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silverfoxflowerTitle: Abendessen mit Freunden
Author:![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=3)
silverfoxflower
Fandom: Hetalia
Word Count: ~2500
Pairing: Germany/Switzerland, side Prussia/Italy
Rating: Barely PG-13
Genre: Slash, Fluff
Warnings: Absolutely none. Unless you count cavities from the overload of schmoop, in which case Germany recommends brushing your teeth thoroughly after reading this story as well as practicing responsible daily hygiene.
Author Notes: Written for this prompt onhetalia_kink . Also posted there if you want to read/comment anonymously
Summary: Established couple Germany and Switzerland invite established couple Prussia and Italy to dinner. Someone becomes jealous. Someone apologizes. Guess who?
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. Please be no with the suing.
Sometimes, he wishes he was Italy.
Not often, because that loud idiot had a bad habit of getting on his nerves, and, therefore, getting shot at. But sometimes, when his lover slumbers peacefully on the couch, the blonde hair he always slicks back just falling over his eyes, looking so vulnerable that it makes him feel rather uncomfortable... Switzerland cannot help but reach out a hand in longing. He can never bring himself to touch. But if he were Italy, he could easily melt into that open invitation, curl himself around Germany’s warmth, perhaps even kiss the man when he awoke and delight in the blushing stammer that feels like a love confession all over again.
But Switzerland is Switzerland, and the cold acreage of distance he keeps between himself and everybody else is very real, even though Germany is not quite everyone else.
Briskly, he taps his lover on the shoulder. “Germany. Germany, wake up.”
At the sound, Germany immediately stirs, gathering himself into a sitting position and looking around warily before his eyes land on Switzerland. Who smiles, just a little, at the thought that his lover is just as trained and battle-ready as he.
“You asked me to wake you at four. It is precisely that.” Switzerland begins to walk away, intent on his own duties, now.
“Danke,” Germany calls after him. After spending a lifetime surrounded by people with no sense of punctuality, he always seems so surprised when Switzerland follows his requests to the letter.
It is good that they understand each other. Perhaps it is more important than other things. Switzerland doesn’t know why he still feels slightly unfulfilled, as if his body longs to be pressed against another’s in warmth.
They bicker about politics as they make dinner – Switzerland peeling potatoes (sliding the skin as thin as paper between his fingers) for Janssons Frestelse, while Germany fries the thin veal cutlets for Wiener Schnitzel.
“… limiting the number of flights Zurich is a direct impediment to our tourism! How could you possibly seek to justify that with your-“ Switzerland makes the mistake of becoming too excited, for the next thing he knows, the peeler has slipped from his grasp and he is bleeding onto the potatoes.
“Gopfridstutz!” He cries through gritted teeth. The pain is not much, but if he doesn’t wash the potatoes off soon they will be wasted.
Germany is suddenly at his side, about to grip his wrist. “Don’t move it. I will put a bandage on.”
Instinctively, Switzerland flinches away, clearing his throat awkwardly to the confused look on Germany’s face. “I … I can do that myself. Please run the potatoes under water for me.” Germany hesitates, looking down at Switzerland’s bleeding cut before nodding once and complying.
Switzerland rummages in the medicine cabinet for bandages and rubbing alcohol. He appreciates the way Germany has strictly organized his supplies, making it very easy for Switzerland to find everything he needs. Expertly, he disinfects and wraps up his shallow cut, the annoyance he feels for himself overriding any residual pain.
First of all, he had been careless with the peeler. And second, perhaps he should have let Germany wrap his hand for him. He trusts the man to be just as competent as he, and … that is what lovers do, right? It would have meant an excuse to feel Germany’s skin against his, Germany caring for him, even though every independent bone in Switzerland’s body shies away from the thought.
And then, the unbidden, treacherous wish steals over Switzerland again. Italy would have let himself be bandaged, even forward enough to ask for a kiss on his injury just to be cute.
Switzerland goes back to slicing potatoes with a vengeance.
The doorbell rings fifteen minutes late. Switzerland knows how much it annoys Germany to think of their food cooling on the table because he feels the same frustration.
