[APH] Make You Feel My Love [GerIta]
Title: Make You Feel My Love
Rating: Light R
Warnings: War, sexual advances... and sex
Characters/Pairings: Germany and N. Italy; GerIta
Summary: Nations have to consummate pacts, like relationships or marriages. Italy sets out to do just this, and makes an even greater discovery.
Notes: Kink meme de-anon! Prompt was something based on this adorable (and slightly NSFW) picture of Germany and Italy. So... this is what my brain produced.
~*~
It started with breath.
Germany was sitting in his make-shift quartered desk in a burlap tent with the promise of death and bombs and turmoil ringing in his ears, his ankles crossing and uncrossing fervently, his boots smacking together with the sound of wet leather. His fingertips dug into his palm, so deep he could draw blood if he tried, his forehead wrinkled and his lower lip firmly wedged between his upper teeth. He’d been pouring over the same reports over and over for so long all the words blurred together into a mash of ink and commands. Oh, what he’d give for a break-
There was a breath of apprehension from before him. Germany raised his eyes, expecting to see Klaus or one of his other aides-but instead he saw Italy. He was standing perfectly still, breathing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. His jacket seemed to be mis-buttoned and his tie was loose; his hair was windswept and his curl was lacking in height. Something was off.
Germany leaned back, a happy contentment coursing through him at the sight of the other nation, but concern rising in his chest at the sour look on Italy’s face. His bright eyes were downcast and his lips were parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.
“Italy?” Germany said finally, leaning back in his seat. Italy glanced upwards at Germany, but then quickly looked down again, gulping loudly, letting out more of those tense breaths.
“Italy?” Germany said again, slower this time. “Is there... is there something wrong? It’s... rather late.” Italy glanced to the corner of the tent, then back to Germany, his eyes opening wide.
“I-I just wanted to see if you wanted company,” Italy said, and he took a step forward. The air shifted in the room, and Germany was enveloped in a cloud of tension. There had been something... strange happening between the two of them.
Italy took another step. His eyes were fiercely trained on Germany, dark chocolate brown around the edge of his iris and then gold in the center, his eyebrows arched in a curious expression. Germany placed his hands on the desk.
In no time, Italy had closed the distance between them, and leaned forward on the desk, placing his own hands forward, just a centimeter from Germany’s. He then broke the stringent gaze he had on Germany and looked down at the papers between them, shifting his shoulders.
“Orders?” he asked. Germany nodded, still staring at Italy. Italy fingered one of the papers and turned it over, squinting at the text. “In German.”
“Can you read it?” Germany asked. His breath was coming to him in strange, short gasps-what was wrong with him? It was only recently that this tension had developed between them, and Italy had gone from constantly touching and hugging and brushing against him to not touching whatsoever, and Germany found he missed the touches more than he missed his personal space. He knew there was something missing in their pact, something that was secret and unspoken but a kind of “rule” that had brushed through the nations for generations.
“No,” Italy said simply. He passed over to the next page. Outside, the wind had picked up into the night. “Is this about Japan?”
“Just a message about when he’s returning,” Germany explained. He gulped and watched Italy’s body move as he turned pages and hummed to himself. Finally, Italy looked back up, locking his eyes on Germany’s, staring straight at him. Germany parted his lips, as if to say something, but found his voice had vanished. Italy gave him a small, sly smile (was that a smirk?) and then, in one swift movement, Italy had grabbed onto his Iron Cross, pulled him forwards and had him locked in a kiss.
At first they were still, Germany closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth spreading through to his toes, but then Italy snaked a hand through his hair, parted his lips, and practically growled as he climbed onto the desk, pushing the papers aside, practically crushing Germany into him. Germany more than happily obliged, still leaning with his hands placed firmly on the desk, nipping at Italy’s sweet mouth with his own, curling his fingers into the soft wood in excitement.
Italy pulled apart from him, breathing heavily, staring at Germany with lidded eyes, using his feet to pull Germany closer to him. Italy’s eyes roamed over Germany’s flushed face, and he murmured
“Nations in pacts, or treaties, or lasting agreements, have to consummate their relationship like royalty do, or it’s no longer valid.” Italy swallowed and reached up to smooth down some of Germany’s hair. “It was a rule that the Romans created to help give more strength to their allegiances with other warring nations.”
