Blut und Tränen, Teil 3
Beware of Italy bashing!
Teil 3
„It has recently come to my attention, that there is a distinct lack of discipline at these meetings. I find this very uncouth and do believe it should be addressed…”
England seemed to have found a new favourite subject to get pissed off about. Maybe it had been Germany’s united act of….well, you remember the closet incident. Or perhaps the fact that France had decided to wear less to every meeting. Currently he was sporting a pair of silky boxers with an Eiffel tower print. And some shiny shoes.
To say these meetings were usually far more serious, the attendance had become lax and the standard too. Maybe it had something to do with Germany no longer erupting into epic speeches about rules of conduct. Ludwig in general seemed subdued, like his mind was heavily occupied with something other than work. Right now, he just seemed to be shuffling some papers around and dropping notes of what to address in the next meeting he had to lead.
Right now, they were supposed to discuss the western reaction to Egypt. Sure, their politicians weren’t present, but that didn’t mean that they could just discard the seriousness of the situation, right?
Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples as England’s voice reached a higher pitch as he tried to verbally defend himself from some French obscenities.
Seeing as half the western world was missing anyway from this meeting, Germany decided his presence was not needed. None of the Arabic countries had shown, America had somehow been too busy, Russia didn’t deem it as a problem he’d need to deal with. So not even the G8 were fully present. Italy had attended, only because he knew better than to piss of Germany by not showing some sort of intellect or at least interest in worldly matters.
But the little Mediterranean nation was now watching his ex-ally gather up his things to leave, so he decided to follow the blonde out of the room. Not that anyone noticed.
Ludwig just wanted to go home now. He had already spent enough time this week working. In fact, he’d been locked away in his study, only showing up for brief and silent dinners with his brother. Gilbert had been forced to cook. Make no mistake, the albino was by no means untalented in the kitchen, he was just damn lazy. He hated shopping for meals and he hated cooking them every day of the week.
But when Ludwig got like this, it was Gilbert cooking or no one got a decent meal. So East Germany had reluctantly taken on his job as ‘chef’. Even now, he was out shopping for the next week. Of course, Ludwig had dropped him a note of what limit he had on the card. They didn’t need to have smoked salmon and caviar and other ridiculously expensive things in the fridge for every day.
But back to West Germany. Currently, he had stopped by the water fountain in the hallway. He looked around after taking a drink, then dug into his suitcase and produced a pack of cigarettes. They belonged to Gilbert, but he always bought stacks and stacks, so he wouldn’t notice the absence of one pack. Ludwig didn’t know why he had begun smoking again. After 1945, he hadn’t even bought a single cigarette, but recently, the urge had come up again.
Sinking into one of the chairs in the hallway after opening a window, Germany leaned back and lit his cigarette. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. After so many years of not smoking, it was like getting high. Well, not that Germany had gotten high recently. He had before, hey, it was the 70’s, everyone did it so why not him? Of course, that was a secret. Not even Gil knew that. Ludwig’s heart did a pained little twist; because Gilbert had been behind that damn wall. That was the only reason he didn’t know.
Another drag of his first cigarette in years. He wondered why Gilbert chose these particular ones. They were strong and a bit cheap. He had to think of his brother smoking this very cigarette in his hand. Oh, how he’d wrap those pale lips around the filter, breathe in deeply….then sigh with bliss as he exhaled blue-ish smoke…
Ludwig always said he didn’t approve of his brother’s habit. That he didn’t like the smell on him and he certainly didn’t like kissing an ashtray. Oh, how Gil would laugh and mock him right now. Then he’d probably tease him, sit down in his lap, steal a bit of the cigarette and blow the smoke in his face. Ludwig couldn’t deny that the thought alone was…pleasing to say the least. His brother was such a sexual being and he was perfectly aware of his aura, his unmistakable appeal.
Especially for his uptight younger brother.
