A/N: First off the stupid page break line is acting up, so ignore the double lines down there.

Second, I know I said the prequel to this fic would be my first and last foray into the Hetalia fandom. That plan has been shot to hell, thank you. A series of events have since taken place that can be summed up in one word: Muse. Well, my muse, anyway. She's somehow roped me into a series of bets. If I lose, more Hetalia fics follow. There's more info about those on the Facebook page. Anyways, I lost this one, so here it is. This story, and the one before it are to be taken together. Their titles are in fact a single German saying that goes Einmal ist keinmal, aber zweimal ist dreimal. I thought it apropos. The minor scenes in here with Spain, S. Italy, and Prussia are preludes, as is my interpretation of them, to fics involving those people...which will only be posted if I lose the other bets. All these Hetalia fics are sort of related, see. Ah, yes, before I forget...I have now watched 12 episodes. Not that they were the slightest bit helpful regarding this. -.-

Beta: none

Zweimal ist Dreimal

He left.

He'd had to. The alternative was to let Feliciano – no, Vargas's affections, now unleashed, unchecked, and completely unimaginable thanks to their memorable night together, drive him insane. He had too many responsibilities, was too disciplined, to let a pleasant interlude cloud his judgment and common sense. And if the dummkopf could not abide by his rules, and would not leave his house, then the only way to maintain order in his life was to distance himself from the problem.

Perfect, faultless logic.

Three months tending to German affairs, traveling, meeting with this or that country. He did the same things he'd been doing before finding Vargas, positive that a return to his old pursuits, familiar pursuits, would bring back the likewise old and familiar security of his life prior to Vargas's arrival. Work and more work, that was the key. Time erased all problems eventually. Yes, time was all that was needed. Ludwig pulled out his pocket watch, a gift his elder brother had given to him years ago.

Three months, eight days, fifteen hours and…twenty-two minutes.

If the truth were known he'd been looking for things to keep him occupied. Traveling to this or that city, and thus and such province, on the pretense of checking up on things…ludicrous, really. Germany was running as smoothly as possible under the present circumstances. Resources were being handled efficiently. All was in order. Which was probably why he was currently on his way to the railroad depot. It was a ten-mile hike, one that would give him time to think. The distance was nothing to a soldier like himself; tired as he was of being driven, riding, and sitting through reports, he welcomed the exercise. He set off at a brisk pace that wasn't far short from marching.

The countryside was unspoiled. It reminded him of how much he detested what war had done to his country, and how much he enjoyed cozy days at home. The rolling hills and scent of wildflowers even reminded him of his estate, which was in a small village outside Berlin, and surrounded by open land. His one hundred acres boasted a small park and man-made lake. Thinking of these things, of his small piece of heaven on earth, a sudden weariness for travel swamped him and he quickened his pace.

And one mustn't forget that home now meant a certain individual who'd been avoided for three months. That, too, put an extra spring in his step.

He was not unaware of his feelings. He'd left, and for good reason, but now that he'd had time to think he felt capable of dealing with his feelings and why he'd run away…correction, why he'd wisely chosen to put time and distance between himself and a night of irresponsibility.

He should never have indulged himself that way. It was unwise, striking up a relationship with Vargas. The man would expect vows and declarations. Promises would have been demanded, not the least of which would have been to become an integral part of Ludwig's life. Vargas would want more than a mere partnership, Ludwig was sure of it. Which was why, one week after that night, he'd slipped away quietly before the sun had come up.

It was dawn now. He'd left the encampment of a regiment of soldiers, and was now more than halfway to the railroad. Mist boiled majestically along the ground, shrouding the countryside in soft white. He loved early mornings, and was himself an early riser. He breathed deeply of the crisp air. Suddenly he smiled broadly.

Life was good. His country was in order and, he decided now, so was his household. There was nothing there that he couldn't handle. He tried to imagine what Vargas's face would look like when he arrived back home. No doubt he'd be full of smiles and pleasure and protestations of his undying love. He'd wail about how much he'd missed Ludwig. There would be gifts, songs… I am a lucky man, to be so well-loved. I should never have run away. So long as Vargas…no, Feliciano understood that there was a time and place for everything, including their interactions, all would be well.

