A/N: Okay hi everyone! I'm not dead. So much stuff has been going on lately…and I have no excuses for this. Okay this is your final warning: this is yaoi, boys love, and lemony goodness…those who don't like it TURN BACK NOW. No flames please. Okay, so the idea for this story: I was trying to write part of another Hetalia story, a collab between me and one of my rl friends, and my sister got on my computer and deleted the file. So I was super depressed and went to FF to read stories and hopefully become cheered up. I came across two stories written for the LJ APH kink meme and decided that I had to write one. The idea is that the Italy's curls are connected and when one is touched, both react to it. This is my first attempt at a lemon, so please tell me if it sucked. I am 100% lesbian so I have no experience in this field beyond what I've read in other stories. Okay so you can stop listening to me ramble and go ahead and read now:
Germany sighed again, catching the glare Romano was sending him from across the table. They were at a world conference; couldn't he let up for a few hours? Italia was at his side as always, just waiting for the meeting to end so he could have some pasta. However he was having problems sitting still. They had been at the meeting for at least an hour and a half already, and it showed no signs of letting out soon.
Not only did Italia's attention span not last that long, but he was finding his chair to be rather uncomfortable. It wasn't the seat's fault, really; it was mostly just an ordinary-looking wooden chair with a thin red cushion on it, which might as well not have been there for all the comfort it supplied.
However to Italia it seemed that the chair was out to get him.
He hated the chair for how every time he shifted in his seat a pain shot up his back like a knife was being stuck up his arse and twisted around. Not to mention the stinging pain every time the cotton of his shirt brushed against the long welts on his back. And how much he wanted to unbutton his cuffs and roll his sleeves up to stop the constant pressure on his rope burned wrists. And how his (similarly rope burned) ankles were constantly being scraped by the insides of the boots he was wearing. And how he wanted to take off the thin silk scarf he was wearing to hide the large purple marks on his neck. And how his hips ached from the harsh pounding onto the kitchen counter…okay, so maybe none of that had anything to do with the chair, but he needed some object to vent his frustration onto. However blaming the chair was only fun for so long.
So he moved onto whining in Germany's ear.
"Ve, Doitsu…when is this going to end…I want to go home…this chair is so uncomfortable…" The German in question blushed at the Italian's statements, knowing exactly why he wanted to go home and the chair was uncomfortable. Speaking of, watching Italia squirming in pain was getting him rather excited and he wouldn't mind taking leave of the (suddenly uncomfortably warm) meeting hall. He could see Romano glaring even more strongly at him, only being able to guess at what his brother was saying, but apparently not liking whatever he thought it was. Germany was now sweating uncomfortably, his hand reaching up to loosen his tie's chokehold on his neck…why was it so hot in here?...and he decided to take action.
"I move for a break!" he yelled assertively, interrupting Spain's speech about tomatoes and Italians (which had made a certain dark-skinned Italian blush fiercely, but not say anything…yet). A general consensus was reached, with the nations agreeing on a twenty-minute break. Germany shot up out of his chair, pulling Italia along behind him. Romano looked like he was about to follow them but was held back by a grinning Spain, no doubt questioning him about whether the he liked his speech. Germany lead Italia to a smaller conference room in a dark corner of the building he was certain no one knew about except for himself and Italia, with the door labeled 'Janitor Supplies' and no windows letting any light in. There was a medium-sized table in the middle of the room, which was the only furniture he had ever found in there.
As the door shut firmly behind them, they slowly progressed into the pitch-black room, more interested in exploring each other's body than the room. Germany's hands unbuttoned Italia's shirt, dropping it to the floor, and then made their way into his hair. Italia whimpered softly as Germany's finger brushed softly against that one large curl, and Germany's mind quickly formulated a plan.
Based on the knowledge he had gained over the past few weeks, the brothers' ahoges were connected, and if one was stimulated the other could feel it. He found out one night, right after he and Italia had begun sleeping together almost nightly, when Italia had told him to stop touching his curl. Germany was confused because he knew that it was pleasurable for the Italian, so he had naturally questioned him. Eventually he had relented and told him "Romano says that he's 'tired of having to jack off every night because my brother's having sex with a potato bastard' so we really should stop so he's not uncomfortable," thereby cutting off one of Germany's favorite methods of pleasing his lover. The night before the conference he had been caught up in the moment and Italia wanted it badly enough that he gave in. This was the reason for Romano's anger towards Germany in the conference room earlier; he knew what he and Italia had been doing the night before and was not happy about it, to say the least.
Not that Germany was very happy about it either; his boyfriend's homicidal brother, who absolutely hated his guts and happened to be in control of the mafia, could somehow always know when they were having sex, which was really not the best thing for the blonde's health. So now was time for the German's revenge.
If Germany knew anything about Romano (he did), he knew that he was too far in denial to admit his feelings for Spain, so they would likely still be in the conference room, as well as most of the other countries who hadn't left. It was the perfect timing to cause a scene. And Germany wouldn't be seen as guilty by any country other than Romano, who was already mad at him, so he had nothing to lose. Yes…the plan was nearly foolproof.
