Hello! It's been years since I've written a fanfiction, and this idea kind of just muddled it's way into my brain recently for some reason. I just... wanted to write it.
Warnings: Lots of World War 2 references, and a slightly mean Germany.
Disclaimer: Don't own Germany. Don't own Italy. Don't own Hetalia.
There was an unspeakable devotion about the way those honey brown orbs looked up at him when they were open. It was as if he could see past his soul, into the depths of what could have possibly been his virtual heaven. They were so innocent for someone who should have been so wise. It was as if they had never been scathed by hell or atrocities at all, when Ludwig knew that they had.
He had put him in hell by his own hand, and committed sins unspeakable to God with someone so angelic. Italy was a holy nation. Feliciano was a holy man. But there was no god to protect him in the hands of the Devil. And Ludwig knew, that for all he was worth – right now, he was the Devil.
He couldn't help but gaze down at the Italian, curled up in a tight ball, naked, save for the white sheet that wrapped around him. It was flecked with bits of red – the Italian's blood – from where Ludwig had taken his relieving in stress, and Feliciano had gladly been there to provide. He looked so at peace, a peace that Ludwig – no, all of Germany – had not felt for months now. It was unfair, the way Feliciano seemed to absorb even the darkest of situations with a smile, but he supposed after as long as he had lived and how badly he had been treated – it was the only way to go.
Ludwig himself looked not well, not well at all. Those bright blue eyes were haunted by what his country was doing, and those strong cheeks had shrunken in with the food he had been refusing. Feliciano always pushed him with pasta (which was better than he would ever admit), and always tried to bribe him in the most ridiculous of ways.
How he could be happy was unfathomable to him.
Slowly, he reached out, fingers dipping along the side of the Italian's face to brush light hair away from a handsome cheekbone, only pausing slightly when the body stirred. He couldn't help but frown a little, watching as Feliciano's face immediately distorted in distress. No, that wasn't right. Ludwig never wanted Feliciano to look like that, so he drew his hand away.
And yet the gesture seemed to only distress the young Italian further, until he stirred so much that his eyes drifted open, sleepy in the early dawn.
Rolling onto his bruised back, which he did with a pained whine, Feliciano slowly opened his eyes further, giving them little rubs before he fixed them on Ludwig. Blinking rapidly, a smile automatically ghosted across his lips – unguarded, soft, tender, and it yanked hard at the German's heart strings.
"Good morning, Ludwig." He said cheerfully, his voice still raspy with sleep. "Won't you come back to bed?" One of those soft, supple hands reached out, closing gently around Ludwig's arm and tugging him gently, bidding him to lay down again.
The German hesitated a moment, mind still torn between itself, before he gave a solemn nod. Bulky body stretching out again, he could only watch as Feliciano snuggled back into his chest, legs tangling with his own and a permanent smile attached to his face. Again, it tugged at his heart strings.
"Ah, ve- Ludwig, I didn't hear the air raid sirens go off last night; that is good, yes?" Feliciano muttered out, unwilling to break the morning stillness as his fingers traced lazy patterns over the other's side.
Giving a shiver at trailing fingers, Ludwig rumbled out a noise of agreement. "Yes, Feliciano. Very good."
Good for their safety. Good for their people.
Not good for the prisoners. Not good for the other countries.
Ludwig couldn't help but feel slightly mad, a little crazy – just a little, for obeying this man – this man that was destroying so many innocent lives. Ludwig couldn't fathom it, couldn't, and yet it was what his people wanted. What his country wanted. They wanted this leader, they were poisoned, and he was powerless to stop it.
Ludwig was powerless with many things. So powerless it made him angry.
So angry, so frustrated, that it had built up – built up more and more and more and more until one day he had snapped. He had torn his kitchen to shreds. Every plate broken, every knife on the floor, every cup on the table – he had destroyed it. Yet when Feliciano came there to see him curled up in his own misery, he didn't seem too concerned.
In fact he just smiled, dragged Ludwig to bed, and had cleaned his kitchen for him. He'd made him a delicious dinner of pasta (of course), and fed him bite by bite. He didn't seem to care that Ludwig would only make hollow comments to his prying suggests, and furthermore he didn't seemed to mind at all when Ludwig had shoved him onto the mattress, voice thick and hands rough on his wrists.
Feliciano didn't seem to mind when Ludwig had taken him, rough and quick to relieve tension, when in reality Feliciano had always dreamed of that moment being so much more special. But Feliciano was more than happy to help. He could always tell when Ludwig was at his worst too, and just offered his hand and a warm body to bend and break and sin with until Feliciano couldn't move in the mornings. Feliciano never complained though, not once.
He just looked at Ludwig with a smile, and occasionally gave him a kiss.
Sometimes Ludwig felt sick and sadistic for soiling such pretty flesh and such a sincere smile. Feliciano was not meant to be hit. He was not meant to bleed or whimper in pain. Yet he let it happen because he was so undyingly devoted to Ludwig that it would be the ultimate travesty for him to say no.
And Ludwig continued to make it happen because day after day he fell further and further into madness.
