A/N: Seb here with a North/South Italy oneshot I did for the Hetalia Kink Meme (for anyone who has no idea what that is, it's like heaven for all APH fans). The request was of North and South Italy during the Unification of Italy, with a maid outfit if possible. Not my normal pairing, or even a pairing I usually think twice about, but it was really nice to write oddly enough.
Here's the original request on the meme (Thanks xKnight-of-Yorux for reminding me!) : http:/ hetalia-kink .livejournal .com/ 632. html? thread= 161400#t161400
It's rated M because there's implicated sex. Just being safe.
He was tired beyond belief, but there was no way he could, or would, sleep.
Not because of the images the fighting gave him. Not because Austria couldn't even look him in the eye without giving away the immeasurable hatred the man now held for him. Not because his body still ached from the battles. Not because he was a mess, breaking down in joy and sorrow for everything he'd gained and everyone he'd lost.
He stayed awake because it was a four day journey from Rome to Venice, and ninety-six hours ago Victor Emmanuel became the first King of Italy by the new Parliament of unified Italy.
Unified Italy.
Feliciano could hardly contain himself as he remained stationary on his bed, shaking elbows bent on equally shaking knees, holding back the rush of emotions that swished back and forth within him trying desperately to burst free. Every sound outside the walls of his house made him jerk to attention. Was he here? What should he do?
He had rehearsed over and over in his mind the words he would say to greet his brother but they were constantly changing with the wave of his mood. When he was sad he wanted to bawl and grasp Lovino's front, burying his face into his other half's neck, breathing in the scent of the man. When he thought he might combust from joy he imagined leaping into Lovino's arms shrieking with glee, peppering his face with kisses of love and greeting. When he was stuck in the between his mind went into limbo, completely blank. Then doubt followed. What if Lovino didn't want to be unified? What if he hated Feliciano? What if he preferred being with Spain and picking glossy red tomatoes in the comfortable western sun?
Tears pricked behind his eyes. Feliciano let them drizzle down his cheeks. Plip, the droplets fell. Liquid confusion and stress wetting the wooden planks below. Plip, plip.
Minutes later he heard the clicking of hooves on stone. The personification of Northern Italy stood from his bed and turned towards the hall. Through his open archway he could see the front door, silent and waiting.
Then heels. A rushed pace of feet moving towards the house. Feliciano drew closer, matching the strides with his own frantic ones. He threw open the front door, ignoring the glare of the setting sun directly in his face. His eyes were wide and searching, already filling with tears, his mouth open, ready to call out, to speak words he had rehearsed and forgotten.
Southern Italy was part-way down the path. He wore a dark printed dress, a white apron tied tightly around his middle, although the hems of both were stained horribly and torn. Tattered fabrics brushed against his bare ankles in the gentle Italian winds. Shoes that might have been black were caked brown with dirt and sand, and olive skin that was so common, yet still so amazingly beautiful, shined with sweat.
He hadn't bothered to change out of his uniform. As soon as he heard the news-felt it-he had dropped everything. He had left every possession of his in Rome to run. He had abandoned a life he had lived for hundreds of years in the blink of an eye...
He had left Spain.
All for his Veneziano.
Feliciano's sobs passed through his lips before any words could. He flung himself at his older brother, their bodies pressing together close enough their hearts seemed to beat through both of them. They wound their arms around each other ungracefully and squeezed hard enough to break ribs. It was a miracle they remained standing upright.
"Romano," Feliciano wept, salty tears not the only liquids leaking all over his relative's shoulder. "Romano, you're here. You're here."
Lovino's only reply was a shuddering breath being sucked in and released. He held his face against Feliciano's neck, one hand buried in the younger's hair while the other pressed against his lower back, helping keep them together. His tears felt cool as they smeared over Feliciano's flesh.
"Fratellone... Fratellone..." Feliciano released his death grip on the crying man's shirt to lean back and stare into his sibling's face. The sweat had begun to cool on Lovino's forehead, but his bemoaning had resulted in his cheeks being soaked. For once it was Feliciano whose eyes were open, and Lovino's who were squeezed tightly shut, too embarrassed of his emotions to meet anyone's eye.
Feliciano's fingers danced over Lovino, stroking his temple, his hair, his neck-anywhere he could reach, trying to hush the other with trembling words. He smoothed back Lovino's bangs and pushed their foreheads together. "It's okay, Fratellone, it's a-all... all-" his throat clenched and a sob racked him. "It's all okay n-now..."
"Veneziano." Lovino's utter of his name was less than a whimper. "Vene... zi... We... I-I... Oh, Vene-"
Feliciano's lips swallowed his incoherent ramblings wetly. Long, slender fingers meant for kitchen and love making laced through deep chestnut hair, fingertips gentle against the scalp. The hand on the back of his head moved down to his neck, tickling the sensitive skin as their tongues did a salt tinged dance of reminiscing.
Politically they had been a nation, a single land, for four mornings and three nights.
But it was on the fourth night the personifications, the divided states of Italy themselves, felt themselves come together. Among a bed of tousled hair, bodies sliding against one another, hot breath escaping flustered lips in the form of whispered names. A stretch of light-less hours where only the sweet declarations of love broke the silence, where hands threaded together in a perfect fit, where tongues tasted the salt of tears, sweat and more.
It was that night the north and south lay together with their limbs entwined, murmuring 'ti amo' over and over into the skin of the other, their hearts beating in sync, Italy truly became one.