Austria drew himself up at that. “I should have you know that were the decision mine, they’d be playing Schubert in the streets not Wagner.” Germany snorted at that. Austria could’ve been the man’s underfed doppleganger and he was about to say as much. As if on cue, Austria shifted to his hands and knees making a better study of the full length of the shelf and its contents. The retort died on Germany’s lips watching that shirt ride up- no, that ass was anything but underfed- and whatever scathing musical critique going on in the background was ignored as he stared temptation in the face. Austria was a stiff puritanical aristocrat when it suited him but Germany was slowly learning he could be one of the dirtiest sonofabitches when he put his mind to it as well.
“...spending so much time in those dens of iniquity like some common malefactor...” he heard Austria mutter and realized in a moment of brilliance that the aristocrat was jealous. Why else would he be down here using every damn dirty trick he had to get rid of these when half the time he couldn’t care less what new directives the propaganda minister issued down? He watched another Duke Ellington record fly across the room with a wince. The hell with that insecure- no, Austria may have been a lot of things but insecure was hardly one of them.
And yet somehow even knowing all of that, even knowing that the man probably calculated every damn breath he even took Germany couldn’t help but be spellbound when Austria turned and looked over his shoulder and up at him peering over the thin frames of those spectacles with a perfect mixture of seduction and frailty. He looked for all the world like he didn’t have Germany’s semen drying on the insides of his thighs with that damn shirt slipping off his shoulder again. The little bitch knew exactly what he was doing when he licked his lips like an expectant feline and blinked ever so slowly waiting for an answer. He shifted a leg, spreading himself ever so slightly. “I... I’ll get rid of them: all of them.” Austria couldn’t even be bothered to smile at that. He simply nodded as if he’d expected no other outcome and indulged in a breathless sigh when Germany took him again.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 8/?
Germany stands and walks over to the music player determined to shut it off. “Surely you didn’t come all this way to listen to this tra-” “Leave it on. Please?” Italy looks at the empty shelf next to the music player somewhat sadly. “If anyone gets mad we’ll just say it was my idea, okay?” He smiles again. “After all, they can’t get mad at a guest, right?” Germany finds as with most of those odd little stretches of logic he can’t argue with that and agrees. Veneziano pats the empty space on the sofa next to him. “Here, sit. I had something else I wanted to give you.” Those brown eyes are completely focused on him as he walks over. Germany is still only wearing a long pair of loose sleeping pants and Italy doesn’t feel guilty as he stares and imagines what it might be like to touch those hard stomach muscles; he made sure to say a few Hail Marys before leaving tonight.
Reaching into the pocket of the coat next to him carelessly slung over the sofa arm, he lingers, enjoying the warmth of Germany’s leg against his own. “Ah, hold on, hold on…” he says quickly knowing that Germany won’t even question the delay. His hands brush the soft parcel, closing around it and he pulls it our triumphantly. Germany can already tell it’s likely another damn thing of pasta but as Italy unwraps it on his lap his eyes light up. “I thought that you liked this one the last time I’d made it!” The gnocchi form a nice pile, the dusting of flour keeping the soft potato dumplings from sticking together. He reties the bundle triumphantly. “Should we cook it now? I know it’s late but never too late for pasta, right?”
Germany shakes his head and finds his mind wandering as his eyes roam from the hands skillfully retying the package to the small pink mouth pursed in concentration. He wonders what it would be like to kiss him and curses Austria for ever opening the gateway for thoughts like these. Until 1938 he’d never before looked at another man with anything other than a general’s assessing eye and now he can feel his control slipping when Austria so much as glances at him with that smoldering gaze over his teacup. He forces himself to stop dissecting his friend with such a disgusting turn of thoughts and he almost prays -but what has a disillusioned Prussia ever taught him of prayer except that God is dead and answers no one- for Austria to come down.
Veneziano appears oblivious to the pale blue stare. Germany doesn’t see his eyes flicker up and he can’t hear his heart pounding faster. he merely sees him finish retying the package and lean back staring up at the ceiling. “Dance with me?” Italy asks his eyes till fixated on some invisible heavens. Germany isn’t quite sure that he heard him correctly although by now he’s long grown used to such asinine suggestions. “I don’t... surely you can think of something more appropriate.” Because in one ear he can hear Prussia telling him that dancing is a waste of time for soldiers unless they’re trying to impress a woman and in the other he can hear Austria lecturing him on how such an intimate act shouldn’t be treated with such a cavalier attitude. Austria, he’s learned has more willingly shared his body for fornication than he has dancing.
