Naked Frenchmen, Angry Germans.

There were two things in life that Italy loved passionately- pasta and his boyfriend, Germany.

Well, that was only a short list. A longer list would include pasta, Germany, pasta, art, sleep, his brother Romano, pasta, his friends, and pasta...

There was a lot of pasta on the list, but you get the idea. Italy adored Germany; there was a soft side to the stern, serious blond, and that side only showed up whenever Italy and his dogs were concerned (and sometimes around Prussia, but shhhhh-Prussia's ego was big enough already).

Still, Italy couldn't deny that Germany was downright sexy whenever he was angry. His face would become the perfect soldier's expression-serious and stern, with a touch of danger to it. His blue eyes would gleam with determination. His posture would straighten, which reminded Italy of one of Japan's cats. His voice would gain a husky, sexy edge to it, which really shouldn't be that hot-

"Italy, are you listening?"

Italy blinked. Oh, right! He was sitting next to France, in his house-

"Vee...France, why are you naked?"

Indeed, France was naked. Very, very naked. Still, that was a common enough sight, so Italy wasn't too taken aback.

France crossed his legs, repositioning himself in the armchair. "It's very hot outside, isn't it?"

"I guess. But Germany's coming to pick me up, and remember what happened the last time he saw you naked around me?"

"Yes..." France flinched. How could he not remember? It took him two hours of running in order to escape a certain pissed-off German with a hot glue gun. "Still, we're just talking, aren't we?"

"Oh, yes! But what were we talking about?"

"Hmmm," France said. "I think we were talking about bicycles. Did you ever see my bicycle, Italy?"

"No." Italy said. "I didn't even know that you had one!"

"Everyone should have a bicycle-"

"Italy?"

The two men hadn't noticed that Germany had walked through the door. Italy let out a surprised "Vee!" as he turned his head.

Germany was standing by the door frame. He was blushing, but he had that expression on his face, and he had that gleam in his eye.

"France, what are you doing?" Germany's voice had that husky, dangerous edge to it.

France paled. "Oh, crap..."

As Germany sprinted after a fleeing France, Italy decided on two things.

"AHHH! MON DIEU, NOT IN THE FACE!"

There was a brief pause, which was broken by the sound of a fist punching a very sensitive part of the male anatomy.

The first thing is that France actually has a very girly scream.

"Dammit frenchie, why do you have to be so fast?"

Two, Germany was definitely getting some loving that night-at least, after Italy made sure that France wasn't permanently scarred.

First fic, YAY! Sorry if it's short, but I kinda wanted to post this up as a sort of preview of what I could do.