Thinking of Gilbert brought Ludwig to more recent events that puzzled him. Lately, the albino seemed to spend much more time at home than anywhere else, though he always bore marks of adventures. Adventures with someone else. Ludwig had, after two weeks of suspicious activity, come to the painful conclusion that Gilbert must be seeing someone else. For sex, undoubtedly, Ludwig knew his brother loved him with all his heart. But he still had bruises on his body that he had gotten somewhere. Not from fighting, as Gilbert claimed. Ludwig knew his brother often went out to particularly shady bars just to get into a tussle. He’d bailed the albino out of enough situations.
No, these were different. Gilbert didn’t proudly display them like fighting injuries. Choke marks, cut wrists like he’d been chained up for hours….Was Gilbert visiting one of those S&M clubs?
Ludwig hoped so, because if his brother was having some sort of affair with a nation, he’d be incredibly pissed off. East and West belonged together and they’d proven that to the world with their anguish during the time of the wall.
Fuck, it was damn annoying. Where was Gilbert going? And when? When Ludwig was sleeping? That would be very strange, it would mean Gilbert got up after they went to bed and went out. Sure, it wasn’t impossible…But if he was going out, why didn’t he tell Ludwig? He probably didn’t want Ludwig knowing, but that wasn’t Gilbert’s style at all. To keep such a secret…It hurt. Why did he do it? Was Ludwig not…satisfying him? Gilbert’s voracious appetite for sex was no secret to his younger brother, but he had never, in the long time they had been together, expressed a need for more than Ludwig gave him.
Germany’s musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Someone else had left the meeting and was coming his way. Ludwig didn’t move, he just continued his cigarette.
“Ve, Doitsu, there you are!”
It was Northern Italy, coming to look for him. He should have expected it. Italy still seemed to think they were allies, or friends. Once upon a time, Ludwig had thought Feliciano was a true friend, one he could trust and sort of rely on. Well, rely on to be unreliable in a way. That had always been an Italian thing in his mind. The personification of the nation didn’t act half as old as he was. How he had managed on his own was a mystery to the German, one he never bothered to solve.
“Sorry I left, Italy, but I didn’t think the meeting was very productive.”
“Ve, I didn’t know Doitsu still smoked.”
The little brunette stood in front of him now, smiling as if he’d just given a pretty girl a bouquet of roses. His hazel eyes were watching Ludwig intently, though he was pretty dense, he could sense there was something off with his friend.
“I…don’t usually. They’re my brother’s…”
“Doitsu, is everything okay with you and Gilgil?”
Ludwig looked up. Was it that obvious he was having domestic troubles? Something irked him about the fact even Italy picked up on it. And that he used his stupid nickname for Gilbert. If the albino had heard it, he would have cringed and bitched about it later.
Ludwig rose to his feet, flicking his cigarette ash out of the window.
“Everything is fine, Italy. Thank you for your concern.”
“Ve, don’t worry Doitsu, you can tell Italia!”
Did he have to talk about himself in third person? And why in god’s name was he still using Japan’s way of saying Germany’s name? Italy was a damn weird puzzle.
Suddenly, the little nation began clinging to his arm and babbling.
“Is Gilgil not making Doitsu happy? Ve, Italia can help! Italia knows a lot about romance! Though not so much about romance with brothers…Gilgil is probably like a girl, right? Does he want Doitsu to do nice things for him? I know Doitsu’s brother is very troublesome for Doitsu, maybe Doitsu should find a nice girl or boy and make a little amore? Italia knows some very nice girls!”
Then suddenly, his tone changed and his clinging got a little more intimate,
“Italia can also be a very nice…girl, if Doitsu would like some amore.”
The words arrived in slow motion in Ludwig’s brain. When he realized what Italy had just suggested, something in his head snapped.
Italy watched careful for a response in Ludwig, preferably a shy blush and nod. What he got was something totally different and totally unexpected.