“Please?” he hears asked more insistently. “Just for a little bit? It’s kinda scary around here, Ludwig. At the dance halls in Munich we used to go to, they say that the Führer doesn’t want the people dancing like this. And I know you used to have the records even if you don’t anymore and-” “Feli, forget you ever saw those.” Germany sighs and doesn’t look at the empty shelf. “Forget dancing like some...” he can’t even remember the words the minister had used but whatever it was it wasn’t what a good German did and- “I’m not asking, now, Ludwig.” Italy stands in front of him smiling but determined as he holds a hand out. Germany takes it in spite of himself.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 9a/?
“There’s no girls but... it’s just us so... that’s okay, right?” Veneziano speaks softly as if convincing himself of something as he pulls him into the center of the large living room. “Let me flip it to the B side.” He’s much happier as he turns the record over. “Ve~ I know you can lindy, Ludwig, so let’s see.” The drums start up in a fast tempo and Germany smiles at the challenge. “Alright, fine, you win. You think you can keep up?” “Haha! You’re on Potato Head!” Germany can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous nickname and swings his arms in time as the trumpets join in the song vibrantly. He feels absurd, dancing with a black shirt at two in the morning in his pants and bare feet but it feels wonderful and free and he feels lighter than air as his feet kick up and back.
In one moment italy is next to him, their arms around each other’s waists, kicking up the steps and he can hear in his mind the raucous of the halls in Munich and cries of “Swing Heil” from the youth. Italy whirls to face him and Germany makes the first move. He steps to the side, hiss large hands encircle that slim waist, and with ease he flips him backwards. “Ah!” Italy laughs as he lands and takes Germany’s hands again spinning underneath. His expression is challenging and while Germany might have reservations on the battlefield he know his partner will meet him head on here.
“Ve~ Ludwig~ Catch me!” he cries letting himself fly away with the melody. Veneziano releases his hands, holds his on his shoulders, and leaps. Unconsciously, Germany finds his waist once more and lifts him almost to the ceiling. Veneziano with legs akimbo straddles him as he comes down, letting Germany hold his weight in the backbreaking dip. Germany has no choice but to follow him down, before pulling him up and Italy lands, not missing a beat continuing to move. “Ah, you’re so strong it’s amazing!” “You haven’t gotten too fat yet from eating all that pasta!” Germany quips. Italy grins in response. “I’m in better shape than you think!” He spins again, their backs flush to each other and anticipating the move, Germany allows their arms to interlock and allows his body just enough buoyancy to be flipped over.
He lands and exhales in a rush, a rare and easy smile appearing on his face in that moment. The place where their hands meet again is warm and alive. the song winds down from a final crescendo and breathless and flushed, he pulls Italy to him. For the first time it seems that italy realizes that his hands, sweaty and trembling are firmly on Germany’s hard chest. The music stops entirely and the only sound in the still of the night is their intermingled breathing. Veneziano doesn’t look at him, however, instead his eyes are fixated on the iron cross hanging around Germany’s neck.
Deus meus, credo in te, spero in te... “Ludwig? He whispers softly, still staring at the onyx symbol with trepidation. “You’re not...” he swallows, feeling his hard about to thud out of his chest. Amo te super omnia ex tota anima mea, ex toto corde meo, ex totis viribus meis... Germany doesn’t say anything and digging his fingers into the muscles, Italy finishes. “You’re not a... a finocchio, right?” He doesn’t pull away waiting for the answer, instead seeming to blind himself with concentration and a sick desperation.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 9b/?
Germany doesn’t understand the word at first, trying to think, trying to remember. When it comes to him he immediately thinks of the man upstairs and he knows that he probably still smells of sex and Austria. But no! No he’s definitely not a... one of those because they’re purging the Fatherland of undesirables and faggots and that was why they’d killed Rohm dammit and he’s never even looked at a man with lust until fucking Austria had to... to... he’d never lain with anyone and just one... just one or a hundred slip up didn’t mean he was like that and his brother would tell him that fucking that stupid sissy girl aristocrat didn’t count anyway and it was his cousin and it was like having sex with himself because of the blood they shared and it was forbidden and everything anymore was forbidden and he wanted to kiss someone because even as he spilled his seed into Austria he couldn’t fucking kiss him because Austria couldn’t stand to fucking kiss anyone and... “No. Never.” Germany says at last and allows his arms to encircle his waist. Veneziano still doesn’t look at him.