All the same, when he swings open the door, Germany did not get a chance to mention the time at all before he is enveloped in an enthusiastic hug.
“Ah, Germany!” Italy chirps, pressing himself so enthusiastically and inappropriately against Switzerland’s lover that it makes him want to crack the bottle of beer he is holding.
“Bruder,” Prussia steps in, “So where is this lucky – or should I say, unlucky – guy you wanted to-“ Then he sees Switzerland and gives a girlish little cry. “Germany!” Prussia slides behind a shivering Italy, who is too petrified to move. “A-are you being held hostage?”
“No, Bruder, the man I’m dating-“
“Is he being held hostage?!”
“Germany … ?” Italy whimpers, “I’m scared.”
Well, that is quite enough. Switzerland sets down his beer with a little more force than necessary. Why does Italy have to look to Germany, of all people, especially when he is going out with Prussia? Although clearly, Switzerland decides after a glance at the shivering nation, there certainly is no help coming from that corner.
“Switzerland is my partner, the one I told you about.” Germany puts a hand on Switzerland’s arm, although it is more to hold him back from violence than out of a sense of solidarity.
“No … “ Prussia laughs nervously. “No way!” He looks to Switzerland with an expression of astonishment. “I didn’t even know that you liked people! Or sex!”
Both Germany and Italy throw him pleading, frantic looks, complete with curt gestures across their throats.
“Oh yeah, well if you’re going out with Germany, I really don’t know about the sex …” Prussia smirks to himself, unaware that Switzerland has set down his beer bottle and is currently pointing a rifle at his head.
“Bruder!” Germany barks, embarrassment shown clearly on his face. He turns pleadingly to Switzerland. “Bitte, we have gun laws in my house. Please don’t shoot Prussia.”
With a small, annoyed nod, Switzerland swings the rifle to his side and walks to the kitchen to retrieve the drinks, leaving a relieved Germany and two shivering guests in the doorway.
“W-where did he get that huge gun from?” Italy whimpers softly, clearly on the verge of tears. “Did he just pull it out of his jacket?”
Italy has brought a bottle of wine, so they drink it with dinner, even though Switzerland privately thinks that the deep red Sagrantino clashes with the starchy German food.
“… and then I went all ninja on the motherfucker-“
“Prussia, language,” Germany takes a bite of his dinner and chews slowly. “And as I remember it, the mysterious France-thing was about to rip your clothes off until Hungary and I threw him. And then, you still got your clothes ripped off.”
“I was dragged out a window!” Prussia exclaims. “He had some sort of weird power or something …! B-besides,” He scoffs looking around, “Everyone had their clothes ripped off, it wasn’t just me!”
“I did not,” Switzerland points out. “Nor did Lichtenstein as she was with me.”
“I didn’t either,” Germany swallows his wine.
“Germany took mine off for me!” Italy smiled, and then falters, because suddenly there is awkward tension in the room.
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Prussia demands playfully, dragging Italy across his seat to sit on his lap, making all the dishes on the table rattle.
“N-no …” Italy smiles, and Switzerland could swear there is something other than innocence in his gaze. “Germany is just my very good friend, but you’re by boyfriend, Prussia!” Italy arches from his perch and begins planting soft, enthusiastic kisses along Prussia’s jaw as the larger man laughs fondly.
Switzerland watches Germany tear his gaze from the happy couple, an uncomfortable flush searing his cheeks. Their eyes meet, and there is a moment where Switzerland doesn’t know what to do. It is a horrifying feeling, standing in front of the enemy lines unarmed. Then Germany rises and reaches for his plate. “I’ll start the dishes.”
After he has gone, Switzerland remains in the room with Prussia and Italy, who are furiously making out, clearly uncaring of anyone forced to endure the sight of them gnawing eachother’s face off. When he finds the reserves of his long-dwindling patience running low, Switzerland stands and says to no one in particular, “I think I’ll go outside.”
When Germany comes back into the room, Italy is tearful, Prussia is comforting him, and Switzerland is gone.
“Verdammit,” Germany sighs. It was a horrible idea to have held this dinner, after all. Switzerland probably hates him and his entire family now. “What did you do, Prussia?”
