Veneziano drew one finger along the edge of a wing, humming in interest.

Germany just didn't seem like the kind of person to have tattoos, and it was a little odd to see the black eagle spread across his back between the shoulderblades, over old scars and the swoop of his spine, and Veneziano wasn't sure whether the slight trembling in his stomach was from the fact that it was there or the fact that this was the first time he'd seen it. All the other times he'd seen Germany shirtless had been from the front, from barging in on him during showers, and that had been plenty good-looking but there'd been no hint of a black eagle.

"Is that new?"

Germany's shoulders were hunched, and his ears had gone red. "No."

The silence seemed to be enough incentive for Germany to continue. "I got really, really drunk with Upper Saxony and Thuringia in the seventies."

"Oh." Veneziano traced his fingers around the feathers at the bottom of the wing and along one stylized talon, smiling to himself when Germany shivered a bit.

Truth be told, Germany didn't seem the type, Bundesrepublik Deutschland or no. He wasn't… eaglelike. He wasn't wiry muscle and airy thoughts and scratchy voice like Prussia, pride and cruelty like his leaders had once wanted; he was broad shoulders and deep baritones and powerful muscles, loyalty and obedience and intelligence.

That didn't make the stifled noise Germany made when Veneziano trailed fingers down his spine and around to his abdomen and down again any less interesting, though.

Veneziano, he decided, was definitely going to acquaint himself more with Germany's back, starting right now.