Get Away with Murder
Get Away with Murder
Groggily, Italy opened one eye and peered at his alarm clock. 8:00 A.M. Moaning, he pushed himself upright with an effort and shut off the obnoxious beeping and ringing emitting from the clock. Why, oh why, had he thought taking a 10:00 class would be a good idea?
Shooing a longing glance at his pillow, he stretched the kinks out of his neck and back and obligingly pushing himself out of bed. As much as he really wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, he couldn’t miss the first day of term.
However, a half-hour later, he felt just as sleepy and out-of-sorts as he had when he first woke up.
“I hate mornings,” he grumbled to himself as he shoved textbooks and notebooks into his bag. Finally, he had everything ready. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he strode out into the morning sunlight.
The September air was pleasantly cool, but the breeze held the cold promise of coming winter. Everything was full and green; the leaves hadn’t yet started to change color, but all too soon, the world would be painted shades of red and orange.
Italy did not live very far form the Academy, and he had only been walking for a few minutes when he saw the sweeping lawns and hulking, brown shape of the academy looming up before him. Groups of students dotted the sweeping lawns, some heading into the building, some talking with their friends before their classes began.
And there, standing in the grass a little off to the left was his boyfriend, chatting the ears off Japan, China, and Germany. Italy couldn’t help smiling, and quickened his pace to join them. There they all were, standing in the customary circle as if the summer had never happened, as if they had been doing the same thing yesterday morning.
“Hello, America,” he said, wrapping his arms around his talkative boyfriend from behind, “guess what today is.”
“Hey, Italy!” America said, flashing Italy a wide grin and wrapping one arm around his waist as he officially joined the circle, “and I already know today’s the first day of class.”
Italy sighed. “No, that’s not what I meant. Today we’ve been dating for three months.”
America blinked, his eyes slightly magnified by his glasses and exaggerating his confusion.
“Three… shit, that’s right!” he exclaimed. Japan, China, and Germany all laughed, and Italy forced a smile. He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for, but certainly more than this. More than just a hug and an “oh, that’s right!”
But he had no intention of standing there and feeling like his boyfriend wasn’t giving him enough attention. If America couldn’t make him happy, then he knew something that could.
“Well,” he said out loud to the group, “since it is our three month, I have a little something to celebrate with.”
Quickly looking around to make sure there were no professors lurking nearby, he pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and opened it up. Inside were three freshly rolled joints.
After all of them murmured their approval, America let go of Italy and gestured toward the circle. “C’mon, let’s go find somewhere to smoke those,” he said, turning and striding across the lawn.
Feeling oddly naked without America’s arm around him, Italy followed after him, falling into step next to Germany.
“That was good thinking, bringing weed,” Germany said, his voice lowered, “I don’t know how I would have survived this class if you hadn’t.”
Trying not to betray his melancholy, Italy winked. “You know me,” he grinned, “you didn’t think I was going to actually do any work today, did you?”
Germany laughed, a deep, booming sound, despite his best efforts to appear inconspicuous.
“Yes, I do know you, Italy,” he said, suddenly becoming serious, “and I know you’re unhappy with America.”
Italy shrugged. “I’m not unhappy, really, I just wish he’d be more affectionate,” he said, the admittance causing him more pain than he thought it would. “He never kisses me, or even hugs me, really. I mean, we obviously have kissed, but it feels… awkward, somehow. I feel like I have to practically beg for every little bit of physical contact.” He sighed. “It’s just frustrating, that’s all,” he muttered.
Germany’s arm twitched oddly, as if he were about to put his arm around Italy’s shoulders and then thought better of it.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly, “that’s really too bad.”
Italy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, as they had come to a secluded section of the campus, shaded by a small cluster of trees. The five of them huddled under the trees and watched expectantly as Italy lit the first joint and brought it to his lips.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, letting the acrid heat fill his lungs before exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke. Coughing a bit as the smoke tickled his throat, he passed the joint to Germany, who immediately raised it to his own lips.
Slowly but surely, two of the joints disappeared. Italy smoked in relative silence, letting the happy chatter of his friends wash over him as every care he had was steadily wiped from his mind. Lighting the third and final joint, he didn’t even mind anymore that America had not hugged him again, hadn’t touched him the entire time they smoked.
The smoke went down smoothly this time, and he passed it along to Germany after taking three deep hits.