“It wasn’t me this time, I swear!” Prussia protests, although he really doesn’t have the kind of track record to be making these claims.
“He’s right.” Italy confirms with his round brown eyes, “Switzerland just suddenly looked really mad and he walked out to the balcony!” Sniffling, Italy glances up at Germany. “It wasn’t us, was it? We were just doing a little kissing … ?”
Germany looks out the window and sees the slight movement of Switzerland’s green coat. He allows himself a small sigh of relief. He had feared that his lover had left the house altogether.
“You should go after him.” Prussia says seriously, when Germany turns back. Italy nods in agreement from his lap. It is clear that neither want to take the chance of confronting the wrong end of Switzerland’s fury.
“I …” Germany has never been in danger of Switzerland’s guns before, and hopes it will not be the day to start. Still, it is his responsibility as a lover to offer comfort no matter how confusing the circumstances. “I suppose.” Tentatively, he walks to the pane-glass door and opens it. Right before stepping out, he looks back at Prussia and Italy, hesitant. Both of them make frantic ‘shooing’ motions.
Switzerland is leaning over the guardrail, an expression of intense concentration on his face.
“Schweiz,” Germany calls to him, worried. “I’m sorry, if mein Bruder or Italy offended you-“
“No.” Switzerland answers curtly. “I just drank too much. I needed some air.”
Germany nods. “Would you like me to leave you?”
“Please.”
Germany walks back, only to be met by Prussia and Italy’s faces pressed against the window. Their expressions are almost angry. In fact, Prussia begins yelling something at Germany, but it just comes out muffled and incomprehensible. Confused, Germany shakes his head.
Prussia rolls his eyes. He holds up a finger for patience while he rummages for things. Italy, trying to help, runs out of the room and comes back with markers.
Prussia makes a sign and presses it against the window: DON’T YOU DARE COME IN YOU DUMBFUCK
Italy makes a sign as well: U SHOULD TALK TO HIM AND SAY NICE THINGS
Prussia points excitedly to Italy’s sign, and quickly scrawls another one: TELL HIM HE’S A GOOD LAY
Germany throws them both a thoroughly exasperated expression, but since neither seems to be inclined to open the window, he turns back to the proud arch of Switzerland’s spine. He looks a bit lonely in the darkness.
“It’s cold.” Germany says, blowing out a white breath as he walks to stand next to Switzerland. “May I share this ledge?”
“It’s your house.” But Switzerland moves, all the same. Germany slings his arm over the rail at a distance he knows Switzerland would be the most comfortable.
They stretch a companionable silence between them for a moment, enjoying the slight warmth of each other’s company. Steadily, they watch the stars, which glitter and snap in the sky like hard diamonds. Germany wonders whether Switzerland would appreciate being compared to a star. They are similar, in a way, both seemingly cold and untouchable at a distance, but in reality burning with a beautiful passion too dangerous to hold close. Germany wonders if Switzerland has tired of him already. It is rare that the Swiss man lets anyone in, and Germany fears that he is a disappointment as a lover. He has not seen Switzerland’s smile all night.
“Do you love Italy?” Switzerland asks this suddenly, fiercely, as if cutting down the part of himself that cares for the answer.
“I … “ Germany blinks, surprised at the question. “What?”
“Do you love him?” Switzerland turns, and although he tries to school his features in an expression of neutrality, all Germany thinks is that he looks like he is about to cry. “Although he is with Prussia I am sure he would still care for you if you asked.” Switzerland says this bitterly. “Italy suits you, I think.”
Germany still blinks, beyond confused. “I don’t understand. I … I don’t love Italy beyond friendship. Have I ever given you cause to believe otherwise?”
Switzerland is silent.
“If so … I am sorry.” Germany doesn’t know what to do except continue apologizing. When he moves forward, it is with every intention to touch Switzerland, to feel the man’s heat under his fingertips and confirm that yes, you’re still mine, but at the last minute he refrains. Switzerland does not like to be touched, he has always made that abundantly clear.
