Germany sat alone in his bedroom, reading a new war book recommended by America. It was good so far; he just hoped he could get through most of it before Italy got home. Don't get him wrong, he loved Italy very much and literally would not give him up for the world, but recently the boy had been bugging him about something they hadn't done since becoming a couple. Something you are apparently supposed to do when dating, the day you get married, the day after you get married, and pretty much every day after that.
Kiss.
They hadn't even shared a first kiss.
He's absolutely serious, when is he ever not serious?
So anyway, Italy's been bugging him about kissing for about two weeks now. Germany seriously (haha) didn't understand what the big deal was. He understood that it was apparently important to have in your relationship, but he didn't think it was all that important. He-of course-had never had any inclination to touch their lips together; it just seemed a little ridiculous. Though he didn't completely disagree with Italy's proposition of this 'kiss', only because now, he loved getting hugs from Italy. He realized how wonderful it was to have the person you love the most in your arms, sharing warmth between you.
No one else could have a Germany hug though. Not only did Germany not want a hug from anyone else, Italy did not want Germany to give a hug to anyone else. They had had a formal talk about hugs. Italy agreed that if Germany didn't hug anyone else, he wouldn't hug anyone the same way he hugged Germany.
Thereby creating the "Hug Treaty of Deutschland and Italia".
Germany put his book down to go into more deep contemplation about this 'kissing' non-sense as the front door was clicked open. Through the house slid a silent assassin, trained to assassinate…Germany's first kiss.
"GERMANY!" Italy flung his arms around his husband, knees on either side of him, almost straddling him. The German's straight, long legs that were crossed at the feet and his back slightly arched up in a sitting position made it easy for the short Italian to reach.
Germany laid his book on the bedside table and adjusted his glasses. "Vhat, Italia?"
"Ve~…kiss me Germany!"
"Vhat?"
"If you don't do it soon, I'll do it to you in public!"
"Vas zhat a zhreat, Italian?"
"Ve~, maybe…"
Germany reached out and settled his large, calloused hand across Italy's smooth, velvet like cheek. Italy's face turned bright red at the sudden contact, even though he should have expected it. Germany's face was completely flushed as well.
The distance between them closed. Closer and closer and closer, both pairs of lips travelled across the seemingly endless space. A hand ventured up to Germany's shoulder as the hand on Italy's face tensed. Lips slightly parted, they brushed against one another. Exchanging air, faces slightly turned with open lips, pink toned faces and hearts banging against their chests, Germany closed that last millimeter of emptiness with a warm breath.
Italy basked in this short lived glory; the sturdy, strict German's bright, soft lips pressed against equally as soft, pink lips.
It was short, but meant leagues to the young couple. Their lips may have only touched for a fraction of a second, but that feeling will be remembered for years to come. As their eyelids began to recede, they gazed at each other through glazed eyes; love blinding them for seconds.
Italy did not wish to ruin the moment, but this small touch left him hungering for more like a tiger whose belly is only half full. His little voice hummed out into the air with just, "Ludwig…"
The way his human name rolled off the Italian's tongue pleased the Aryan, who responded with a low toned frequency that sounded a bit like the word, 'what'.
"I want…more…more kisses…" The Italian leaned into the German, resting his small head on broad shoulders. In response to this request, Italy was greeted with a feather light kiss to the forehead that warmed up his body like late spring. Wanting to see how far he could push his husband before he would become too flustered, he leaned up and whispered into his ear with a sugar sweet tone, "Ludi…more…please…"
As he thought about how to comply to the request, he was distracted by the curl. It was extremely distracting; bobbing up and down next to his head. He still wondered in the deep recesses of his mind just what this did to Italy. He figured now would be the best time to find out; Italy would just tell him if something was wrong.
Lifting his hand up slowly, he traced his finger along the curl. Italy wiggled forward, his body vibrating and his breath hitching just as his finger was caught in the spiral for a few seconds.
