Veneziano loves this side of Germany.
Other people don't get to see this side, except Prussia and very occasionally Sweden and America. They don't know, when they see Germany being snappish at America or working himself ragged with France, that Germany bakes the absolute best chocolate cake or knows how to make just about any dog anywhere sit by talking or snorts when he laughs. They don't know that he can't drink black coffee or that he kicks in his sleep (which is a little irritating sometimes), but Veneziano does, and he enjoys this. These small double victories, where he knows Germany more and is part of some kind of secret.
Veneziano knows these things, and lots of others, and even more than Prussia because Veneziano knows that it's absolutely lovely to be like this with Germany, where his legs are on either side of Germany's torso and one hand is curled in his shirt and the other in his light blond hair. And, and this is something nobody but the two of them know, Germany likes it too.
Veneziano found this out all the way back in the Second World War, and he was amazed that Germany would allow himself to be pinned like this, and then after the war he was amazed that Germany felt all right being pinned, that he didn't flinch at contact like he did with the others. And Veneziano was amazed then, and still is now, that he warrants this kind of trust from Germany, that strong, steady Germany would allow someone as- as flighty as Veneziano this close, and it's his personal secret how incrediblygrateful he is for that. Although he's planning on telling Germany that soon.
But not now, because right now his mouth is quite occupied and so is Germany's, lips locked and tongues curling together, and Germany tastes like sweet coffee and the orange he'd been eating when Veneziano flopped down next to him on the couch. They're not on the couch anymore, mostly because they both fell off when Veneziano climbed on top of Germany (it was unfair of Germany to laugh so when that happened, it's not as if he hadn't fallen off the bed multiple times and it's hard to do anything on that couch anyway, it's so squishy) but that is neither here nor there. What is here is Germany and Veneziano on the carpet, and Germany's hands rubbing aimlessly at Veneziano's back, and Veneziano's toes curled somewhere by Germany's lower calves.
Pulling away just a little, still close enough that he can feel Germany's breath against his lips, Veneziano looks at him and there's another reason he loves doing this. Germany's eyes are half-lidded and bright, and his thin lips are curling up at the corners and there's a pink blush across his high cheekbones, and Veneziano knows without looking that Germany's hair is coming ungelled at the back from the carpet and if he sat up it'd stick out at angles. And that thought makes him beam and lean back down and kiss Germany again, bracing his hands on Germany's broad shoulders.
Veneziano remembers the first times they kissed, way back seventy years ago, all fear and urgency and clacking teeth and the taste of soot and over too soon (and the time before then, quick and gentle and regretful) and there's another reason he loves this, they've got as much time as they want now. Also they're both way better at kissing now, so the tooth-bonking doesn't happen so much anymore. For instance, they're not doing it now, right now it's all soft sighs and soft lips and Germany nipping at Veneziano's bottom lip. He knows, without needing to open his eyes, the fan of Germany's light eyelashes over his pale cheek, and it's this and a thousand other reasons that make him press closer to the only other person who's seen all of him and who he's seen all of, and Veneziano smiles.