I'm back again ["everybody" by the backstreet boys plays in the back] with a short story about Italy teaching Germany to dance (because Germany doesn't know anything besides a half-assed polka /ovo). This is so so so cute to think about and how flushed Germany gets because he doesn't like being taught (but it's by Italy so he's having a mental breakdown over which is more embarrassing). There is no sex - only the hint of it to come, so it is SFW. Hope you enjoy!
The song is "Stornello Del Marinaio" by Luciano Tajoli. Thank you avelyns for showing me this wonderful song!
/
Italy sighed and rested his cheek against the cool granite of the kitchen's peninsula, the blades of a fan turning tiredly around and around in the reflection of the countertop. Even the fans seemed to be running out of energy in the almost intolerable heat of an Italian summer, the forecast of the season being over a hundred degrees until the end of time. And, just at the height of the summer, Italy's air conditioner went out. How did he end up with such luck? But as always, Germany came to the rescue. And after a call that ended with Germany rubbing a hand over his face and Italy crying out in joy, Germany was in the back fixing the broken AC. What was taking so long, though?
"It's so fucking hot." Italy muttered against the granite and he felt his cheek slid a little bit against the rock. "Tch, gross." He spit, lifting his face from the counter with a wet sound and he grimaced a little. He stood and rubbed his eyes, walking to the back of the house when he heard a rough "verdammt!" and a hard kick to the AC. He already had a headache from the heat and when he got even closer to the back it became worse as he heard Germany cursing profusely at the still-broken AC. "Is it still not working?"
"What the hell did you do to this thing?" Germany rubbed his eyes and kicked the AC and, to their surprise, it sputtered to life and Italy cried out.
"Fucking finally! Jesus, it's too hot for this." He passed his own hands over his face and huffed. "Come inside, Germany." Italy pulled Germany up from the gravel and pulled him through his sliding back doors. Once inside they heard the air conditioner whirr and the vents finally opened up, the temperature dropping a few degrees and they both sighed. "Thank you, Germany." Germany smiled and bowed his head slightly, turning towards the front door to leave. Italy grabbed his hand.
"Italy?"
"W-Wait, Germany. Would you stay a little bit longer?"
Germany smiled again and nodded, and Italy let go of his hand.
"Meet me on the terrace. I'll bring some cocktails in a minute." Italy hurried back into the kitchen and Germany walked though the house to the terrace, looking back to see Italy pouring sparkling wine and water into cocktail glasses. Italy was rushing to Germany when Germany held up a finger.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" He raised an eyebrow and Italy slammed the glasses back on the counter, grabbing a bottle of Campari out of the cabinet and he finished off the cocktails.
"I know how much you hate wine. I can't believe I forgot to put the liquor in to make you forget about the taste." Italy smirked and laughed along with Germany, the two sitting down under the shade of an umbrella and sighing at the relief the Spritz's gave them. "I almost forgot." Italy went back in and came out with a record player (Germany almost laughed out loud), grabbed a random vinyl and put the arm to the disk.
"You're such an old man." Germany scoffed and Italy whipped around, something terrible gleaming in his eyes.
"Oh? You're not much younger, you know." He hissed and Germany laughed, encouraging Italy to sit back down. Italy never got to his seat because he suddenly cried out, grabbing Germany by the hand and tugging on him.
"Germany, this is such a good song! Dance with me!" And Germany stumbled, suddenly looking frightened as he looked away from their intertwined hands with a blush spreading across his cheeks.
"I-I don't think this is such a good idea-" But Italy pulled him in anyway (Germany could never go against Italy's wishes), and linked their fingers together, bringing Germany's right arm to his waist.
"Why not? Can you not dance?" And Germany looked away and Italy laughed, bringing back Germany's attention to him with his hand to his cheek. "Germany, it's alright. I'll teach you." He murmured, guiding Germany's steps to the singers flowing voice.
All'alba se ne parte il marinaro
coi sogni in cuore
e il sole silla propa
Germany stumbled slightly and blushed up to his ears, Italy using his free hand to pull back his attention.
"One, two, three, two, two, three…" Italy murmured and Germany's feet began to move in time, a radiant smile smoothing across Italy's features. "You got it now, Germania, molto buono!"
Appena sall'lontana dal suo faro
più non ricorda
chi per lui dolora.