“Damn, this was a good idea,” America sighed. Finally, he wrapped his arm around Italy’s waist and pulled him close. It was the thing Italy had been waiting for, but now that it happened, he found that he didn’t really care that much.
“This is done,” China announced, throwing what remained of the joint into the grass and grinding it out under his toe.
The leaves crunched noisily under their feet as they all headed back toward the school as a group. Japan and China lead the way, their hands clasped tightly, occasionally exchanging quick kisses and completely oblivious to everyone else around them. Italy sighed, leaning his head against America’s shoulder, hoping he’d take the hint. Even just a kiss on the forehead would be nice…
When they all entered the building, America finally gave Italy a quick kiss on the lips.
“I’ll see you later, ok?” he said, flashing a dazed version of his usual grin before heading off down the hall alone to his class. Italy smiled back, but turned the opposite way with Germany, Japan, and China. Germany was talking, his low voice washing pleasantly over Italy’s eardrums. He had never before appreciated just how beautiful Germany’s voice was, literally vibrating with raw, masculine energy as he spoke. Everything about Germany at that moment seemed filled with the same energy. Even in his school uniform, he seemed to convey a sense of absolute authority as he passed through the halls next to Italy.
“Italy? Italy! Did you listen to a word I just said?”
“Oh, I was listening all right, but I have no idea what you actually said,” Italy responded, staring up dreamily into Germany’s face. His eyes were a gorgeous blue, a very different shade than America’s. Rimmed in red, they seemed even brighter and colder than usual, like tiny circles of finely cut ice.
“You’re still not listening, are you?” Germany sighed, taking a seat at a desk in the back corner of the classroom.
“Woah, we’re here already,” Italy blinked, sinking into the chair next to Germany.
“Italy, focus!” Germany begged exasperatedly. It was a mark of how high he was that he hadn’t lost his temper yet.
“Right, I’m focused,” Italy said, doing his best to keep his thoughts from wandering.
“I was saying that we should do something tonight. We haven’t hung out since… well, it’s been a while,” he stumbled, his cheeks gaining a pale pink tinge.
“Since America and I started dating, you mean,” Italy finished for him.
Germany fidgeted awkwardly with the cuff of his school shirt, unwilling to look up at Italy. “I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, “I just figured we should do something as friends, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” Italy smiled, “and you’re right. We haven’t done anything since America asked me out. Where do you wanna go?”
Germany’s bloodshot eyes flitted over the classroom, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I was thinking my house. I’ve got some stuff I think you’d like.”
At that, Italy looked around as well. The room suddenly looked uncomfortably full. No one was looking at his corner, but he felt as though everyone’s ears were secretly trained on his and Germany’s conversation. Lowering his voice as well, he leaned even closer.
God, Germany smelled really good.
“What kind of stuff?” he asked, with an effort to keep his thoughts on the conversation.
“Coke.” Germany barely breathed the word, his eyes darting nervously from person to person. Italy watched his lips move as he spoke, so soft and delicate, the only part of him that wasn’t overwhelmingly rugged and powerful. And they were so close. If he just leaned a bit closer…
“I’d love to,” he said, pulling away hastily.
“Alright, settle down everybody!”
Slowly, the buzz of voices died away as the professor entered the room, giving Italy an excuse to stare down at his notebook and avoid looking at Germany without hurting his friend’s feelings. Lazily, he flipped to the first page, and scrawled “Dutch 120, Monday, September 1st” across the top of the page.
I wonder what kind of food they have in Holland, he thought, and almost instantly regretted it as he felt his stomach come to life. Stifling a groan, he looked up at the professor and tried to process what he was saying, but it was hopeless. All he could think of was how hungry he was.
Giving up on learning anything, he laid his head down on the desk and thought longingly of lunch, a daunting four hours away. This was going to be a long day.
…
Italy watched as Germany carefully split the pile of white power into two fine lines with the edge of a 5 euro note. It felt so good to be in Germany’s house again, curled up on the couch, talking casually with him about nothing. Everything was as Italy remembered it; impeccably neat and organized, not a speck of dust out of place.
With expert fingers, Germany rolled the 5 euro note into a small, tight tube. Leaning over the coffee table, he snorted one of the white lines, leaving only a faint white streak behind on the mahogany surface. Italy smiled to himself. Germany was so uptight, so neat, so by-the-book.
