It took Germany hours to work up the courage to begin this discussion, and now he has, he's still really not sure about it. The vaunted advice books don't help much at all, since considering carrying out those situations is enough to make Germany fret about all the ways it could go wrong.

Deep breaths, Beilschmidt.

"Um. Feliciano."

"Yeah?" Italy turns to him from where he's sprawled on the bed on his stomach, idly leafing through a magazine.

"I—uh—I was wondering. Do. Um D-do you think I'm—boring in—in bed? Because I've never d-done anything that—that could be considered, uh, kinky, and—" God, his cheeks are nearly on fire right now, and Italy must think he's weird or something for bringing this up just out of the blue, and he lapses into silence, worrying at the cuff of his sweater.

There's a hand on his knee, and Italy wiggles upright. "Are you asking do I think you're boring because we've only had vanilla sex or do I think having vanilla sex is boring because the answer to both of those is no but um the first one is really really no so uh which is it?"

It takes a moment for Germany to process this sentence, delivered as it is in a rush, and then he clears his throat and mutters "Both."

"Ah," Italy hums. "Well, uh, I don't think you're boring at all, you're actually really interesting and you're not boring in bed, at least I don't think you are, and also vanilla sex isn't boring at all—have you been getting bored?"

"N-no, but I was worried that—"

"That I was?"

Germany nods.

"I'm not, though," Italy says, patting him on the knee and smiling, "and why would vanilla sex be boring?"

"I—well—I was just—" Worried, because Germany knows Italy is more experienced in these matters, at the very least in talking about them, and you don't grow up around the Roman Empire and Greece and France and Romano without hearing things, and what if there're expectations he's not meeting—

Italy rolls into his lap. "You're not boring, and neither is having sex with you. Especially not vanilla sex, 'cause I mean it's really fun and feels good and I really like doing it with you and wait why were you asking?"

"I just, um, wanted to know."

"Well, it's not," says Italy, and he nestles his head into the crook of Germany's neck.

Silence falls, soft and comfortable.

"Wait did you want to try kinky stuff—"

Germany nearly chokes on air. "N-no," he stammers out.

Italy appears about to say something, then trails off. He waves his feet in the air, drawing one finger along the cabling on Germany's sweater. "I-if you wanted—"

"Hm?"

"—I could give you some pointers, if you want." He looks up at Germany. "If you really think you need to get better."

"It'd be…nice." Germany really can't avoid Italy's eyes, can he, not when they're looking at him like that…

Italy bites his lower lip and says, "Hands-on demonstration, do you think?" and the accursed dull red flush is creeping its way across Germany's cheeks already, and he nods yes anyways because isn't that always how it is with Italy.

Craning up, Italy kisses him quickly, smiling that sleepy smile of his. "Do you want to wait until after dinner, or?"

Before he can stop himself, Germany brushes a few stray hairs out of Italy's face. "We can order out, if you want."

Italy is on him before he can say another word, sweet-smelling and grinning widely, and he cradles Germany's face in his hands and leans in close until they're nose to nose and murmurs "Sounds great," and then leans in even closer and kisses him again, biting softly at Germany's lower lip. He presses closer, brushing his thumbs across Germany's cheekbones, and Italy kisses like he does everything else, as if he's got all the time in the world, gentle and coaxing and sweet, lithe body settling atop Germany's. Warmth floods all through Germany, sweeping down his spine and up his arms from where his hands rest on Italy's back, from where their mouths are linked, and he sighs into the kisses, curling his fingers in Italy's shirt.

"So," Italy half-whispers, "the first really important thing is foreplay, 'cause you've got to make sure the other person is really super comfortable and happy and foreplay helps a lot with that 'cause it's like cuddling but even more." He presses his lips to Germany's cheek quickly. "You're usually pretty good about it, but sometimes I think we don't do enough, and then you're all nervous and it's not as fun." His fingers have begun slipping up Germany's sweater and shirt as he speaks, pulling the fabric along with them. "And one thing that really helps is kissing. So!"

Germany's shirt is off before he knows it, and Italy's lips are back against his, and Italy mutters "Also—skin is—very nice" between kisses, hands running up his sides and along his chest. Made just a bit bolder, Germany slides his fingers up Italy's back beneath his shirt, and Italy makes a noise of bright approval, pulling away from the kiss just enough to wiggle out of his t-shirt and then dropping right back down again, slim fingers curling in Germany's hair.

"Good!" He chirps. "So the point is basically do what you think will be fun, and I think kissing you all over would be really really fun, and what do you think?"

"I think—" Germany's voice has become a little deeper, a little hoarser, and it makes him flush even more. "I think that sounds—good."

Italy has already started mouthing at his neck, hips rolling minutely and hands wandering aimlessly.

What you think will be fun…that was very open-ended. Hm.

