KissMeDeadlyT-T: GerIta fluff yaaayyyy~!

Rated for a kiss and some language and drunk, passed-out Prussia. And also a hint of Prussia being incestuous towards Germany. And implied FrUk and PruCan. Oh and Romano being Romano. I think that's all...

Don't own the characters

Sorry for any typos/errors, it's late and I'm tired.

xxXXxxXXxx

Germany didn't know what to do. For what was perhaps the first time in history, he didn't care about the world conference and how much everyone was screaming and causing a general ruckus. He wasn't yelling at America and Britain to stop arguing like insufferable dummkopfs or shouting at them to discuss the actual political reason they were here or furiously trying to keep order. He didn't care that Switzerland was threatening to shoot France for accidentally running into Liechtenstein as he fled from Britain nor did he notice Poland running around in a miniskirt and singing that tedious "Lollipop" song at the top of his lungs. The fact that Russia was trying to wrap China up in his scarf like a piggy in a blanket or that Spain was hopping around and offering everyone churros didn't even faze him. They really should be talking about the recent fall in the economy in Western and Central Europe, but Germany couldn't find it in himself to care.

Instead, his ice blue eyes were focused on his little Italian friend, who sat a dozen or so seats away from him, in between Romano and Greece. Romano was screaming at Spain to stop being ridiculous and sit his ass down and Greece was drooling all over the table as he somehow slept through all of the commotion, but Italy didn't even seem to notice. His amber eyes were open and downcast, and he wasn't smiling like usual. He seemed somehow lost, and looked like he was about to either break down in tears or faint. He hadn't said a word all morning, and at first, Germany hadn't really given it any thought, but now, he was beginning to get very worried.

This wasn't like Italy at all. What had happened to the little ball of sunshine that could brighten Germany's mood no matter what kind of day he was having? Sure, the Italian could be very annoying and migraine-inducing, but he always managed to make Germany smile. Except today. Something was wrong, and it was killing Germany because he didn't know what.

Anxiety gnawed in his gut. Had he done something? He wracked his mind, but couldn't think of one single thing. He hadn't even gotten mad at Italy recently. He thought back. Last night, they'd gone to bed in their shared hotel room, and Italy had been as cheery and loud as ever, happily declaring, "Buonanotte, Germany, I love you! Sweet dreams~" before kissing Germany sweetly on the cheek and curling up to his side and falling asleep. Germany remembered he had been vaguely irritated that Italy couldn't sleep in his own damn bed, but really, it hadn't bothered him that much, and he'd made no complaints. If he remembered right, he even let Italy wrap an arm around his waist and snore softly into his neck. He flushed delicately at the memory and hoped that the other countries thought it was because the room was warm, or something.

When he had awoken that morning, Italy was leaning over him, already awake, and he'd had this strange look on his face. When he realized Germany was awake and staring at him curiously, he had turned pink and squeaked. Quickly, he'd scrambled to the side of the bed and looked away, his eyes wide and lips clamped shut.

"What's wrong?" Germany had asked, sitting up. He remembered how thick his accent had sounded and wondered why Italy had shut his eyes, shaking, and turned a darker pink.

"Nothing, Luddy," he'd said quietly, his voice strangely wobbly. Germany had put it off as maybe, Italy wasn't feeling well today.

"Are you sure? You can tell me."

Italy nodded. "Si, I'm sure."

And that had been the end of that.

Germany glanced impatiently at the clock and sighed. Ten more minutes until it was over for today. He didn't know if he could wait that long to talk to Italy. How could he? There was so obviously something wrong with him, and it was gnawing and clenching in Germany's chest.

The last ten minutes of torture seemed to go on forever, and he resisted the urge to tap his fingers on the table impatiently. His eyes kept flicking between the ticking clock and Italy. Beside him, Austria gave him a strange look, but he ignored it.

"'Kay guys, I think we're done here for today!" America's obnoxious voice had never been more welcome. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Ignore him, everyone," Britain said, rolling his eyes. "We're not starting at ten in the morning again. We'll meet at noon."

"What? Ten isn't even that early."