Italy begged for mercy, "Ludwig, no, don't…that's-"
"I'm sorry, is it hurting you?" Deep concern filled his voice.
"No, just for some reason…only when you pull it…it makes me react weird. I'm…scared…you'll think there's something wrong with me, ve…"
They stared into each others' eyes for at least a minute before Germany laced his strong arms around the other man's small frame, warming the both of them, "I love you, Italian, Ich liebe dich, nozing you vill ever do vill change zhat. If I start hurting you, you have to tell me." Italy nodded and a bright smile spread across his face.
Germany took note of the Italian's reactions as he took two fingers this time and pulled along the curl between them, lethargically, as if straightening it out. Italy raised up his body, again knees spread on either sides of Germany's lap, and then lowered back down. Germany felt his body heat up just the slightest bit from the friction.
The little Italian spoke his lover's name through heavy breaths, "Ludwig…Ludi…"
An interesting idea popped in the German's head. He leaned forward and laced the hair around his tongue by swirling it multiple times. This time, Italy's hips vibrated and he gripped onto Germany's shirt, digging his nails in the fabric. Watching his so-called wife squirm, he couldn't help but be proud that he was able to do something to the supposedly-best-lover-Italian. This time, Germany pulled the whole curl into his mouth and breathed hot air while twirling it with his tongue. He also vibrated his lips on the outside to create more friction. Italy wrapped his arms around the German's neck, as if holding on for dear life, and began pushing his body firmly into Germany. It seemed this was not enough as he began pushing harder by moving up and down, slowly.
Finally, the German realized just what this Italian was doing. That was his 'spot' as the book he studied had called it. The more you touch the spot, the more the person will crave your attention until-
Germany slowly let the hair fall out of his mouth and wiped it off with his sleeve. Italy was breathing hard and his body was tense and firm, straddling the German.
This position also looked oddly familiar...
As Italy calmed down, Germany looked up and down his lover, mainly his face. His mouth was open, tongue almost hanging out, flustered and completely red, eyes filled with a warm over-tone, Germany carved this picture into his mind. No one else could make Italy feel like that, whatever it was. Desire, want, need-didn't matter. It was just the two of them.
"Italian, how are you feeling?"
After another sufficient breath, Italy whispered, "It felt good…I still want more touching…and you're a big meanie, Ludi…"
He wasn't making too much sense, but oh well. "Vhy ist zhat?"
"No more kisses…ve?"
Again the distance between them was closed, with the German's strong arms lacing about the Italian's back. This time, their lips met in a fiery kiss; Italy sucked on Germany's bottom lip. At this, Germany pulled away and questioned the meaning of this. The Italian instead dived back in and pried open Germany's mouth to explore. At first the Aryan was dumbfounded, laying there like a log. Then, he started to feel his blood pumping as Italy stroked his face and dragged a hand down his chest, still having his mouth invaded. Taking this as an insult to his pride, he pushed against Italy's tongue, easily forcing it back into its rightful place, but while there, he explored his newly claimed territory for Germany and wiped over all the walls.
Italy turned his head slightly to allow more access, and he pulled their lips apart, making a loud smacking sound because of Germany's unwillingness to comply. The smack also left a trail of spit from their mouths. Both tried to guess whose it might be.
Both breathing roughly and thoroughly turned on, they stared into each others' eyes again, the lust clearly evident. As Germany's hand slipped down to the small of Italy's back, they had another French kiss, though this time slow and lethargic. Turning their faces and breathing through their noses, they continued slowly colliding their tongues together for minutes.
Italy's fingers then found themselves travelling through the German's taught hair, freeing the locks and leaving several wayward strands. Germany's hands found themselves tracing down Italy's sides, drawing patterns in his back, and sometimes even gracing his curl.
Breaking apart momentarily, Germany breathed, "Italien, I vant you to be all mine. I'm selfish; I vant all of you to myself."
In response, Italy spoke right next to Germany, brushing their lips together with his words, "Lud… You can have all of me. I want you to show me how much you love me. Make love to me, Ludwig."