He probably wouldn’t have minded being slammed against the wall, had Ludwig’s face not been what it was. Germany’s eyes were ice, there was no other way to describe it.
The muscular Blonde needed only one hand to press little Italy against the wall, at arm’s length, hand dangerously close to his throat. Those icy eyes did not leave Italy’s scared face, calmly, Ludwig took another breath of his cigarette. He let the smoke blow in the brunette’s eyes. Italy sputtered and coughed, begging for Germany to let him down, he was sorry, he didn’t know what he did wrong.
“As if you do not know, Italy.”
Even Ludwig’s voice had changed and Italy knew only one other period of time where he had sounded like this. World war two.
“You betrayed me, you little whore. And now you dare badmouth my brother?” another drag of his cigarette and Germany’s hand tightened, moving to Italy’s trembling throat.
“Doitsu! I’m scared, please let me down! I-I-I, I’m your friend Doitsu!”
“Halt die Schnauze!” the German snapped, a deep growl in his voice. Italy instantly shut up, but he couldn’t stop the scared little whimpers.
“You betrayed me, Italian whore. You were never my friend, understand? I do not want or need your acquaintance, you aren’t even worthy of living, little bitch.”
Feliciano began choking in earnest now, Ludwig’s iron grip was mercilessly constricting around his neck.
“If I hear you dare speak about my dearest brother again, I will make you wish you’d never been founded, Italy.”
Tears were in the Italian’s eyes but he managed a miserable nod. Ludwig didn’t relinquish his hold just yet. He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked it out of the window before letting Italy fall hard on the ground.
He turned and left wordlessly, deaf to the sobs behind him.
*
“OI POTATO BASTARD! OPEN UP!”
Gilbert looked up from his current movie and bag of crisps. Who the hell was it now? It certainly wasn’t Ludwig, he’d come home earlier and had disappeared into his study without even a greeting.
Gilbert dragged himself to his feet. He hadn’t bothered getting more dressed than a pair of pajama bottoms. His torso was naked as were his feet. It was summer in Germany and Berlin could get damn hot at night.
The pounding at the door was starting to damage his calm. Aggravated, he decided to make the rude bastard in front of his house wait longer as he lit himself up a new cigarette. He had to go out and buy a new pack, because his current one had mysteriously disappeared. Strange, he didn’t think he’d smoked that much this week…
Eventually, the albino opened the door with an unbelievably bored expression.
Only to come face to fist with Southern Italy, also known as Lovino Vargas.
Centuries of military training made Gilbert duck before he even knew what was going on and throw a preemptive kick. Lovino doubled over a little, but then straightened up with a face of pure rage.
“What the FUCK is your problem?!” Gilbert was irritated too now. He did NOT like random fists flying his way when he answered the door. At least not when he wasn’t expecting it, like from an enraged neighbouring country on whose lawn he’d pissed.
“YOUR FUCKTARD OF A FUCKING SON OF A BITCH BROTHER! WHERE IS HE?!”
It appeared that Lovino was stuck at super volume, because Gil was pretty sure there shouldn’t be so much shout in such a little guy. And why on earth was he pissed off at Ludwig now? It used to be quite frequent that Lovino would come over and drag his useless brother home, cursing all Germans along the way.
So, what was the reason for today’s explosion? It was probably best to just ask, otherwise this screaming would make Ludwig interrupt his work and boy did he hate that.
“What the hell do you think he’s done now?”
“That…that damn macho potato! He’s….what he’s done to Feli is unforgiveable! I’m gonna end him right now! Where is he?!”
Lovino made to get into the house, as if he could actually take on either German brother. But a pale arm shot out in front of him and a crimson glare made him freeze in place. Gilbert narrowed his eyes and Lovino could see muscles bunch beneath white skin. How could someone look threatening in pajama bottoms?!
