Crimson pools collected on the floor, a body, mangled, tortured and nude, sat motionlessly in the largest one. A large body loomed over the dead, lithe other. Hair once blonde was now stained with the unforgiving red of his lover's blood. His eyes of blue were wild and insane matched with a wicked grin as he examined his handiwork. It was hard to believe that this day started out so normal, only two hours ago were they both breathing.

Ludwig remembers the events that led to his lover's tragic end – although he brought it upon himself. Italy had explained – no, screamed – that the Axis was cornered and doomed, that he couldn't watch his people suffer any longer, that he was withdrawing from the Axis Powers. The war they were locked in was slowly getting to both of them and their people, Germany snapped at the moment, though he didn't show it.

It was Feliciano's last night in the large house, he told the German that him and his stuff were leaving the next day, but today Italy slept in the guest room leaving Ludwig alone in their big master bed. Little did the younger Vargas know he was drugged, not able to feel anything until it finished its course. Germany slipped into the smaller room, gathered the naked boy up and took him back to the master bedroom where he tied the brunette to the headboard. Then he left and played the waiting game...

An entire hour later sobs came from the bedroom telling Germany that his prey was once again awake and scared. He stood, his jacket falling from his shoulders leaving him in his black wife-beater and uniform pants. Standing in doorway he stared at the Italian with a look of disdain. "G-G-Germany... Wha-what's happening?"

"I'm teaching you a lesson, Italia. Nein, I am punishing you." Removing a set of keys, Ludwig walked over to the nightstand, a place where Italy was never allowed, and unlocked it. With a fluid flick of his wrist the drawer was opened to show glittering, sharp-edged tools that caused fear to pump through the smaller man. Germany pulled a long, jagged knife. "After I'm through, you won't be able to leave me again..."

Italy opened his mouth to beg forgiveness and mercy but all that came out was a scream as Ludwig slashed the instrument across his chest; a beautiful, scarlet line blossomed on that tanned flesh. A spray of blood, thick and hot, erupted, droplets staining the bed sheets. Veneziano had lost the ability to breathe momentarily; it was like nothing he had ever experienced, the pain the coursed through him, the fact that his Doitsu was the one doing it to him.

Without waiting, Ludwig brought down another slash, this one down his right leg, at the same time Feliciano found his voice and shrieked, blood-curling but it only served to edge the German on. One on the collarbone, one to the stomach, one down his side, the once white sheets became red with Italian blood, screams and sobs bouncing through the room. The ropes were slashed too, how could he move anyway? Now turned onto his stomach, Italy attempted to catch his breath, his throat so raw that even the slightly intake hurt.

Blue eyes raked over that unmarred back, oh how he wished to see ruby droplets trickling from all angles. He ran his fingers through his bloodied blonde locks, slicking them back into their former helmet shape with Veneziano's blood and his own excited sweat and started his onslaught again. Soon he lost himself in the shower of crimson, the screams and pleas for mercy and the white flashes that exploded in his vision with every cut. To him it was a beautiful symphony, a piece of precious art being made; Slash, scream, spray, it excited him so. When a dull thud met his ears he glanced down to realized he had lobbed off a leg, oh well, he must have gotten too lost in the heavenly cry that came just before.

Then he heard a coarse mumbling, he strained to hear the hoarse Italian words, "Caro Signore, prega risplendere la tua misericordia alla Germania," A cough and a rough breath, "se devo morire con le sue mani per favore non voltarmi le spalle, l'amore di lui come io lo amerò per sempre." Feliciano's body, not yet dead, racked with painful breaths and tears and all that amazing, stunning blood.

Those words put a part of Germany on fire, angered him. He kicked the male off of the bed and he landed with a heavy noise that was so unexplainable. After that there was a silence which brought them to we're they stood now, Italy lying unmoving on the ground, Ludwig standing over him. That smile came to his face as he looked down at his lover. "You'll never leave me, Feliciano. We'll win the war together then we'll be happy..." But even in his insanity he knew the war was over, good as lost. So with that, he raised his arm, knife still in hand, and dragged the blood-darkened blade across his throat. A flood of hot fluid poured down the rest of his neck and chest and he fell to his knees beside the beautiful Italian he still loved and whom still loved him, even in death. The German threaded his fingers into those silky locks, pulled that face close, kissed his forehead and died a happy, insane man.

Translations:

Caro Signore, prega risplendere la tua misericordia alla Germania, se devo morire con le sue mani per favore non voltarmi le spalle, l'amore di lui come io lo amerò per sempre(Italian): In English this roughly means Dear Lord, please shine your love upon Germany, if I die with his own hands, please do not turn your back, love him like I love him forever.

I don't know what made me write this but something told me that Germany had to kill Italy, out of love and insanity mind you.

What do you think? :3