Germany turned his attention from Italia's lips to his curl. He mumbled something about not having enough time and needing to be quick to Italia, who bought the excuse without a second thought. First he tugged it a few times, causing the Italian to squirm underneath his grip. Germany pressed his backside firmly against the table, simultaneously pulling the curl into his mouth. His actions were met by a loud groan from the lips of the smaller man and slender hips bucking a hard, restrained bulge onto his thigh. He swirled it around his tongue for a short while before letting it go and pushing the Italian down to his knees. His fingers continued to play with the curl as its owner went to work on the zipper in front of him. Once it was undone both pants and boxers were pushed down to rest around the German's knees and the Italian went to work, engulfing his member in the hot, wet cavern of his mouth.
Knowing by now what would get Germany off the quickest, Italia pulled the entire length into his mouth, sucking and pulsating on it with his tongue. He occasionally moaned from the pressure on his curl, causing a pleasing vibration. He swallowed occasionally, used to repressing the gagging sensation as he took the impressive length down his throat. His hand went down, removing the excess clothing from his own member, already hard and ready from the stimulation of his curl, and slowly pumping it with a small hand. Germany moaned loudly and began to tug on the curl more fiercely, bucking his hips lightly into Italia's face, the younger being used to it and taking the pressure in stride. With one final, powerful thrust that shoved nearly three-quarters of his length down the other's throat and a powerful groan, the blonde man came powerfully. Italia swallowed all the white liquid greedily, hungrily, and slowly guided the member out of his mouth with his free hand.
Germany picked Italia up, laying him on the table with his knees bent at the edge. He harshly pulled Italia's hands above his head, keeping him from pleasuring himself and putting an uncomfortable pressure on his rope burns, and beyond that kept the only contact between their bodies his mouth on the curl. He was sucking on it powerfully, teeth scraping down the length of it, tongue in constant motion. Italia moaned and whined as he squirmed on the surface of the table, the cold, hard surface against his injuries only exciting him further. With a scream, Italia came, the liquid covering his stomach, chest, and the table. Germany produced a handkerchief from his pocket, mopping up the mess and shoving it in Italia's mouth when he finished. As Italia sucked all of his juices out of the cloth, Germany found his shirt and redressed them, not leaving a single button out of place, even in the pitch black.
He pulled the thin cloth out of Italia's mouth, now only slightly damp from his saliva. He folded it up lightly and put it in his pocket, grabbing Italia's hand and pulling him back out to the hall. Looking at the clock, he saw that they had less than a minute to get back to the conference room; so they ran. They arrived, just before England started the meeting, red-faced and breathless. Italia's chair wasn't any more comfortable now. Their activities in the other room hadn't relieved any of his aches, and if anything made most of them worse. However he had been satisfied for now and wouldn't need another break like that until another few hours at the least.
Germany looked across the table only to find that Romano wasn't at his seat. He debated whether or not he should ask about it, but was beat to it by Italia.
"Ve…where's Romano?" All the countries immediately looked at Spain, whose face turned red.
"I told you…I didn't do anything! Italy…we were just sitting here and he started screaming at me about touching his curl - but I wasn't, I was just hugging him! - then he stormed out of the room. I tried to follow him but he disappeared." Italia blushed fiercely but everyone's attention was diverted to the door as it slammed open, courtesy of Romano. "Ah! There you are, Romano. I was looking for you!" Spain cooed, oblivious to the murderous glare on his face. However, the glare was now directed at Germany, and Romano mumbled something that sounded a lot like "maledetta fratello cazzo bastardo di patate" which Germany was pretty sure he heard the words for brother, bastard, and potato in there but was also pretty sure he didn't want to hear the rest, based on the looks he was given by Italia and Spain.
Looking carefully at Romano, Germany could see that his hair was slightly messed up, his shirt had a skipped button, his pants weren't zipped up all the way and the front looked a little wet, his face was bright red, he was panting, and his curl was twitching oddly. He was, to put it softly, a mess. And he really couldn't have made his activities more obvious unless they had been done on the table in the middle of the meeting. However, one country was still oblivious (or at least pretending to be) and broke the silence.
"Ve…Romano, where were you? The meeting already started again. Why is your face so red?" Indeed, the older of the Italies had a bright red blush painted across his cheeks. Spain began trying to tell him how much he looked like a tomato, but Romano was used to it and just ignored his remarks by now.
"I…you and that potato bastard…and that Dio maledica ricciolo…you should know better than that, Veneziano," Romano finally puffed out. Italia fortunately kept up his innocent façade rather well, not giving anyone a hint that he was really the cause of his brother's odd behaviour. Before Romano could give more clues for the other nations to put together, England read the atmosphere in the room, found it to be tense and awkward, and stepped in to help.
"Alright, so now that we're all here, we should get back to important matters…"
Romano's glare stayed on Germany for the rest of the meeting and, presumably, carried on into the night. Forget about making him have to jack off…Italia was so responsive to that curl…