A/N: Again, the internet hasn't been too much of a friend to me lately, otherwise I would've updated this eons ago. In any case, thank you for the beautiful reviews! I'm glad you're enjoying this. ;)
Title: In the Shadow of Albion
Rating: Maybe more on the R side this chapter? Call this a test, if you will...
Pairing(s): England/Italy and other multiplepairings (quite literally); e.g., Germany/Italy, US/UK, Spain/South Italy, etc...
Warnings: dark!England, romance, violence, a smidgen of language, innuendos, and smex (though I don't know to what level of detail just yet; possibly a smidgen on the dub-con-ish side of life, though)
Fun Facts: As far as historical facts go, I'll try to explain everything over the course of the chapter, but if I sneak any inside jokes into the mix I'll point them out at the bottom of the page.
Translations: Again, any of the garble I insult your senses with will be translated at the bottom of the page (special to Red Hot Holly Berries for the proper Italian, though, and for also correcting my French).
Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs entirely to Hidekaz Himaruya.
Summary: Meddling with the darker arts, England unwittingly unleashes a side of himself he thought was good and dead. And it's really too bad Italy's the only one that seems to notice anything's wrong with the old Empire...
~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~
Feliciano had always been a vivid dreamer.
He didn't necessarily have an explanation as to why that was so, but he was certain it came hand in hand with having a good eye for art and an emotional range the length of the Pan American Highway. He was open to 'divine inspiration', whether it be to the voices of heaven or the inner workings of his subconscious mind, and he saw no reason why God should ever put an end to those beautiful muses. As long as there were dreams to be had and soul with which to express them, Feliciano would always be more than willing to lend his ear to them.
Tonight, though, those muses were restless.
There was no pinpointing the source of this particular inspiration, but there was warmth, and a soft voice, and insistent lips against his pliant mouth. It felt as though there was a fire in veins; as though something small but potent had warmed its way into the very fibres of his being and tossed him headfirst into a fit of passion. He was standing somewhere on the very precipice of realty, gazing out and beyond the plane of this existence to where time was endless and life was unconfined by space. He was furious and free—oh so very free...
He was more than just Veneziano Vargas. He was the Kingdom of Italy.
And he was lying in somebody's bed.
He woke first to the sound of running water, and then, as his eyes fluttered open, he perceived the first rays of sunlight streaming in through a crack in the curtains. He was bundled under a sea of blankets and had unconsciously pressed himself up against someone warm and solid. That fire in his veins had dulled to sharp little bursts, strong and heady like the rhythm of the heart after a man's first kiss—he couldn't help but slip a pale leg out from under the covers to hook ankles with who he thought was Germany.
He wouldn't have keened a little in the back of his throat if he had known otherwise, or tried to mold himself perfectly against the other man's hip, the way Ludwig enjoyed it when he was sprouting a similar problem.
"...You are so not a virgin."
Italy screamed.
Or tried to, at least. Gilbert's hand shot out to cover his mouth before he could wake everyone on the floor, which was a blessing, he supposed, because his friends were already worried enough as is after his little outburst at yesterday's meeting. No need for them to think he was crazy...
"Shh, gorgeous, please." Shifting until he was leaning over Feliciano, Gilbert gingerly tugged the quilt down until Italy's leg was covered again. Dimly, Feliciano realized he was still wearing his boxers. "I swear to God, I wasn't trying to scare you. West's in the shower, ja? I just thought, what the heck, that stupid kid tried to hunt me down last night, and here I am now, laying on his bed, when he's just on the other side of the door... You get it, right? These thrills of mine might be cheap, but they're awesome either way you put it."
Feliciano wasn't entirely sure how awesome it was to sleep in somebody else's bed (—or safe for that matter, considering it was Ludwig's that Gilbert had happened to slip into—), but he was willing to count his blessings where he found them, and as long as Francis never tried to pull that stunt on him, Feliciano was willing to forgive, more or less, anything the Bad Touch Trio did to him. It was a small victory...but a victory nonetheless.
In any case...
"How did you get in here?"