Ludwig switched his bag to his other hand and broke into a straight-backed trot, one he knew he could maintain for the remaining four miles to the railroad.

The Beilschmidt Estate, so named from when the workers on that piece of land had indeed been forgers of such tools as war axes, was quiet that evening. Moonlight frosted the parkland and small lake. The large, stone mansion sat proud and gray in the middle of this stark beauty. It, too, was quiet. The many rooms were empty, all save for one. This room was situated at the back of the estate, on the ground floor. It rang with laughter and merriment, and was redolent with the smells of a spectacular dinner in the making.

"Agnolotti," Feliciano lectured cheerfully, "when done correctly, is one of my favorite pasta dishes, and also Lovino's. You will see. You will eat your fingers! Signorina Alke, do you have the goat cheese prepared?"

Frau Alke, who was the housekeeper, bustled up with the wooden bowl of cheese, spinach and finely chopped onions. "You are a better cook than any I've seen in my day. Look how thin he rolls the pasta dough!"

Feliciano's audience, consisting of Alke's husband Dieter, Honda Kiku, and Ludwig's brother Gilbert, obligingly looked on as a sheet of thin pasta was waved for their benefit. "I must correct you, though," Dieter admonished with mock severity. "My wife is no Fraulein, as I know Signorina means. She's older than I am and twice as fat."

All of them laughed, including Frau Alke. She was indeed a stout, ruddy-cheeked woman who'd once been a farm maid. Feliciano lifted a hand theatrically to his heart, a pained expression on his face. "Please! Never insult a woman in my presence, especially not one so lovely as this creature."

During the months of Master Ludwig's absence, Herr Vargas had fallen into a mild decline. In his sadness, he'd wandered the estate, looking for something that eluded him. Dieter had chanced upon him by the lake, and asked one day if he needed anything. The formerly ebullient Italian had broken down and said that he needed to grow up, to stop living in fantasies. What had followed had been an outpouring of such grief that Dieter had done the unthinkable and sat down to listen. He'd been quite shocked at the depth of feeling in the man. Apparently, Herr Vargas was not the shallow, frivolous youth everyone thought him to be. Herr Honda had been out walking in the grounds that day and seen them. He'd come over and sat down, catching the long-winded tale midway, but listening until the end. Since then, Herr Vargas had sought Dieter out often, treating him as an equal and a friend. Dieter had introduced him to his wife. With this small circle of support around him, Herr Vargas seemed to begin recovering. He was still fun-loving and more vital than any of the other occupants in the house, but he'd matured in his grief.

Dieter snorted now. "My wife, a lovely creature? Hardly. I love her dearly, but her beauty has faded."

Feliciano was silent a moment as he deftly fashioned small half moons of pasta filled with the cheese mixture. "A woman," he quoted quietly, "is like fine wine; she gets better with age."

"Fine wine!" Dieter slapped the enormous rough-hewn table with a palm, laughing uproariously.

"We have a saying in Japan," Kiku interjected. "It can be roughly translated to older women knowing the secrets of Paradise…meaning they are often masters of the art."

Feliciano pointed the rolling pin at him. "Exactly." He went to Frau Alke and cupped her face in his flour-covered hands. "Look at her, Dieter. She is magnificent!" And he kissed her mouth soundly, getting flour on her laughing face.

"I thought you preferred your own kind?" Gilbert said curiously.

Feliciano graced him with a broad grin. "Sexuality is fluid. Love knows no boundaries. It encompasses all races, all sexes, and speaks with one tongue." He turned to Dieter. "My good man...I trust you know how to use your tongue with this woman?"

Dieter blustered in shock. "I think that is an interesting question," Kiku murmured thoughtfully.

Gilbert lifted his wine bottle in a salute. "I think you're insane, Vargas. Lovable, but definitely insane."