"Ve- Ludwig? Are you alright? You look so stressed all of a sudden…." Feliciano gave that deep, sensitive frown, and reached upwards, his thumbs dragging across Ludwig's cheeks and forehead to ease the tension from his face.
Ludwig looked at him with hard, icy eyes, drinking in what was so easily dominated.
Germany dominated everything. His nation was a force to be reckoned with. Ludwig was a force to be reckoned with. It made him power thirsty, it made him a little more mad.
Feliciano knew that look by heart. Inwardly, he could only sigh, sore body recoiling at the thought of anymore harsh treatment, but outwardly he just gave Ludwig a smile.
"I'll be fine in a bit, Italian Hure." Ludwig murmured in response, voice low and dangerous as he pushed Feliciano onto his back.
Feliciano didn't even flinch at the insult, and he didn't even struggle. It was days like this, he numbed himself to pain for a dear friend. A dear love.
The day Italy joined the Allies was the day Germany truly lost it.
Shreds of humanity were no longer existent within him, and when he attacked the Italian front, he attacked it with full force.
He never met Feliciano or Lovino on the battlefield, at least not yet. No, Lovino was probably crying in the arms of that bastard Spain and Feliciano was never cut out for the art of war. Yet he was the NORTHERN half of Italy. He was supposed to be loyal to Nazi Germany, loyal to the Fascist's. But those bloody Allies had poisoned his brain, filled it with their intentions.
Ludwig knew Feliciano didn't want to clash with his brother, who was housing the resistance, and yet his nation was at war anyway. It was as if Ludwig had Italy all to himself and the countries avatar was nowhere to be found.
The Italian battle fields were turned into bloody gorges. Not much was fought in the trenches. Oh no, it was mainly air. The American air force was a force to be reckoned with, neck and neck with the German's, and together they demolished the Italian landscape with dropped bombs and sprays of massive bullets.
Ludwig knew Feliciano would weep for his war torn country.
Ludwig felt he deserved it.
The day Germany surrendered was the day Ludwig gained his humanity again.
It took him buried under piles of rubble, digging himself out, bloody and bruised, looking around his decimated Berlin – to realize it was all over. It took a Nazi flag shriveling away in flames, for him to realize the people that had suffered most would be free.
And it took him a walk down body laden streets to realize he was all alone.
The sunlight streaming through the windows was absolutely agonizing, and it did nothing to spur away Feliciano's slight morning agitation. He must have forgotten to shut the curtains last night.
Or he must have been too preoccupied to shut the curtains last night.
At that thought, his eyes instantly snapped open, and he couldn't help but smile slightly. It was rare he woke up this early. It was even rarer still that he was awake before Ludwig.
There was no activity Feliciano enjoyed more than watching Ludwig sleep.
His handsome face was drawn into a peaceful look, and his chest rose and fell with the steadiness of his breath. His normally slicked hair hung loose around his face, baby soft blond wisps glittering in the morning light. His body was curled to Feliciano's, an arm thrown over his waist and quiet hums of his breathing falling across the Italian's ear.
It was Feliciano's favorite position for sleeping, because he could make sure Ludwig was breathing, silly as it sounded.
Feliciano couldn't help himself. He couldn't keep his gaze from trickling down the other's bare chest, mapping scar after scar, after scar with his fingers. He could name every battle, every war fought. He could name the fall of the Berlin wall (it was the same spot on his body as it was on Prussia's).
More specifically, he could name World War 2.
A huge jagged cross, like an X, over Ludwig's heart. It was ugly and it was obscene, just as the war had been – yet for some reason it was Feliciano's favorite scar of Ludwig's. Because even though he had ventured down a horrible path, and done horrible things to him and his country, it had turned him into such a gentle and soulful man. And in a way, it had brought them together, and it had torn him around.
Running his fingers across the jagged area, Feliciano couldn't help but lean over and press petal-soft lips to the area, pausing over the rough flesh to feel the steady thrum of Ludwig's heart against his lips.
A pure heart unaffected by the spoils and loses of war.
While Feliciano kept his lips pressed over the ugly area, Ludwig's eyes had slid open, silently watching the smaller man with a faint hint of amusement and adoration. When he finally deemed the moment right, he slid his hands down Feliciano's back and teasingly over his bottom.
Feliciano instantly jerked upwards in surprise, an instant smile spreading over his lips.
"Ve- Ludwig? Are you alright? You look so wistful all of a sudden…." He blinked a bit, owlish eyes staring at him.
And that tall, war-torn country avatar couldn't help but smile tenderly as he leaned over to cup his lover's cheek. "Ich bin Erstaunlich, schöne italienische."
History was history.
Feliciano and Ludwig were now.
Italian Hure - Italian Whore
Ich bin Erstaunlich, schöne italienische - I am amazing, beautiful Italian.
Yeaaah. Like I said I wrote this at 3 AM. It just kind of came to me. No particular plot, I just thought it would be an interesting twist on Germany.
I'm sorry if I butchered the German! Not one of my three languages.
Reviews are appreciated!