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fic: to hold
Now I can finally get to archiving what I've been doing for H!kink meme. I finished this one...about the first week of the month?
Title: to hold
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: Germany/Italy
Rating: PG-13 solely for Prussia's mouth.
Word count:1206
Author's note: APH kink meme, under the request of 'Germany/Italy hurt comfort with Italy doing the comforting.
Italy wasn't used to seeing any weakness in Germany. Germany was always prompt, always strong. Italy had even seen him keep training when he was sick, claiming that the training would 'fight away the bug.' So it was that seeing Germany like this, so... despondent seemed wrong. Germany was always the rock of the Axis. Italy always felt secure in knowing that even if (when) he failed, and if Japan was beat back, Germany would prevail.
But the war had taken its toll on him. Germany had taken on many scars now, many of them for Italy's sake. Like the shrapnel that had embedded itself into Germany's side, only to be plucked out with tongs by Japan while Italy had curled into a corner. The blood had been the color of tomatoes, but it had left him nauseous and barely holding back sobs. Now, the war was over and the allies were sorting their fates. Japan was away, trying to pick up the pieces of what was left of his country. None of them had been left unaffected in the end. Germany sat there, deep in thought at the wooden kitchen table he'd probably made himself. His elbows were balanced on it, and he kept running his hands through his hair in an anxious gesture.
"Germany...."
No response.
"Are you sick, ne? I'll make you up some good pasta–"
"I'm not hungry."
Germany fell silent. Italy let out a breath, a ah, but Germany did not turn to him. Italy racked his brain for some sort of clue, something to help the situation. Spain had been naturally cheerful, and if he did grow sad, just the sight of him and Romano would help any former worry be forgotten. He had never known how to comfort the worries of Austria, or Holy Roman Empire. ,And Romano, how had he helped Romano? By feeding him things until he was a little less cranky? By hugging him?
It was worth a try.
Italy bent down and laid his head against Germany's leg. He looked up, much like a dog would at its owner. If he had a tail, he'd probably be wagging it. Germany pushed him away, once, actually mistaking him for one of his pets once. When he finally noticed, he looked perplexed and irritated.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to help," Italy said hopefully.
"I'll be fine. Go on and sleep," Germany said. His tone was gruff, but it usually was. Now it held a defeated edge.
"But you're unhappy! And while you're always sort of unhappy, it's not this kind of unhappy. It's more...grumpy. I'm your friend. I'm supposed to help you. Please let me help you!"
Germany softened at this. He repeated the word friend , as if a question to himself. Finally he sighed and began to speak.
"The Allied Control Council is dissolving Prussia. We were never that close, but I ever expected it to happen this way. If he ever died, I thought for sure it would be in battle, and not in a single decision."
Italy cocked his head. "What?"
"Prussia. He always talked about taking over us all, and to see him gone..." Germany laughed, short a mirthless. Italy made a sympathetic sound, almost like a whimper. He pulled himself up until he was in Germany's lap, wrapped her arms about him, and rested his head against his chest. It looked almost as if he were the one seeking comfort, and not the other way around.
"I'm sure he's still alive somewhere. Sometimes, I can feel Grandpa Rome. I bet heaven is lots of fun for him," Italy said.
"If he hasn't taken over hell first and thrown out its old masters," Germany replied dryly.
Italy giggled. Some sort of worry in Germany was thawing from the incoherent grief to acceptance. He felt Germany's strong, rough hand at the back of his head, stoking him idly. They stayed that way a long while, until the tightness in Germany's muscles had softened to something almost like relaxation.
This spell of calm was broken by a loud knock at the door.
"Is it Japan?" Italy said. "Or...."
"The Allied Council," Germany said in a clipped tone. His arms tightened around Italy in a protective gesture.
There was another loud, more insistent knock at the door this time. "Open the door already, West. My hands are full!"
It was followed by a long tweet, and the sound of belongings shuffling on the precipice of almost falling over.
"....P-Prussia?!"