Then why do his shoulders curve, as if seeking contact and warmth? Why do his eyes snap dark green in something beyond anger and a little like longing? The same longing Germany has always felt but could never express. So now he pulls Switzerland towards him, consequences be damned.
At first, the smaller man struggles in his grasp, and Germany loosens it a bit in case he has been holding too tightly after all, but he doesn’t let go.
“I think … that it’s cute when you switch from German to French when you’re excited. Although it’s hard for me to follow, when you speak too fast. I … I like how you are punctual, and intelligent, and … clean.” Germany feels Switzerland stiffening so he goes on. “Ah, you-you’re beautiful when you shoot, because you are completely concentrated on your target and I can look at you as much as I want without feeling like I shouldn’t. And …” Germany falters a bit. “W-when we’re in bed, I like-“
Switzerland hurriedly slaps his hand over Germany’s mouth, looking around and luckily not catching sight of Prussia and Italy as they duck under the window. “What are you saying in public, you idiot?” He hisses, blushing.
Germany frees his mouth and says seriously, “Gott, I know I'm a mess at saying what I feel, and you ... don’t like being touched. But I'm in love with you. Is that alright?”
Switzerland’s face is unreadable for a moment. Then, suddenly, he pulls down Germany’s shoulders and presses their mouths together, tonguing open Germany’s lips with small bites and soft noises. Surprised and blushing, Germany complies, allows him to lead them into a kiss that tastes almost desperate in its need. It is so … invigorating that even Germany thinks seriously for a moment of kicking his brother and Italy out so that he can drag Switzerland to the bedroom. When finally they pull apart, Switzerland looks triumphant, his face flushed nearly scarlet and his lips swollen and bruised. He trembles just the slightest in Germany's grasp.
And for some reason, when they step back into the warmth, Switzerland is extra nice to Italy for the rest of the night.
A/N: - Germany and Switzerland have a very close bilateral relationship, however, there have been recent disputes about economics, treaties etc. and the restriction of German flights to Zurich.
- Prussia's strange conversation is about the recent Christmas bloodbath, that can be read here: http://www.horror-vacui.net/hetarchive/s
Author:
silverfoxflower Fandom: Hetalia
Word Count: ~2500
Pairing: Germany/Switzerland, side Prussia/Italy
Rating: Barely PG-13
Genre: Slash, Fluff
Warnings: Absolutely none. Unless you count cavities from the overload of schmoop, in which case Germany recommends brushing your teeth thoroughly after reading this story as well as practicing responsible daily hygiene.
Author Notes: Written for this prompt on
hetalia_kink . Also posted there if you want to read/comment anonymously Summary: Established couple Germany and Switzerland invite established couple Prussia and Italy to dinner. Someone becomes jealous. Someone apologizes. Guess who?
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. Please be no with the suing.
Sometimes, he wishes he was Italy.
Not often, because that loud idiot had a bad habit of getting on his nerves, and, therefore, getting shot at. But sometimes, when his lover slumbers peacefully on the couch, the blonde hair he always slicks back just falling over his eyes, looking so vulnerable that it makes him feel rather uncomfortable... Switzerland cannot help but reach out a hand in longing. He can never bring himself to touch. But if he were Italy, he could easily melt into that open invitation, curl himself around Germany’s warmth, perhaps even kiss the man when he awoke and delight in the blushing stammer that feels like a love confession all over again.
But Switzerland is Switzerland, and the cold acreage of distance he keeps between himself and everybody else is very real, even though Germany is not quite everyone else.
Briskly, he taps his lover on the shoulder. “Germany. Germany, wake up.”
At the sound, Germany immediately stirs, gathering himself into a sitting position and looking around warily before his eyes land on Switzerland. Who smiles, just a little, at the thought that his lover is just as trained and battle-ready as he.
“You asked me to wake you at four. It is precisely that.” Switzerland begins to walk away, intent on his own duties, now.
“Danke,” Germany calls after him. After spending a lifetime surrounded by people with no sense of punctuality, he always seems so surprised when Switzerland follows his requests to the letter.