Ma perchè marinar
cerchir un cuore che altove non c'è
se lontano lasciati il tuo amore
che pianga, che muore
soltando per te
Italy pressed himself as close as he could to Germany, free hand curled around the base of his skull and his smile closer to Germany's. So very close they were and Germany didn't have time to even blush, let alone think about how close they were as they twirled and moved in time, as they moved as one; could they become one? What a terrible thought to think of in this moment, but it made sense. They were so intimate, so close he could feel Italy's breath on his neck and the tendons in his arms as they held him in place. He could feel Italy counting still, could feel the muscles in his legs (was he always this muscular?) as they danced, and Germany found himself wishing this moment could never end.
Ma perchè marinar
già da un anno tu manchi perchè
è passato l'inverno
e lei spera
verra primavera ma senza di te
marinar torna quì
si puo amare una sola volta così.
His thought process had made him miss most of the song, but as he twirled, he heard Italy singing into a strong cord of his neck.
"Marinar torna quì… si puo amare una sola volta così." He murmured, and Germany hated how his voice made his heart soar. Did he really hate it, though? No, he wished he could always hear Italy sing; his voice was so sweet and pure. And Germany felt his heart race at the fact that Italy was singing in front of him, cognizant that he was or not.
"Ah, torna marinar, torna quì marinar." He was in harmony with the singer, his voice rising and falling in key and when the song ended, Italy wrapped his arms to Germany's neck, a tremor running down his spine when Germany reciprocated with wrapping his arms around his torso.
"Italien." Germany finally said, the words sounding foreign in his mouth. Did he really say it like that?
Italy let out a unsteady sigh against him and pulled away from the skin of his neck, looking up at Germany and smiling that smile that never failed to make Germany weak in the knees.
"That was wonderful, Germany, meraviglioso, così bene, Germania…" He murmured. He sounded distracted and was repeating words in his language, and Germany caught his cheek with a hand he had removed from his waist and kissed him lightly on the corner of his mouth. Italy was dazed by the token of affection, running his fingertips across Germany's collarbone as he started to speak.
"How do you say "kiss me" in German?" Italy murmured, distracted. Germany looked alarmed and Italy looked at him with those big doe eyes; Germany looked down at his feet.
"K-Küss mich." He muttered and Italy fluttered his touch over Germany's cheekbones.
"Küss mich." And Germany did, his arm sliding back around Italy's slim waist as he barely touched their lips together, letting out a surprised breath as Italy wrapped his fingers around the scuff of his neck and pulled him in. His lips were soft and smooth, and he felt cliche saying it, but it was true. They were so different from his own, as were the hands that were tangled in his hair; it was a touch that he couldn't have imagine even in his dreams. He was so sweet and he molded himself to Germany, sighing into his lips and forgetting the humid weather around them, just for a moment.
And just like that, it ended, but they felt winded; how much time had past? But suddenly the air became thick and Germany couldn't breathe, and he shot his arm towards the table and grabbed his drink. Italy did the same and they were both gulping their cocktails at an impressive rate, finishing them at the same time and slamming down their drinks simultaneously. They looked toward each other and laughed, Germany looking towards the kitchen.
"Should we make more?" Italy raised his eyebrows and Germany laughed, and before he could say anything Italy grabbed his hand and pulled him the other direction. "Let's go play in the fountain first, because I'm a fucking child and it's hot as balls outside." And Germany willingly agreed, following Italy to the fountain not far off the terrace and using his hands as a shield as Italy jumped in.
"Italy, Jesus, won't the neighbors care that we're making such a racket?" And he blushed as a sly look spread across Italy's face.
"First of all, I'm the Repubblica Italiana and I can do whatever I want, this racket won't compare to the noise we'll be making tonight." Germany gasped as Italy pulled him into the fountain, laughing as he reached up and kissed Germany sweetly.
"So - are you staying until morning?"
Germany chuckled and put his hand on the small of Italy's back, nuzzling his nose into his olive cheek.
"Would you like me to?"
"Well, ideally, I'd want you to stay forever."
/
Okay so that was really long I'm so sorry ha ahahaha
bUT I'M NOT SORRY BC THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE I HOPE MY FIC WAS OKAY
also I took the whole "how do you say "kiss me" in german" thing from "Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart" i kNOW I'M SORRY IT'S CUTE
alSO unpopular opinion: i like to think that italy cusses a lot but we never see him do it because he doesn't like to curse in public (✿◡‿◡)
tHANKS FOR READING ABOUT TWO GAY OLD MEN OKAY BYE