Even now, his hair was carefully slicked back, his school tie still tight around his throat. No one would ever believe it if Italy told them he watched Germany snorted cocaine off his coffee table, as casually as if he’d just opened a beer.
“Your turn,” Germany said, jerking Italy out of his musings and handing him the rolled up note. He shifted over on the couch to give Italy more room as he leaned over the second white line.
Italy felt his heart quicken as he leaned over the coffee table. Despite Germany’s attempt to make room, his legs were pressed against Germany’s, and it was strangely thrilling to know that Germany was somewhere behind him as he bent over…
Stop it! he told himself sharply. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he snorted the second line through Germany’s euro.
His nose tingled as the white powder was absorbed into his bloodstream, making him feel like he was continually on the verge of sneezing. Germany laughed as he wrinkled his nose, trying to escape the feeling.
“It’ll go away in a few seconds,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. The startling blue of his irises had thinned to a slim ring of pale color around the inky darkness of his pupils, which had dilated dramatically, even in the last few minutes.
He really is beautiful, Italy thought. He couldn’t get enough, his eyes roving over every inch of his friend’s body. He wanted to touch him, wanted to run his hands through Germany’s hair, to rip off his school shirt and feel Germany’s warm skin under his fingers.
Suddenly, without stopping to think whether or not it was a good idea, he pushed Germany against the back of the couch and straddled him.
“Italy, what-” Germany began, automatically reaching up to push Italy off, but he put a finger on Germany’s lips to silence him.
“Don’t talk,” he said, “I just really need to touch you.”
“Italy, you have a boyfriend!” Germany protested, ignoring Italy’s command, though he did nothing to stop Italy from pulling off his tie and feverishly unbuttoning his shirt.
“I know, I’m not going to do anything,” Italy said, accidentally popping off the last button in his haste to rip away the cloth.
Throwing the shirt carelessly over the back of the couch, he let out a little moan of want as he devoured Germany’s naked chest with his eyes.
“You are so perfect,” he breathed, running his fingers over Germany’s skin, feeling little shivers of delight when Germany’s muscles tensed under his fingers. Germany was watching him, his wide eyes wary, filled with tense anticipation. It gave him an acute sense of power, something he never felt with America. He felt invincible, with such blatant strength trapped underneath him, completely at his mercy. Just for the thrill of it, he grabbed Germany’s hands in his own. Lacing their fingers together, he pulled Germany’s arms up over his head, pinning him against the couch.
“I want you so badly,” he whispered, his lips inches from Germany’s, “but I’m not high enough to cheat on America.”
Germany said nothing, but his breathing was quick and shallow, and Italy could feel Germany’s heart pounding beneath him. For a moment,
it seemed Germany would do nothing. Then, with a powerful thrust of his hips, he pushed Italy off him and pushed him down against the couch cushions. Within seconds, their positions were reversed; Italy lay prone against the couch cushions with Germany straddling his waist. His eyes were burning as he looked down at Italy. His pupils had begun to shrink, but it made the predatory look on his face even more terrifying.
“If you fucked me,” he said quietly, “you’d be cheating on America. But I wouldn’t be cheating on anyone if I fucked you.”
Italy couldn’t breathe. Terrified, he stared up into those impossibly blue eyes, his whole body tense as Germany ran a finger around the waist of his pants.
Sighing, Germany sat up and ran a hand tiredly through his hair. “But I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said with a small smile.
Italy let out the breath he’d been holding. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he sat up and watched Germany retrieve his shirt from the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking at his knees, “that was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking…”
“Don’t be,” Germany said, quickly buttoning up his shirt, “just- let’s forget about this, about anything being between us but friendship, until you’ve figured things out with America.”
Italy sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”
The cocaine was still rushing through his system, making it difficult for him to sit still.
“Come on,” Germany said, reading his mind, “it’s still really nice out. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Alright,” Italy agreed gratefully, following Germany to the door. As they were about to leave the house, Germany gave him a half-smile and punched him lightly in the arm.
“Forget about it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “We’re still friends, we’re just friends. Nothing happened, ok?”
Italy smiled back gratefully. Anyone else would have kicked him out, or taken advantage of him, or told America at the first opportunity. But Germany had already forgiven him.