"It is when you barely had any sleep the night before!" Britain snapped. "Stop arguing! We are holding the meeting at noon!"

"What the hell? You're always in bed and asleep by like nine, old man. What do you mean you got no sleep?"

"You know what he means~" France called from the other side of the room, smirking and winking.

Britain flushed and turned away from America. "That's none of your business," he muttered, throwing a withering glare France's way. "Meet here at noon, everyone," he said, his tone final. "We're in my country, so I get to choose. If you have a problem, don't show up." With that, he stormed out of the room.

There was a load of snickers and a collective murmur around the room of affirmatives and wary agreements, and then everyone was standing up, trying to get out of the big, wooden double doors at the same time. The whole world literally shoved and punched at each other in their haste to get out, and Germany thought vaguely that this was likely to cause an earthquake somewhere. He stood and tried to find Italy amongst the crowd, but he couldn't spot the short redhead anywhere. Biting on his lip, he walked behind a squabbling Turkey and Greece and a wary-looking Japan, trying desperately to quell his urge to just trample through them all to find Italy.

He tapped Japan's shoulder, causing the petite man to jump. "Oh, Germany," he said quietly once he saw who it was, putting a hand to his chest. "What do you need?"

"I was just wondering... do you know what is wrong with Italy?"

Japan looked back, frowning at Greece and Turkey, who were now having some sort of fist-fight/ make-out session in the midst of the thinning crowd. Germany tried to understand the relationship between these three. He failed.

Japan's voice caught his attention. "No, but I did notice he looked upset. I was too busy making sure these two didn't kill each other during the meeting to ask him what was wrong." His dark brown eyes looked down. "I am sorry, Germany."

"Nein, don't be." Germany sighed. "It's fine. I'll just talk to him."

"Let me know if he is alright, okay?"

Germany nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you." Japan smiled and bowed slightly before sighing and hurrying over to Greece and Turkey, trying to break them up without getting hit and/ or kissed in the process. Germany watched them bemusedly for a moment, then sighed and kept walking with the crowd.

Once everyone was out of the meeting room and into the lobby of the huge, stone hotel in Winchester, where they'd decided to have to conference, he managed to locate Italy; near the spinning glass doors, standing with Romano and Spain, who were arguing as usual. He started to walk that way, but someone caught his arm. Normally, he would just tear out of the grip and keep walking, but this was the one person who was actually stronger than him.

"West! Jeez, what's the big rush?"

Germany looked back, struggling to keep on his usual stoic face. "Prussia? Look, I'll tell you about the meeting later. Can you let me go?"

The older brother cocked a silver eyebrow, ruby eyes un-amused. "I don't give two shits about the meeting, to be honest. You promised you'd come drinking with me after it, though. Remember?"

Germany bit down a groan. He'd forgotten about that. "It's four in the afternoon. Who goes drinking at four in the afternoon?"

Prussia grinned. "We do. Now come on." He started to forcefully drag the blond towards the side doors.

"Prussia, stop!" Germany struggled, and finally managed to yank his arm out of Prussia's grasp. "Can I get a raincheck?" he asked, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Italy was leaving.

Prussia's red gaze followed his. He made a face. "Tch. Oh, seriously? You want to ditch the awesome me for your little boy-toy? Not happening, West."

"He's not my—Will you let go of me?" Germany angrily ripped his arm out of Prussia's hold. The albino rolled his eyes.

"You're acting even more un-awesome than usual today. Seriously, loosen up and take the stick out of—Hey!" Prussia snapped suddenly, noticing when Germany started not-so-stealthily backing up. He pounced on his younger brother's back, locking his ankles together at Germany's waist and nearly choking the blond with his grip around his neck. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, chomping on Germany's head.

"I need to talk—"

"Come ooooon, me and beer, two of the most awesome things in the world, or Italy?" Prussia shouted exasperatedly. People were staring now. England looked particularly annoyed, and it seemed the only reason he wasn't throwing the nearby vase at Prussia's head was because France was restraining him. Switzerland's hand was hovering threateningly over his gun, Sweden had a dark look in his eyes, Finland looked worried and Denmark looked ready to burst out laughing. Germany groaned. Why was his brother such a freak?

