Well, then...I don't know. It was like, two thirty in the morning, couldn't sleep...this happened. Also, I would like to extend an apology to Italy...I like to write him as a bit of a train wreck...I'm sorry...I have a dark mind...Germany, please don't pound me to dust, k? I won't be mean to your Feli any more...well...I might...but still...

Also, I do not own Hetalia (*flips a table in outrage*). Buon san valentino, by the way!

Any comments you have are appreciated. Flames welcome as long as you tell me what you didn't like and not just inform me that I suck at writing. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

The bombs fell endlessly over the Italian city, each destroying more buildings, taking more lives, and with every loud blast, they etched permanent cracks into the heart of one Feliciano Vargas. He was the personification of Italy, and it was his city that was being bombed. He could hear the crying of his people, screams of fear and pain, each more heart renching than the last. Italy curled up in a ball in one dim corner of the underground bunker, his hands pressing tight against his ears, trying in vain to block out the sounds of his people dying.

Whunk! Italy jumped out of his skin as the door to the bunker was flung open, and his blonde-haired, blue-eyed commander leapt down the ladder, swinging the door shut once more with a soft whoosh. The German glanced around the room, making a small "tsk" sound in the back of his throat as he caught sight of the trembling Italian, who was wedged as far back into one of the corners as he could possibly get.

"Italy." Germany said harshly. "The bombs are outside. Ve're safe in here. Stop shaking like that, really, vhat kind of soldier are you? Und get up off zhe floor." Italy whimpered and did as he was told, taking a seat on one of the cold army cots.

"Ge-g-germanyyyyy~" He sniffled, wiping the tears from his cheeks. An action surely in vain, as more soon took their place, warm and salty, leaving streaks in the dirt that coated the Italian's face.

"You are such a helpless child, Italy!" Germany groused, pouring some water onto a hankercheif and washing the dirt off of his ally's face, using just a bit too much force.

"It's late, Italy. The bombs vill probably keep falling until morning. Go to sleep." Germany didn't even wait for the smaller nation to respond, he just flicked off the small, battery-operated lantern and lay down on his cot. He heard Italy shift around on the other side of the bunker, settling in himself.

"Gute nacht, Italien(Good night, Italy.)." Germany muttered, shocked when he didn't receive a reply. But then, his companion was an Italian, he was most likely asleep already. So Germany let himself drift off as well, into a light and fitful slumber. The sounds of the bombs faded away from the German's ears for a while, but a couple of hours later the explosions grew much closer, and louder as well, successfully rousing Germany from sleep. He blinked furiously in the dark, trying to adjust his eyes so he could see. A bomb went off just above the shelter, the walls shaking with the force, dirt and other small bits of debris showering down from the ceiling.

"Verdammt (Damn)!" Germany cursed, sitting up and blinking about the room, his eyesight still not the best. "Italy, you avake?" Another explosion from above sent more debris raining over the German. He muttered more curses and a few vile death threats under his breath, as he searched the room for the Italian. He wasn't in his cot. And he wasn't at the small table either. He couldn't be outside. As his eyes perused the far corner again, he finally noticed the quivering mass that seemed to be attempting to disappear into the wall. Italy.

"Ach komm schon! (Oh, come on!) Italy!" Germany bellowed, making his ally jump and quiver even further into the wall. "Vhy are you doing zis? I told you! You're safe in here! Und I zought I told you to stay off zhe floor!" Italy shook more vehemently with every word the German shouted at him. "Vhat zhe hell kind of soldier fears zhe sound of bombs, vhen he is safe inside a bunker. How can you stand to be such a terrible soldier und vhy must you be so afraid of everyzing?"

"I-i-i-it's not the sound, G-g-germanyyyy..." Italy whined. "M-m-my people are dying! I c-can hear them! I can hear the sounds of them dying, Germany! I can't make it stop! They're hurting, my people are hurting and dying and I can't do anything to help them!"

"Italien..."

"And here I am, safe in a bunker, while children are wandering the streets being blown apart by bombs aimed at me! It's not fair! It's not fair to them, Germany! I should go out there with them! Vorrei morire anch'io (I should die too!)!" The Italian broke off into hysterical sobs, and his companion stared at him in silence, stunned not only by the Italian's outburst, but by his own. How could he yell at such a fragile nation, when he was already in tears and about to fall apart? What kind of ally-what kind of friend- was he? Sure he was tired and under a lot of stress at the moment, trying to protect Italy and all, but it wasn't his country that was under siege. It wasn't his people who were dying. He should have been more kind.

