Stiletto Knives

A/N: So apparently stilettos are not only a type of fancy shoe, but they're also a kind of knife that originated from Italy. When I found out, I just HAD to write this… because I think Italy probably has a secret badass side x).

However charming and well-intentioned America could be, his ideas were pretty flimsy most of the time. Whether it was trying to raise funds by selling bomber jackets or using diplomacy by way of Lady Gaga songs, the other nations had come to expect idiocy from him.

It was clear that today was no exception.

"And so, in conclusion," America cried, his voice reaching a fever pitch, "That is why I firmly believe that we should develop a way to make burgers into nuclear weapons!" America slammed his fists on the table. "Who's with me?!"

Predictably, nobody stood up to agree with him. The only one that seemed to even acknowledge that he had spoken was England, though what he had to say wasn't all that supportive.

"America, have I ever told you that you're a bloody git?" Rolling his eyes, he added, "Out of all the dimwitted ideas in the world, that one has to take the cake."

America snorted. "If by 'take the cake' you mean 'totally freaking rad' then I completely agree!" He looked up at the other nations. "C'mon! Don't all line up at once!"

Germany rubbed his temples. "America, sit down. No one is going to support an idea like that."

America crossed his arms defiantly. "Oh really?" He scanned the room, looking for at least one person that might agree with his idea. "Ummm... Oh! Italy! You think my idea's a good one, right?"

Italy nodded, his usual ditzy grin on his face. "Sure!"

Beside him, Romano slapped his arm. "Fratello, don't encourage the bastard."

Italy pouted. "But I do think it's a good idea!" He turned back towards America, his trademark smile in place. "Though I think your nuclear thingies would be tastier if you made them from pasta instead!" Still smiling, he cocked his head. "Veeee, Mister America, what does 'nuclear' mean?"

"It means total world domination!" America whipped his head around to smirk at Germany. "See? Even your cute little Italian stallion thinks my idea is amazing!"

"Don't call him that!" Germany snapped, though his face had gone rather red. "Honestly America, where do you come up with these ideas of yours?"

America put his hands on his hips. "You're just jealous that you never come up with good ideas like mine!" Running over to Italy, he clamped a hand on his shoulder. "But Italy here is smart! He knows a good weapon idea when he hears one!"

England started laughing. "Oh please!" Waving his hand dismissively, he added, "If you're looking for a nation that knows anything about weaponry, Italy is not who you should choose."

Surprisingly, Italy looked rather angry. "England! How rude of you! My country makes really good weapons!"

England snorted. "Italy, I like you a lot. I think you're adorable. But I know for a fact that your nation has never been known for making effective weaponry."

The Italian crossed his arms. "We've invented lots of really cool weapons!"

Snickering, England sat back in his chair. "Name one."

"Stilettos!"

Immediately, the room burst into laughter. England threw his head back, cackling loudly, France chortling by his side. Even Germany was trying to hold back a grin. "Liebe, high heels aren't weapons."

Italy shook his head indignantly. "No, no! Not stilettos like the shoes! I mean stiletto knives!" He turned to Germany, raising an eyebrow. "You know," he said more quietly, "those knives…" At this, Germany flushed and averted his gaze, looking as if he were trying very hard not to think about what Italy had said.

England wiped the laughter-induced tears from his eyes, still chuckling. "So tell me about these fabled stiletto knives, Italy. I'd love to hear all about them." He elbowed France. "I think the poor bloke is making this up."

Italy narrowed his eyes and stood up. "What about if I show you instead?"

Germany panicked. "No, Italy, don't do that!" Ignoring the stares from the other countries, he pleaded, "Please don't! I'm begging you!"

The Italian swooped down to give his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek, not paying attention to the sounds of Romano's gagging. "Veeee, don't worry, Germany! I won't do anything but show him! Nothing else, I promise!" He turned back to look at England. "How about it?"

In all honesty, the sight of Germany burying his face in his hands and trying not to cry should have been a warning sign, but England was none the wiser. Shooting Italy a smug look, he nodded. "Alright."

Humming to himself, Italy motioned for England to stand up. "Go stand by that wall over there. I'll be able to show you much better with a hard surface behind you."

Quirking his large eyebrows, England sauntered over to the wall and crossed his arms. "Well? Now what are y-?"

Seemingly out of nowhere, Italy suddenly pulled out what looked like four extremely sharp, sophisticated switchblade knives. He proceeded to open all of them within a split second before actually hurling one of them at England.

It landed about an inch away from England's left arm, almost cutting open his skin. The man gave a very undignified squeak of terror as the other assembled countries gasped in shock.

Italy seemed unfazed. "Italian!"

Another knife whizzed by England, this time lodging itself just barely away from the perimeter of England's upper right thigh.

"Stiletto knives!"

Thunk. The sound of a knife hitting the wall above England's hair reverberated around the room.

"ARE INCREDIBLE!"

The last knife flew across the room, burying itself mere centimeters away from England's bushy eyebrows.

Stunned silence followed this. Everyone but Germany (who was still hiding in his hands) gaped at Italy, horrified by what they had seen. England, his face deathly white, was shaking so much that he looked about ready to pass out.

For his part, Italy looked much more relaxed than he had previously. Running a hand through his chestnut hair, he sighed happily. "Veeee, that felt really good!" He skipped over to England and dislodged the knives from the wall. Closing them up, he put them in his boot before smiling at the petrified man. "Next time I say that Italians make good weapons, believe me okay?" he giggled, patting England's quivering shoulder. "Especially when it comes to our stiletto knives!"

He bounced back over to his seat next to Romano, completely unmindful of the dumbfounded look on his brother's face. Getting out a piece of paper, he began to doodle, singing happily to himself.

For a long moment, no one knew what to say. At last, it was Prussia that broke the silence. "Well West, now we know how you two get kinky!"

A/N: Ahhh, Italy, you closeted badass! You're amazing. In all seriousness though, I can totally see Germany having a thing for a sexy, knife-throwing Italy... Actually, you know what? I think I might have one too :3.