[Fic Fill] Little Wonders
Sep. 1st, 2010 12:49 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hetaliasunshineTITLE: Little Wonders
AUTHOR/ARTIST: Salmagundi
RECIPIENT: goodgonegirl
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Germany/Italy
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): Mpreg
SUMMARY: Sometimes Germany still can't believe this is happening.
Little Wonders
~
Warnings: Mpreg
~
Germany's not sure when things changed. One day he's nodding, feeling an odd sense of remove at this information - can't process it, it's not quite sinking in - and then another day, just a random day, it really strikes him. An epiphany of sorts.
He's having a baby.
Well... Italy is the one having the baby, but it's still his. His and Italy's. Theirs. Together.
He shifts in the blankets, wide-awake as he always is at this hour. Instead of getting up as he normally would, he simply turns, blue eyes following the line of Italy's bare body. He's kicked off the blankets and is curled on his side - it's too hard to sleep on his back - too much of a strain now and he no longer sprawls on his belly. It's a good thing... Germany had worried about that early on: Italy's habit of tossing and turning, of sleeping in whatever random, odd position he fell into in his drowsiness. He'd worried because of Italy's health. But that was because he loved Italy. Now his relief is deeper because of that thought, the realisation.
One hand reaches out - feeling so large, so clumsy, as he brushes the swell of Italy's belly.
It's not fat. Not that he wouldn't have still loved Italy with a bit of pudge on him, but this is most definitely not. It feels different beneath his fingers, a firmness to that rounded middle. Closing his eyes, he can almost imagine he feels the baby moving beneath his fingers, even if he knows it's not far enough along for that.
Italy stirs at the touch, shifting a little and making a questioning noise against the pillow. "Ve~?" Eyes open just a fraction, warm amber meeting cool blue and Italy gives his head a faint tilt, hair feathering against his cheek, faintly mussed with sleep. "You're smiling." There is surprise, but also a gentle curve to his lips that Germany recognises as amusement. Once he would have been embarrassed to have been caught at it, to look foolish but Italy doesn't judge, and the soft brush of his own hand atop Germany's larger one is all the encouragement he needs.
A slight rustle among the blankets and Italy shuffles closer to him with that awkward grace that is so inherently Italy. Italy nestles neatly against his body, cradled to his chest, the curve of his calves flush against Germany's legs. He fits better than expected as they spoon together, giving Germany the perfect opportunity to rest his hands where they want - need - to be. One palm presses lightly to the growing swell of Italy's belly, rubbing in slow circles. The touch does nothing to dispel the sense of wonder at the very existence of what lies beneath his gently wandering hands. He feels a tingling and he knows it's only in his imagination, but it goes up and through his arm and ignites a small ember of warmth beneath his skin.
It's still a little unreal... just a bit, like the haziness after waking up, lingering on the surface.
They're having a baby.
He feels Italy shift, senses a slight tensing of the muscles in his lover's back and hesitates. "What's wrong?" Immediately his imagination launches into myriad scenarios, each worse than the last - Italy is hungry, he isn't well, there's something wrong with the baby... But Italy only turns his head into the pillow enough that his expression is impossible to read. Germany can see a hint of red in the skin on his neck though and realises that Italy is blushing. Italy. He's never known the cheerful nation to be embarrassed over anything of this kind before - not Italy, who would streak carelessly across Switzerland's yard or forget to put on pants before showing up for practice. Bewilderment shuffles through Germany and his brows furrow. "Italy?"
"Ve." It's a nothing noise, not an answer at all. Germany's lips turn down, not a scowl, but not a smile either. Still, he counsels himself to be patient. This is Italy after all. Strong-arm tactics have never worked well on his flighty partner before. Italy will get impatient before long, he tells himself, and then he's sure to blurt out whatever it is he's thinking.
Despite these assurances, Italy is silent for longer than Germany expects. He's almost convinced (finally) that Italy really isn't going to speak when he hears the soft mumble. "What did you say?"
Italy's head turns and there is a pout on his lips. Just that. A pout. It's adorable. "Germany has been petting my stomach a lot."
Ah. Fondness flickered in Germany's eyes but he did his best not to show his humour. "You don't need to be upset. I know you're not fat." A slight cough and then he admitted the one thing that embarrassed him but that he knew Italy needed to hear. "I... find it..." Sexy. How strange, but true. Something about the thought of Italy being pregnant does something to him. He has no interest in large bellies - or in pregnancy in general - but this is different. This is Italy... and its his. "It's attractive. It gives you this kind of... glow..." He hopes it doesn't sound as awkward as he knows it does, but the dubious expression on Italy's face doesn't bode well.