“Oh,” was all Germany said in response. He stood up fully so he towered over Italy, pulling Italy closer to him with his hands on the small of his back. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because I didn’t want to make you do anything you didn’t want to,” Italy whispered. Germany’s breath caught in his throat and his body froze. “I know how uncomfortable you are with things like this. I was trying to avoid it but... I can’t.” Italy leaned in and open-mouthed kissed Germany once more, and Germany was more than happy to oblige. He had always enjoyed kissing and felt he had a certain talent in that area of passion. It was everything else he was terrible at, and tried to avoid at all costs. But Italy wasn’t helping the situation, now with those lithe, wandering hands.
His hands were unbuttoning the front of Germany’s jacket quickly-too quickly, Germany’s breathing increased and his body stiffened, but Italy either took no notice or ignored him-and his jacket was pushed open and those hands were separated from his skin by only thin black cotton, and a tremor ran through Germany’s legs.
But he didn’t stop Italy.
Italy let out a soft moan and snaked one hand to the nape of Germany’s neck, carding his fingers through golden hair, massaging at the knots rooted in the burly muscle. Germany just kissed in return, pulling away for a moment to breathe air but then going in once more, his nose crashing into Italy’s jaw, the tickle of Italy’s long eyelashes along his cheek; it all didn’t matter.
Italy pulled away to undo his own jacket, pulling at his tie and guiding Germany’s hands from the table to his sides, urging Germany to take a stronger hold on him.
“You won’t hurt me,” Italy murmured and didn’t wait for an answer as he went in again. Now Italy was leaning up, holding them both up, and his fingers poked under the hem of Germany’s undershirt.
Germany’s face reddened at the contact between Italy’s hand and his stomach but it was a good feeling. It was something he didn’t realize he wanted until it was happening, along with Italy’s unique taste and his radiating warmth. Germany hunched his shoulders and ran his hands up Italy’s back, under his jacket, losing himself in the kisses Italy was lavishing him with.
“I didn’t realize-“ Italy started before Germany kissed him again, “-that Germany enjoyed kissing so much.” Germany gave a small smile, and Italy stole the opportunity to kiss him again. Of course, Germany wanted to say, it’s only enjoyable when you’re kissing the person you’re in love with-
Germany pulled away. His heart thrummed in his chest, pounding against his ribcage, so hard he knew Italy could feel it. Italy went in for another kiss but Germany stopped him, dodging his advance and instead pressing his forehead to Italy’s. Italy’s hand had wandered underneath his shirt, up his chest, resting over his left pectoral, right over his rapidly beating heart.
“What’s wrong?” Italy murmured, breathless. Italy pressed gently against Germany’s chest, soaking in the rhythm. Germany just breathed in and out through his nose, wanting to push Italy away and wanting him to never leave.
Love. I’m in love.
Italy gave his neck an affectionate stroke. Germany nearly purred with contentment at the motion but didn’t grant Italy the passion he wanted.
“Can’t,” Germany muttered. Italy pulled his head away from Germany’s and looked up at him, eyes wide. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Italy wondered. Germany’s heart rate was slowing down, the passion of the moment was waning. Germany opened his mouth, made no sound, and then closed it again. His lips and cheeks were rosy. Italy noticed, a nice flush against his pale complexion.
“I... I don’t want this to be... just... an alliance,” Germany said finally. The words had to pry themselves from Germany’s lips. “Just... just sex.” Italy said nothing in response. He gently pushed on Germany’s neck until the blonde’s head forehead was flush against his own, and he closed his eyes. Germany did the same, his hands settled loosely on his waist.
Italy reached down with his hand and laced his fingers through Germany’s, moving the larger hand from his hips up to where his hand rest against Germany’s chest. Their breaths were slow now, bodies pressed together, and Italy felt as the pulse from Germany’s hand and his heartbeat matched and course through him, as if he were surrounded by Germany’s heart.
Germany wanted to let go. He wanted to pull himself from Italy and go as far away as possible. He wanted to sit down and berate himself; when had this relationship breached alliance status? When had he fallen in love with random touches and cheerful smiles and random, inexplicable actions? For the first time in his life, Germany wished he had taken up Prussia’s diary habits so he could go through the tomes and pinpoint the exact moment when he made his own life complicated.
The German nation let out a breath that sounded like a weary sigh.
“I don’t want this to be ‘just sex’ either,” Italy murmured. Germany’s eyes were still closed and he felt Italy spread his fingers to allow the other’s to fall between them. “...I didn’t expect you to say that.” The sober tone the words took started Germany, and he opened his eyes. Italy’s were still closed, his cheeks flushed, lips pressed into a thin line of confusion and agitation.