It is good that they understand each other. Perhaps it is more important than other things. Switzerland doesn’t know why he still feels slightly unfulfilled, as if his body longs to be pressed against another’s in warmth.
They bicker about politics as they make dinner – Switzerland peeling potatoes (sliding the skin as thin as paper between his fingers) for Janssons Frestelse, while Germany fries the thin veal cutlets for Wiener Schnitzel.
“… limiting the number of flights Zurich is a direct impediment to our tourism! How could you possibly seek to justify that with your-“ Switzerland makes the mistake of becoming too excited, for the next thing he knows, the peeler has slipped from his grasp and he is bleeding onto the potatoes.
“Gopfridstutz!” He cries through gritted teeth. The pain is not much, but if he doesn’t wash the potatoes off soon they will be wasted.
Germany is suddenly at his side, about to grip his wrist. “Don’t move it. I will put a bandage on.”
Instinctively, Switzerland flinches away, clearing his throat awkwardly to the confused look on Germany’s face. “I … I can do that myself. Please run the potatoes under water for me.” Germany hesitates, looking down at Switzerland’s bleeding cut before nodding once and complying.
Switzerland rummages in the medicine cabinet for bandages and rubbing alcohol. He appreciates the way Germany has strictly organized his supplies, making it very easy for Switzerland to find everything he needs. Expertly, he disinfects and wraps up his shallow cut, the annoyance he feels for himself overriding any residual pain.
First of all, he had been careless with the peeler. And second, perhaps he should have let Germany wrap his hand for him. He trusts the man to be just as competent as he, and … that is what lovers do, right? It would have meant an excuse to feel Germany’s skin against his, Germany caring for him, even though every independent bone in Switzerland’s body shies away from the thought.
And then, the unbidden, treacherous wish steals over Switzerland again. Italy would have let himself be bandaged, even forward enough to ask for a kiss on his injury just to be cute.
Switzerland goes back to slicing potatoes with a vengeance.
The doorbell rings fifteen minutes late. Switzerland knows how much it annoys Germany to think of their food cooling on the table because he feels the same frustration.
All the same, when he swings open the door, Germany did not get a chance to mention the time at all before he is enveloped in an enthusiastic hug.
“Ah, Germany!” Italy chirps, pressing himself so enthusiastically and inappropriately against Switzerland’s lover that it makes him want to crack the bottle of beer he is holding.
“Bruder,” Prussia steps in, “So where is this lucky – or should I say, unlucky – guy you wanted to-“ Then he sees Switzerland and gives a girlish little cry. “Germany!” Prussia slides behind a shivering Italy, who is too petrified to move. “A-are you being held hostage?”
“No, Bruder, the man I’m dating-“
“Is he being held hostage?!”
“Germany … ?” Italy whimpers, “I’m scared.”
Well, that is quite enough. Switzerland sets down his beer with a little more force than necessary. Why does Italy have to look to Germany, of all people, especially when he is going out with Prussia? Although clearly, Switzerland decides after a glance at the shivering nation, there certainly is no help coming from that corner.
“Switzerland is my partner, the one I told you about.” Germany puts a hand on Switzerland’s arm, although it is more to hold him back from violence than out of a sense of solidarity.
“No … “ Prussia laughs nervously. “No way!” He looks to Switzerland with an expression of astonishment. “I didn’t even know that you liked people! Or sex!”
Both Germany and Italy throw him pleading, frantic looks, complete with curt gestures across their throats.
“Oh yeah, well if you’re going out with Germany, I really don’t know about the sex …” Prussia smirks to himself, unaware that Switzerland has set down his beer bottle and is currently pointing a rifle at his head.
“Bruder!” Germany barks, embarrassment shown clearly on his face. He turns pleadingly to Switzerland. “Bitte, we have gun laws in my house. Please don’t shoot Prussia.”
With a small, annoyed nod, Switzerland swings the rifle to his side and walks to the kitchen to retrieve the drinks, leaving a relieved Germany and two shivering guests in the doorway.
“W-where did he get that huge gun from?” Italy whimpers softly, clearly on the verge of tears. “Did he just pull it out of his jacket?”