It's easy enough to guess why. He remembers the weeks of morning sickness early on - thankfully mostly passed by now - where it felt like they were spending half of their time in the lavatory, Italy trembling and heaving and Germany there to pet his hair and his shaking shoulders and bring him water to wash his mouth out. Admittedly, that hadn't been very attractive. His early comments - before the realisation that it wasn't just Italy bloating out from gorging on too much pasta - had been to berate Italy for letting himself go in such a manner. He bites at his lip with the memory. Even the vomit hadn't drilled it in, not the words, anyway...
They're having a baby.
He thinks Italy is going to disagree, but what he says throws Germany for a loop.
"D-do you really like it?" There is a puppy-dog look in Italy's eyes and Germany wonders how he can even ask. But this is Italy, after all. Germany moves at last, bracing his arm to prop himself up, twisting his solid form around so he can rest his head against the gentle mound. Italy shivers a little at the slight graze of that short blonde hair against him and Germany smiles. He lets his cheek brush against the pale skin of Italy's belly, almost a nuzzle, feels Italy squirm slightly in embarrassment and curiousity. He's not usually this affectionate, even when the two are making love...
Germany presses his lips to Italy's stomach, kisses a trail upward and pauses halfway toward Italy's chest to dart a glance upward. Italy's head is thrown back against the pillows a little, eyes half-lidded and a smile playing around the edges of his lips, shy and sweet. "I like you." Why is eloquence so hard? He almost wishes for a book of poetry or profound words, or better yet, a Cyrano to whisper the right things in his ear. He has only his own blunt realism with nothing to temper it, but it will have to do.
"You do?" Surprise and delight that should not be there because it should be obvious. They've been friends and allies for so long, lovers for a shorter time but even still...
He leans up and this time he kisses Italy, brushing for a moment, lingering in place. He can taste something sweet on Italy's lips and he's not sure what it is. That part is not important though, the little details do not matter in the here and now. Because here he is, with his lover, with his future child, and the warmth in him is like sitting in a sunbeam. "I love you." It surprises him that the words come out so easily. Simple, but true. Sometimes, he thinks with a hint of wryness, sometimes eloquence does nothing but confuse things.
Italy purrs back, smiling in a way that sends that tingle through Germany again. He stretches out, long and languid, like a cat, though he doesn't pull away. His fingers dance across the back of Germany's hand, gripping, guiding. A warm palm settling back into place as their eyes meet. Softly - oh so softly - "You're smiling again."
Is he? He can't help it. Italy is prone to making him smile. Silliness, white flags, pasta and all... He'd never thought to find something so profound inside a simple tomato crate. He rests his cheek against Italy's tummy and closes his eyes, feeling the soft stroke of nimble fingers through his short blonde hair. "I'm going to be a father." He's never said it aloud before - another kind of ephiphany. A father... and the thought brings with it a swell of other worries, each surfacing briefly before dying in the warmth still settled in his chest. They can't dislodge it, an emotion so strong it threatens to overwhelm him.
Pride and protectiveness. Satisfaction. Love for someone he could never have expected or anticipated...
Germany nuzzles and he just lets the smile come. His lover can tease if he likes, but Germany has come to a conclusion about Italy. Italy is full of surprises, most of them are better than someone like Germany can hope for. And if he doubts - if he has moments where he wonders why he puts himself through this, why he sticks with a man who is so foolish and flighty and useless - well... there are always things to remind him and even the smallest can turn out to be the most profound.
"I don't want to know the gender." He says finally, knowing it should be a surprise. He is always so meticulous, wanting to plan, needing to know and examine and schedule everything. Germany feels Italy move and can imagine the curious look on his face. Sometimes he can defy convention too.
"Are you sure?" Soft, but not upset; it's just a question.
He turns his head to look at Italy, eyes half-shut. "With you, I am willing to take my chances." Why not? So far, even the failures have turned to winds somehow. He turns back and lets his eyes close, listening for the sound of the baby. In his mind's eye he can see their child, all sunshine and smiles. It's a good image...
"I love you too..." He whispers the words to Italy's belly and pretends not to see as his partner beams at him. Nothing can embarrass Germany. Not right now.
He's going to be a father, after all...