"Kommen hier, Italien. (Come here Italy.)" The German ordered. Italy whipped his head back and forth, shrinking, somehow, closer still to the wall.

"Kommen hier." The German repeated, more firmly, and held out an arm to his ally. This time Italy complied, shuffling over to where Germany's hand was gesturing. As soon as he was within reach, the taller man latched onto Italy's arm and pulled him close.

"Sagen sie nicht, solche dinge. (Do not say such things.)" Germany murmured into the shaking man's russet brown hair. "Do not say you should die. Y-your people would not want you to die. Your people vill live on in you, and so you must live. You must live und rebuild und avenge their lives. If you die, a nation will be lost. Zhat cannot happen. Your people would fade to nozing. We can't have zhat, can ve?" The Italian let out a shuddering sigh, and burrowed close to his friend.

"Grazie, Germany." He sighed.

"You're velcome."

The two nations stayed that way for a long time. Germany tried hard to comfort Italy, though he had no idea if he was doing it right. He kept his arms around the small man's waist, one hand awkwardly rubbing circles on his back. Italy stopped shaking soon enough, but remained in Germany's embrace, his face buried in the crook of his neck. The warm breath tickled the nape of Germany's neck, causing the taller man's face to flush.

"Italien..." Germany broke the silence. "Es tut mir leid (I'm sorry). I should not have yelled at you. I vas tired and under stress, but zhat's no excuse. I should have known vhat you were dealing with. Zhat you were suffering. I shouldn't have yelled. I should have...well, I should have done this. Comforted you. Helped you. Es tut mir leid."

"E `benne, ti perdono (It's alright, I forgive you)." Italy peered up at his friend through his bangs, offering him a smile. "Ti amo. Ti amo sopra ogni cosa (I love you. I love you above all else.)."

"Ah, eh, I-I" The German began to stutter uncomfotably at his companions words. He loved the Italian as well, but he couldn't seem to say it. He continued stammering until a single finger was held up to his lips.

"You don't have to say it. Lo so chi mi ami (I know you love me)." Italy took the opportunity to grace his companion's lips with his own. The kiss was feather soft, and oh so tender. The Italian poured so much love and devotion into the simple touch that the heat of it threatened to swallow the German whole. When Italy would have pulled away, Germany moved one hand to tangle itself in the boy's hair, pulling him back and deeping the kiss. Taking control. He pried the other's mouth open gently, and brought the tounges into a heated battle. It was the only battle Italy had ever won, and soon Germany found out why Grandpa Rome had insisted that all lovers in heaven were Italian. Italy's mouth was soft and hot, his lips searing his commander's. His hands had found their way into blonde hair, which had already been partly mussed from sleeping, and he had wound his fingers into the locks, tugging gently. The Italian's tongue tickled the roof of the German's mouth, and Germany let out let out a strangled growl at how good it all felt. Then they broke apart, gasping for air, noses touching.

"Feliciano." Italy shuddered at the use of his real name. His commander insisted on calling him by his country name, and became upset when Italy tried to use Germany's real name.

"Feliciano." Germany repeated. Italy loved the way his name sounded on his ally's lips, the sound sending warm, electric tingles up and down his back.

"Si..." He answered.

"Ich liebe dich auch (I love you too)." The German finally whispered the word's he'd always wanted to say.

"Zitto e baciami, amore.(Shut up and kiss me, love.)" Italy grinned victoriously at the German's confession, and tugged at the blonde hair between his fingers. Germany, more than happy to comply with Italy's demands, brought their lips together again. Italy shifted himself so that he was straddling Germany's hips, keeping their lips locked together. He busied his hands with tugging at the buttons on the other's green uniform top, removing it in seconds and setting it aside. Germany broke the kiss for a split second, tossing his tank top on top of his outer shirt, then connecting their lips once more. Italy ran his hands over his partner's firm abs, enjoying the way the other's muscle's twitched and tensed under his curious touch.