Italy has brought a bottle of wine, so they drink it with dinner, even though Switzerland privately thinks that the deep red Sagrantino clashes with the starchy German food.
“… and then I went all ninja on the motherfucker-“
“Prussia, language,” Germany takes a bite of his dinner and chews slowly. “And as I remember it, the mysterious France-thing was about to rip your clothes off until Hungary and I threw him. And then, you still got your clothes ripped off.”
“I was dragged out a window!” Prussia exclaims. “He had some sort of weird power or something …! B-besides,” He scoffs looking around, “Everyone had their clothes ripped off, it wasn’t just me!”
“I did not,” Switzerland points out. “Nor did Lichtenstein as she was with me.”
“I didn’t either,” Germany swallows his wine.
“Germany took mine off for me!” Italy smiled, and then falters, because suddenly there is awkward tension in the room.
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Prussia demands playfully, dragging Italy across his seat to sit on his lap, making all the dishes on the table rattle.
“N-no …” Italy smiles, and Switzerland could swear there is something other than innocence in his gaze. “Germany is just my very good friend, but you’re by boyfriend, Prussia!” Italy arches from his perch and begins planting soft, enthusiastic kisses along Prussia’s jaw as the larger man laughs fondly.
Switzerland watches Germany tear his gaze from the happy couple, an uncomfortable flush searing his cheeks. Their eyes meet, and there is a moment where Switzerland doesn’t know what to do. It is a horrifying feeling, standing in front of the enemy lines unarmed. Then Germany rises and reaches for his plate. “I’ll start the dishes.”
After he has gone, Switzerland remains in the room with Prussia and Italy, who are furiously making out, clearly uncaring of anyone forced to endure the sight of them gnawing eachother’s face off. When he finds the reserves of his long-dwindling patience running low, Switzerland stands and says to no one in particular, “I think I’ll go outside.”
When Germany comes back into the room, Italy is tearful, Prussia is comforting him, and Switzerland is gone.
“Verdammit,” Germany sighs. It was a horrible idea to have held this dinner, after all. Switzerland probably hates him and his entire family now. “What did you do, Prussia?”
“It wasn’t me this time, I swear!” Prussia protests, although he really doesn’t have the kind of track record to be making these claims.
“He’s right.” Italy confirms with his round brown eyes, “Switzerland just suddenly looked really mad and he walked out to the balcony!” Sniffling, Italy glances up at Germany. “It wasn’t us, was it? We were just doing a little kissing … ?”
Germany looks out the window and sees the slight movement of Switzerland’s green coat. He allows himself a small sigh of relief. He had feared that his lover had left the house altogether.
“You should go after him.” Prussia says seriously, when Germany turns back. Italy nods in agreement from his lap. It is clear that neither want to take the chance of confronting the wrong end of Switzerland’s fury.
“I …” Germany has never been in danger of Switzerland’s guns before, and hopes it will not be the day to start. Still, it is his responsibility as a lover to offer comfort no matter how confusing the circumstances. “I suppose.” Tentatively, he walks to the pane-glass door and opens it. Right before stepping out, he looks back at Prussia and Italy, hesitant. Both of them make frantic ‘shooing’ motions.
Switzerland is leaning over the guardrail, an expression of intense concentration on his face.
“Schweiz,” Germany calls to him, worried. “I’m sorry, if mein Bruder or Italy offended you-“
“No.” Switzerland answers curtly. “I just drank too much. I needed some air.”
Germany nods. “Would you like me to leave you?”
“Please.”
Germany walks back, only to be met by Prussia and Italy’s faces pressed against the window. Their expressions are almost angry. In fact, Prussia begins yelling something at Germany, but it just comes out muffled and incomprehensible. Confused, Germany shakes his head.
Prussia rolls his eyes. He holds up a finger for patience while he rummages for things. Italy, trying to help, runs out of the room and comes back with markers.
Prussia makes a sign and presses it against the window: DON’T YOU DARE COME IN YOU DUMBFUCK
Italy makes a sign as well: U SHOULD TALK TO HIM AND SAY NICE THINGS
Prussia points excitedly to Italy’s sign, and quickly scrawls another one: TELL HIM HE’S A GOOD LAY
Germany throws them both a thoroughly exasperated expression, but since neither seems to be inclined to open the window, he turns back to the proud arch of Switzerland’s spine. He looks a bit lonely in the darkness.