They're having a baby!
~ end ~
AUTHOR/ARTIST: Salmagundi
RECIPIENT: goodgonegirl
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Germany/Italy
RATING: PG
NOTES (optional): Mpreg
SUMMARY: Sometimes Germany still can't believe this is happening.
Little Wonders
~
Warnings: Mpreg
~
Germany's not sure when things changed. One day he's nodding, feeling an odd sense of remove at this information - can't process it, it's not quite sinking in - and then another day, just a random day, it really strikes him. An epiphany of sorts.
He's having a baby.
Well... Italy is the one having the baby, but it's still his. His and Italy's. Theirs. Together.
He shifts in the blankets, wide-awake as he always is at this hour. Instead of getting up as he normally would, he simply turns, blue eyes following the line of Italy's bare body. He's kicked off the blankets and is curled on his side - it's too hard to sleep on his back - too much of a strain now and he no longer sprawls on his belly. It's a good thing... Germany had worried about that early on: Italy's habit of tossing and turning, of sleeping in whatever random, odd position he fell into in his drowsiness. He'd worried because of Italy's health. But that was because he loved Italy. Now his relief is deeper because of that thought, the realisation.
One hand reaches out - feeling so large, so clumsy, as he brushes the swell of Italy's belly.
It's not fat. Not that he wouldn't have still loved Italy with a bit of pudge on him, but this is most definitely not. It feels different beneath his fingers, a firmness to that rounded middle. Closing his eyes, he can almost imagine he feels the baby moving beneath his fingers, even if he knows it's not far enough along for that.
Italy stirs at the touch, shifting a little and making a questioning noise against the pillow. "Ve~?" Eyes open just a fraction, warm amber meeting cool blue and Italy gives his head a faint tilt, hair feathering against his cheek, faintly mussed with sleep. "You're smiling." There is surprise, but also a gentle curve to his lips that Germany recognises as amusement. Once he would have been embarrassed to have been caught at it, to look foolish but Italy doesn't judge, and the soft brush of his own hand atop Germany's larger one is all the encouragement he needs.
A slight rustle among the blankets and Italy shuffles closer to him with that awkward grace that is so inherently Italy. Italy nestles neatly against his body, cradled to his chest, the curve of his calves flush against Germany's legs. He fits better than expected as they spoon together, giving Germany the perfect opportunity to rest his hands where they want - need - to be. One palm presses lightly to the growing swell of Italy's belly, rubbing in slow circles. The touch does nothing to dispel the sense of wonder at the very existence of what lies beneath his gently wandering hands. He feels a tingling and he knows it's only in his imagination, but it goes up and through his arm and ignites a small ember of warmth beneath his skin.
It's still a little unreal... just a bit, like the haziness after waking up, lingering on the surface.
They're having a baby.
He feels Italy shift, senses a slight tensing of the muscles in his lover's back and hesitates. "What's wrong?" Immediately his imagination launches into myriad scenarios, each worse than the last - Italy is hungry, he isn't well, there's something wrong with the baby... But Italy only turns his head into the pillow enough that his expression is impossible to read. Germany can see a hint of red in the skin on his neck though and realises that Italy is blushing. Italy. He's never known the cheerful nation to be embarrassed over anything of this kind before - not Italy, who would streak carelessly across Switzerland's yard or forget to put on pants before showing up for practice. Bewilderment shuffles through Germany and his brows furrow. "Italy?"
"Ve." It's a nothing noise, not an answer at all. Germany's lips turn down, not a scowl, but not a smile either. Still, he counsels himself to be patient. This is Italy after all. Strong-arm tactics have never worked well on his flighty partner before. Italy will get impatient before long, he tells himself, and then he's sure to blurt out whatever it is he's thinking.
Despite these assurances, Italy is silent for longer than Germany expects. He's almost convinced (finally) that Italy really isn't going to speak when he hears the soft mumble. "What did you say?"
Italy's head turns and there is a pout on his lips. Just that. A pout. It's adorable. "Germany has been petting my stomach a lot."
Ah. Fondness flickered in Germany's eyes but he did his best not to show his humour. "You don't need to be upset. I know you're not fat." A slight cough and then he admitted the one thing that embarrassed him but that he knew Italy needed to hear. "I... find it..." Sexy. How strange, but true. Something about the thought of Italy being pregnant does something to him. He has no interest in large bellies - or in pregnancy in general - but this is different. This is Italy... and its his. "It's attractive. It gives you this kind of... glow..." He hopes it doesn't sound as awkward as he knows it does, but the dubious expression on Italy's face doesn't bode well.