"Ja, as you command, mein liebe. Ich liebe dich, Ti amo, Je t'amoure, I love you so much, Feliciano."
They crashed lips again, Germany pushing against Italy to get him to turn over. At this, Italy pushed back against Germany, and for once, Germany let him win. He lowered back to his original position, showering his 'wife's' face in soft kisses.
"Ludwig…" Italy's hot breath cascaded down Germany's face between kisses, "…more, please, Ludwig-"
By arching his back, Italy allowed Germany to rest his head against the pillow and fully laying down. Legs still on either side of his muscular form, Italy brought his hips down to rest against Germany's pelvis. Italy was the first one to notice the huge bulge in his pants. Italy groaned into Germany's mouth as he rocked his hips into Germany's. The German growled back, his husky tone forcing Italy down. They began to speed up in their movements the slightest bit-
The door to Germany's room flew open, "Hey West, where is-" Prussia stopped in his tracks, his hand still attached to the doorknob, and continued his voice getting slowly quieter, "-my manual on how to make-" It returned to its loudest volume, "-STEAMY, HOT, GUY LOVE! Bruder, you're so lucky!"
Italy rolled off Germany, regaining his peppy overtone. He bounded over to the albino man at the door, and smiled. "Ciao, Prussia!"
In return, Prussia grinned evilly and patted the little Italian on the head. Germany lifted himself up with his elbows, a demonic scowl plastered to his features. If looks could kill, Prussia would have been chatting with Jesus a few minutes ago. "I see you finally got that kiss outta the stuffy muscle head?"
Italy's smile widened, now touching cheek to cheek. He blushed ever-so-slightly and spoke, "Yep! Ve…it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be; he gave up right away-"
Germany's already raged temper flared up, "Gave up? I just gave you what you wanted! And correct me if I'm wrong, but you were the one groaning out my name, just pleading for more a few seconds ago, right?"
Sensing the mood for once in his life, Prussia slithered out of the room, seeing the Italian turn to face his husband, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes.
"Germany…you…" A single tear flowed down his red cheek. Italy stared straight at Germany, voice faltering only slightly, "You're teasing me…so mean…" He sniffled as his voice hitched in his throat.
"Captain Obvious." Sarcasm dripped off his speech like a snake's poison.
More tears rolled down his cheeks, beginning to drip off the Italian's face. As much as he wanted to run away, he couldn't make his legs move.
Germany turned his face away from his significant other. "Quit taking vhat I say the wrong vay." A hand came up from his side to cover his now reddening face, "I vas just…irritated vith mein bruder. I'm sorry if I sounded rude. It makes me happy…zhat you call mein name and sound so adorable only vhen you're vith me. So don't…don't cry about it. Comst hier." With his face still turned away, he opened his arms wide.
Italy didn't know what to do. He wanted to run and leap into his arms. He also wanted to run away. This situation was actually really embarrassing; what if they had just- what if they had continued their actions? Would he have been able to handle it? Would Germany have gone on? "Did he want to go on?"
"Did who vant to go on vith vhat?"
The little Italian jumped out of his skin. He had just said that last part out loud… "I, um, I was thinking…about earlier…did you want to move on from what we were doing? I-I mean, uh…Never mind! Ve~!" Instead of trying to think about it, he flung himself at his German, landing safely in those huge arms.
Unfortunately, the message had gotten across rather clear. Though Germany's arms were wrapped protectively around Italy, he was only holding him so close so that his little lover couldn't see his face. He was completely flustered and breaking into a cold sweat. Did I vant to go on?
The more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became. What if his advances were unwanted and the polite Italian just couldn't bring himself to say so? Germany cursed himself inwardly in many different languages before deciding that he had to at least reply to his lover.