Amo te quia es infinite bonus et dignus qui ameris. “Good. That’s good then...” He finally forces himself to look up into those ice blue eyes. Except right now they’re not ice and they’re not hard but blue like the sky in summer. “Then it’s okay if I... if we...” He stops talking and impulsively, recklessly, brings his right hand up, fingers ghosting over the corded muscle of Germany’s neck. Et quia amo te, me paeitet ex toto corde te offendisse. It’s his hand that guides Germany’s head down to bring their lips together. He tilts his head just slightly and raises up on the balls of his feet. Both part their lips, sharing a breath, sharing life in an instant that dies down all too soon. Italy is the first to turn away, shaking like a leaf. Miserere mihi peccatori. “I kissed a boy once,” he says removing his hands and pulling back. “But he...” he trails off and pulled away entirely. He burned up... like a sinner... Vatican City’s words haunt him in the darkness. amen. “What- happened to him?” Germany asks, feeling nauseous when he hears the footsteps above them. There’s silence as Veneziano gathers his coat and walks to the door. His hand misses the knob the first time. “He died.”
The date of this occurs right after the invasion of Poland.
black shirts were Mussolini’s paramilitary group. They were the main tool of his political movement.
Il Duce refers to Benito Mussolini, the italian Prime Minister who basically held all the power in Italy in WWII until his assassination (Although Victor Emmanuel was still king) The quote Italy uses was one of their slogans actually borrowed from a french general.
Nazi Music Ban- under the Nazi regime, music had to adhere to a certain “german” standard and anything that didn’t was prohibited. The three master composers that represented “good” german music were Beethoven, Wagner, and Bruckner. Jazz music was offensive to nazi ideology as many prominent musicians were black or jewish.
Schubert was an Austrian composer that bears an eerie resemblance to Austria. (Seriously check this pic out of a subject claimed to be a young Schubert: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Josef_Abel_Franz_Schubert.jpg )
The dance halls in Munich refer to the nazi counterculture swing movement prominent amongst German youth in the 1930s. “Swing Heil” was a slogan in answer to the Nazi “Sieg Heil”
Ernst Rohm was the leader of the SA and more or less openly homosexual. During the Night of the Long Knives, there was a massive purging of the SA in part to “clean up” the Nazi party of undesirables, and in another part to supposedly suppress a plot against Hitler.
The prayer running through Italy’s mind during this is the prayer of penance in latin. Translated it says: My God, I believe in Thee, I hope in Thee, I love Thee above all things with all my soul, with all my heart and with all my strength; I love Thee because Thou art infinitely good and worthy of being loved; and because I love Thee, I repent with all my heart of having offended Thee; have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen.
Thanks everyone who’s reading! There’s a lot of history and build up/break down of various relationships to come.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 9b/?
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Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 7b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 06:23 am (UTC)(link)“...spending so much time in those dens of iniquity like some common malefactor...” he heard Austria mutter and realized in a moment of brilliance that the aristocrat was jealous. Why else would he be down here using every damn dirty trick he had to get rid of these when half the time he couldn’t care less what new directives the propaganda minister issued down? He watched another Duke Ellington record fly across the room with a wince. The hell with that insecure- no, Austria may have been a lot of things but insecure was hardly one of them.
And yet somehow even knowing all of that, even knowing that the man probably calculated every damn breath he even took Germany couldn’t help but be spellbound when Austria turned and looked over his shoulder and up at him peering over the thin frames of those spectacles with a perfect mixture of seduction and frailty. He looked for all the world like he didn’t have Germany’s semen drying on the insides of his thighs with that damn shirt slipping off his shoulder again. The little bitch knew exactly what he was doing when he licked his lips like an expectant feline and blinked ever so slowly waiting for an answer. He shifted a leg, spreading himself ever so slightly.
“I... I’ll get rid of them: all of them.” Austria couldn’t even be bothered to smile at that. He simply nodded as if he’d expected no other outcome and indulged in a breathless sigh when Germany took him again.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 8/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 06:26 am (UTC)(link)“Leave it on. Please?” Italy looks at the empty shelf next to the music player somewhat sadly. “If anyone gets mad we’ll just say it was my idea, okay?” He smiles again. “After all, they can’t get mad at a guest, right?” Germany finds as with most of those odd little stretches of logic he can’t argue with that and agrees. Veneziano pats the empty space on the sofa next to him. “Here, sit. I had something else I wanted to give you.” Those brown eyes are completely focused on him as he walks over. Germany is still only wearing a long pair of loose sleeping pants and Italy doesn’t feel guilty as he stares and imagines what it might be like to touch those hard stomach muscles; he made sure to say a few Hail Marys before leaving tonight.
