A/N: (PLEASE READ!) Mein Gott. I have been writing SO much smut lately... What is wrong with my brain! Sorry to some of you... You're welcome to others. ;D I know it's not like INTENSE smut, but I am but a delicate flower ( XD LMAO) and I don't write that kind of stuff. Now. :P What I really wanted to say is, please take notice of the numerous unds and meins. You have no idea how long it took me to write this having to incorporate those, but I wanted it to sound like how Germany talks in the anime. Meaning...

und = and; mein = mine; was = what; Gott = God; ja = yes; nein = no; Ich liebe dich = I love you. That's all! :) Enjoy!

When World War II was over, und everything was said und done, I didn't know what to think. I had a ginormous debt to pay off, as did a few other countries, und one of mein craziest bosses was finally gone. Some countries who were sympathetic with the Allies would cast me a wary gaze when I walked by, blaming me entirely for something I didn't want to be part of in the first place. Mein friendships with a few other countries were slowly mending. I didn't blame Italy for anything; I had done what I had to do, und he'd done what he had to do. I was not bitter in the least, just…accepting. I was accepting my fate und the direction mein existence would be going. I felt…at peace.

"Germany, Germany!"

Except for that.

"Ja? What is it, Italy?" I asked wearily, turning in mein desk chair to face him.

"I was just wondering if you'd let me cook you dinner tonight," Italy chirped cheerfully, grinning. "You've just been working so hard, and I figured I could do something to help!"

"You do know this will be the third time this week."

"Is that a yes?"

I sighed. "Ja. Fine, Italy. Let me just pack these away."

Be warned: fighting a war could be a pain to pay for later. Und as if I hadn't learned that lesson in World War I, then I was getting a review now. I'd been taking a long look at my financial situation, und… Well, it wasn't looking good.

I twirled mein pasta around the fork, successfully capturing a bite-sized portion. I lifted it to my mouth und then put it down, seeing the look on Italy's face. He looked anxious, or guilty, maybe, und while one hand holding an eating utensil prodded the pasta frequently, the carbohydrate enthusiast was making no real attempt to eat his pasta.

"Italy?" I asked tentatively, setting my fork down.

"Hmm?" he murmured, starting and sitting up a little straighter, fork held a little tighter.

I raised an eyebrow. "Are…you okay? You're acting strange…you're not eating…"

"Oh…oh!" Then Italy stuffed seemingly as much pasta as could possibly coil around the fork into his mouth with fervor as I watched curiously. Soon, half the plate was gone, but the smile that had temporarily lived on Italy's face was also gone, taken back over by the guilty, downcast look.

"You didn't have to stuff the whole thing in your mouth," I muttered. "That wasn't really what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Italy asked, smiling again, but it wasn't a genuine smile, one that lit up his face und showed you his heart und brought an embarrassing blush to mein pale face. It was a fake smile, und one that I didn't appreciate.

"I mean, you're acting weird. You're not happy." Italy neither confirmed nor denied this, so I asked, "What's wrong?" He didn't look up. For the first time I noticed that even the long, strange curl in his hair was drooping, like it was following his emotional lead. "Italy?"

Then Italy did look up and I was instantly concerned. There were tears in Italy's large, warm brown eyes und the look in them tugged at mein heart. He looked miserable, like he could fall off of the Leaning Tower of Pisa und smile on the way down. I was tough, but that look on his face was startling, und maybe even scary. "Mein Gott .Italy, what's wrong?"

I got up out of mein chair und took Italy by the hand, leading him to the sofa in the living room. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he followed me, und when we sat down, I wrapped mein arms around him in a way that I hoped came off as friendly und reassuring. "Italy, you can tell me anything. Please tell me what's wrong so I can make it better."

With a quivering voice, Italy answered, "It's m-my fault y-you l-l-lost the w-war."

"Was?"

"It's my fault!" Italy said a little louder. "All m-mine. I was n-never any use to you or J-Japan and I just – Oh, you w-w-would have been b-better off without me f-from the b-beginning, but I had to be a p-p-part of it! I had to be y-your ally! And you lost the w-war because of me!" Italy sobbed.

"Ah…Italy," I tried to sound reasonable, but really, I had little idea how to deal with his hysterics. He'd never been this bad off. "It's not your fault. We were fighting a losing battle from the beginning, und anyone who says otherwise is as crazy as mein old boss." Italy just sniffed. "Uh, besides. I don't blame you for anything. The Allies were just stronger, and more resourceful. It's not your fault."

Italy sniffed again. "You r-really don't b-blame m-me, Germany?"

"Nein. You don't have anything to feel guilty about."

"Then why h-have you been a-avoiding m-m-me?" he asked pitifully as more tears fell from his chocolatey eyes.

"Was? I haven't been avoiding you! Italy, I've been busy," I tried to explain, wiping the tears from his face unthinkingly and then blushing upon the realization of my actions. "War has consequences, you know. Economically, politically, environmentally... This mess is going to take a really long time to clean up."

"So...s-so you're n-not mad? You don't h-hate me?"

"Nein, Italy. I could never hate you, I - um, well, you're mein ally und mein friend." I blushed a little brighter, suddenly wanting to subletly move away from him. "So, never regret anything, Italy."

"Never...r-regret anything?" he repeated as a question. He was looking right into mein eyes, his own face full-to-bursting with emotion.