"Ja, Italien… I-I did vant to move on, but not if you didn't vant it or if you vould have been hurt. I vant to please you, and if doing zhat vould have made you happy, I vould have done it. Please don't be afraid to push me avay vhen you don't vant me, I know I'm a pervert and I-"
The Italian pushed his arms into Germany's chest roughly, staggering the tall man backwards. While trying to catch his balance, Germany linked eyes with Italy; they were not scared and crying like they had been. A little hurt by the loss of contact, Germany reached out his arm, but was slammed harshly onto the bed. Staring up at the Italian through confused eyes, he tried to lean up on his elbows. Again, he was forced down by the Italian, who was now slowly crawling up his body.
Those fragile, baby-soft hands slid up the strong German's taught sides. Slender legs brushed against toned ones as Italy made his advance. Germany's upper body was sluggishly lowered back onto the fluffy covers of the bed as Italy lowered his small form. Germany opened his mouth, but before he could protest, Italy forced their lips together in a sloppy kiss. Italy dominated Germany's startled tongue this time. Arms still glued to his sides, Germany dared not move. He was a little afraid of-
Afraid of vhat?
Germany's powerful limbs latched onto the Italian's back, his fingers burying themselves in Italy's tan sweater. Just as Germany began to fight him, Italy pulled away, making sure to bring some of Germany's saliva with him.
Through barely parted lips, Italy purred, "This is yours, German." Seductively, Italy's tongue swiped around his flushed lips, wiping away all remnants of liquid. For some supposedly unknown reason, Germany's heart skipped a beat in his chest.
A slick hand forced Germany's head to roll back, exposing his white neck. Italy set to work on the soft flesh, his lips caressing the tight skin. For a few moments, the German let the blood rush into his face, his heart beginning to beat faster. Again, this felt better than expected. Suddenly, Germany's pride started to suffer, and he grabbed Italy's curl in rebuttal. Immediately the kisses stopped, and his tiny hands curled into the blue fabric of Germany's button-up shirt. Realizing he had control of the situation, he flipped them over, rolling the Italian into the sheets.
Gingerly resting his lips against Italy's ear, he whispered, "Feliciano…" With Germany's hand holding his curl and the hot breath falling into his ear, Italy couldn't help but squirm. He squeaked as Germany's pink tongue rolled over the outer edge of his ear.
Italy felt so good, he was becoming irritated.
That thought from earlier re-occurred to him, "This is a German. He's not supposed to be a good lover and here I am, an Italian, submitting to every little gesture he does."
Those seemingly weak arms made their way around the German's neck. His fingers entwined in the taught hair stuck to Germany's neck. At this, Germany's head dropped, and heavy breaths fell onto the Italian's collar bone. Italy smiled, realizing his hunch had been right. A groan erupted from Germany's throat as Italy pulled on the short, sensitive hairs.
Italy basked in his own glory at finding Germany's 'spot'. As sweetly as he could, Italy spoke, "Ve, Ludi, can you call my name…?"
As if on command, Germany barked out, "Feli…!" His teeth grinded together as Italy ran his hands through his hair, freeing almost all of his locks. The sweat gathering on his forehead caked the stray bangs to his skin. He was going crazy; he tried to think of a way out of this predicament, but he couldn't gather his thoughts.
Italy raised his head up just so he could whisper into Germany's ear, "You never call my nickname… I've really defeated you? Already?" The sweet tone of his voice was like venom.
The last comment broke Germany's chains. He pushed himself up, far enough that Italy's hands slipped out of his hair. Growling like a beast, Germany tied Italy's wrists above his head using his hands. He threw his muscular shins over Italy's, knees still on either side of his captive, tying down his lower quarters. Hungry lips showered the Italian's face in butterfly kisses.
Now Italy was breathing hard, as if he couldn't get enough air. He struggled under the powerful German, to no avail. Those lips finally collided with his own, sucking on each other roughly before retreating.
"Ich liebe dich."
The way his low voice cascaded over Italy's ears just made him wiggle more.