The Italian wasn’t easily intimidated, after all, his livelihood involved the mafia. But something about this pale predator, with his old, black tattoos….they reminded him of just what Germany, as a whole, was capable of. Not just Ludwig, that brawny muscle head. No, right here, there was danger lurking. The Italian’s eyes wandered to that eagle on Gilbert’s arm. The one sitting proudly on a swastika. Lovino gulped.
“Now…you listen to me, macho tomato,” ruby eyes narrowed in anger, Gilbert’s rough voice lowered into a threatening growl, “doesn’t even think about comin’ into my fucking house! I don’t know what West did, but you ain’t comin’ in. And he ain’t comin’ out. So kindly go fuck yourself and get out of my country.”
Fuming wasn’t even a word for Lovino’s face right now. His hand twitched toward the gun he always carried on him in case of sneak attacks from France. When Gilbert took a drag of his cigarette, Lovino used his chance and whipped out his weapon.
“Out of my way, bastardo! I am going to kill your brother!”
Never had Gilbert reacted faster to threat than this. In mere seconds, he had drop-kicked Lovino, grabbed the pistol punched the Italian in the face, hard. He walked over to him, letting the magazine of bullets drop into his hand and then tossing the pistol on the ground next to Lovino.
“Stop dreaming, you little son of a bitch. You’ll never touch him.”
Gilbert didn’t wait for an answer, he merely turned back to his house and slammed the door shut.
“…This…this means war…Germany…” Lovino hissed beneath his pained breath before dragging himself to his feet to stumble home.
*
“West?”
Ludwig looked up from his work, surprised to see Gilbert with a serious expression on his face leaning in the doorway. He was also pleasantly aware of how little his brother was wearing.
“Ja Bruder?”
“…Ich hab grad Lovino Vargas zusammen geschlagen. Ich glaub, wir müssen uns mal unterhalten.“
Translations!
Halt die Schnauze!-Shut the fuck up!
Ja Bruder?-Yes brother?
Ich hab grad Lovino Vargas zusammen geschlagen. Ich glaub, wir müssen uns mal unterhalten.-
I just beat up Lovino Vargas. I think we need to have a talk.
Teil 3
„It has recently come to my attention, that there is a distinct lack of discipline at these meetings. I find this very uncouth and do believe it should be addressed…”
England seemed to have found a new favourite subject to get pissed off about. Maybe it had been Germany’s united act of….well, you remember the closet incident. Or perhaps the fact that France had decided to wear less to every meeting. Currently he was sporting a pair of silky boxers with an Eiffel tower print. And some shiny shoes.
To say these meetings were usually far more serious, the attendance had become lax and the standard too. Maybe it had something to do with Germany no longer erupting into epic speeches about rules of conduct. Ludwig in general seemed subdued, like his mind was heavily occupied with something other than work. Right now, he just seemed to be shuffling some papers around and dropping notes of what to address in the next meeting he had to lead.
Right now, they were supposed to discuss the western reaction to Egypt. Sure, their politicians weren’t present, but that didn’t mean that they could just discard the seriousness of the situation, right?
Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples as England’s voice reached a higher pitch as he tried to verbally defend himself from some French obscenities.
Seeing as half the western world was missing anyway from this meeting, Germany decided his presence was not needed. None of the Arabic countries had shown, America had somehow been too busy, Russia didn’t deem it as a problem he’d need to deal with. So not even the G8 were fully present. Italy had attended, only because he knew better than to piss of Germany by not showing some sort of intellect or at least interest in worldly matters.
But the little Mediterranean nation was now watching his ex-ally gather up his things to leave, so he decided to follow the blonde out of the room. Not that anyone noticed.
Ludwig just wanted to go home now. He had already spent enough time this week working. In fact, he’d been locked away in his study, only showing up for brief and silent dinners with his brother. Gilbert had been forced to cook. Make no mistake, the albino was by no means untalented in the kitchen, he was just damn lazy. He hated shopping for meals and he hated cooking them every day of the week.