“It... doesn’t have to be,” Germany offered. As soon as the words left his mouth he nearly bit his tongue, when had he developed the courage to say such things? Italy rolled his hips forward so he was flat against Germany’s waist, and he tightened his legs around Germany.
Germany slid his fingers from his own chest and used his hand to gently tip Italy’s head up, under his chin; at the action, Italy finally opened his eyes. Italy’s lips parted with a soft sigh and he stared straight into Germany, into Ludwig.
The next kiss was soft and sweet. Italy allowed himself to be lowered to the desk, slowly and gently, with Germany’s hand cushioning the impact between his skull and the table. Italy slid his hand out from underneath the dark shirt and instead lost his fingers in Germany’s hair as his friend (lover?) made his lips swell with kisses.
Every movement after that was bizarrely gentle and sensual, as if they were on a bed with soft clean linens and goose feathers, wrapped in silk and cotton and wine and flowers. There was certainly no war, no fronts, no trenches, no mud-covered boots and blood-spattered shells surrounding them.
Germany used his thumb to wipe away the tears rolling down Italy’s cheeks as his other hand prepared him, all calloused fingers and cracking wrists, but Italy whimpered in happiness and Germany smiled into his kisses. Germany accidentally knocked one of the lanterns over as he climbed onto the desk, and the light shifted so they were partially in the dark, and every nook and dip of Italy’s body was exposed by shadow light and Germany thought he never looked lovelier.
Italy’s back arched off the table and he smiled at the canvas ceiling, and Germany pulled him up from the shoulders and kissed his ear, muttering
“I love you.”
as he did so. The tent’s walls fluttered as if agreeing. Italy’s toes curled into his boots and as he accepted another thrust and gave another buck he whispered
“I’ve always loved you.”
back into Germany’s hair, closing his eyes and pressing kisses to Germany’s temple as one or both of them climaxed on the edge of their words. But the kissing didn’t stop when their bodies did, and the love didn’t stop when they did.
Soon, all they were left with was breath. Germany straddling Italy, on the desk, only wearing their boots, forehead-to-forehead, Italy giggling and Germany smiling, taking terse breaths through his nose. He hoped it’d be sunny tomorrow.
--
Title inspired by the song of the same name by Adele.
Rating: Light R
Warnings: War, sexual advances... and sex
Characters/Pairings: Germany and N. Italy; GerIta
Summary: Nations have to consummate pacts, like relationships or marriages. Italy sets out to do just this, and makes an even greater discovery.
Notes: Kink meme de-anon! Prompt was something based on this adorable (and slightly NSFW) picture of Germany and Italy. So... this is what my brain produced.
~*~
It started with breath.
Germany was sitting in his make-shift quartered desk in a burlap tent with the promise of death and bombs and turmoil ringing in his ears, his ankles crossing and uncrossing fervently, his boots smacking together with the sound of wet leather. His fingertips dug into his palm, so deep he could draw blood if he tried, his forehead wrinkled and his lower lip firmly wedged between his upper teeth. He’d been pouring over the same reports over and over for so long all the words blurred together into a mash of ink and commands. Oh, what he’d give for a break-
There was a breath of apprehension from before him. Germany raised his eyes, expecting to see Klaus or one of his other aides-but instead he saw Italy. He was standing perfectly still, breathing slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. His jacket seemed to be mis-buttoned and his tie was loose; his hair was windswept and his curl was lacking in height. Something was off.
Germany leaned back, a happy contentment coursing through him at the sight of the other nation, but concern rising in his chest at the sour look on Italy’s face. His bright eyes were downcast and his lips were parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.
“Italy?” Germany said finally, leaning back in his seat. Italy glanced upwards at Germany, but then quickly looked down again, gulping loudly, letting out more of those tense breaths.
“Italy?” Germany said again, slower this time. “Is there... is there something wrong? It’s... rather late.” Italy glanced to the corner of the tent, then back to Germany, his eyes opening wide.
“I-I just wanted to see if you wanted company,” Italy said, and he took a step forward. The air shifted in the room, and Germany was enveloped in a cloud of tension. There had been something... strange happening between the two of them.
Italy took another step. His eyes were fiercely trained on Germany, dark chocolate brown around the edge of his iris and then gold in the center, his eyebrows arched in a curious expression. Germany placed his hands on the desk.
