Lovely View, Isn't It?
Title: Lovely View, Isn't It?
Character(s): Italy/Germany
Rating: PG-13, with a healthy dose of snickering.
Warnings: BLASPHEMY AT HIGH ALTITUDES.
Summary: Italy can be quite the smooth operator, when Germany's distracted.
"You see?" said Germany, hauling Italy up from where he had collapsed, sprawled at the top of the steps. "That wasn't so hard. And we made fairly good time, all things considered."
"Did we? I'm so happy," Italy wheezed. He swayed unsteadily and blinked at the sudden flooding of daylight, then clapped a hand to his chest. "Hey, hey Germany! So how can you tell when you're having a heart attack, again?" he babbled, giggling nervously.
Germany crossed his arms and shook his head. Honestly. He was barely even breathing harder after the climb. "Your problem," he announced, "is that you have no endurance."
"My problem is I'm dizzy and you like stairs too much." Italy pouted. "There's, there's a million of them, Germany."
"Five hundred and nine," said Germany curtly. "Besides," he grunted, turning from the stairs to the high-vaulted tower walls, "the view is well worth it. Have a look."
Italy grinned and followed at his heels, turning in lazy rotations and gazing up into the narrowing spire above. "You're so funny when you're excited about things, Germany...Oh!" Something caught his eye and he moved closer to a section of wall to inspect it. "Look, Germany! Someone from Japan's place wrote this!" He reached out to trace the writing on the cool stone, and his eyes darted back and forth over the countless other signatures around it excitedly. "Ohhh, and here's one from France's and Spain's and Hungary's and England's (or maybe America's, I can never tell) and everybody's! This is cool!"
"I was talking about the view outside," said Germany, who was already standing at the window. Italy bounded over to his side like a shot.
"Oh oh oh," he breathed, leaning forward on tiptoe until Germany was very thankful for the wire fencing guarding against any accident. "Germany, this is amazing."
Germany smiled graciously and looked out as well. "You wanted to see the city," he said, modest. "And I can't think of any better way to do that than from here."
"Look at all those buildings, they're so tiny!" Italy grabbed at Germany's sleeve excitedly. "And it's so clear out, you can see for miles!"
So many buildings, it was true. He hadn't really thought about it for a long time. "It was the tallest structure in the world, for a while," he said, before he could stop himself. "Just for a few years."
Italy whistled, still clutching Germany's arm. "Woooow. Really? So if we were standing here back then, we'd be the highest-up people in the whole world?"
"Well, yes. But in the shorter tower," he added, memory clicking more firmly into place.
"Huh? Aren't they the same? It looked that way to me from the ground."
Germany leaned more heavily against the stone and watched the rooftops. It really was a clear day today. "No, not quite," he said with ingrained precision. "The southern tower--that's this one--is 157.31 meters tall, but the northern tower is 157.8 meters."
A weight slumped against his shoulder, and he could practically hear Italy falling asleep. "Gosh, I thought I liked architecture. You know everything about this place, don't you, Germany?"
Something heavy seemed to settle in Germany's stomach. "No," he muttered. "Not everything. I only remember things like that because they're...notable. Imperfect."
"Imperfect," Italy repeated, dreamy. He seized the hand of the arm still in his grasp and toyed with it, traced feathery patterns across the palm. Germany nodded and kept his eye on the cityscape.
"And I remember...I remember them completing it, but not starting it, and that there were some centuries in between where it was left unfinished." And he couldn't remember those, not really. Italy curled Germany's fingers in his own, squeezing.
"I'm glad they finished it," he said, and his breath tickled Germany's ear, but Germany was still somewhere farther away.
"I remember things like that," he mumbled, while Italy swung both of their clasped-together hands lightly between them. "And you know..." his eyes swept over Cologne beneath them for the thousandth time. So many buildings, and so many of them new. "You know, it was nearly the only thing left standing, after." He cleared his throat. "Afterwards."
Italy squeezed his hand again and leaned in closer. "I'm glad it's still standing," he said, from somewhere around Germany's collar.
"So am I." Germany closed his eyes and thought. It was still early; the sun was just beginning to really warm the sky.
Italy was warm, too.
"I'm glad you're still standing," Italy continued.
"So am--" Germany stopped when he realized that he wasn't.
In fact, neither of them was.
"Italy," he began, blinking stupidly. "How did we get on the floor?"
"Hm? Oh, look at that!" Italy glanced around happily from his position above Germany. "That's so weird, isn't it, Germany?"
Germany's brow creased. "And what did you do with your..." The creases deepened. "Italy, what did you do with my shirt?"
Italy lay himself down more fully on top of him, body nestling into the curves and angles of Germany's own. "My, my," he hummed, before tangling their fingers together again. "How do these things happen, I wonder?"
"Italy." Germany ran his other hand unsteadily through Italy's hair and stared up at the tower. Then he started, shook himself, made to rise. "Italy, what are--we can't do this, Italy!"
It was surprising how well Italy was able to keep Germany from sitting up fully. He pouted. "Why noooot?"
"Because we are in a cathedral," he hissed.
"Well, yeah, but only the second-highest bit. God probably likes it more in the other tower, right?"
Germany sank back to the stones, sputtering. Italy laughed and kissed his forehead.
"I like your imperfect buildings, Germany. They're full of stories, like you." He kissed him again, lower this time. "And I like it when you let me be a part of that."
If Germany had planned to say something more, he quickly forgot it. He did, for a moment, still have the presence of mind to worry that someone might come walking up those stairs and get an eyeful of much more than the customary tourist attraction, but with the floor warming against his back and Italy warming against his front and the clear, clean air around them, he decided it wouldn't do much good to dwell on such things any longer.
He really would have liked to know how Italy got his shirt off like that, though.