In that second's pause, the door was kicked down. Prussia was scarred, bruised and carrying a mountain of various belongings (most of which were sharp, pointy and deadly). He was very much still alive.
"What the fuck, West. Thanks for nothing."
The door fell off its hinges and was trampled beneath him as Prussia struggled in. "Yeah, yeah. I'm bunking at your place for a while until I can get revenge on that fucking council. You''ll have to store your crap elsewhere, West! I claim this basement as the territory of New Prussia!"
For the first time, Prussia really paid attention not to his tirade, but to the position Italy and Germany were in. Italy on Germany's lap, leaning against him, with Germany's hand still poised at his back.
"You're getting laid? About time," Prussia said. "Maybe it'll make you lighten the fuck up for once."
Without waiting for a response, Prussia stormed down to the basement. There was a clatter, the sound of things being arranged, and thrown into piles. Germany cleared his throat. He looked normal now. Grumpy, severe, a little constrained and on the verge of yelling at someone. All was well.
Italy smiled. He nuzzled a bit closer. He liked being in Germany's arms, so that the comfort had turned into a shared thing. It was warm, like Saturday mornings under the covers and creeping his fingers up the scars that had been the payment for saving him.
Germany cleared his throat, a bit awkward. Italy didn't have to look up to see he was blushing.
"I suppose I should have never underestimated him like that."
"Ne, You're a good brother, Germany."
"I suppose there could be worse," Germany admitted pragmatically.
"You're strong and brave, too. I'm glad you're my friend."
Germany paused at that, the former solemn mood came over him again. "The Allied Council has disabled my armies. Rebuilding will take everything I have, and even if I had anything to spare, the Allied Council would cause trouble."
"They can't watch us every moment, can they? I'll sneak out and bring you some delicious pasta. No one will ever know because I'll be really quiet, veee~"
Germany laughed. It was a short, constrained laugh, as if Germany couldn't even really relax when he was relaxing.
"We'll definitely meet again, Germany."
"Yes...." Germany replied. He trailed off, as if he had been stirred by a memory. His grip on Italy felt so warm, so safe. He did not let go.
Title: to hold
Series: Hetalia
Character/Pairing: Germany/Italy
Rating: PG-13 solely for Prussia's mouth.
Word count:1206
Author's note: APH kink meme, under the request of 'Germany/Italy hurt comfort with Italy doing the comforting.
Italy wasn't used to seeing any weakness in Germany. Germany was always prompt, always strong. Italy had even seen him keep training when he was sick, claiming that the training would 'fight away the bug.' So it was that seeing Germany like this, so... despondent seemed wrong. Germany was always the rock of the Axis. Italy always felt secure in knowing that even if (when) he failed, and if Japan was beat back, Germany would prevail.
But the war had taken its toll on him. Germany had taken on many scars now, many of them for Italy's sake. Like the shrapnel that had embedded itself into Germany's side, only to be plucked out with tongs by Japan while Italy had curled into a corner. The blood had been the color of tomatoes, but it had left him nauseous and barely holding back sobs. Now, the war was over and the allies were sorting their fates. Japan was away, trying to pick up the pieces of what was left of his country. None of them had been left unaffected in the end. Germany sat there, deep in thought at the wooden kitchen table he'd probably made himself. His elbows were balanced on it, and he kept running his hands through his hair in an anxious gesture.
"Germany...."
No response.
"Are you sick, ne? I'll make you up some good pasta–"
"I'm not hungry."
Germany fell silent. Italy let out a breath, a ah, but Germany did not turn to him. Italy racked his brain for some sort of clue, something to help the situation. Spain had been naturally cheerful, and if he did grow sad, just the sight of him and Romano would help any former worry be forgotten. He had never known how to comfort the worries of Austria, or Holy Roman Empire. ,And Romano, how had he helped Romano? By feeding him things until he was a little less cranky? By hugging him?
It was worth a try.
Italy bent down and laid his head against Germany's leg. He looked up, much like a dog would at its owner. If he had a tail, he'd probably be wagging it. Germany pushed him away, once, actually mistaking him for one of his pets once. When he finally noticed, he looked perplexed and irritated.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to help," Italy said hopefully.
