Oktoberfest
anonymous
November 27 2009, 03:09:41 UTC
Italy was gazing up at the stars, smiling and spotting the constellations and wondering who picked them anyway, and what other pictures he could come up with. His head was spinning slightly and though it had been noisy earlier, now it was peaceful, and the sticky heat of the day had dulled off into a comfortable warmth. He splashed his feet in the beer fountain, and giggled at the feeling of the cool, fizzy bubbles bursting between his toes.
A shooting star flew through the sky. Please let Germany have me tonight, please let Germany have me lots and lots, Italy whispered, and then it went further over his head than he could really manage to balance to see it, and he was almost falling when he felt a warm, solid body catch his weight and steady him, and a pair of blue eyes blocked out the sky.
“England and America both passed out. I carried them up to bed,” Germany said, looking down at Italy then gently pushing him upright. “Neither of them can hold a proper drink.”
His hand was warm on Italy's shoulder, and lingered for a moment before it disappeared. Germany moved to the side to sit beside him on the fountain's rim, facing away from the center, and held out a plate.
“Pasta! I didn't think you had any in your house!” Italy cried, taking the plate. Some kind of noodles, with sausages on top.
“I thought you might be hungry. It's been a long time since lunch, and none of us could find you at dinnertime.”
“Mmm MMMmmm,” Italy said, shoveling noodles into his mouth. They were cheesy and rather stodgy, but it was a thousand times better than another plate of potatoes.
The corner of Germany's lip twitched in a slight smile. He took an empty stein, skimmed it into the fountain and took a long draught. He drank, and Italy ate, both of them sitting in companionable silence.
The pasta was gone far too soon. It really was terrible pasta, but Italy was tipsy enough not to be too disgusted by it. He speared one of the sausages on his fork, and sniffed at it gingerly, then gave it an experimental lick.
Germany made a slight choking sound, stein frozen halfway to his mouth and eyes firmly glued to Italy's lips. He slowly put the stein down, and flicked his eyes up to Italy's then back down to his mouth.
The sausage tasted awful, but Italy wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to catch Germany's attention. He licked at the sausage again, lapping slowly down towards the fork, then back up to the tip. Germany let out a low groan when he sucked the sausage into his mouth.
“You... you little slut...” Germany growled, and tugged Italy towards him roughly, pulling the hand holding the fork away from his mouth. He took Italy's head in his hands and leaned down to press him into a kiss, his lips hot but his mouth chilled from the beer. Italy gasped up into him, and tangled his fingers in Germany's shirt, feeling his hard, warm chest through the fabric.
Germany drew back for a moment, and swatted Italy's plate from his lap before kissing him again. “You want me to fuck you, don't you?” he asked, pressing back into Italy and biting at his lip, “You always want to be fucked. That and your pasta and your pizza; it's never enough, is it? You're insatiable.”
Italy panted, nodding before Germany kissed him again, deeper and longer this time, and he loosened his grip on the country's shirt so he could rub down over that wonderful, firm chest. Germany was hard already - Germany was so efficient about everything, even sex - and Italy smiled into the kiss and rubbed his hand over that part of Germany's body too.
“Get out of the fountain,” Germany growled, “now.”
Italy gave Germany's cock a parting squeeze and withdrew his hand. “There's a bench, with cushions over there?” he suggested, pointing towards an alcove in the fountain square, “I had a nap earlier.”
They stood, and Germany steadied Italy as he clambered out of the fountain and down onto the paving. Italy slipped his hand into Germany's, and walked barefoot towards the alcove, pulling Germany along with him.
A shooting star flew through the sky. Please let Germany have me tonight, please let Germany have me lots and lots, Italy whispered, and then it went further over his head than he could really manage to balance to see it, and he was almost falling when he felt a warm, solid body catch his weight and steady him, and a pair of blue eyes blocked out the sky.
“England and America both passed out. I carried them up to bed,” Germany said, looking down at Italy then gently pushing him upright. “Neither of them can hold a proper drink.”
His hand was warm on Italy's shoulder, and lingered for a moment before it disappeared. Germany moved to the side to sit beside him on the fountain's rim, facing away from the center, and held out a plate.
“Pasta! I didn't think you had any in your house!” Italy cried, taking the plate. Some kind of noodles, with sausages on top.
“I thought you might be hungry. It's been a long time since lunch, and none of us could find you at dinnertime.”
“Mmm MMMmmm,” Italy said, shoveling noodles into his mouth. They were cheesy and rather stodgy, but it was a thousand times better than another plate of potatoes.
The corner of Germany's lip twitched in a slight smile. He took an empty stein, skimmed it into the fountain and took a long draught. He drank, and Italy ate, both of them sitting in companionable silence.
The pasta was gone far too soon. It really was terrible pasta, but Italy was tipsy enough not to be too disgusted by it. He speared one of the sausages on his fork, and sniffed at it gingerly, then gave it an experimental lick.
Germany made a slight choking sound, stein frozen halfway to his mouth and eyes firmly glued to Italy's lips. He slowly put the stein down, and flicked his eyes up to Italy's then back down to his mouth.
The sausage tasted awful, but Italy wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to catch Germany's attention. He licked at the sausage again, lapping slowly down towards the fork, then back up to the tip. Germany let out a low groan when he sucked the sausage into his mouth.
“You... you little slut...” Germany growled, and tugged Italy towards him roughly, pulling the hand holding the fork away from his mouth. He took Italy's head in his hands and leaned down to press him into a kiss, his lips hot but his mouth chilled from the beer. Italy gasped up into him, and tangled his fingers in Germany's shirt, feeling his hard, warm chest through the fabric.
Germany drew back for a moment, and swatted Italy's plate from his lap before kissing him again. “You want me to fuck you, don't you?” he asked, pressing back into Italy and biting at his lip, “You always want to be fucked. That and your pasta and your pizza; it's never enough, is it? You're insatiable.”
Italy panted, nodding before Germany kissed him again, deeper and longer this time, and he loosened his grip on the country's shirt so he could rub down over that wonderful, firm chest. Germany was hard already - Germany was so efficient about everything, even sex - and Italy smiled into the kiss and rubbed his hand over that part of Germany's body too.
“Get out of the fountain,” Germany growled, “now.”
Italy gave Germany's cock a parting squeeze and withdrew his hand. “There's a bench, with cushions over there?” he suggested, pointing towards an alcove in the fountain square, “I had a nap earlier.”
They stood, and Germany steadied Italy as he clambered out of the fountain and down onto the paving. Italy slipped his hand into Germany's, and walked barefoot towards the alcove, pulling Germany along with him.
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more please?
this is amazing.... ;3;
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