---
I've been there. I should probably be ashamed of this.
Oops.
Character(s): Italy/Germany
Rating: PG-13, with a healthy dose of snickering.
Warnings: BLASPHEMY AT HIGH ALTITUDES.
Summary: Italy can be quite the smooth operator, when Germany's distracted.
"You see?" said Germany, hauling Italy up from where he had collapsed, sprawled at the top of the steps. "That wasn't so hard. And we made fairly good time, all things considered."
"Did we? I'm so happy," Italy wheezed. He swayed unsteadily and blinked at the sudden flooding of daylight, then clapped a hand to his chest. "Hey, hey Germany! So how can you tell when you're having a heart attack, again?" he babbled, giggling nervously.
Germany crossed his arms and shook his head. Honestly. He was barely even breathing harder after the climb. "Your problem," he announced, "is that you have no endurance."
"My problem is I'm dizzy and you like stairs too much." Italy pouted. "There's, there's a million of them, Germany."
"Five hundred and nine," said Germany curtly. "Besides," he grunted, turning from the stairs to the high-vaulted tower walls, "the view is well worth it. Have a look."
Italy grinned and followed at his heels, turning in lazy rotations and gazing up into the narrowing spire above. "You're so funny when you're excited about things, Germany...Oh!" Something caught his eye and he moved closer to a section of wall to inspect it. "Look, Germany! Someone from Japan's place wrote this!" He reached out to trace the writing on the cool stone, and his eyes darted back and forth over the countless other signatures around it excitedly. "Ohhh, and here's one from France's and Spain's and Hungary's and England's (or maybe America's, I can never tell) and everybody's! This is cool!"
"I was talking about the view outside," said Germany, who was already standing at the window. Italy bounded over to his side like a shot.
"Oh oh oh," he breathed, leaning forward on tiptoe until Germany was very thankful for the wire fencing guarding against any accident. "Germany, this is amazing."
Germany smiled graciously and looked out as well. "You wanted to see the city," he said, modest. "And I can't think of any better way to do that than from here."
"Look at all those buildings, they're so tiny!" Italy grabbed at Germany's sleeve excitedly. "And it's so clear out, you can see for miles!"
So many buildings, it was true. He hadn't really thought about it for a long time. "It was the tallest structure in the world, for a while," he said, before he could stop himself. "Just for a few years."
Italy whistled, still clutching Germany's arm. "Woooow. Really? So if we were standing here back then, we'd be the highest-up people in the whole world?"
"Well, yes. But in the shorter tower," he added, memory clicking more firmly into place.
"Huh? Aren't they the same? It looked that way to me from the ground."
Germany leaned more heavily against the stone and watched the rooftops. It really was a clear day today. "No, not quite," he said with ingrained precision. "The southern tower--that's this one--is 157.31 meters tall, but the northern tower is 157.8 meters."
A weight slumped against his shoulder, and he could practically hear Italy falling asleep. "Gosh, I thought I liked architecture. You know everything about this place, don't you, Germany?"
Something heavy seemed to settle in Germany's stomach. "No," he muttered. "Not everything. I only remember things like that because they're...notable. Imperfect."
"Imperfect," Italy repeated, dreamy. He seized the hand of the arm still in his grasp and toyed with it, traced feathery patterns across the palm. Germany nodded and kept his eye on the cityscape.
"And I remember...I remember them completing it, but not starting it, and that there were some centuries in between where it was left unfinished." And he couldn't remember those, not really. Italy curled Germany's fingers in his own, squeezing.
"I'm glad they finished it," he said, and his breath tickled Germany's ear, but Germany was still somewhere farther away.
"I remember things like that," he mumbled, while Italy swung both of their clasped-together hands lightly between them. "And you know..." his eyes swept over Cologne beneath them for the thousandth time. So many buildings, and so many of them new. "You know, it was nearly the only thing left standing, after." He cleared his throat. "Afterwards."
Italy squeezed his hand again and leaned in closer. "I'm glad it's still standing," he said, from somewhere around Germany's collar.
"So am I." Germany closed his eyes and thought. It was still early; the sun was just beginning to really warm the sky.
Italy was warm, too.
"I'm glad you're still standing," Italy continued.
"So am--" Germany stopped when he realized that he wasn't.
In fact, neither of them was.
"Italy," he began, blinking stupidly. "How did we get on the floor?"
"Hm? Oh, look at that!" Italy glanced around happily from his position above Germany. "That's so weird, isn't it, Germany?"
Germany's brow creased. "And what did you do with your..." The creases deepened. "Italy, what did you do with my shirt?"
Italy lay himself down more fully on top of him, body nestling into the curves and angles of Germany's own. "My, my," he hummed, before tangling their fingers together again. "How do these things happen, I wonder?"
"Italy." Germany ran his other hand unsteadily through Italy's hair and stared up at the tower. Then he started, shook himself, made to rise. "Italy, what are--we can't do this, Italy!"
It was surprising how well Italy was able to keep Germany from sitting up fully. He pouted. "Why noooot?"
"Because we are in a cathedral," he hissed.
"Well, yeah, but only the second-highest bit. God probably likes it more in the other tower, right?"
Germany sank back to the stones, sputtering. Italy laughed and kissed his forehead.
"I like your imperfect buildings, Germany. They're full of stories, like you." He kissed him again, lower this time. "And I like it when you let me be a part of that."
If Germany had planned to say something more, he quickly forgot it. He did, for a moment, still have the presence of mind to worry that someone might come walking up those stairs and get an eyeful of much more than the customary tourist attraction, but with the floor warming against his back and Italy warming against his front and the clear, clean air around them, he decided it wouldn't do much good to dwell on such things any longer.
He really would have liked to know how Italy got his shirt off like that, though.
---
I've been there. I should probably be ashamed of this.
Oops.