(Gift for ShojoChick) Two step and kisses on the sly (fic)
”Do you dance?”
The question caught Germany off guard. He paused his boot-polishing to give his ally a puzzled stare. Italy’s arms rested over the top of the couch, his head tilted curiously to the left.
“I asked if you dance, Germany,” the young man repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He regarded Germany with an open, if somewhat amused expression, and once again Germany couldn’t follow his trail of thoughts. Italy was a simple soul, yes, but there were times when Germany was at a loss when it came to answering his questions.
So he went with the honest-to-God truth and said: “No.”
Italy pouted.
That particular expression always got the better of Germany- his heart went ‘thump thump’ inside whenever Italy made use of it. Of course, Italy was oblivious of this effect, and Germany planned to keep it that way. He resumed polishing the boot in his hands. He could nearly see his own reflection in the shiny surface. Perhaps, if he ignored his ally, Italy would not propose that they dance. Really, he wanted to spare himself the humiliation.
But Italy’s hand came to rest on his arm then, and Germany knew that he had no put the notion out of his head. Rather, it must have been strengthened by Germany’s answer. He put down the equipment, sighed, and looked up at the smiling Italian. “Yes, Italy?”
“I’ll teach you a dance!” he beamed.
Inwardly, Germany groaned. On the surface his expression remained perfectly neutral, though. “It’s late. I suggest you go to bed instead of lazing around here. We have a hard day ahead of us tomorrow.” True, that. Germany had agreed with Japan to meet in the nation’s home, and the trip was long.
“Come on!” Italy was on his feet in a rush. He grabbed Germany’s hand and pulled him up (of course, Germany let him- otherwise the Italian wouldn’t have been able to make him budge). Smiling, he let go and ran to the CD player to put on music. The sound that filled the room shortly after could only be Italian folk music. Germany had heard it on several occasions, but he wasn’t quite sure what to think of it yet. “Okay, I’m ready!” Italy eyed him up and down with a scrutinizing look, then shook his head. He tip toed to put his hands on Germany’s shoulders and squeezed them. “You’re too tense, Germany,” he chided. “Loosen up a bit! It’s not a military exercise, you know.”
Germany couldn’t help but feel that this was a test of sorts. He forced himself to relax his muscles. Apparently Italy was satisfied, if one was to judge by his grin. The Italian cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll be the woman, because you’re too big to be one. Raise your left hand!”
As he did, Italy clasped it in a surprisingly firm grip.
“We’ll go slow, so pay attention! Follow my feet-“ Here he started to move, and Germany frowned. What was slow about this? “-and ‘round we go!”
Italy was terrible at explaining the structure of the dance, and Germany struggled to keep up with the rhythm of the cheerful music. At one particularly bad mishap Italy burst into laughter. His nose wrinkled cutely when he laughed, a fact that caught Germany’s attention and made something warm blossom in his chest.
“You’re an awful dancer, Germany! Oh, you’re supposed to link my arm with yours now!” He made a quick turn and lost Germany in the process. Seconds later their arms were linked; his boyish, warm body was pressed into Germany’s side.
He shouldn’t press so close- it’s inappropriate.
Germany swallowed. In many ways Italy was a child still- far too innocent to think of the implications of actions such as these. He mentally scolded himself for adding non-existent meaning to their close physical proximity and the way Italy’s hand gripped his so tightly while they danced.
Italy’s foot caught on the rug and sent him tumbling into Germany’s chest. Yelping, he flailed his arms to regain his balance. Luckily, Germany’s reflexes were sharp. His arms wrapped themselves around Italy’s torso and hoisted him back up. In his stomach something clenched and unclenched uncomfortably.
“Oops…Sorry about that.” Italy bent his neck to look up at him, smiling sheepishly. His brown hair was ruffled now, his long curl standing at a crooked angle off his head. Colour filled his cheeks. This close Germany was very aware of the curve of the smaller man’s mouth and how utterly attractive it was.
Is he even aware of how he looks?
