Now Germany and I can go shopping together for a new one!"
"Ja. I guess."
"Ti amo, Germany!"
"Ich liebe dich auch, Italy."
A/N: Well that ended on a fluffy note. I hope you enjoyed/were not creeped out by this. Reviews would be appreciated and constructive criticism welcome. Thanks for reading!