But when Ludwig got like this, it was Gilbert cooking or no one got a decent meal. So East Germany had reluctantly taken on his job as ‘chef’. Even now, he was out shopping for the next week. Of course, Ludwig had dropped him a note of what limit he had on the card. They didn’t need to have smoked salmon and caviar and other ridiculously expensive things in the fridge for every day.
But back to West Germany. Currently, he had stopped by the water fountain in the hallway. He looked around after taking a drink, then dug into his suitcase and produced a pack of cigarettes. They belonged to Gilbert, but he always bought stacks and stacks, so he wouldn’t notice the absence of one pack. Ludwig didn’t know why he had begun smoking again. After 1945, he hadn’t even bought a single cigarette, but recently, the urge had come up again.
Sinking into one of the chairs in the hallway after opening a window, Germany leaned back and lit his cigarette. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. After so many years of not smoking, it was like getting high. Well, not that Germany had gotten high recently. He had before, hey, it was the 70’s, everyone did it so why not him? Of course, that was a secret. Not even Gil knew that. Ludwig’s heart did a pained little twist; because Gilbert had been behind that damn wall. That was the only reason he didn’t know.
Another drag of his first cigarette in years. He wondered why Gilbert chose these particular ones. They were strong and a bit cheap. He had to think of his brother smoking this very cigarette in his hand. Oh, how he’d wrap those pale lips around the filter, breathe in deeply….then sigh with bliss as he exhaled blue-ish smoke…
Ludwig always said he didn’t approve of his brother’s habit. That he didn’t like the smell on him and he certainly didn’t like kissing an ashtray. Oh, how Gil would laugh and mock him right now. Then he’d probably tease him, sit down in his lap, steal a bit of the cigarette and blow the smoke in his face. Ludwig couldn’t deny that the thought alone was…pleasing to say the least. His brother was such a sexual being and he was perfectly aware of his aura, his unmistakable appeal.
Especially for his uptight younger brother.
Thinking of Gilbert brought Ludwig to more recent events that puzzled him. Lately, the albino seemed to spend much more time at home than anywhere else, though he always bore marks of adventures. Adventures with someone else. Ludwig had, after two weeks of suspicious activity, come to the painful conclusion that Gilbert must be seeing someone else. For sex, undoubtedly, Ludwig knew his brother loved him with all his heart. But he still had bruises on his body that he had gotten somewhere. Not from fighting, as Gilbert claimed. Ludwig knew his brother often went out to particularly shady bars just to get into a tussle. He’d bailed the albino out of enough situations.
No, these were different. Gilbert didn’t proudly display them like fighting injuries. Choke marks, cut wrists like he’d been chained up for hours….Was Gilbert visiting one of those S&M clubs?
Ludwig hoped so, because if his brother was having some sort of affair with a nation, he’d be incredibly pissed off. East and West belonged together and they’d proven that to the world with their anguish during the time of the wall.
Fuck, it was damn annoying. Where was Gilbert going? And when? When Ludwig was sleeping? That would be very strange, it would mean Gilbert got up after they went to bed and went out. Sure, it wasn’t impossible…But if he was going out, why didn’t he tell Ludwig? He probably didn’t want Ludwig knowing, but that wasn’t Gilbert’s style at all. To keep such a secret…It hurt. Why did he do it? Was Ludwig not…satisfying him? Gilbert’s voracious appetite for sex was no secret to his younger brother, but he had never, in the long time they had been together, expressed a need for more than Ludwig gave him.
Germany’s musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Someone else had left the meeting and was coming his way. Ludwig didn’t move, he just continued his cigarette.
“Ve, Doitsu, there you are!”
It was Northern Italy, coming to look for him. He should have expected it. Italy still seemed to think they were allies, or friends. Once upon a time, Ludwig had thought Feliciano was a true friend, one he could trust and sort of rely on. Well, rely on to be unreliable in a way. That had always been an Italian thing in his mind. The personification of the nation didn’t act half as old as he was. How he had managed on his own was a mystery to the German, one he never bothered to solve.