In no time, Italy had closed the distance between them, and leaned forward on the desk, placing his own hands forward, just a centimeter from Germany’s. He then broke the stringent gaze he had on Germany and looked down at the papers between them, shifting his shoulders.
“Orders?” he asked. Germany nodded, still staring at Italy. Italy fingered one of the papers and turned it over, squinting at the text. “In German.”
“Can you read it?” Germany asked. His breath was coming to him in strange, short gasps-what was wrong with him? It was only recently that this tension had developed between them, and Italy had gone from constantly touching and hugging and brushing against him to not touching whatsoever, and Germany found he missed the touches more than he missed his personal space. He knew there was something missing in their pact, something that was secret and unspoken but a kind of “rule” that had brushed through the nations for generations.
“No,” Italy said simply. He passed over to the next page. Outside, the wind had picked up into the night. “Is this about Japan?”
“Just a message about when he’s returning,” Germany explained. He gulped and watched Italy’s body move as he turned pages and hummed to himself. Finally, Italy looked back up, locking his eyes on Germany’s, staring straight at him. Germany parted his lips, as if to say something, but found his voice had vanished. Italy gave him a small, sly smile (was that a smirk?) and then, in one swift movement, Italy had grabbed onto his Iron Cross, pulled him forwards and had him locked in a kiss.
At first they were still, Germany closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth spreading through to his toes, but then Italy snaked a hand through his hair, parted his lips, and practically growled as he climbed onto the desk, pushing the papers aside, practically crushing Germany into him. Germany more than happily obliged, still leaning with his hands placed firmly on the desk, nipping at Italy’s sweet mouth with his own, curling his fingers into the soft wood in excitement.
Italy pulled apart from him, breathing heavily, staring at Germany with lidded eyes, using his feet to pull Germany closer to him. Italy’s eyes roamed over Germany’s flushed face, and he murmured
“Nations in pacts, or treaties, or lasting agreements, have to consummate their relationship like royalty do, or it’s no longer valid.” Italy swallowed and reached up to smooth down some of Germany’s hair. “It was a rule that the Romans created to help give more strength to their allegiances with other warring nations.”
“Oh,” was all Germany said in response. He stood up fully so he towered over Italy, pulling Italy closer to him with his hands on the small of his back. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because I didn’t want to make you do anything you didn’t want to,” Italy whispered. Germany’s breath caught in his throat and his body froze. “I know how uncomfortable you are with things like this. I was trying to avoid it but... I can’t.” Italy leaned in and open-mouthed kissed Germany once more, and Germany was more than happy to oblige. He had always enjoyed kissing and felt he had a certain talent in that area of passion. It was everything else he was terrible at, and tried to avoid at all costs. But Italy wasn’t helping the situation, now with those lithe, wandering hands.
His hands were unbuttoning the front of Germany’s jacket quickly-too quickly, Germany’s breathing increased and his body stiffened, but Italy either took no notice or ignored him-and his jacket was pushed open and those hands were separated from his skin by only thin black cotton, and a tremor ran through Germany’s legs.
But he didn’t stop Italy.
Italy let out a soft moan and snaked one hand to the nape of Germany’s neck, carding his fingers through golden hair, massaging at the knots rooted in the burly muscle. Germany just kissed in return, pulling away for a moment to breathe air but then going in once more, his nose crashing into Italy’s jaw, the tickle of Italy’s long eyelashes along his cheek; it all didn’t matter.
Italy pulled away to undo his own jacket, pulling at his tie and guiding Germany’s hands from the table to his sides, urging Germany to take a stronger hold on him.
“You won’t hurt me,” Italy murmured and didn’t wait for an answer as he went in again. Now Italy was leaning up, holding them both up, and his fingers poked under the hem of Germany’s undershirt.
Germany’s face reddened at the contact between Italy’s hand and his stomach but it was a good feeling. It was something he didn’t realize he wanted until it was happening, along with Italy’s unique taste and his radiating warmth. Germany hunched his shoulders and ran his hands up Italy’s back, under his jacket, losing himself in the kisses Italy was lavishing him with.
“I didn’t realize-“ Italy started before Germany kissed him again, “-that Germany enjoyed kissing so much.” Germany gave a small smile, and Italy stole the opportunity to kiss him again. Of course, Germany wanted to say, it’s only enjoyable when you’re kissing the person you’re in love with-
Germany pulled away. His heart thrummed in his chest, pounding against his ribcage, so hard he knew Italy could feel it. Italy went in for another kiss but Germany stopped him, dodging his advance and instead pressing his forehead to Italy’s. Italy’s hand had wandered underneath his shirt, up his chest, resting over his left pectoral, right over his rapidly beating heart.