Reaching into the pocket of the coat next to him carelessly slung over the sofa arm, he lingers, enjoying the warmth of Germany’s leg against his own.
“Ah, hold on, hold on…” he says quickly knowing that Germany won’t even question the delay. His hands brush the soft parcel, closing around it and he pulls it our triumphantly. Germany can already tell it’s likely another damn thing of pasta but as Italy unwraps it on his lap his eyes light up. “I thought that you liked this one the last time I’d made it!” The gnocchi form a nice pile, the dusting of flour keeping the soft potato dumplings from sticking together. He reties the bundle triumphantly. “Should we cook it now? I know it’s late but never too late for pasta, right?”
Germany shakes his head and finds his mind wandering as his eyes roam from the hands skillfully retying the package to the small pink mouth pursed in concentration. He wonders what it would be like to kiss him and curses Austria for ever opening the gateway for thoughts like these. Until 1938 he’d never before looked at another man with anything other than a general’s assessing eye and now he can feel his control slipping when Austria so much as glances at him with that smoldering gaze over his teacup. He forces himself to stop dissecting his friend with such a disgusting turn of thoughts and he almost prays -but what has a disillusioned Prussia ever taught him of prayer except that God is dead and answers no one- for Austria to come down.
Veneziano appears oblivious to the pale blue stare. Germany doesn’t see his eyes flicker up and he can’t hear his heart pounding faster. he merely sees him finish retying the package and lean back staring up at the ceiling.
“Dance with me?” Italy asks his eyes till fixated on some invisible heavens. Germany isn’t quite sure that he heard him correctly although by now he’s long grown used to such asinine suggestions.
“I don’t... surely you can think of something more appropriate.” Because in one ear he can hear Prussia telling him that dancing is a waste of time for soldiers unless they’re trying to impress a woman and in the other he can hear Austria lecturing him on how such an intimate act shouldn’t be treated with such a cavalier attitude. Austria, he’s learned has more willingly shared his body for fornication than he has dancing.
“Please?” he hears asked more insistently. “Just for a little bit? It’s kinda scary around here, Ludwig. At the dance halls in Munich we used to go to, they say that the Führer doesn’t want the people dancing like this. And I know you used to have the records even if you don’t anymore and-”
“Feli, forget you ever saw those.” Germany sighs and doesn’t look at the empty shelf. “Forget dancing like some...” he can’t even remember the words the minister had used but whatever it was it wasn’t what a good German did and-
“I’m not asking, now, Ludwig.” Italy stands in front of him smiling but determined as he holds a hand out. Germany takes it in spite of himself.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 9a/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 06:33 am (UTC)(link)“Alright, fine, you win. You think you can keep up?”
“Haha! You’re on Potato Head!” Germany can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous nickname and swings his arms in time as the trumpets join in the song vibrantly. He feels absurd, dancing with a black shirt at two in the morning in his pants and bare feet but it feels wonderful and free and he feels lighter than air as his feet kick up and back.
In one moment italy is next to him, their arms around each other’s waists, kicking up the steps and he can hear in his mind the raucous of the halls in Munich and cries of “Swing Heil” from the youth. Italy whirls to face him and Germany makes the first move. He steps to the side, hiss large hands encircle that slim waist, and with ease he flips him backwards.
“Ah!” Italy laughs as he lands and takes Germany’s hands again spinning underneath. His expression is challenging and while Germany might have reservations on the battlefield he know his partner will meet him head on here.
“Ve~ Ludwig~ Catch me!” he cries letting himself fly away with the melody. Veneziano releases his hands, holds his on his shoulders, and leaps. Unconsciously, Germany finds his waist once more and lifts him almost to the ceiling. Veneziano with legs akimbo straddles him as he comes down, letting Germany hold his weight in the backbreaking dip. Germany has no choice but to follow him down, before pulling him up and Italy lands, not missing a beat continuing to move. “Ah, you’re so strong it’s amazing!”