"I might've lifted your key from Antonio this morning." Gilbert twisted on the spot and sat up, leaning against the headboard for support. Crossing his hands behind his head, he looked incredibly relaxed for someone that had a death wish. "And he only had it because that little United Kingdoms guy gave it to him when he brought you back to the hotel... Apparently, you got so drunk you passed out."
Or, dear Lord. Not entirely a dream, then...
"I don't blame you, of course. Eating that man's food requires a little liquid courage... Didn't think you'd get smashed over it, but whatever. You're still just as awesome in my books."
"Grazie," Feliciano mumbled, though he didn't feel as though he was hung-over. He was tired, sure, and maybe he couldn't quite remember what happened after he got into the car (—did he really make out with England, or was his mind playing tricks on him again?—), but he honestly didn't think he had had that much wine. No more than England, certainly...
"Hey, gorgeous...you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
Feliciano stretched his legs out a little, enjoying the way the sheets felt against his bare calves. In all actuality, he felt really good... "Sì. Ask away."
"Am I the last to know, about...that, because you...you really aren't a virgin, right?"
It took him a moment, but eventually Italy smiled and reached over to pat Gilbert's arm sympathetically. That was the best he could do for the poor man.
"...Verdammt. Antonio and Francis wouldn't say anything, but I thought something was up because West's been so mellow lately, you know, like he's been getting laid..." The man's voice died off here. When Feliciano tilted his head to look at him, he saw that Gilbert was blushing. "I'm honestly not trying to offend you. Really, the only slut I know of is Francis, and that's never going to change. I'm just checking up on you, because, well...Romano mention that you looked like hell, and that's what friends do, and even if you're in love with West, I'm my brother's brother, so...yeah. Don't ever get drunk around Francis."
"I'm not offended," he laughed, which was the truth. He liked sex about as much as Francis did...actually, maybe he liked it more than Francis did, because why else would the man be so promiscuous if he wasn't unsatisfied? Sure, Italy had slept with a few of his fellow nations here and there over the years, but that was business; what he had now with Germany was something else entirely...
Speaking of Francis, though, he was surprised the man hadn't taken the opportunity to boast. Not that it mattered much, he supposed. Most of his friends had already figured out that Italy had to have learned it somewhere...
He had to admit, though, he was kind of proud of Francis. The Frenchman had his flaws, but he was certainly a gentleman when it counted.
The sound of water dribbling against the shower wall slowed to halt, marking the end of their awkward meeting. Hefting himself up with a sigh, Gilbert proceeded to tip-toe his way over to the door. "This conversation never happened, right?"
"Sì."
"Knew I could count on you... By the way, your key's on the bedside table." The door creaked open as he slipped through. Turning back one last time to glance at Feli, he gave the Italian a wink. "I'll see you later, gorgeous..."
Smiling, Feliciano watched the door until lock clicked into place. Then he shoved the covers over onto the floor before stretching again, bowing his head back into the mountain of pillows just as Ludwig stepped out of the bathroom. And then he held the position for a second longer just because he knew it showed off the best of him, and because his libido hadn't really dwindled since he'd woken up, and, well...he really didn't care that Germany had already taken a shower, there was time enough for them to take another one later.
"Guten Morgen," Ludwig mumbled as he sat down on his side of the bed. He slid the top drawer of his bedside table open to search for something and stopped short when Feliciano reached over to trace the German's wet ribs with his fingertips.
Mio Dio, the man had muscle.
"Italy..."
"Per favore," he whined.
"...But...I just—"
"Bitte?"
Ludwig froze completely.
Experience had taught Feli that speaking German did things to the man that certainly worked to his advantage. Showing a little skin and keeping his lips firmly sealed also did the trick, but he already knew how this situation was going to turn out...
If he looked half as good as he felt, he'd already won the game.
As if on cue, Germany leaned down to kiss him once. Then twice. And, okay, maybe again, because there was really no resisting Italy when it came to things such as these. Seduction was the true source of Italy's power, after all, and he knew how to wield this weapon well.
"You are incredibly cruel for such a gentle man," Ludwig growled against his lips. "I wish I could tell someone, but then no one would believe me, now would they?"