“It’s fine,” Germany said quietly. His hands were comfortable on Italy’s back. Heat bled through the fabric of his ally’s light brown shirt. It was summer, so he wore nothing underneath. One layer of fabric separated him from the sunkissed skin that he now imagined in his mind. He’d seen Italy wearing his swimming shorts before. He’d seen him naked, too (technically he hadn’t, because it was night and Italy crawled into his bed stark naked. But it counted for something, he supposed). Warmth filled his head to the brim.
“Germany?” Italy tilted his head again, eyes questioning now. They searched his face for clues to his thoughts. His hands slid down Germany’s back to settle on his waist. “Did you hate it? Dancing, I mean.”
“No,” he blurted out.
Italy frowned sadly. “You did.”
“Don’t tell me what I think,” he scolded. “I said no.”
“We’re still dancing, aren’t we?”
Germany noticed that yes, they were indeed moving. Though, it could hardly be called dancing since they were swaying from side to side without moving their feet. Italy’s expression softened, and Germany mentally cussed for not turning his head away. The hands on his waist held on; feet nudged his into moving, and sure enough, their swaying back and forth became a slow dance best suited for a man and a woman, not two men. It was wholly inappropriate, but Germany couldn’t tear away from Italy’s warmer, smaller body that molded itself all too nicely against his own. His heart went ‘thumpthumpthump’.
The music stopped, but they kept dancing. A different mood had settled over the two of them, and Germany felt guilty for not putting an end to this before something happened. Italy’s eyes never let go of his.
“Germany?”
Italy landed a kiss on his mouth before he could reply. A non-intelligent sound came from his parted lips, accompanied by shocked blinking. Italy’s arms wound themselves around his neck as he went in for a second kiss. Their mouths touched tentatively. Germany’s hands twitched. He closed his eyes, couldn’t stand keeping them open to see Italy’s cute blush. It was an uncertain kiss; neither of them knew which step to take or how to respond. But Italy was soft and lovely in his arms, and he thought that maybe this was okay too- maybe there didn’t have to be anything more right now.
They broke apart, quiet for a long moment until Italy’s smile stretched wide.
“You’re a bad kisser too, Germany.”
He put his effort into proving Italy wrong on that statement.
The question caught Germany off guard. He paused his boot-polishing to give his ally a puzzled stare. Italy’s arms rested over the top of the couch, his head tilted curiously to the left.
“I asked if you dance, Germany,” the young man repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He regarded Germany with an open, if somewhat amused expression, and once again Germany couldn’t follow his trail of thoughts. Italy was a simple soul, yes, but there were times when Germany was at a loss when it came to answering his questions.
So he went with the honest-to-God truth and said: “No.”
Italy pouted.
That particular expression always got the better of Germany- his heart went ‘thump thump’ inside whenever Italy made use of it. Of course, Italy was oblivious of this effect, and Germany planned to keep it that way. He resumed polishing the boot in his hands. He could nearly see his own reflection in the shiny surface. Perhaps, if he ignored his ally, Italy would not propose that they dance. Really, he wanted to spare himself the humiliation.
But Italy’s hand came to rest on his arm then, and Germany knew that he had no put the notion out of his head. Rather, it must have been strengthened by Germany’s answer. He put down the equipment, sighed, and looked up at the smiling Italian. “Yes, Italy?”
“I’ll teach you a dance!” he beamed.
Inwardly, Germany groaned. On the surface his expression remained perfectly neutral, though. “It’s late. I suggest you go to bed instead of lazing around here. We have a hard day ahead of us tomorrow.” True, that. Germany had agreed with Japan to meet in the nation’s home, and the trip was long.
“Come on!” Italy was on his feet in a rush. He grabbed Germany’s hand and pulled him up (of course, Germany let him- otherwise the Italian wouldn’t have been able to make him budge). Smiling, he let go and ran to the CD player to put on music. The sound that filled the room shortly after could only be Italian folk music. Germany had heard it on several occasions, but he wasn’t quite sure what to think of it yet. “Okay, I’m ready!” Italy eyed him up and down with a scrutinizing look, then shook his head. He tip toed to put his hands on Germany’s shoulders and squeezed them. “You’re too tense, Germany,” he chided. “Loosen up a bit! It’s not a military exercise, you know.”