“Sorry I left, Italy, but I didn’t think the meeting was very productive.”
“Ve, I didn’t know Doitsu still smoked.”
The little brunette stood in front of him now, smiling as if he’d just given a pretty girl a bouquet of roses. His hazel eyes were watching Ludwig intently, though he was pretty dense, he could sense there was something off with his friend.
“I…don’t usually. They’re my brother’s…”
“Doitsu, is everything okay with you and Gilgil?”
Ludwig looked up. Was it that obvious he was having domestic troubles? Something irked him about the fact even Italy picked up on it. And that he used his stupid nickname for Gilbert. If the albino had heard it, he would have cringed and bitched about it later.
Ludwig rose to his feet, flicking his cigarette ash out of the window.
“Everything is fine, Italy. Thank you for your concern.”
“Ve, don’t worry Doitsu, you can tell Italia!”
Did he have to talk about himself in third person? And why in god’s name was he still using Japan’s way of saying Germany’s name? Italy was a damn weird puzzle.
Suddenly, the little nation began clinging to his arm and babbling.
“Is Gilgil not making Doitsu happy? Ve, Italia can help! Italia knows a lot about romance! Though not so much about romance with brothers…Gilgil is probably like a girl, right? Does he want Doitsu to do nice things for him? I know Doitsu’s brother is very troublesome for Doitsu, maybe Doitsu should find a nice girl or boy and make a little amore? Italia knows some very nice girls!”
Then suddenly, his tone changed and his clinging got a little more intimate,
“Italia can also be a very nice…girl, if Doitsu would like some amore.”
The words arrived in slow motion in Ludwig’s brain. When he realized what Italy had just suggested, something in his head snapped.
Italy watched careful for a response in Ludwig, preferably a shy blush and nod. What he got was something totally different and totally unexpected.
He probably wouldn’t have minded being slammed against the wall, had Ludwig’s face not been what it was. Germany’s eyes were ice, there was no other way to describe it.
The muscular Blonde needed only one hand to press little Italy against the wall, at arm’s length, hand dangerously close to his throat. Those icy eyes did not leave Italy’s scared face, calmly, Ludwig took another breath of his cigarette. He let the smoke blow in the brunette’s eyes. Italy sputtered and coughed, begging for Germany to let him down, he was sorry, he didn’t know what he did wrong.
“As if you do not know, Italy.”
Even Ludwig’s voice had changed and Italy knew only one other period of time where he had sounded like this. World war two.
“You betrayed me, you little whore. And now you dare badmouth my brother?” another drag of his cigarette and Germany’s hand tightened, moving to Italy’s trembling throat.
“Doitsu! I’m scared, please let me down! I-I-I, I’m your friend Doitsu!”
“Halt die Schnauze!” the German snapped, a deep growl in his voice. Italy instantly shut up, but he couldn’t stop the scared little whimpers.
“You betrayed me, Italian whore. You were never my friend, understand? I do not want or need your acquaintance, you aren’t even worthy of living, little bitch.”
Feliciano began choking in earnest now, Ludwig’s iron grip was mercilessly constricting around his neck.
“If I hear you dare speak about my dearest brother again, I will make you wish you’d never been founded, Italy.”
Tears were in the Italian’s eyes but he managed a miserable nod. Ludwig didn’t relinquish his hold just yet. He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked it out of the window before letting Italy fall hard on the ground.
He turned and left wordlessly, deaf to the sobs behind him.
*
“OI POTATO BASTARD! OPEN UP!”
Gilbert looked up from his current movie and bag of crisps. Who the hell was it now? It certainly wasn’t Ludwig, he’d come home earlier and had disappeared into his study without even a greeting.
Gilbert dragged himself to his feet. He hadn’t bothered getting more dressed than a pair of pajama bottoms. His torso was naked as were his feet. It was summer in Germany and Berlin could get damn hot at night.