He broke his lips away from Germany's, lowering his head to kiss his ally's neck. Surrender had never sounded so good to the German, and he let his head fall back, giving the Italian more access. Germany moaned as Italy's mouth reached a rather sensitive patch of skin, and the Italian showered attention on that area, kissing it, licking, sucking a bit, and even giving a couple of nips. Germany's body had begun to tremble with the pleasure. Italy's lips moved lower, kissing down the faded scars that were scattered over his lover's chest, and he began to grind his hips against Germany's. Germany's mind turned into a puddle of need and desire, and he soon found himself light headed and unable to think clearly. As the smaller nation laved his tounge over Germany's bellybutton, Germany finally snapped under his partner's teasing. He flipped them over onto the cot, placing himself between Italy's legs and pressing their lips together desperatly.

Frantically, Germany worked at the buttons of his smaller ally's shirt, finally removing it. The tank top Italy was wearing under his uniform soon found itself chucked accross the bunker in irritation, landing in a crumpled forgotton heap. Now it was the German's turn to have some fun. He ran his tounge up the length of his lover neck, peppered kisses down his chest, and nipped at his tummy. Somehow he managed to undo the button and zipper of Italy's pants using only his teeth, and soon Italy's pants and underwear joined the tanktop in the growing clothes pile. Germany's lips resumed their assault on the Italian's neck and chest, whilst his hand began to explore a much lower territory.

"Lu-ludwig!" Italy bucked into Germany's hands, crying out the man's real name. Germany smiled at his lover, his heart melting as the Italian called his name.

Italy found it unfair that he was the only one who was naked. Boldly, the man reached down and undid the zipper and button on his lover's uniform pants, making sure to ghost his hand over the German's arousal in the process. The German grunted in pleasure and ground downward. Italy, however, felt like teasing, so he removed his hands from the area altogether, deciding to run them up and down the broad back and shoulders above him instead. Germany growled in disappointment, and pressed his lower half against Italy's. Italy, in turn, bucked wildly against Germany.

Becoming impatient, Italy tossed Germany's pants and boxers to the side, this time reaching out to stroke the other man's member. A shudder ran through Germany's entire body as the Italian played with him. The skin on the boy's hands was so soft, and his touch was almost expert, and so gentle. Unable to wait any longer, Germany began to prepare Italy for what would happen next. He regretted not having lube of any sort-of course it was a BOMB SHELTER, so that wasn't much a surprise- and decided he would have to be extremely careful with his little lover. He pushed one finger in slowly, and the Italian arched his back a bit and moaned. The German smirked and pumped that finger in and out of his lover a few times before adding a second one. The Italian flinched ever so slightly, but gave no other signs of discomfort. A few moments later Germany pushed in a third finger, and his lover whimpered just a bit. Germany wiggled his fingers and one of them struck a bundle of nerves within the Italian. Pain turned instantly into pleasure, and he bucked hard into the German's finger. They continued like this for a while, until Germany was positive the Italian was stretched adequately.

Italy whined as the fingers were removed, but his lover ignored him. Slowly, the German began to lower himself into his little Italian. Italy shuddered and clung to the stronger man's shoulder's, trying hard not to cry.

"D-dio!" Italy cried out as Germany was fully sheathed inside of him. Tears sprung to his eyes at the pain of his body being stretched beyond belief. His lover leaned forward to kiss the tears from his face, whispering apologies. Finally the pain receded enough for Italy to signal his partner to move. After only one thrust, Italy felt fit to burst. His new lover had found that spot again on the first try, and nothing had ever felt better. He wound his legs around the German's waist and rocked his hips upwards in time with Germany's thrusts.

"L-l-ludwig! A-ahaaa~" Italy lost himself in the rhythm of love making, clinging to Germany senselessly, the larger nation's name becoming a mantra on his lips. His lover reached up to tug on his curl, knowing full well what it did. Italy's cries became louder and sexier, his movements against the German becoming more and more frantic. Italy came first, digging his nails into his lover's shoulders and screaming his name.

"Feli-ciano." Germany gasped with his own released. Shuddering with pleasure, he rolled them over onto their sides, pulling out of his lover. Italy smiled. The cries of his people had faded, his sorrows and laments were lost in the wake of their love making. Cuddled into the warm strength of Germany's chest, he finally found himself able to sleep. Germany smiled softly as his little Italian's breathing deepened and he fell asleep. Pulling the thin blanket over the two of them, he decided sleep wasn't such a bad idea.

"Schlaf gut, meine liebe.(Sleep well, my love.)" He whispered. His arms curled tighter around the Italian and his nose buried in auburn hair, Ludwig his lover into the realm of sleep.

Fin.