"Come drinking, come drinking, come driiiinkiiiiiing~!" Prussia was chanting. "West, West West Westiiiiie—"

"Prussia, I need to talk to Italy!" Germany snapped, trying unsuccessfully to throw Prussia off his back. "Stop biting my head, you freak!"

Prussia seemed unaffected by the insult and started nibbling on Germany's ear. "You can talk to him after."

"Get off, you creepy incestuous piece of—"

"I am not creepy."

"So you're just an incestuous piece of shit?"

Prussia ignored this. "Come on, bruder. You could use a drink. You're so stiff." He poked at Germany's tense shoulders, smirking. "Yupp, knew it."

"But—" Germany looked back, and instantly regretted it. Prussia was giving him the puppy-dog look, red eyes wide and watery and bottom lip wobbling. If it was anyone else, Germany would have most likely either punched them and left or rolled his eyes and ignored them. But this was Prussia. He had the look down so perfectly that Germany wondered if he spent all of his free time practicing it in front of the mirror. It was so cute and pitiful that it kicked Germany's steel resolve out the window every time. He sighed and glanced back to where he'd seen Italy and Romano and Spain. They were gone.

He turned back to Prussia with a glare. "Fine," he growled. "Get off of me and we'll go."

Prussia jumped off of him and gave a loud "Whoop!" as he did ridiculous little dance thing. Germany rolled his eyes.

Maybe a few beers would help him forget about the hollow feeling in his stomach, at least for a bit.

xxXXxxXXxx

By the time Germany and Prussia left the pub, Germany's mood was even fouler than it had been before. He'd had a couple of beers and was tipsy, but that was it. Not drunk enough to forget about anything.

Prussia, on the other hand, had had four times as many beers as he had, and some random other shots or drinks he'd claimed would taste awesome, and was so wasted that he'd lost the ability to speak coherent English. Germany could barely even make out half the German he was spouting.

He ignored what sounded like muttering about chickens as he helped (dragged) Prussia down the unfamiliar streets, trying to get them both back to the hotel in one piece. Gilbird flew around Germany's head and tweeted irritably and Germany swatted at the little bird in annoyance. Frustrated, he stopped for a moment to gather his bearings. Which way was back to the hotel? He hated this town. Why couldn't they have had the meeting in London? He was at least familiar with the streets there. He noticed a sign, and half-remembered seeing it on the way to the pub, and started walking in that direction. Prussia stumbled and turned a sickly shade of green.

"Scheiße!" Germany cussed, afraid Prussia was about to throw up.

Instead, he passed out.

Germany stared at his brother's limp form for a long moment and swallowed a growl of frustration. Great. Just when he'd thought his day couldn't get any worse. He heaved Prussia up and managed to throw him over his shoulder. Straightening up, he groaned under Prussia's weight. How was Prussia so damn heavy? It was a good thing Germany was strong or he would have had to leave Prussia unconscious and alone on the streets or something.

Thankfully, the hotel was in sight now. He hurried the rest of the way, grumbling curses under his breath the whole time. Once there, he took the elevator to the third floor and knocked on room 326, where he'd heard Prussia say he was staying with whoever he was rooming with. Footsteps padded to the door, and after a moment, the padlock clicked unlocked and the door swung open.

Germany was met with a blond haired, violet eyed, over-sized red hoodie wearing man, and for a moment, was confused. "Who-" he started, but then it hit him. "Oh... Canada, right?"

"Yeah. That's me," Canada said, sounding somewhat surprised. He pushed his glasses up. "Um... what's up?"

Germany grunted, jerking his head to his brother. "This is his room, right?"

Canada nodded, his stray hair bobbing. "Uh, yeah, but... what's wrong with him? Did he run headlong into a wall again?"

Germany had to hide a laugh. "He's done that?"

"Yeah... he thought he could crash through it like they do in cartoons."

"Sometimes I can't believe he is related to me," Germany muttered.

Canada laughed a bit. "Is he—"

"Passed out? Completely wasted? Shit-faced? Yeah."

A crease appeared between the Canadian's thin eyebrows and he sighed warily. "Right," he said, shoving his bangs out of his eyes. "Come in, just dump him on the bed here and I'll take care of him."