“You haven’t gotten too fat yet from eating all that pasta!” Germany quips. Italy grins in response.
“I’m in better shape than you think!” He spins again, their backs flush to each other and anticipating the move, Germany allows their arms to interlock and allows his body just enough buoyancy to be flipped over.
He lands and exhales in a rush, a rare and easy smile appearing on his face in that moment. The place where their hands meet again is warm and alive. the song winds down from a final crescendo and breathless and flushed, he pulls Italy to him. For the first time it seems that italy realizes that his hands, sweaty and trembling are firmly on Germany’s hard chest. The music stops entirely and the only sound in the still of the night is their intermingled breathing. Veneziano doesn’t look at him, however, instead his eyes are fixated on the iron cross hanging around Germany’s neck.
Deus meus, credo in te, spero in te...
“Ludwig? He whispers softly, still staring at the onyx symbol with trepidation. “You’re not...” he swallows, feeling his hard about to thud out of his chest. Amo te super omnia ex tota anima mea, ex toto corde meo, ex totis viribus meis... Germany doesn’t say anything and digging his fingers into the muscles, Italy finishes. “You’re not a... a finocchio, right?” He doesn’t pull away waiting for the answer, instead seeming to blind himself with concentration and a sick desperation.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 9b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 06:39 am (UTC)(link)“No. Never.” Germany says at last and allows his arms to encircle his waist. Veneziano still doesn’t look at him.
Amo te quia es infinite bonus et dignus qui ameris.
“Good. That’s good then...” He finally forces himself to look up into those ice blue eyes. Except right now they’re not ice and they’re not hard but blue like the sky in summer. “Then it’s okay if I... if we...” He stops talking and impulsively, recklessly, brings his right hand up, fingers ghosting over the corded muscle of Germany’s neck. Et quia amo te, me paeitet ex toto corde te offendisse. It’s his hand that guides Germany’s head down to bring their lips together. He tilts his head just slightly and raises up on the balls of his feet. Both part their lips, sharing a breath, sharing life in an instant that dies down all too soon. Italy is the first to turn away, shaking like a leaf. Miserere mihi peccatori.
“I kissed a boy once,” he says removing his hands and pulling back. “But he...” he trails off and pulled away entirely. He burned up... like a sinner... Vatican City’s words haunt him in the darkness. amen.
“What- happened to him?” Germany asks, feeling nauseous when he hears the footsteps above them. There’s silence as Veneziano gathers his coat and walks to the door. His hand misses the knob the first time.
“He died.”
The date of this occurs right after the invasion of Poland.
black shirts were Mussolini’s paramilitary group. They were the main tool of his political movement.
Il Duce refers to Benito Mussolini, the italian Prime Minister who basically held all the power in Italy in WWII until his assassination (Although Victor Emmanuel was still king) The quote Italy uses was one of their slogans actually borrowed from a french general.
Nazi Music Ban- under the Nazi regime, music had to adhere to a certain “german” standard and anything that didn’t was prohibited. The three master composers that represented “good” german music were Beethoven, Wagner, and Bruckner. Jazz music was offensive to nazi ideology as many prominent musicians were black or jewish.
Schubert was an Austrian composer that bears an eerie resemblance to Austria. (Seriously check this pic out of a subject claimed to be a young Schubert: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Josef_Abel_Franz_Schubert.jpg )
The dance halls in Munich refer to the nazi counterculture swing movement prominent amongst German youth in the 1930s. “Swing Heil” was a slogan in answer to the Nazi “Sieg Heil”
Ernst Rohm was the leader of the SA and more or less openly homosexual. During the Night of the Long Knives, there was a massive purging of the SA in part to “clean up” the Nazi party of undesirables, and in another part to supposedly suppress a plot against Hitler.
The prayer running through Italy’s mind during this is the prayer of penance in latin. Translated it says: My God, I believe in Thee, I hope in Thee, I love Thee above all things with all my soul, with all my heart and with all my strength; I love Thee because Thou art infinitely good and worthy of being loved; and because I love Thee, I repent with all my heart of having offended Thee; have mercy on me, a sinner. Amen.
Thanks everyone who’s reading! There’s a lot of history and build up/break down of various relationships to come.
Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 9b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 07:31 am (UTC)(link)Re: Prussia/Germany/Austria et al Who's Afraid of Roderich Edelstein? [Rewrite] 9b/?
(Anonymous) 2010-09-21 03:46 pm (UTC)(link)