“It’s cold.” Germany says, blowing out a white breath as he walks to stand next to Switzerland. “May I share this ledge?”
“It’s your house.” But Switzerland moves, all the same. Germany slings his arm over the rail at a distance he knows Switzerland would be the most comfortable.
They stretch a companionable silence between them for a moment, enjoying the slight warmth of each other’s company. Steadily, they watch the stars, which glitter and snap in the sky like hard diamonds. Germany wonders whether Switzerland would appreciate being compared to a star. They are similar, in a way, both seemingly cold and untouchable at a distance, but in reality burning with a beautiful passion too dangerous to hold close. Germany wonders if Switzerland has tired of him already. It is rare that the Swiss man lets anyone in, and Germany fears that he is a disappointment as a lover. He has not seen Switzerland’s smile all night.
“Do you love Italy?” Switzerland asks this suddenly, fiercely, as if cutting down the part of himself that cares for the answer.
“I … “ Germany blinks, surprised at the question. “What?”
“Do you love him?” Switzerland turns, and although he tries to school his features in an expression of neutrality, all Germany thinks is that he looks like he is about to cry. “Although he is with Prussia I am sure he would still care for you if you asked.” Switzerland says this bitterly. “Italy suits you, I think.”
Germany still blinks, beyond confused. “I don’t understand. I … I don’t love Italy beyond friendship. Have I ever given you cause to believe otherwise?”
Switzerland is silent.
“If so … I am sorry.” Germany doesn’t know what to do except continue apologizing. When he moves forward, it is with every intention to touch Switzerland, to feel the man’s heat under his fingertips and confirm that yes, you’re still mine, but at the last minute he refrains. Switzerland does not like to be touched, he has always made that abundantly clear.
Then why do his shoulders curve, as if seeking contact and warmth? Why do his eyes snap dark green in something beyond anger and a little like longing? The same longing Germany has always felt but could never express. So now he pulls Switzerland towards him, consequences be damned.
At first, the smaller man struggles in his grasp, and Germany loosens it a bit in case he has been holding too tightly after all, but he doesn’t let go.
“I think … that it’s cute when you switch from German to French when you’re excited. Although it’s hard for me to follow, when you speak too fast. I … I like how you are punctual, and intelligent, and … clean.” Germany feels Switzerland stiffening so he goes on. “Ah, you-you’re beautiful when you shoot, because you are completely concentrated on your target and I can look at you as much as I want without feeling like I shouldn’t. And …” Germany falters a bit. “W-when we’re in bed, I like-“
Switzerland hurriedly slaps his hand over Germany’s mouth, looking around and luckily not catching sight of Prussia and Italy as they duck under the window. “What are you saying in public, you idiot?” He hisses, blushing.
Germany frees his mouth and says seriously, “Gott, I know I'm a mess at saying what I feel, and you ... don’t like being touched. But I'm in love with you. Is that alright?”
Switzerland’s face is unreadable for a moment. Then, suddenly, he pulls down Germany’s shoulders and presses their mouths together, tonguing open Germany’s lips with small bites and soft noises. Surprised and blushing, Germany complies, allows him to lead them into a kiss that tastes almost desperate in its need. It is so … invigorating that even Germany thinks seriously for a moment of kicking his brother and Italy out so that he can drag Switzerland to the bedroom. When finally they pull apart, Switzerland looks triumphant, his face flushed nearly scarlet and his lips swollen and bruised. He trembles just the slightest in Germany's grasp.
And for some reason, when they step back into the warmth, Switzerland is extra nice to Italy for the rest of the night.
A/N: - Germany and Switzerland have a very close bilateral relationship, however, there have been recent disputes about economics, treaties etc. and the restriction of German flights to Zurich.
- Prussia's strange conversation is about the recent Christmas bloodbath, that can be read here: http://www.horror-vacui.net/hetarchive/s