Germany realizes that his own hands are in Italy's hair and—there's an idea. He locates the one curl as best he can considering the very distracting effect Italy's lips seem to have, and gives it a tug. He can feel Italy smile against his neck, and his back arches, and the next kiss isn't a kiss but a bite on his collarbone, not hard but there're teeth, and then Italy really starts making good on his promise and Germany can't do anything but try to stifle the really embarrassing noises he keeps making and completely fail when Italy starts undoing Germany's pants and pushing them down his thighs.

"U-um, should I—" he mumbles, and Italy smiles and says "Whatever you want," and so Germany sits up and undoes Italy's belt, unzips his pants. Shuffling even closer to sit between Germany's legs, Italy pulls him down for another kiss, holds him by the hips, presses himself close all along Germany's front. He is warm, so warm, soft skin and faintly chapped lips and hands surprisingly strong for their slenderness, and Germany sighs into his mouth and swallows down his nervousness just enough to slip a hand down and palm Italy quickly.

Italy moans faintly, craning up into the kiss, and then he slides his hands up to Germany's shoulders and presses him back gently onto the bed.

"You're doing great," he says. "Do you like this?"

Germany nods.

"You seem pretty relaxed." Italy pats his face quickly, grinning. "But, you know, I think you could do with a little more."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm!" Italy nods. "And I was thinking…" He wiggles down just a little, begins mouthing at Germany's clavicle. "…One thing that really would help you relax…" More, and he kisses the spot just below Germany's sternum, making him jump a little. "…Would be if I gave you head. Sound good?" Even more, and he nips Germany's hipbone, glancing up.

Germany's voice squeaks a little on the "Yes," and his face must be so red right now, and none of that matters because his breath stops dead in his throat when Italy dips his head down and mouths at Germany's boxers. It isn't the first time they've done this but that doesn't matter, it doesn't, because now Italy's actually got Germany's boxers all the way off and his head is back down and oh God oh God oh God where did he learn to do that.

Italy bobs his head and sucks, and oh God is he taking his time, and Germany can't help bucking his hips but Italy makes a sort of choking noise and Germany manages to gasp "S-sorry."

"'S okay," Italy says quickly, pulling away just long enough to speak before opening his mouth again and placing a hand on Germany's hips to still them, eliciting a hoarse groan.

Italy is taking his own sweet time with this, and he's not experienced but oh dear Lord he's enthusiastic, and Germany manages to build up enough bravery through the warm haze in his head to rest a hand on Italy's head, tangling the curly hair. His other hand—he really doesn't know what to do with it, and it ends up gripping the bedsheets when Italy does this thing with his tongue.

He doesn't pull Italy's hair, not even when Italy wraps one hand around his base and hollows his cheeks and sucks, glancing up through his eyelashes (which are so dark and long that there's probably some sort of law against them), and grins at Germany's moan.

When Germany comes, it is with a short gasp and a sort of all-over tensing, and Italy raises his head back up and wipes the corner of his mouth and sits back up, smiling. "That's one thing you can do," he says cheerily, "and almost always it makes the other person feel really good! You can try it on me next time, see how it goes?"

Germany mumbles in reply and Italy chuckles, bumping his nose against Germany's jaw. They lie there as Germany catches his breath.

It must be uncomfortable for Italy, he realizes, he's hard and really hasn't had any stimulation, and Germany reaches a hand down tentatively.

"Is this okay?"

Italy goes wide-eyed for a second, and then beams. "Yes!"

Nervously, cheeks going red all over again, Germany slides his hand into Italy's boxers and starts stroking. Before long, Italy begins to pant and twitch his hips forward, and Germany is getting hard again, and—

"Do you want to keep going?"

"Y-yeah."

"Okay!" Italy scoots quickly to the side to rummage through the top drawer of the nightstand. "So, next is preparation, and you're really good about that too so you don't need to worry about it. Uh, but the general thing here is to take your time and make sure the other person is happy because otherwise it kind of hurts." He must have caught Germany's worried look, because the next thing he says is "You've never hurt me, though!"

As he speaks, he slicks up his fingers with the lube he'd pulled from the nightstand, and he pats Germany's thigh and says "Scoot up a little please?"

Germany does, and Italy smiles softly and nudges his legs a little further apart. "You're beautiful like this, you know that? Well, all the time really, but like this too," he murmurs. "Ooh—that's another thing, compliments're also a good idea. And it's true."

Momentarily, Germany wonders if it's too late to start writing these down, but then Italy runs fingers down the back of his thigh and slowly, carefully works one inside of him and Germany really, really can't concentrate on anything else right now. Italy moves his finger slowly, so slowly, and his other hand finds its way to Germany's and holds it, lacing their fingers together, and the look of mixed concentration and affection on Italy's face makes Germany's already-pounding heart do something kind of weird.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." His breath is coming a little short, though, but judging from the other times they've done this that's a normal thing, and he grips Italy's hand tighter.

