Didn't See That One Coming 3/?
anonymous
August 3 2009, 08:27:31 UTC
author anon is sorry if this isn't coming out like OP wantedD:
After he found his jacket, and the box of condoms, Ludwig made his way out the door with an encouraging dog whistle from his brother for good luck. Out of his brother’s influence, though, he felt discouraged and nervous. He’d imagined how this would work, sure; he’s fantasized about it countless times. He’d brush against Feliciano’s tan skin, soft as silk and dark like coffee, and he’d have trouble concentrating on the conversation at hand rather than those oh so insistent fantasies that would cloud his mind. He’d imagine running his hands through the chestnut hair, mapping out every line of his body because Gilbert had taught him ‘geography’s important’, tasting and taking what he wanted, and getting moans out of Italy that for once wouldn’t be about how delicious a plate of food was. But what held him back from ever taking the Italian was his pride, or dignity, as he tried to convince himself. Ludwig had experienced failure, seen it in war and love, and knew its bitter taste; it held him back from crossing that one line that still stood between him and the Italian.
The walk was short to the hotel Italy was staying at for the conference, just a few blocks from the flat Gilbert and Ludwig shared in Berlin. He remembered the room number, and had a key Feliciano left him one night, ‘in case you get lonely, Ludwig, I won’t mind’. Ludwig shook his head at the tactlessness of the attempt, but silently thanked Feliciano for being so bold. He greeted the receptionist, a pretty girl with blonde hair and tired eyes, and wondered which countries had tried to make a pass at her. He wouldn’t put it past France, and America could be just as shameless flirt as him. He asked her, kindly as he could, which floor 356 was on, said a friend of his left an important document for the conference being held at the hotel. She smiled at him and gave him the floor, and with a short danke, Ludwig left for the elevator, pressing the 7th floor button.
Once the doors closed, Ludwig waited in agony for the lift to makes its way up, collecting whatever courage he had. Feliciano was not a two front war, sex wasn’t anything like Normandy. Surely, he survived those; he could handle a little intimacy. Ludwig didn’t take comfort in that thought, because he remembered that though he lived, he’d lost those battles. And if he remembered that saying Gilbert liked to mutter right, sex is a battle.
Eventually, after what seemed like eternity, the bell clang and indicated that Ludwig was at his floor, and the doors opened, ominously creaking. He stepped out, collecting himself and shoving all fear out of his body, and made his way down the hall, counting the doors. He prayed that Lovino would be with Antonio, that the two Italians wouldn’t be in the same room at the moment. And he found himself wishing, for the first time, that Feliciano was already naked.
Ludwig slowed his walk to a death march when he reached 350, and sooner than Ludwig would have thought, he was in front of the Italians’ room, the 356 in big red mocking him. It was the moment of truth, really; could he do it? Could he really go in there, and do this with the man he lov- with his ally, his friend? What if this destroyed everything? What if it wasn’t good enough for Feliciano, and he wandered away anyways? Would he risk his pride for this? Ludwig had no answer, nor did he reach one, when he heard a muffled, lustful moan float through the wooden door.
After he found his jacket, and the box of condoms, Ludwig made his way out the door with an encouraging dog whistle from his brother for good luck. Out of his brother’s influence, though, he felt discouraged and nervous. He’d imagined how this would work, sure; he’s fantasized about it countless times. He’d brush against Feliciano’s tan skin, soft as silk and dark like coffee, and he’d have trouble concentrating on the conversation at hand rather than those oh so insistent fantasies that would cloud his mind. He’d imagine running his hands through the chestnut hair, mapping out every line of his body because Gilbert had taught him ‘geography’s important’, tasting and taking what he wanted, and getting moans out of Italy that for once wouldn’t be about how delicious a plate of food was. But what held him back from ever taking the Italian was his pride, or dignity, as he tried to convince himself. Ludwig had experienced failure, seen it in war and love, and knew its bitter taste; it held him back from crossing that one line that still stood between him and the Italian.
The walk was short to the hotel Italy was staying at for the conference, just a few blocks from the flat Gilbert and Ludwig shared in Berlin. He remembered the room number, and had a key Feliciano left him one night, ‘in case you get lonely, Ludwig, I won’t mind’. Ludwig shook his head at the tactlessness of the attempt, but silently thanked Feliciano for being so bold. He greeted the receptionist, a pretty girl with blonde hair and tired eyes, and wondered which countries had tried to make a pass at her. He wouldn’t put it past France, and America could be just as shameless flirt as him. He asked her, kindly as he could, which floor 356 was on, said a friend of his left an important document for the conference being held at the hotel. She smiled at him and gave him the floor, and with a short danke, Ludwig left for the elevator, pressing the 7th floor button.
Once the doors closed, Ludwig waited in agony for the lift to makes its way up, collecting whatever courage he had. Feliciano was not a two front war, sex wasn’t anything like Normandy. Surely, he survived those; he could handle a little intimacy. Ludwig didn’t take comfort in that thought, because he remembered that though he lived, he’d lost those battles. And if he remembered that saying Gilbert liked to mutter right, sex is a battle.
Eventually, after what seemed like eternity, the bell clang and indicated that Ludwig was at his floor, and the doors opened, ominously creaking. He stepped out, collecting himself and shoving all fear out of his body, and made his way down the hall, counting the doors. He prayed that Lovino would be with Antonio, that the two Italians wouldn’t be in the same room at the moment. And he found himself wishing, for the first time, that Feliciano was already naked.
Ludwig slowed his walk to a death march when he reached 350, and sooner than Ludwig would have thought, he was in front of the Italians’ room, the 356 in big red mocking him. It was the moment of truth, really; could he do it? Could he really go in there, and do this with the man he lov- with his ally, his friend? What if this destroyed everything? What if it wasn’t good enough for Feliciano, and he wandered away anyways? Would he risk his pride for this?
Ludwig had no answer, nor did he reach one, when he heard a muffled, lustful moan float through the wooden door.
“Oh, Lovino.”
Reply
Leave a comment