“Forget about what?” he asked mischievously, stepping out into the crisp September air, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
Groggily, Italy opened one eye and peered at his alarm clock. 8:00 A.M. Moaning, he pushed himself upright with an effort and shut off the obnoxious beeping and ringing emitting from the clock. Why, oh why, had he thought taking a 10:00 class would be a good idea?
Shooing a longing glance at his pillow, he stretched the kinks out of his neck and back and obligingly pushing himself out of bed. As much as he really wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, he couldn’t miss the first day of term.
However, a half-hour later, he felt just as sleepy and out-of-sorts as he had when he first woke up.
“I hate mornings,” he grumbled to himself as he shoved textbooks and notebooks into his bag. Finally, he had everything ready. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he strode out into the morning sunlight.
The September air was pleasantly cool, but the breeze held the cold promise of coming winter. Everything was full and green; the leaves hadn’t yet started to change color, but all too soon, the world would be painted shades of red and orange.
Italy did not live very far form the Academy, and he had only been walking for a few minutes when he saw the sweeping lawns and hulking, brown shape of the academy looming up before him. Groups of students dotted the sweeping lawns, some heading into the building, some talking with their friends before their classes began.
And there, standing in the grass a little off to the left was his boyfriend, chatting the ears off Japan, China, and Germany. Italy couldn’t help smiling, and quickened his pace to join them. There they all were, standing in the customary circle as if the summer had never happened, as if they had been doing the same thing yesterday morning.
“Hello, America,” he said, wrapping his arms around his talkative boyfriend from behind, “guess what today is.”
“Hey, Italy!” America said, flashing Italy a wide grin and wrapping one arm around his waist as he officially joined the circle, “and I already know today’s the first day of class.”
Italy sighed. “No, that’s not what I meant. Today we’ve been dating for three months.”
America blinked, his eyes slightly magnified by his glasses and exaggerating his confusion.
“Three… shit, that’s right!” he exclaimed. Japan, China, and Germany all laughed, and Italy forced a smile. He wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for, but certainly more than this. More than just a hug and an “oh, that’s right!”
But he had no intention of standing there and feeling like his boyfriend wasn’t giving him enough attention. If America couldn’t make him happy, then he knew something that could.
“Well,” he said out loud to the group, “since it is our three month, I have a little something to celebrate with.”
Quickly looking around to make sure there were no professors lurking nearby, he pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and opened it up. Inside were three freshly rolled joints.
After all of them murmured their approval, America let go of Italy and gestured toward the circle. “C’mon, let’s go find somewhere to smoke those,” he said, turning and striding across the lawn.
Feeling oddly naked without America’s arm around him, Italy followed after him, falling into step next to Germany.
“That was good thinking, bringing weed,” Germany said, his voice lowered, “I don’t know how I would have survived this class if you hadn’t.”
Trying not to betray his melancholy, Italy winked. “You know me,” he grinned, “you didn’t think I was going to actually do any work today, did you?”
Germany laughed, a deep, booming sound, despite his best efforts to appear inconspicuous.
“Yes, I do know you, Italy,” he said, suddenly becoming serious, “and I know you’re unhappy with America.”
Italy shrugged. “I’m not unhappy, really, I just wish he’d be more affectionate,” he said, the admittance causing him more pain than he thought it would. “He never kisses me, or even hugs me, really. I mean, we obviously have kissed, but it feels… awkward, somehow. I feel like I have to practically beg for every little bit of physical contact.” He sighed. “It’s just frustrating, that’s all,” he muttered.
Germany’s arm twitched oddly, as if he were about to put his arm around Italy’s shoulders and then thought better of it.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly, “that’s really too bad.”
Italy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, as they had come to a secluded section of the campus, shaded by a small cluster of trees. The five of them huddled under the trees and watched expectantly as Italy lit the first joint and brought it to his lips.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, letting the acrid heat fill his lungs before exhaling a swirling cloud of smoke. Coughing a bit as the smoke tickled his throat, he passed the joint to Germany, who immediately raised it to his own lips.
Slowly but surely, two of the joints disappeared. Italy smoked in relative silence, letting the happy chatter of his friends wash over him as every care he had was steadily wiped from his mind. Lighting the third and final joint, he didn’t even mind anymore that America had not hugged him again, hadn’t touched him the entire time they smoked.
The smoke went down smoothly this time, and he passed it along to Germany after taking three deep hits.