It's easy enough to guess why. He remembers the weeks of morning sickness early on - thankfully mostly passed by now - where it felt like they were spending half of their time in the lavatory, Italy trembling and heaving and Germany there to pet his hair and his shaking shoulders and bring him water to wash his mouth out. Admittedly, that hadn't been very attractive. His early comments - before the realisation that it wasn't just Italy bloating out from gorging on too much pasta - had been to berate Italy for letting himself go in such a manner. He bites at his lip with the memory. Even the vomit hadn't drilled it in, not the words, anyway...
They're having a baby.
He thinks Italy is going to disagree, but what he says throws Germany for a loop.
"D-do you really like it?" There is a puppy-dog look in Italy's eyes and Germany wonders how he can even ask. But this is Italy, after all. Germany moves at last, bracing his arm to prop himself up, twisting his solid form around so he can rest his head against the gentle mound. Italy shivers a little at the slight graze of that short blonde hair against him and Germany smiles. He lets his cheek brush against the pale skin of Italy's belly, almost a nuzzle, feels Italy squirm slightly in embarrassment and curiousity. He's not usually this affectionate, even when the two are making love...
Germany presses his lips to Italy's stomach, kisses a trail upward and pauses halfway toward Italy's chest to dart a glance upward. Italy's head is thrown back against the pillows a little, eyes half-lidded and a smile playing around the edges of his lips, shy and sweet. "I like you." Why is eloquence so hard? He almost wishes for a book of poetry or profound words, or better yet, a Cyrano to whisper the right things in his ear. He has only his own blunt realism with nothing to temper it, but it will have to do.
"You do?" Surprise and delight that should not be there because it should be obvious. They've been friends and allies for so long, lovers for a shorter time but even still...
He leans up and this time he kisses Italy, brushing for a moment, lingering in place. He can taste something sweet on Italy's lips and he's not sure what it is. That part is not important though, the little details do not matter in the here and now. Because here he is, with his lover, with his future child, and the warmth in him is like sitting in a sunbeam. "I love you." It surprises him that the words come out so easily. Simple, but true. Sometimes, he thinks with a hint of wryness, sometimes eloquence does nothing but confuse things.
Italy purrs back, smiling in a way that sends that tingle through Germany again. He stretches out, long and languid, like a cat, though he doesn't pull away. His fingers dance across the back of Germany's hand, gripping, guiding. A warm palm settling back into place as their eyes meet. Softly - oh so softly - "You're smiling again."
Is he? He can't help it. Italy is prone to making him smile. Silliness, white flags, pasta and all... He'd never thought to find something so profound inside a simple tomato crate. He rests his cheek against Italy's tummy and closes his eyes, feeling the soft stroke of nimble fingers through his short blonde hair. "I'm going to be a father." He's never said it aloud before - another kind of ephiphany. A father... and the thought brings with it a swell of other worries, each surfacing briefly before dying in the warmth still settled in his chest. They can't dislodge it, an emotion so strong it threatens to overwhelm him.
Pride and protectiveness. Satisfaction. Love for someone he could never have expected or anticipated...
Germany nuzzles and he just lets the smile come. His lover can tease if he likes, but Germany has come to a conclusion about Italy. Italy is full of surprises, most of them are better than someone like Germany can hope for. And if he doubts - if he has moments where he wonders why he puts himself through this, why he sticks with a man who is so foolish and flighty and useless - well... there are always things to remind him and even the smallest can turn out to be the most profound.
"I don't want to know the gender." He says finally, knowing it should be a surprise. He is always so meticulous, wanting to plan, needing to know and examine and schedule everything. Germany feels Italy move and can imagine the curious look on his face. Sometimes he can defy convention too.
"Are you sure?" Soft, but not upset; it's just a question.
He turns his head to look at Italy, eyes half-shut. "With you, I am willing to take my chances." Why not? So far, even the failures have turned to winds somehow. He turns back and lets his eyes close, listening for the sound of the baby. In his mind's eye he can see their child, all sunshine and smiles. It's a good image...
"I love you too..." He whispers the words to Italy's belly and pretends not to see as his partner beams at him. Nothing can embarrass Germany. Not right now.
He's going to be a father, after all...
They're having a baby!
~ end ~
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