Feliciano smiled into the next kiss, relaxing a little as Ludwig tugged him closer. Part of him ached, though, at the sound of those familiar words. To have no one believe him...
Would Ludwig believe him?
No...No. What was there to tell? He had a hunch really, that was all, and he'd fantasized about the man that frightened him. What did that make him? A cheat? Maybe... Maybe not... The last time Feliciano had been this in love was long before he had even known Germany existed.
"Please," he whispered against the other man's ear. Please help him, please save him, please don't leave me, ever, because I love you, you know? I love you, I love you, I love you...
"Ich liebe dich," Ludwig replied. And he meant it—Feliciano could tell—because it had taken the man years, and years, and years to put actions to those words, but it had been well worth the wait. Feliciano had what he wanted now, and he wasn't about to just let it go.
For this one precious moment, there was peace.
That was all he could hope for.
~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~/\\\~*~
Considering the nervous wreck he'd been yesterday, Feliciano was as cool as a cucumber when he took his seat at the conference table that morning. Ludwig was 'mellow'. After his second shower, he told Feliciano that they'd go out to dinner somewhere nice that evening and then retire early, walls bedamned, because if no one could hear what Francis was up to in the middle of the night, chances were nobody would hear them either.
Feliciano had no problem with that idea, so he nodded merrily, hooked arms with his lover, and tried to keep his thoughts off of England as they left the hotel.
Oh, but, well...it was hard not to think about him, especially considering what had happened last night. So after sitting in his seat for the first fifteen minutes or so, just after Ludwig had left to get them some coffee, he began wondering why he would ever allow himself get a little hot and bothered over someone other than his lover...
"Stop that," Romano muttered as he slapped Feliciano's hand away from his files. Unconsciously, he'd been tearing at the corners of the pages. "What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Don't lie to me... Why did you drink so much last night?"
"I didn't," he mumbled. "I...I was ill."
Romano scowled at him for a moment, obviously weighing the truth of that statement, before he conceded with a small nod. "English food, I guess. But you left your stupid flowers with me, and that bastard Spain couldn't be bothered to get a vase for them until this morning. I'm amazed they haven't wilted yet."
"Oh."
"Yeah, well, the moron's still hung-over, and he has your card key, I think. That freaking albino might've grabbed it...I'm not sure why I didn't rat him out to your potato bastard."
"Because you're too kind for that, Romano."
"As if. My idiot of a boss asked me not to...Now both of those poor bastards owe me one. I guess that has to count for something."
Patting his brother's hand affectionately, Feliciano smiled. Romano's love was such an odd, but beautiful, thing...
One of the twin doors slammed into the wall as someone breezed into the room, apologizing immediately afterward for having startling half the nations already present. Looking up, Feliciano recognized Mathieu as the young man slipped into his seat beside American, and offered his friend a small wave.
New France practically beamed when he caught sight of Feliciano. He even looked more pleased when Alfred took notice of him and stopped mid-argument with Francis to turn and talk to his brother.
Obviously, things had taken a turn for the better as far as the North American brothers were concerned.
Too bad the same couldn't be said of England.
The second time the giant oak doors slammed open, no one paid any heed to the newest arrival. Francis, of course, arched an eyebrow as Arthur dropped into his usual seat, but said nothing when he realized the man wasn't interested in talking to him. Arthur was too busy boring his eyes into the back of Alfred's head as the young superpower proceeded to chat with his northern brother. It was the kind of look a man got when he was making a rather malicious decision concerning his enemies—the sort of the thing that usually included death, if not something worse.
For a moment, Feliciano honestly considered drawing Alfred's attention to the man, but then it would hardly take Arthur half a second to drop his glare, and, really, Feliciano seemed to be the only one who noticed. Then again, he could just as easily take America aside during the break and maybe ask him how things were going between the two of them. And if Alfred seemed none the wiser to the man's apparent hatred for him, maybe Feliciano could hint at the way Arthur was staring at him, and maybe—
That train of thought was effectively derailed when England turned his gaze on Feliciano. Not with hatred, of course, but Feliciano would've much rather preferred spite in comparison to whatever it was that was burning in the man's eyes now. And he was smiling again (—Feliciano was starting to loath that smile—) in a way that suggested Arthur had found something infinitely more interesting than Alfred to entertain himself with at the moment.