Germany did as Canada said, dropping Prussia unceremoniously onto the bed nearest the window, ruffling the neat sheets and blankets. This bed looked unused, but the other one was rumpled and messed up on both sides. Germany frowned for a moment. When had Prussia planned on telling him about this? He decided not to dwell on it and straightened up, rolling his shoulders.

"Sorry to just dump him on you like this," he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. "He's such a hassle..."

Canada shook his head. "It's fine, I'm used to it. Don't worry 'bout it."

"Alright, well, thank you." Germany was turning to leave, but he noticed Canada looking at him in an odd, worried way. "What?"

"Oh." Canada flushed, as if he hadn't realized he'd been staring, and quickly looked away. "Sorry... I wasn't trying to stare. It's just..." He looked back up. "Are you okay? You... don't look too good. You didn't look good during the meeting, either."

Germany swallowed past the lump that was forming in his throat. "I'm fine," he lied.

Canada didn't seem convinced, if the dubious look in his eyes and thoughtful twist of his lips were anything to go by. "Did... did something happen with Italy?" He flushed again and stared at his hands, looking nervous. "I'm not trying to pry. Sorry. I just, um..."

"It's okay," Germany sighed, shoving back the loose hairs that had fallen into his eyes. He supposed he should be surprised that Canada could tell something was wrong, since he knew he was good enough at hiding when something was bothering him that people who didn't know him well wouldn't be able to tell. He wasn't surprised, though. Canada seemed to know a lot about everyone. Being invisible and neutral and ignored must really have its perks. "I don't know," he finally said. "There's something wrong with him, but I don't know what it is. I just need to talk to him."

"You know... I heard him talking to Romano... if you want to know," Canada said quietly, now running his fingers fondly through Prussia's silver hair.

Germany tried to hide his interest but knew he most likely failed. Italy told his brother everything. "What were they talking about?"

"I'm not completely sure. I heard Italy say something about a nightmare. That's what incubo is, right? I heard your name come up a couple times, too. I'm not really sure what they were saying. It was mostly in Italian. I know a bit, so I understood some of it, but not enough to really help you..." Canada bit his lip. "Sorry, that's all I got. I'm not much help..."

Germany couldn't help but smile a bit. "No, you've done plenty. Thank you."

Canada looked shocked, but he quickly covered up, nodding and fixing his glasses. "No problem," he said, laughing in his nervous way. "I'm glad to help." He stood up. "I think you should go find Italy and talk to him. Now." He was suddenly blunt.

Somewhat taken aback, Germany stared for a moment. "I... yes, I was planning on doing that," he said. He started for the door. "I'll go now. Thanks for taking care of my stupid brother."

Canada laughed, looking down at Prussia with a mixture of fondness and wariness. "He is pretty stupid isn't he." It was more of a statement than a question.

"You don't even know the half of it," Germany muttered under his breath. He said good-bye and left the room, letting the door click shut behind him. He sighed. Well, the buzz from the alcohol had worn off sometime while he was talking to Canada, and now he was beginning to get depressed and anxious again.

He took the elevator to the fifth floor and went to his room, which he was sharing with Italy. His stomach twisted as he slid the card key into the slot and wondered if Italy would even come here tonight, or stay with Romano.

He forced himself not to think about that and walked into the empty hotel room, loosening his tie and kicking off his shoes. He ran a hand through his hair and mussed it up to return it to its pre-gelled and naturally messy state and slumped ungracefully onto the bed he had shared with Italy not twenty-four hours before. His heart throbbed painfully as he looked at the empty right side of the bed. This wasn't right. He'd gotten too used to Italy being next to him.

He thought about what Canada had said; something about a nightmare. What could it have been to make Italy push him away like this? The Italian had had countless nightmares before; some ridiculous, like Romano eating his pasta or something, and some more serious, like being forced to watch his people be killed. But never had anything been so horrible that he did anything more than scream for a while and cry and blubber and generally just annoy and worry the heck out of Germany. He'd never withdrawn from the blond before; usually, nightmares made him do exactly the opposite.