The German's flushed lips then settled on the Italian's neck, nipping the skin before kissing lightly. For a bit, it seemed as if the German was just toying with his lover, until he landed his lips into the soft skin above Italy's collar bone. Italy shrieked as Germany nipped the skin a little too hard.
Retreating, Germany managed to huff out, "I'm sorry-"
Italy huffed, then swallowed a large amount of air before answering, "It's you, Germany, so it's okay…but it still hurts…"
Germany's eyes fell back to that spot; he had drawn blood. He kissed Italy's cheeks in apology before slowly flicking his tongue back over the spot. The blood actually excited him a bit; this was his prey's blood, after all.
That deep, accented voice flowed out of his throat again, causing Italy to squirm, "I'll try to apply pressure to it to make it stop. It might hurt a bit…"
"Ve, Ludwig, you know I don't like pain…"
Germany kissed Italy's cheek, just under his eye once more before sucking on the wound. The little Italian again squirmed, this time actually managing to move Germany ever-so-slightly. In response, Germany simply pushed Italy further into the sheets.
Eventually, the bleeding stopped. Italy had actually cried a bit during the whole ordeal. Germany hadn't noticed this until he was finished. In apology, the German carefully lowered himself and touched their lips together. With this, he also released his grasp on the Italian's limbs. Immediately, those tiny hands wrapped around Germany's neck, careful of those hairs.
Down the hall, a voice could be heard, "Yeah, I can't believe he actually drank that much wine in the first place! Romano's ridiculous-"
Prussia could be heard replying to aforementioned person, "Really? Wow, you and he are really into it…oh, here we are, this is West's room!"
Before the doorknob even turned, Germany leapt off of Italy, blushing furiously. Italy sat up just before Prussia and his companion Spain burst into the space.
"You guys are STILL in here? Mein gott, West, you really want to take his vital regions!" Prussia bellowed with laughter.
Smoke filed out of Germany's ears as his face became more like a tomato. Spain pointed this out. Germany barked in reply, "Shut ze hell up, zhis is none of your verdamnt business!"
Prussia teased, "It's sad that mein little bruder can't even admit that the awesome me is indeed correct!"
Italy decided he would be considerate of the mood, perhaps. "So how is fratello, Spain?"
"Other than the fact he makes a terrible wife, not much!" Spain chuckled lightly. He made himself laugh.
"Aw, he's not that bad is he?"
"It's true he has some good qualities-"
As the two chatted excitedly about the newlyweds, Germany just glared at Prussia. Prussia sneered, "You're just mad 'cause I'm interrupting your fun. Just admit it, West."
Germany's voice broke out, hushing the room, "So vhat if I'm mad? It doesn't matter to you how much I vant to spend all mein time with Italy or how I look forward to coming home from vork or how I vant to write him letters but can't because I don't have ze guts to; so vhat if I've vanted to kiss him for hundreds of years, so vhat, so vhat, verdammt…!"
In the silence, you could have heard a pin drop.
"I'm impressed, West, that was really, deep. Mein bruder can be some what romantic after all. Come on, Spain, I've seen what I wanted! Bye, my totally non-awesome bruder! Bye Feliciano!" With that, the albino left the room, tailed by Spain who could only gape at Germany on his way out.
Italy was almost a little too scared to address Germany, but he some how found the courage to speak, "…-makes me happy, Germany…so…sweet."
Germany turned his head to the side, in another failing attempt to hide his rosy cheeks. Italy couldn't contain his smile any longer, or his need to be near the German. "Ve~ Germany, Ti amo!" Germany didn't budge at the sudden contact, only shivered a bit out of embarrassment.
"Ja, ja, Italien…"
After another minute or two of squeezing his German, Italy bounced away. "Germany, I'm gonna go take a bath, okay?"
"Ja, go ahead."
Italy frowned. He actually really wanted Germany to give him a bath. A diabolical plan began to form in the Italian's mind. He was very pleased by Germany's confession; he obviously didn't say sweet things a lot, especially not in the presence of other people or countries.