"I'll be fine. Go on and sleep," Germany said. His tone was gruff, but it usually was. Now it held a defeated edge.
"But you're unhappy! And while you're always sort of unhappy, it's not this kind of unhappy. It's more...grumpy. I'm your friend. I'm supposed to help you. Please let me help you!"
Germany softened at this. He repeated the word friend , as if a question to himself. Finally he sighed and began to speak.
"The Allied Control Council is dissolving Prussia. We were never that close, but I ever expected it to happen this way. If he ever died, I thought for sure it would be in battle, and not in a single decision."
Italy cocked his head. "What?"
"Prussia. He always talked about taking over us all, and to see him gone..." Germany laughed, short a mirthless. Italy made a sympathetic sound, almost like a whimper. He pulled himself up until he was in Germany's lap, wrapped her arms about him, and rested his head against his chest. It looked almost as if he were the one seeking comfort, and not the other way around.
"I'm sure he's still alive somewhere. Sometimes, I can feel Grandpa Rome. I bet heaven is lots of fun for him," Italy said.
"If he hasn't taken over hell first and thrown out its old masters," Germany replied dryly.
Italy giggled. Some sort of worry in Germany was thawing from the incoherent grief to acceptance. He felt Germany's strong, rough hand at the back of his head, stoking him idly. They stayed that way a long while, until the tightness in Germany's muscles had softened to something almost like relaxation.
This spell of calm was broken by a loud knock at the door.
"Is it Japan?" Italy said. "Or...."
"The Allied Council," Germany said in a clipped tone. His arms tightened around Italy in a protective gesture.
There was another loud, more insistent knock at the door this time. "Open the door already, West. My hands are full!"
It was followed by a long tweet, and the sound of belongings shuffling on the precipice of almost falling over.
"....P-Prussia?!"
In that second's pause, the door was kicked down. Prussia was scarred, bruised and carrying a mountain of various belongings (most of which were sharp, pointy and deadly). He was very much still alive.
"What the fuck, West. Thanks for nothing."
The door fell off its hinges and was trampled beneath him as Prussia struggled in. "Yeah, yeah. I'm bunking at your place for a while until I can get revenge on that fucking council. You''ll have to store your crap elsewhere, West! I claim this basement as the territory of New Prussia!"
For the first time, Prussia really paid attention not to his tirade, but to the position Italy and Germany were in. Italy on Germany's lap, leaning against him, with Germany's hand still poised at his back.
"You're getting laid? About time," Prussia said. "Maybe it'll make you lighten the fuck up for once."
Without waiting for a response, Prussia stormed down to the basement. There was a clatter, the sound of things being arranged, and thrown into piles. Germany cleared his throat. He looked normal now. Grumpy, severe, a little constrained and on the verge of yelling at someone. All was well.
Italy smiled. He nuzzled a bit closer. He liked being in Germany's arms, so that the comfort had turned into a shared thing. It was warm, like Saturday mornings under the covers and creeping his fingers up the scars that had been the payment for saving him.
Germany cleared his throat, a bit awkward. Italy didn't have to look up to see he was blushing.
"I suppose I should have never underestimated him like that."
"Ne, You're a good brother, Germany."
"I suppose there could be worse," Germany admitted pragmatically.
"You're strong and brave, too. I'm glad you're my friend."
Germany paused at that, the former solemn mood came over him again. "The Allied Council has disabled my armies. Rebuilding will take everything I have, and even if I had anything to spare, the Allied Council would cause trouble."
"They can't watch us every moment, can they? I'll sneak out and bring you some delicious pasta. No one will ever know because I'll be really quiet, veee~"
Germany laughed. It was a short, constrained laugh, as if Germany couldn't even really relax when he was relaxing.
"We'll definitely meet again, Germany."
"Yes...." Germany replied. He trailed off, as if he had been stirred by a memory. His grip on Italy felt so warm, so safe. He did not let go.
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