“Damn, this was a good idea,” America sighed. Finally, he wrapped his arm around Italy’s waist and pulled him close. It was the thing Italy had been waiting for, but now that it happened, he found that he didn’t really care that much.
“This is done,” China announced, throwing what remained of the joint into the grass and grinding it out under his toe.
The leaves crunched noisily under their feet as they all headed back toward the school as a group. Japan and China lead the way, their hands clasped tightly, occasionally exchanging quick kisses and completely oblivious to everyone else around them. Italy sighed, leaning his head against America’s shoulder, hoping he’d take the hint. Even just a kiss on the forehead would be nice…
When they all entered the building, America finally gave Italy a quick kiss on the lips.
“I’ll see you later, ok?” he said, flashing a dazed version of his usual grin before heading off down the hall alone to his class. Italy smiled back, but turned the opposite way with Germany, Japan, and China. Germany was talking, his low voice washing pleasantly over Italy’s eardrums. He had never before appreciated just how beautiful Germany’s voice was, literally vibrating with raw, masculine energy as he spoke. Everything about Germany at that moment seemed filled with the same energy. Even in his school uniform, he seemed to convey a sense of absolute authority as he passed through the halls next to Italy.
“Italy? Italy! Did you listen to a word I just said?”
“Oh, I was listening all right, but I have no idea what you actually said,” Italy responded, staring up dreamily into Germany’s face. His eyes were a gorgeous blue, a very different shade than America’s. Rimmed in red, they seemed even brighter and colder than usual, like tiny circles of finely cut ice.
“You’re still not listening, are you?” Germany sighed, taking a seat at a desk in the back corner of the classroom.
“Woah, we’re here already,” Italy blinked, sinking into the chair next to Germany.
“Italy, focus!” Germany begged exasperatedly. It was a mark of how high he was that he hadn’t lost his temper yet.
“Right, I’m focused,” Italy said, doing his best to keep his thoughts from wandering.
“I was saying that we should do something tonight. We haven’t hung out since… well, it’s been a while,” he stumbled, his cheeks gaining a pale pink tinge.
“Since America and I started dating, you mean,” Italy finished for him.
Germany fidgeted awkwardly with the cuff of his school shirt, unwilling to look up at Italy. “I-I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, “I just figured we should do something as friends, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” Italy smiled, “and you’re right. We haven’t done anything since America asked me out. Where do you wanna go?”
Germany’s bloodshot eyes flitted over the classroom, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I was thinking my house. I’ve got some stuff I think you’d like.”
At that, Italy looked around as well. The room suddenly looked uncomfortably full. No one was looking at his corner, but he felt as though everyone’s ears were secretly trained on his and Germany’s conversation. Lowering his voice as well, he leaned even closer.
God, Germany smelled really good.
“What kind of stuff?” he asked, with an effort to keep his thoughts on the conversation.
“Coke.” Germany barely breathed the word, his eyes darting nervously from person to person. Italy watched his lips move as he spoke, so soft and delicate, the only part of him that wasn’t overwhelmingly rugged and powerful. And they were so close. If he just leaned a bit closer…
“I’d love to,” he said, pulling away hastily.
“Alright, settle down everybody!”
Slowly, the buzz of voices died away as the professor entered the room, giving Italy an excuse to stare down at his notebook and avoid looking at Germany without hurting his friend’s feelings. Lazily, he flipped to the first page, and scrawled “Dutch 120, Monday, September 1st” across the top of the page.
I wonder what kind of food they have in Holland, he thought, and almost instantly regretted it as he felt his stomach come to life. Stifling a groan, he looked up at the professor and tried to process what he was saying, but it was hopeless. All he could think of was how hungry he was.
Giving up on learning anything, he laid his head down on the desk and thought longingly of lunch, a daunting four hours away. This was going to be a long day.
…
Italy watched as Germany carefully split the pile of white power into two fine lines with the edge of a 5 euro note. It felt so good to be in Germany’s house again, curled up on the couch, talking casually with him about nothing. Everything was as Italy remembered it; impeccably neat and organized, not a speck of dust out of place.
With expert fingers, Germany rolled the 5 euro note into a small, tight tube. Leaning over the coffee table, he snorted one of the white lines, leaving only a faint white streak behind on the mahogany surface. Italy smiled to himself. Germany was so uptight, so neat, so by-the-book.