Germany frustratedly shook his head. He didn't want to keep thinking about this. Knowing him, he would most likely over think it and then end up getting so angry and depressed that he'd take it out on Italy when he tried to talk to him. He didn't want that. He wanted to talk about it calmly and nicely and fix whatever was wrong, assure Italy that whatever it was that was bugging him wasn't as bad as he thought it was. How could it be? It was obviously something to do with Germany, and he had no idea what he'd done. Maybe Romano had finally convinced Italy that he should hate him too? No... as much as they didn't get along, Germany really couldn't see Romano going that far.

Stop thinking about it! he scolded himself. He thought vaguely that it was strange that Italy affected him so much, but supposed that that was what happened when one fell in love.

He looked at the clock. It was eight o'clock in the evening here. In his time zone it was nine, so he supposed it wouldn't be that weird if he went to bed now. He didn't really have anything else to do. Being awake made his mind wander; maybe he would get a break from it in his dreams. He stood and stripped until he was just in his boxers, folding his clothes neatly and stacking them on the dresser in front of the bed. He glanced at the bed on the other side of the room, which was made up and unslept in, but had their suitcases open on top of it. He decided to move them. If Italy came back but didn't want to sleep in the same bed as Germany, at least he'd have there.

He didn't bother brushing his teeth, too emotionally wary and head pounding from the alcohol, and slipped under the blankets. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to clear his mind. It took a while, but eventually he managed to push his worries to the back of his head and shut his eyes, falling into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

xxXXxxXXxx

It was well past midnight by the time the door to the room crept open, and in walked two shadowy forms, feet padding softly on the plush carpet floor. If Germany had been awake, he might have shot to his feet and confronted the two intruders, but since he was asleep, the hushed whispers went unnoticed.

The figures stopped, two wayward curls bobbing in opposite directions just barely visible in the sliver of moonlight peeking through the dark red curtains. The shorter one teetered uncertainly.

"You really think I should tell him?" he whispered.

"Of course, stupid. Look, I really don't care about him, but it's pissing me off seeing you so mopey and fuck it's annoying." The taller one folded his arms impatiently, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I kissed him. While he was sleeping. He is going to freak out, I can't—"

"While I agree that that is creepy... He's a pervert. He won't care. Probably he'll even pop a boner."

"Don't say that!"

"It's true..."

"B-but— that nightmare I had. It was too real. I mean—it could happen. It probably will happen. You know how I am." A bout of forced, bitter-sounding laughter. "I'm weak and he hates it. He's going to break our alliance."

"No he's not. I don't even like him and I know the bastard would never do something like that."

"But..."

"Enough 'but's, dammit. Just tell him. Jesus, Spain was going on about this too. We can both tell he loves you." He made a gagging sound.

"Oh, shut up. I really think he hates me. I mean he gets really angry at me a lot and even though he lets me sleep with him, that could just be because he gave up on trying to stop me..."

"I scream at Spain all the time and get angry at him and occasionally even beat the shit out of him. Being his masochistic self, he likes it. In other words, your logic sucks. The potato-bastard loves you... even though sometimes I suspect he just wants you as a sex slave."

An indignant squeak. "Don't say things like that!"

"Shh! You'll wake him up! Are you crying?"

"Of course I'm crying! I'm scared!"

"You're such a wimp!"

"That's not nice! You're no better!"

"At least I have the balls to tell Spain I fucking love him even though he's an annoying piece of shit! You can't even think of telling the bastard without shitting your pants!"

"I'm afraid he won't want me..."

"Trust me. He does. I see how he looks at you. It's gross."

"Gross?"

"Fucking weird. He looks all happy and shit. He wants you so bad I'm surprised you haven't gotten radiation from the copious amounts of testosterone that are constantly and disgustingly rolling off of him. It's creepy as fuck. He's like the creepiest creep that ever creeped."

"What about France?"

"...Okay, France is creepier. But still. Have you not noticed how Germany gets all fuckin'," His voice raises to a high-pitched falsetto, "Oh, I'm so happy and sparkly and fucking rainbows are coming out of my ass—"

"Fratello! Your language!"