Germany couldn’t help but feel that this was a test of sorts. He forced himself to relax his muscles. Apparently Italy was satisfied, if one was to judge by his grin. The Italian cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll be the woman, because you’re too big to be one. Raise your left hand!”
As he did, Italy clasped it in a surprisingly firm grip.
“We’ll go slow, so pay attention! Follow my feet-“ Here he started to move, and Germany frowned. What was slow about this? “-and ‘round we go!”
Italy was terrible at explaining the structure of the dance, and Germany struggled to keep up with the rhythm of the cheerful music. At one particularly bad mishap Italy burst into laughter. His nose wrinkled cutely when he laughed, a fact that caught Germany’s attention and made something warm blossom in his chest.
“You’re an awful dancer, Germany! Oh, you’re supposed to link my arm with yours now!” He made a quick turn and lost Germany in the process. Seconds later their arms were linked; his boyish, warm body was pressed into Germany’s side.
He shouldn’t press so close- it’s inappropriate.
Germany swallowed. In many ways Italy was a child still- far too innocent to think of the implications of actions such as these. He mentally scolded himself for adding non-existent meaning to their close physical proximity and the way Italy’s hand gripped his so tightly while they danced.
Italy’s foot caught on the rug and sent him tumbling into Germany’s chest. Yelping, he flailed his arms to regain his balance. Luckily, Germany’s reflexes were sharp. His arms wrapped themselves around Italy’s torso and hoisted him back up. In his stomach something clenched and unclenched uncomfortably.
“Oops…Sorry about that.” Italy bent his neck to look up at him, smiling sheepishly. His brown hair was ruffled now, his long curl standing at a crooked angle off his head. Colour filled his cheeks. This close Germany was very aware of the curve of the smaller man’s mouth and how utterly attractive it was.
Is he even aware of how he looks?
“It’s fine,” Germany said quietly. His hands were comfortable on Italy’s back. Heat bled through the fabric of his ally’s light brown shirt. It was summer, so he wore nothing underneath. One layer of fabric separated him from the sunkissed skin that he now imagined in his mind. He’d seen Italy wearing his swimming shorts before. He’d seen him naked, too (technically he hadn’t, because it was night and Italy crawled into his bed stark naked. But it counted for something, he supposed). Warmth filled his head to the brim.
“Germany?” Italy tilted his head again, eyes questioning now. They searched his face for clues to his thoughts. His hands slid down Germany’s back to settle on his waist. “Did you hate it? Dancing, I mean.”
“No,” he blurted out.
Italy frowned sadly. “You did.”
“Don’t tell me what I think,” he scolded. “I said no.”
“We’re still dancing, aren’t we?”
Germany noticed that yes, they were indeed moving. Though, it could hardly be called dancing since they were swaying from side to side without moving their feet. Italy’s expression softened, and Germany mentally cussed for not turning his head away. The hands on his waist held on; feet nudged his into moving, and sure enough, their swaying back and forth became a slow dance best suited for a man and a woman, not two men. It was wholly inappropriate, but Germany couldn’t tear away from Italy’s warmer, smaller body that molded itself all too nicely against his own. His heart went ‘thumpthumpthump’.
The music stopped, but they kept dancing. A different mood had settled over the two of them, and Germany felt guilty for not putting an end to this before something happened. Italy’s eyes never let go of his.
“Germany?”
Italy landed a kiss on his mouth before he could reply. A non-intelligent sound came from his parted lips, accompanied by shocked blinking. Italy’s arms wound themselves around his neck as he went in for a second kiss. Their mouths touched tentatively. Germany’s hands twitched. He closed his eyes, couldn’t stand keeping them open to see Italy’s cute blush. It was an uncertain kiss; neither of them knew which step to take or how to respond. But Italy was soft and lovely in his arms, and he thought that maybe this was okay too- maybe there didn’t have to be anything more right now.
They broke apart, quiet for a long moment until Italy’s smile stretched wide.
“You’re a bad kisser too, Germany.”
He put his effort into proving Italy wrong on that statement.