Unable to tear my gaze away, and extremely conscious of mein one arm still around him, I replied, affirming, "Never."

I knew I could stop him, but I didn't really want to as Italy slowly brought his face close to mein, tears still shining on his cheeks. Did I want this? Um... I blushed at the thought. Actually, ja, I did. I thought of Italy's smile, und his adorable foolishness, und the delicious food he made - he didn't even screw up mein wurst too badly - his cowardice that made it necessary for me to protect him...his naïvete that sometimes got him in trouble...his imagination (I swear, he can turn anything into a white flag)...

Und I found mein hand on his cheek, helping to bring him closer und he smiled gently, but not with his mouth, with his eyes. The arm that wrapped around him tightened, holding him closer, und came around with mein hand on his waist. I finally understood what people meant when they said they could get lost in someone's eyes. But then I couldn't see his eyes, because mein had closed on their own, our faces about two inches apart. There was no noise in the room but one small, breathy exhalation from Italy, und then...we kissed.

It wasn't weird at all, which was a little weird in itself. Wouldn't two people who'd previously been friends und allies find it awkward to be like this? But it didn't feel strange, it felt...well, it felt...good. It was like something in mein brain clicked, und things made sense.

I suddenly regretted all the wasted time hididng what I knew had been physical, romantic attraction. I regretted how I would always shut down and hide in myself whenever emotions began to show themselves. I shouldn't have avoided him, because I had, before. I should have just accepted it like I'd accepted my defeat and the consequences of the war. The fact was, really, that Italy was really too hard for me to resist.

I felt warm all over, like a window had been opened, letting warm, summer morning air douse us. All I cared about was Italy, und even if I knew that we were on the couch in mein home, it didn't seem as pedestrian as that. Everything felt like a dream, the best kind of dream...

I knew it wasn't a dream, however, as I realized a quick, sharp pain on mein lip when Italy bit down gently, und I opened mein lips, trying not to smile, giving him what he wanted, but manipulating the situation to get what I wanted. I pushed him back as much as I could into the couch and leaned towards him, pressing myself closer. One of Italy's small hands touched my chest over mein heart und I released his face with mein left hand so I could use it to hold his hand in place, never wanting him to let go. He didn't seem to want to, either.

It got so that I almost didn't know whose tongue was whose, or which lip wet where. All there was in mein mind was Italy. Though he was obviously there physically - ahem - it was more of an emotional thing. It was like I could feel Italy with something more than just mein hands.

Mein Gott, I probably would have seemed sappy to anyone else, thinking like that. BUt it was the unabridged version of everything I felt in just a few moments.

Italy's hand that wasn't resting on my heart was still trying to support him, keeping himself propped up as much as he could be, pinned as he was between the back of the couch and me. He removed it, letting himself fall back, and I fell on top of him.

Before I realized what I was doing, Italy's shirt was gone, and he was helping me. Part of me wanted to halt this, und see where we could go from where we'd gotten. But another part of me wanted to go a little longer, und feel the soft skin normally hidden by his clothes. I realized, a little self-consicously, that under meinclothes, Italy would find deep scars from centuries of war, but I was too far gone. Soon, mein shirt was thrown off somewhere, und Italy's soft, delicate hands were caressing me, tracing und stroking the scars I'd worried over. In fact, a little moan escaped Italy's lips into mein own mouth as his fingers continued to follow the slightly raised areas of once-mauled skin.

Italy didn't try to reach for mein pants, which I was glad for. I was quite happy with what we were doing now, und I didn't feel the need to take this any further until we had a chance to see where we would go. I loved Italy, I did, but I didn't want to force myself upon him util we were both ready and sure.

Still, mein mouth unlatched from Italy's und traveled down his face, to his neck, where I continued to kiss, reveling in his taste und the feeling of his blood pulsing through his veins on mein lips. Somehow, his hands had traveled from mein chest to mein hair without mein notice, und he tugged gently as more little moans came from his throat. He pushed himself closer to me, but I pushed him back against the couch furthur again, und mein teeth lightly impressed themselves into Italy's neck, causing another moan.

Italy suddenly took mein face und lifted it back up to his, taking mein lips with his once more, und I pushed mein tongue back into his mouth.

I was surprised, though, when Italy pushed back against me forcefully so I was flat on mein back on the couch, his body on top of mein now. I might've gone against this, but as we probably weren't about to take it any furthur, I consented.

I ran my hands over Italy's torso and sides, almost massaging his ribcage, und Italy put his hands back on mein chest as well, feeling mein muscles und scars again, und pressing into mein body with relish.

Eventually, Italy's mouth became a little less insistent on mein, his hands a little less fervent und hungry. Mein hands, also, became a little more soothing and sensual than passionate. Slowly, Italy slid down, resting his head on mein chest und kissing one long, pale scar there, panting slightly. Mein breathing was fast, too, as was mein heartbeat, und I had a feeling that Italy was listening to it as he stilled.

Soon, Italy murmured, "Grazie, Germany."

I was mildly confused. "For what?" I replied.

"For showing me that you love me back. You do, don't you?" he almost pleaded.

"Ja," I told him genuinely. "Ich - Ich liebe dich, Italy."

"Good," he whispered back, sounding sleepy. "Ti amo, Germany. And," he smiled blearily, "I'll never regret it."