"Fuck my language. If you don't talk to Germany, I will, and we all know how that will go down."

A giggle. "Please don't."

"Well then wake him up and fucking tell him. Like now. If you guys come to the conference tomorrow and it's as awkward as it was today between you two I am going to flip shit and kill you both."

"Your threats are always empty, Romano."

"Excuse me? Spain didn't think I would but I bit his dick the other day because he was—"

"Oh God—I don't want to hear that!"

"I'm just proving my point—!"

"Are you drunk?"

"Pssh, no, I only had like... five drinks."

"You had way more than five. You're drunk. If not drunk then at least a bit tipsy."

"I am not!"

"Romano, you never admit to being sexually active and in a relationship with Spain or loving him without blowing a couple brain gaskets before doing so. And you're not trying to kill Germany. You're drunk... or the stars and planets are aligned."

"I'm not drunk!"

"Spain was buying you drinks all night."

"'Cause he's a fucking pervert and wants to get into my pants!"

"I don't doubt that, but that doesn't change the fact that you're—"

"Shut up!"

"Don't be so loud!"

"I'm not!"

"Romano—"

The Italy brothers froze and stopped bickering immediately when Germany suddenly shifted in his sleep, a quiet groan coming from deep in his chest. Italy turned pink and grabbed his brother's wrist in a vice-like grip, watching the blond with wide eyes. For a moment, Germany's eyes just barely opened, and Romano squeaked and nearly bolted from the room. He didn't get far due to the death grip Italy had on his arm, and joined his brother in staring at Germany. After a second, the blond turned over and his breathing evened out. They both let out sighs of relief.

"Fuck, thank God he didn't wake up... I might have had to kill myself. Or him. Especially if he'd heard us talking..."

Italy looked a bit frightened, his face pale in the moonlight. "I don't know if I can face him, Romano..."

"Why?" Romano demanded impatiently. When Italy frowned and started t open his mouth to explain, he waved an impatient hand. "Okay, yeah, I know. But seriously? He's the sae bastard he was yesterday and he'll be the same bastard tomorrow. Just because you kissed him—ew, by the way—and... how did you put it? Realized you love him too much to keep it in any longer," his voice held a trace of contempt, "doesn't mean he's suddenly a different guy. Just...talk to him."

"My dream—"

"Your dream is bullshit!" Romano snapped. "It won't happen. Oh my God. You're pissing me off. I hate this bastard, but if you don't tell him you love him already I'm going to wake him up myself and tell him and let you sort out the mess that goes down after."

Italy stared at his brother with wide, watery amber eyes for a long moment, and then gave a small, slow nod. "You're right," he said slowly. "He listens to me. He won't get mad. Right?"

"Um... well... I wouldn't think so. Spain was talking to Prussia the other day and I overheard Prussia complaining about how Germany's so hung up on you that he doesn't go to drinking as much anymore just so he can spend more time with you. I think it's safe to say that he won't get mad. If he does, it's because he's too emotionally stunted and slow in the head to grasp what's happening."

Italy giggled. "Okay," he said meekly. A smile curled his lips. "Okay," he repeated, more confident this time. He shook his head in wonderment and his usual smile lit up his face. "Wow, Romano! Maybe you should get drunk more often! And keep hanging around Spain! You never give good advice like this. You're never nice like this."

Romano growled. "Are you stupid? I said I'm not—"

"Yeah, yeah." Italy grinned, feeling light-hearted for the first time since last night. He put his hands on Romano's shoulders and turned him around, urging him towards the door. "I think you should probably go to bed now. You look ready to pass out."

"Meh... Do I have to? I don't want to stay... but I don't want to go see Spain... he's so annoying..."

"Come on, he's waiting for you. We said you wouldn't be long."

Romano blushed. "I don't need to go back to that bastard, what are you saying, I'm his bitch or something, I'm not—"

"You are his bitch."

"No! He's mine."

"Fine! You're each others' bitches!" Italy said exasperatedly. "Now can you please leave? Unless you want to be here when I wake Germany up!"

Romano huffed and stormed out into the hallway. "You better fix this shit, I swear."

"I will. Now go."

