Passion
Sometimes when Ludwig comes to him he holds him too tightly, kisses him too strongly, answers too quickly the question, "Are you alright?"
But that's ok, because Feliciano understands.
And when they make love he lets Ludwig take all he wants until they're both exhausted, sweaty, and strong German arms pull him to that massive chest. Feliciano revels in the sigh beneath him, the deep inhale of his hair and the fingers stroking his back.
Because it's ok, Feliciano understands.
And when they go out to train, and Ludwig ends up yelling too much at soldiers who don't deserve it, becoming wrapped up in his internal anger and angst he still does not want to share, the Italian just stands to the side and smiles. There's nothing more he can do until Ludwig announces they're going home and, like clockwork because his lover enjoys the stability, the smaller nation asks if they can have pasta for dinner.
In the end it's ok, Feliciano understands, only because he plays his part.
"I'm sorry," a broken voice whispers, a hand on his shoulder. Feliciano is still so tired, wants to stay in bed for all of the morning. The sun is already peaking through the blinds, the room warm under the Italian sky. Two lips kiss his neck.
"Don't apologize," the Italian whispers, pushing back into Ludwig's body. The German pulls him tightly to his chest, his breathing shallow, as if he's trying to calm himself. "I love you."
That mouth, still pressed into the crook of his neck, smiles. "I love you too Feliciano."
A few nights later they're out for the evening, watching pretty Italian women dance with handsome German soldiers, when the air raid siren goes off. The military men scurry quickly as Feliciano seeks out his secret boyfriend, not sure what he's suppose to do.
Two hands grab his arms, tight. "Feliciano," Ludwig breathes, the only Italian word he has ever mastered the pronunciation of. His eyes, so blue, are so desperate as they take him in, drowning in what the German nation must now do.
"Stay safe," the Italian whispers, hands holding the side of that face. Only in moments of panic like this are they willing to show public displays of affection, since no one notices them. "I love you Lutz."
There's a bone-breaking hug before a hand on the back of his head guides him to a kiss that's passionate and searing and so desperate that even the Italian lover's heart begins to race as he pulls at the uniform of the other.
"Come back to me," he breathes as Ludwig breaks the kiss.
"I love you Feliciano," is the only response that comes before he grabs his gun and runs out with the other men.
It must be three or four in the morning when a body comes in behind him in bed. Turning over, Feliciano whispers in the best German he can, "Are you hurt?" Ludwig likes to converse in Italian, but he understands that when his lover is so exhausted it is best to speak in the other's native tongue. "I can tend to your-"
"Stop." There's a long silence, and he tries to make out the outline of his lover in the low lighting. He can tell the German is holding his side, can tell he's dirty and probably bloody. "Just- let me-"
He doesn't have to finish, because Feliciano understands. He settles in under one of Ludwig's arms, against that chest, because if his lover is holding him it's like a subconscious sign that he is still strong, still the protector. Under an ear he hears the racing heart, the breathing that's starting to calm, so he lets one hand snake under Ludwig's shirt to feel the cool muscle beneath.
They lay like that for a while until the larger man drifts to sleep. Feliciano lays quietly, contently, watching.
It's ok; Feliciano understands.
Sometimes when Ludwig comes to him he holds him too tightly, kisses him too strongly, answers too quickly the question, "Are you alright?"
He does it because no matter what is going on outside, the passion they share is intense and so much stronger than everything else. It is consuming and forever and so Feliciano lets Ludwig do what he does because maybe then his heart will calm too, maybe he'll believe his whispered words of, "It'll be ok Lutz. We'll get through this together Lutz. I'll never leave you Lutz, so don't ever leave me either. I love you Lutz. I love you."
Their passion is the only thing that keeps them going, and that's ok, because Feliciano understands that, even if Ludwig doesn't.
