"Italy-kun, please stop bothering him."
"He likes it, that's the thing!"
They were standing knee-deep in the ocean, which stretched far beyond the island without an end in sight. The surf was gentle and the water was so clear the sand could be seen beneath.
Japan had tied his knife to the end of a long branch and was trying to spear fish to eat later. Veneziano was watching Germany, who was standing under the trees high up on the beach and pretending to be occupied with building a shelter. Veneziano also seemed to be… posing; stretching lazily for no apparent reason and glancing back at Germany every so often, who was trying to ignore him.
Japan felt compelled to ask: "What are you doing?"
He was ignored. "He's been trying to stack the same two logs for twenty minutes," Veneziano said, squinting at Germany.
"Yes," Japan agreed. Indeed, Germany was taking an unusually long time to build the shelter.
"He's distracted looking at my butt," Veneziano said.
"...I see." Japan nodded. This brash response provided a convenient answer to all subsequent questions he cared to ask regarding this subject.
"Watch this," Veneziano said, jumping to yet another topic in his dizzyingly capricious way.
Japan spared him a wary side-eyed glance. Veneziano stood with his back facing Germany, then bent over and picked up a shell at random under the water. Up on the beach there was a muffled thunk of a log being dropped followed by cursing.
Veneziano straightened up again, faced Japan and stretched out his arms triumphantly. "Ta daa," he said, like he was expecting praise.
Japan's mouth was a tight line of disapproval.
This cold reaction did not bother Veneziano in the slightest. He shrugged, smiled and turned away. "Well, I'm going to work on my tan."
Up on the beach, Veneziano lay facedown on the sand with his arms beneath his head, napping. The sound of footsteps crunching the grains woke him. The sunlight was blocked out and the footsteps stopped an arm's length from his head. Veneziano looked up.
The sun was high overhead, casting Germany as a silhouette where he stood in front of it.
"Ciao," Veneziano said.
Germany was frowning as usual. "Are you trying to get sunburned?"
"I only tan! See?" Veneziano stretched an arm out to show him. "Now you… you're already pink on your face-" he tapped his cheekbone. "-right here."
"You should cover up," Germany said.
"But then the tan won't be even all over."
"I see." Germany did not argue with that.
Veneziano had made the most out of being stranded on a deserted island. That is, instead of being useful, he decided it was time for a vacation. Without hesitation and against the protests of his companions, he had thrown off his clothes and run into the ocean to swim. When he got tired, he had walked higher up on the beach and lay in the middle of it, lounging around like he owned the island.
He's fine like this, Germany had thought, albeit begrudgingly. It was not as if he were being a nuisance, and it was not as if there were really work to do. Sprawled out like a cat in the sun, Veneziano was just being Veneziano, without a care in the world as usual. Yet Germany had kept looking back at him from under the tree cover with a feeling of impatience that increased whenever he did so. Eventually becoming too restless to sit still any longer, he had convinced himself that Veneziano was doing something worth a lecture, but now regretted leaving his spot in the shade to check on him. Even from a distance it had been clear than Veneziano was staying completely out of trouble. And worse, now that he was standing right next to him, Germany had become more restless than before.
Under the beaming tropical sun, Germany watched Veneziano's back muscles move under his skin as he stretched and situated himself in a more comfortable position. His back was golden brown like the rest of him; and smooth save for twin dimples on the slope up into his round bottom. Though he was slender, his body had a shapeliness that was rather uncommon in men. His skin looked soft as well. This was not the first time Germany had thought such things about him, but it was the first time he allowed himself to consider how he felt about them. He felt aroused. The telltale warmth in his abdomen increased upon further consideration, so he cut off this train of thought before his satisfaction could manifest itself in a truly bothersome way.
Dropping his chin back down onto his folded arms, Veneziano fixed his lower lip in an alluring pout and moaned, "I'm hot."
"So get out of the sun."
"I'm so hot." Veneziano wasn't listening. In a languid motion, he kicked his legs up and crossed them at the ankles. Fine grains of sand drizzled from his ankles onto the backs of his thighs and the curve of his rear. Germany tried not to let his eyes linger on either of those places more than they already had.
"Germany?"
"What?"
There was the pout again. "Do you wanna get me a drink?"
"Do I look like your servant?"
The pout was now accompanied by a flutter of eyelashes. "Do you wanna do me a favor?"
"Get your own drink."
"You can get one for yourself too and lie here with me," was Veneziano's tempting suggestion, but as a man of unwavering discipline, Germany declined.
"Oh," Veneziano shrugged. "Your loss."
The movement of his shoulders shook a drop of water loose from his hair. It landed on the nape of his neck. Germany watched it snake down the middle of his back and leave a glistening trail on his smooth skin. He tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. Perhaps he should have taken Veneziano up on his drink offer.
Taking note of the odd silence, Veneziano frowned at him. "What's the matter?"
Germany coughed. "Nothing."
"Really! You've been staring so much."
"I wasn't staring." He was hard. And he wasn't thinking straight. This was some kind of exquisite torture Veneziano was putting him through, lying naked on the beach with his legs kicked up like a pinup model.
"I need to go," Germany said.
"Already? We've barely talked to each other."
I'm getting hot."
"I'll bet." Veneziano's smile was small, but cheeky. He began to hum a light, bouncing tune as he bent his wrist down to draw swirls in the sand with his index finger.
Germany began to sweat. What sort of reaction was that?
Deciding he did not want to concern himself with the answer, he slunk away; Veneziano's carefree humming following him all the way back to his spot under the trees.