"Fine." Romano stomped off, grumbling curses. Italy smiled a bit.

"Romano?" he called softly.

"What the fuck?" Romano seethed. "You tell me to go away and I do and then you fucking call me back, holy shit, what the fuck do you want."

"I wanted to say thank-you. For talking me into it. I never thought you'd do that for me, especially since it involves Germany... but thanks. It really... means a lot. I'm glad you're my brother."

Romano looked completely shocked, his mouth slack and eyes wide. He stared at Italy for a long moment, and then suddenly blinked. "Um, yeah," he said slowly. "No problem. Whatever." His cheeks were pink and he scowled as he turned and started walking towards his room. "Don't expect anything like it again."

Italy just shook his head and smiled at Romano's usual attitude and withdrew back into the hotel room, shutting the door softly. He leaned against it for a moment, looking into the dark room, and then took a deep breath. He approached Germany's sleeping form quietly, and after stripping down to his boxers (he half debated going naked as usual, but didn't want to be awkwardly nude when he told Germany), slipped under the blankets next to him. As though it was automatic, Germany turned onto his back, his standard position whenever Italy slept with him. Italy hesitated, but a moment later curled up to the German's side, resting his palm on his bare chest.

As soon as he did this, Germany's breathing changed, and he jerked slightly. A groan sounded deep in his throat. "Wer... Feli?"

Italy's heart fluttered at the sound of Germany's tired, rumbly voice. "Si," he whispered, for some reason having a hard time finding his voice.

"What's going on?" Germany asked groggily, shoving his messy bangs back. He propped himself up on his elbows and squinted in the dark in Italy's direction. Italy could tell from his tone of voice that he was upset.

Swallowing, he sat up too, feeling nervous despite all of Romano's annoyed assurances. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you today," he said weakly. He knotted his fingers in the blankets nervously and avoided Germany's searching icy blue eyes. In his peripheral vision, he saw Germany's shoulders heave a sigh and the blond reach back to flick on the lamp on the night table. They both flinched at the sudden light.

"Why were you?" Germany asked bluntly.

"I... It's just..." Italy trailed off. He picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "I... Had a nightmare," he began slowly. "But not a normal one. I dreamt that you left me because I was too weak and you got tired of it. I couldn't stand the thought of that and I was up all night after it, worrying, wanting to wake you up and talk to you but too scared..."

"Why were you scared? You know I'd never leave you, Italy."

Italy couldn't help but feel immensely relieved at hearing those simple words. He thought he was about to start crying, but forced himself not to and kept talking. "I-I didn't know, actually. I really thought you hated me..."

"There's no way I could hate you."

The seriousness in Germany's voice made Italy look up, startled. "Really?" he whispered. "Even though—"

"No matter what, I don't hate you. And don't ever think I do." Germany flushed, looking away. "Is that all that was bugging you? Are we good now?"

"Um, yes, we're good, but... that's not all."

Germany nodded. "Go on, then."

For some reason, his willingness to listen made Italy want to cry. How could he deserve someone so patient and kind and perfect? His voice shook but he tried to keep it steady. "I... This is hard... I don't know how to say it, um..." Something caught in his throat and he made a choking sound. "I kissed you," he blurted, turning beet red and squeezing his eyes shut. He expected Germany to spazz and cry out in disgust, but what he got was a short exhale of air and a couple German words he didn't understand.

"Why?" Germany asked, his voice sounding bewildered.

"Because I—I like you!" Italy couldn't stop talking and turned redder with every word. "I don't know what happened! I always loved you, as a best friend and then—I don't know, for a while now I realized it was something more and I didn't want to just be your friend anymore—I can't stop thinking about you. You're taking over my head, and I can't do anything about it, I don't want to do anything about it, I just want you and when I woke up from that nightmare I started thinking what would happen if I couldn't be around you anymore, and I saw you just sleeping there and you looked so beautiful and peaceful and I don't know what I was thinking and I'm so sorry but I couldn't stop myself, I kissed you while you were sleeping and you couldn't do anything about it, I'm so sorry, Ludwig, I love you, please don't hate me. I love you so much."