After a beat, Feliciano realized his was trembling. He was gripping the armrests of his chair hard enough to tear at the fabric with his fingernails. The back of his neck was covered in cold sweat; his chest was in a vice—it was reminiscent of the time he had signed the armistice against Germany and had met the man when he was marching north, cutting down anything that came between him and his land...
"—well. What is wrong with you?" Romano gave his a shoulder a hardy shove. "Hey, let go of the chair already. If you're going to get sick over everything, let me drag you out of here first."
He wanted to say something—'yes', in particular—but he was having a hard enough time trying to remember how to breathe. England's eyes never left his. The man merely sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his lap, seemingly amused with Feliciano's candid display of sheer terror. Italy had seen a fair many things in his long, long life, but here, sitting across the table from a supposed gentleman, he felt smaller than a human infant, as though all those years of experience hadn't prepared him in the least for what he was about to face today.
Part of him was aware that Romano was still trying to talk to him, though his brother's voice was muffled. The generally boisterous white noise of his fellow nations faded into the background as his world narrowed down to the man before him. And then England's lips moved, and Feliciano flinched, because he could hear the man perfectly clear though that terrible silence, as though he was the world, and all that was said and done in this room revolved completely around him...
"Good morning, love."
A/N: Arthur's really too devious for anyone to figure out what exactly it is he's up to. I guess Italy has his worked cut out for him, huh...
Translations: (Again, because the internet was down for so long, no one has had a chance to correct me. Please feel free to tell me if I've got anything wrong).
"Mio Dio" ~ 'my god' (Italian)
"Ja" ~ 'yes' (German)
"Bitte" ~ 'please' (German)
"Guten Morgen" ~ 'good morning' (German)
"Ich liebe dich" ~ 'I love you'
Fun Facts:
1) "...and an emotional range the length of the Pan American Highway..." ~if my sources serve me right, the Pan American Highway is the longest 'motorable' road in the world. It stretches all the way from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to the very bottom tip of South America, presumably Ushuaia, Argentina. There is about an 87km break in the road called the 'Darien Gap', and it's about the only place you can't actually travel by motor vehicle.
2) Gilbert... ~yes, he's so awesome he needs his own paragraph. And he is awesome, just wait and see. That man's got a plan...(but I can't tell you about it yet)
3) "Sure, Italy had slept with a few of his fellow nations here and there over the years, but that was business; what he had now with Germany was something else entirely..." ~seriously, seriously, Himaruya made most of the nations men—and then he decided to drop the innuendo bomb on his little Hetalia world. I'm not the only one who sees this, right? I mean, apparently Spain proposed to a couple of nations (France and Veneziano included), Russia's always asking to 'become one' with somebody, and France is...France. Tell me I'm not crazy...
4) "Romano's love was such an odd, but beautiful, thing..." ~it just is. I know he likes to argue with people quite a bit in the Hetalia shows/web-comics, but you already know I like digging a little deeper as far as all the characters are concerned. He loves so hard, it hurts *cackles*
5) America and Canada ~we did actually come to terms over the Arctic eventually. Legally, any vessel that is conducting research must warn a country when they plan on cruising through their waters. The Americans decided then, just to be nice, they wouldn't send any ships/subs/what-have-you through the Northwest Passage unless they were conducting some sort of research. In that sense, the Americans are asking permission without having to ask for 'permission' permission...It's odd, but it works.
6) "...it was reminiscent of the time he had signed the armistice against Germany and had met the man when he was marching north, cutting down anything that came between him and his land..." ~I could talk all day about this, but I feel that his once-twisted relationship with Germany is the reason Feliciano thinks he's a cheat because of England. I honestly don't think anyone's had a good, solid, hurt-free relationship in Hetalia...except maybe Austria and Hungary...but then, they're divorced now, aren't they?