The pounding at the door was starting to damage his calm. Aggravated, he decided to make the rude bastard in front of his house wait longer as he lit himself up a new cigarette. He had to go out and buy a new pack, because his current one had mysteriously disappeared. Strange, he didn’t think he’d smoked that much this week…
Eventually, the albino opened the door with an unbelievably bored expression.
Only to come face to fist with Southern Italy, also known as Lovino Vargas.
Centuries of military training made Gilbert duck before he even knew what was going on and throw a preemptive kick. Lovino doubled over a little, but then straightened up with a face of pure rage.
“What the FUCK is your problem?!” Gilbert was irritated too now. He did NOT like random fists flying his way when he answered the door. At least not when he wasn’t expecting it, like from an enraged neighbouring country on whose lawn he’d pissed.
“YOUR FUCKTARD OF A FUCKING SON OF A BITCH BROTHER! WHERE IS HE?!”
It appeared that Lovino was stuck at super volume, because Gil was pretty sure there shouldn’t be so much shout in such a little guy. And why on earth was he pissed off at Ludwig now? It used to be quite frequent that Lovino would come over and drag his useless brother home, cursing all Germans along the way.
So, what was the reason for today’s explosion? It was probably best to just ask, otherwise this screaming would make Ludwig interrupt his work and boy did he hate that.
“What the hell do you think he’s done now?”
“That…that damn macho potato! He’s….what he’s done to Feli is unforgiveable! I’m gonna end him right now! Where is he?!”
Lovino made to get into the house, as if he could actually take on either German brother. But a pale arm shot out in front of him and a crimson glare made him freeze in place. Gilbert narrowed his eyes and Lovino could see muscles bunch beneath white skin. How could someone look threatening in pajama bottoms?!
The Italian wasn’t easily intimidated, after all, his livelihood involved the mafia. But something about this pale predator, with his old, black tattoos….they reminded him of just what Germany, as a whole, was capable of. Not just Ludwig, that brawny muscle head. No, right here, there was danger lurking. The Italian’s eyes wandered to that eagle on Gilbert’s arm. The one sitting proudly on a swastika. Lovino gulped.
“Now…you listen to me, macho tomato,” ruby eyes narrowed in anger, Gilbert’s rough voice lowered into a threatening growl, “doesn’t even think about comin’ into my fucking house! I don’t know what West did, but you ain’t comin’ in. And he ain’t comin’ out. So kindly go fuck yourself and get out of my country.”
Fuming wasn’t even a word for Lovino’s face right now. His hand twitched toward the gun he always carried on him in case of sneak attacks from France. When Gilbert took a drag of his cigarette, Lovino used his chance and whipped out his weapon.
“Out of my way, bastardo! I am going to kill your brother!”
Never had Gilbert reacted faster to threat than this. In mere seconds, he had drop-kicked Lovino, grabbed the pistol punched the Italian in the face, hard. He walked over to him, letting the magazine of bullets drop into his hand and then tossing the pistol on the ground next to Lovino.
“Stop dreaming, you little son of a bitch. You’ll never touch him.”
Gilbert didn’t wait for an answer, he merely turned back to his house and slammed the door shut.
“…This…this means war…Germany…” Lovino hissed beneath his pained breath before dragging himself to his feet to stumble home.
*
“West?”
Ludwig looked up from his work, surprised to see Gilbert with a serious expression on his face leaning in the doorway. He was also pleasantly aware of how little his brother was wearing.
“Ja Bruder?”
“…Ich hab grad Lovino Vargas zusammen geschlagen. Ich glaub, wir müssen uns mal unterhalten.“
Translations!
Halt die Schnauze!-Shut the fuck up!
Ja Bruder?-Yes brother?
Ich hab grad Lovino Vargas zusammen geschlagen. Ich glaub, wir müssen uns mal unterhalten.-
I just beat up Lovino Vargas. I think we need to have a talk.