“What’s wrong?” Italy murmured, breathless. Italy pressed gently against Germany’s chest, soaking in the rhythm. Germany just breathed in and out through his nose, wanting to push Italy away and wanting him to never leave.
Love. I’m in love.
Italy gave his neck an affectionate stroke. Germany nearly purred with contentment at the motion but didn’t grant Italy the passion he wanted.
“Can’t,” Germany muttered. Italy pulled his head away from Germany’s and looked up at him, eyes wide. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Italy wondered. Germany’s heart rate was slowing down, the passion of the moment was waning. Germany opened his mouth, made no sound, and then closed it again. His lips and cheeks were rosy. Italy noticed, a nice flush against his pale complexion.
“I... I don’t want this to be... just... an alliance,” Germany said finally. The words had to pry themselves from Germany’s lips. “Just... just sex.” Italy said nothing in response. He gently pushed on Germany’s neck until the blonde’s head forehead was flush against his own, and he closed his eyes. Germany did the same, his hands settled loosely on his waist.
Italy reached down with his hand and laced his fingers through Germany’s, moving the larger hand from his hips up to where his hand rest against Germany’s chest. Their breaths were slow now, bodies pressed together, and Italy felt as the pulse from Germany’s hand and his heartbeat matched and course through him, as if he were surrounded by Germany’s heart.
Germany wanted to let go. He wanted to pull himself from Italy and go as far away as possible. He wanted to sit down and berate himself; when had this relationship breached alliance status? When had he fallen in love with random touches and cheerful smiles and random, inexplicable actions? For the first time in his life, Germany wished he had taken up Prussia’s diary habits so he could go through the tomes and pinpoint the exact moment when he made his own life complicated.
The German nation let out a breath that sounded like a weary sigh.
“I don’t want this to be ‘just sex’ either,” Italy murmured. Germany’s eyes were still closed and he felt Italy spread his fingers to allow the other’s to fall between them. “...I didn’t expect you to say that.” The sober tone the words took started Germany, and he opened his eyes. Italy’s were still closed, his cheeks flushed, lips pressed into a thin line of confusion and agitation.
“It... doesn’t have to be,” Germany offered. As soon as the words left his mouth he nearly bit his tongue, when had he developed the courage to say such things? Italy rolled his hips forward so he was flat against Germany’s waist, and he tightened his legs around Germany.
Germany slid his fingers from his own chest and used his hand to gently tip Italy’s head up, under his chin; at the action, Italy finally opened his eyes. Italy’s lips parted with a soft sigh and he stared straight into Germany, into Ludwig.
The next kiss was soft and sweet. Italy allowed himself to be lowered to the desk, slowly and gently, with Germany’s hand cushioning the impact between his skull and the table. Italy slid his hand out from underneath the dark shirt and instead lost his fingers in Germany’s hair as his friend (lover?) made his lips swell with kisses.
Every movement after that was bizarrely gentle and sensual, as if they were on a bed with soft clean linens and goose feathers, wrapped in silk and cotton and wine and flowers. There was certainly no war, no fronts, no trenches, no mud-covered boots and blood-spattered shells surrounding them.
Germany used his thumb to wipe away the tears rolling down Italy’s cheeks as his other hand prepared him, all calloused fingers and cracking wrists, but Italy whimpered in happiness and Germany smiled into his kisses. Germany accidentally knocked one of the lanterns over as he climbed onto the desk, and the light shifted so they were partially in the dark, and every nook and dip of Italy’s body was exposed by shadow light and Germany thought he never looked lovelier.
Italy’s back arched off the table and he smiled at the canvas ceiling, and Germany pulled him up from the shoulders and kissed his ear, muttering
“I love you.”
as he did so. The tent’s walls fluttered as if agreeing. Italy’s toes curled into his boots and as he accepted another thrust and gave another buck he whispered
“I’ve always loved you.”
back into Germany’s hair, closing his eyes and pressing kisses to Germany’s temple as one or both of them climaxed on the edge of their words. But the kissing didn’t stop when their bodies did, and the love didn’t stop when they did.
Soon, all they were left with was breath. Germany straddling Italy, on the desk, only wearing their boots, forehead-to-forehead, Italy giggling and Germany smiling, taking terse breaths through his nose. He hoped it’d be sunny tomorrow.
--
Title inspired by the song of the same name by Adele.