After his long confession, he burst into tears, suddenly too overwhelmed with emotion to contain it any longer. Germany was silent, and Italy didn't want to look up and see the horror that was surely in his eyes. He didn't want to see the icy, closed-off glare he knew was coming.

"Feliciano..." Germany sounded shocked.

"Don't," Italy sobbed. "Don't tell me you hate me, I can't stand it, please—"

"Didn't I tell you before? I can't hate you."

Italy looked up at Germany through his fingers. "Even after—"

"Especially after that." Germany's hands wrapped gently around his wrists and pulled his hands away from his eyes. Italy tried to pull away, eyes wide.

"N-no, wh-what, Luddy—"

"Feliciano, calm down." Germany's voice was low and soothing, and after a moment of staring into his icy blue eyes, Italy visibly relaxed, his shoulders slumping and his chest falling as he exhaled deeply. His eyes were still slightly frightful and dubious, but they had a hopeful light to them. He raised a hand to wipe at his tears, but Germany grabbed it and pulled it away. Italy looked confused until the blond raised his own hands and gently swiped his thumbs across flushed olive cheeks, wiping away the tears. Italy swallowed, reaching up to wind their fingers together, and Germany blushed.

"Feli... listen. You don't have to apologize, okay?"

"I... why? I kissed you while you were defenceless..."

"That doesn't matter." Germany looked down at where their hands were intertwined on his lap. "Look... I wasn't made for this kind of situation, so I'm having a bit of trouble trying to get this out. But..." He looked up at Italy, almost shyly, then quickly stared back down when he saw Italy watching him. His cheeks turned even darker, but he managed to keep his voice strong as he said, "Don't worry about it, okay? I really don't care, I actually... um..."

"What?" Italy asked when Germany just trailed grumpily off into mumbles.

"I... love you too," Germany ground out, feeling like his throat was stuffed with cotton. His entire face, all the way up to his ears, was burning in embarrassment—Did I really just tell him?—but he had to admit, the look of wide-eyed shock on Italy's face was worth it. For a long moment, the redhead just looked at him as though he'd seen a ghost. Suddenly, he grinned widely and tackled Germany into a hug. It happened so quickly Germany barely had time to process it before Italy's lips were on his.

Their eyes slipped shut and Italy moved his hand to tangle in messy blond locks, pressing the German closer to him. Germany could hear the smaller man's heartbeat and could feel his own pulsing in his head, like his heart was trying to escape. The kiss started off slow and careful, but not lacking in passion, testing new ground and how far they could go. It didn't take long for it to become a messy clash of teeth and tongues and only the fact that this was so new was keeping them from tearing each others' clothes off at that very moment.

Italy thought he was going to faint. This kiss was so different. He'd flirted with so many women and had even taken some of them home, but those were one night deals, guaranteed not to last before they even began. This was so much more. It was far from a perfect kiss—it was messy, their teeth kept hitting in an almost painful way and spit dribbled down their chins, but still, it was perfect. Germany tasted better than any woman ever had.

Their lungs were burning but neither of them was willing to part. Germany finally gave in and gasped as he gently pushed Italy away, sucking in air as Italy panted with his head against Germany's shoulder.

"Dio mio," Italy whispered harshly, licking his lips. "Just... holy shit."

Germany couldn't help the grin that curled his lips as he fell back onto the bed. "That's one way of putting it."

Italy smiled too, setting his chin on Germany's chest and looking at the blond with shining eyes. "You should smile more often, Luddy. You really look beautiful like that."

Germany flushed. "I never really had a reason to smile," he confessed, shrugging. "It's strange."

Italy giggled quietly, planting a soft kiss on Germany's slightly bruised lips. He rolled off of the blond and curled up to his side, wrapping his arms around the familiar strong white torso. "But now you do, si?"

"Yeah," Germany said, smiling as he hugged Italy back. "I guess I do."

xxXXxxXXxx

KissMeDeadlyT-T: The fluff murdered me and now I'm dead.

Also, sorry if the ending seemed a bit rushed, my brain farted and didn't know what to do. :c I think it's alright though...

Reviews are appreciated but I don't want to beg... *secretly begs*

Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!