"Can I put a second one in?"

"Yes."

Italy does, and it makes Germany arch his back a little, and he spreads the two fingers apart and pulls them together, moves them as one, and as he slides the third one in he whispers comforting things and Germany un-tenses and accepts the stretch, curling his toes.

Gently, quietly, Italy works him open, leaning in close and holding his hand, saying silly things to him in a mix of Italian and German, kissing his throat, until Germany pants and shakes and rolls his hips forwards, gone completely red.

"Do you think you're ready?" Italy whispers, pulling away far too soon and not soon enough.

Licking his lips, Germany nods.

Italy sits back on his heels, wriggling out of his boxers and rolling on the condom, and settles his slight frame between Germany's legs.

"And the really important part here," he half-whispers, "is that you go really slow and make sure they always feel the best they can." He gives Germany's hand a quick squeeze. "Can I put it in?"

"Yes," and Italy does, centimeter by centimeter, and when he's in he holds still and Germany cautiously wraps his legs around Italy's waist, trying to adjust to the feeling. Italy is shaking a little, and his eyes are closed, and when he says "Can I move?" his voice is a little strained and Germany says "Yes" again and the first slow roll of Italy's hips is just—amazing.

The pace Italy sets is slow, sometimes pausing between thrusts, never quickening much—like he's got all the time in the world and there's no better way to spend it—and Germany wraps his arms around Italy and buries his face in the top of his head and meets every movement as best he can, sighing.

Italy mumbles something indistinct, cranes up to kiss him again and again, and he is so gentle, so gentle and careful—he always is, that is Italy all over, gentle and friendly and loyal and how could Germany ever have been so lucky as to have someone like Italy even be friends with him, much less this?

He realizes he's mouthing 'Ciano, 'Ciano against the crown of Italy's head, that Italy is running his hands along Germany's sides and then one down between his legs and he arches up, gasping.

Italy mutters against the side of his neck and then bites down, again, not hard but enough to leave a mark, and Germany wonders for a second how many of them there'll be in the morning and doesn't really have time to dwell on it because Italy hits that spot and Germany moans quietly.

"Y-you can make noise, you know," Italy pants, "that'd b-be nice, actually—ah that's good, mmh—" and then he slows again, deep rolling motions that leave Germany shaking and panting for breath, and Italy's hand keeps doing what it's doing and it's good at that, and Germany bucks into his hand and his thrusts and lets the tremendous warmth flow through him from every point where they touch, lets Italy go so slowly and deeply that Germany can do little more than hold him and breathe out yes yes more like that.

Italy begins to speed up the tiniest bit, becomes a little more haphazard in his motions, and licks at Germany's neck, making him moan again—useless to try and stop it now, biting his lip isn't exactly going to work, not now, not like this, not when Italy feels so good inside him and he's wrapped around Germany as tightly as Germany is around him, one hand clutching at his shoulders and the other stroking him just enough out of sync with his movements to make it really very difficult for Germany to know exactly which way to move and it's a little frustrating but that is overpowered by the oh God more please right there when Italy pushes his hips forwards, free hand sliding up from Germany's shoulder into his hair.

Appearing to have remembered what he said earlier about compliments, Italy starts up again, gasping out beautifuls and love yous and so goods and Germany can't help it, he gives to the feelings of Italy's hips against his and Italy's hand around him and Italy's words in his head and comes, breathing God, 'Ciano into the bedroom air.

Somehow, Italy manages to say "'S it okay if I k-keep going?" and Germany, still half-delirious from sheer good, answers "Yes".

Italy does, and his motions become even more ragged and his breaths even shorter and it's most likely a minute and a half but it could be any length of time, neither of them are really in a state to tell, before Italy moans and stills and flops forward on top of Germany, breathing quietly, their arms still around each other.

Eventually, Italy lifts his head. "So—so, it's like that, see?"

"Yes," Germany murmurs when he finds his voice again.

"Think y'can? Next time?"

"Yes."

"Mn. 'S great!" Italy looks up at him, round dark eyes a little hazy and shining. "'S great."

Germany kisses Italy's forehead, absently playing with his mussed hair, and Italy smiles and sits up just enough to roll off the condom, and on his second try Germany grabs the tissue box and wipes them off, and they fall back together in a mess of tangled limbs and tired breaths and warmth.

"Do you want to watch a movie during dinner?" Germany asks eventually, and his voice has gone low and rumbly—he's more tired than he'd thought—and Italy says "Ah, let's talk about that later, 'cause I forgot to mention cuddling is really important too," and spends the next forty-five minutes demonstrating exactly that, and this had not been anywhere near as difficult as Germany had worried at all.