Even now, his hair was carefully slicked back, his school tie still tight around his throat. No one would ever believe it if Italy told them he watched Germany snorted cocaine off his coffee table, as casually as if he’d just opened a beer.
“Your turn,” Germany said, jerking Italy out of his musings and handing him the rolled up note. He shifted over on the couch to give Italy more room as he leaned over the second white line.
Italy felt his heart quicken as he leaned over the coffee table. Despite Germany’s attempt to make room, his legs were pressed against Germany’s, and it was strangely thrilling to know that Germany was somewhere behind him as he bent over…
Stop it! he told himself sharply. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he snorted the second line through Germany’s euro.
His nose tingled as the white powder was absorbed into his bloodstream, making him feel like he was continually on the verge of sneezing. Germany laughed as he wrinkled his nose, trying to escape the feeling.
“It’ll go away in a few seconds,” he said, a smile playing on his lips. The startling blue of his irises had thinned to a slim ring of pale color around the inky darkness of his pupils, which had dilated dramatically, even in the last few minutes.
He really is beautiful, Italy thought. He couldn’t get enough, his eyes roving over every inch of his friend’s body. He wanted to touch him, wanted to run his hands through Germany’s hair, to rip off his school shirt and feel Germany’s warm skin under his fingers.
Suddenly, without stopping to think whether or not it was a good idea, he pushed Germany against the back of the couch and straddled him.
“Italy, what-” Germany began, automatically reaching up to push Italy off, but he put a finger on Germany’s lips to silence him.
“Don’t talk,” he said, “I just really need to touch you.”
“Italy, you have a boyfriend!” Germany protested, ignoring Italy’s command, though he did nothing to stop Italy from pulling off his tie and feverishly unbuttoning his shirt.
“I know, I’m not going to do anything,” Italy said, accidentally popping off the last button in his haste to rip away the cloth.
Throwing the shirt carelessly over the back of the couch, he let out a little moan of want as he devoured Germany’s naked chest with his eyes.
“You are so perfect,” he breathed, running his fingers over Germany’s skin, feeling little shivers of delight when Germany’s muscles tensed under his fingers. Germany was watching him, his wide eyes wary, filled with tense anticipation. It gave him an acute sense of power, something he never felt with America. He felt invincible, with such blatant strength trapped underneath him, completely at his mercy. Just for the thrill of it, he grabbed Germany’s hands in his own. Lacing their fingers together, he pulled Germany’s arms up over his head, pinning him against the couch.
“I want you so badly,” he whispered, his lips inches from Germany’s, “but I’m not high enough to cheat on America.”
Germany said nothing, but his breathing was quick and shallow, and Italy could feel Germany’s heart pounding beneath him. For a moment,
it seemed Germany would do nothing. Then, with a powerful thrust of his hips, he pushed Italy off him and pushed him down against the couch cushions. Within seconds, their positions were reversed; Italy lay prone against the couch cushions with Germany straddling his waist. His eyes were burning as he looked down at Italy. His pupils had begun to shrink, but it made the predatory look on his face even more terrifying.
“If you fucked me,” he said quietly, “you’d be cheating on America. But I wouldn’t be cheating on anyone if I fucked you.”
Italy couldn’t breathe. Terrified, he stared up into those impossibly blue eyes, his whole body tense as Germany ran a finger around the waist of his pants.
Sighing, Germany sat up and ran a hand tiredly through his hair. “But I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said with a small smile.
Italy let out the breath he’d been holding. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he sat up and watched Germany retrieve his shirt from the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking at his knees, “that was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking…”
“Don’t be,” Germany said, quickly buttoning up his shirt, “just- let’s forget about this, about anything being between us but friendship, until you’ve figured things out with America.”
Italy sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”
The cocaine was still rushing through his system, making it difficult for him to sit still.
“Come on,” Germany said, reading his mind, “it’s still really nice out. Let’s go for a walk.”
“Alright,” Italy agreed gratefully, following Germany to the door. As they were about to leave the house, Germany gave him a half-smile and punched him lightly in the arm.
“Forget about it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “We’re still friends, we’re just friends. Nothing happened, ok?”
Italy smiled back gratefully. Anyone else would have kicked him out, or taken advantage of him, or told America at the first opportunity. But Germany had already forgiven him.
“Forget about what?” he asked mischievously, stepping out into the crisp September air, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”