Ignoring him, Feliciano, stood back from Frau Alke and studied her with shining eyes, one hand to his mouth. He appraised her face, her figure, and came to the conclusion he'd already reached. "You are a true woman," he murmured appreciatively. How he pronounced the word woman, in his rolling accent, sent sudden shivers of delight down the housekeeper's spine. She blushed. The men in the room grew quiet, listening attentively. "Rich, generous curves. A healthy woman. A woman who must love you most fiercely if she is with you still, Dieter, and so must also be fierce between the sheets. The very best kind of woman, si?" He moved behind the housekeeper now to put his arms around her ample hips. "Lush and ripe. Strong arms to show her love." He ran his hands up her arms, making the embarrassed woman cover her face with her apron. "Large breasts, perfect for suckling."

"Oh!" Frau Alke squealed. The men watched with round eyes as Feliciano lifted her mountainous breasts proudly for their approval.

"Her waist is ideal for the embrace of passion," the Italian crooned. "Not thin and bony. And her thighs…ahhh, her thighs! Show me a woman with thighs that can squeeze a man to jelly and I will show you a dream come true. To lose one's self between such thighs as these…" He clapped his hand against one meaty thigh, while burying his face in Frau Alke's thick salt and pepper hair. "Dieter, how can you not think she's beautiful? How can you not take her in every room of this loveless palace, and make her coat your spear in her sweet juices? Were I as lucky as you," and here Feliciano let his words coast across the sensitive shell of Frau Alke's ear, "I would take this opportunity while the good lord Ludwig is away and make her scream…"

The housekeeper, mortified and excited beyond all reason, finally turned and shoved Feliciano away with a small shriek. "Oh, go on with you!" She shooed him with her apron.

Dieter, who'd experienced a nostalgic stirring in his loins at the erotic words, felt a tightness in his chest. Maybe it was seeing his wife of thirty years chase the nimble Italian around the table with the rolling pin, or maybe it was Herr Vargas's words, but he suddenly saw a ghost of her girlish appeal in her work-lined face. Heat spread throughout his own aged but sturdy person as the stirring in his pants grew more pronounced. Watching her, he realized his proper wife had never once made any sound during their infrequent, and often exhausted matings. Perhaps it was time to change that.

"Taste that," Feliciano was saying. The chase had stopped as he passed the stove and checked on one of the large pots. He cupped a hand beneath a wooden spoon filled with thick, red sauce and conveyed it to Frau Alke's face. "It is sex on the tongue, no? A bowl of my fine pasta, a bottle of equally fine wine, and then a night of hot, steamy love with the estimable Dieter, your husband. Do you not love life?"

Frau Alke closed her eyes in pleasure. The sauce was thick with chunks of tomato, garlic, basil and onion. "Delicious," she sighed.

Gilbert plunked his wine bottle down on the table loudly. "Enough! You will have her coming where she stands, you shameless fool. No wonder my brother left."

Mention of Ludwig and how he'd left effectively quashed the festive atmosphere. Feliciano turned to the stove, lips set in a line. Gilbert grimaced. He hadn't meant for it to sound like that. His mouth usually got him in trouble. "Look, I'm sorry. I just meant that-"

"No apology is necessary." Feliciano turned from the stove with the pot held by small hand towels. He set it on the table and began ladling pasta and sauce into large bowls. "I'm sure I'll be right as rain once I'm back where my behavior isn't considered such an abnormality."

Frau Alke set the freshly baked bread, still steaming, on the table and began slicing it. She cast a sad look at Feliciano's lowered face. Herr Honda had his face lowered as well, in deference to Feliciano's shame and the somber, strained atmosphere in the kitchen. Gilbert drank defensively, sorry he'd opened his mouth, and Dieter wished, as any good servant would, that he knew of some way to ease Feliciano's pain.

There was a brief spell of silence as new butter was taken from a cask and slathered on the bread. Feliciano served everyone, including Dieter and his wife. Gilbert, oppressed with the silent accusations he perceived from the rest of the group, sought to correct his mistake. Maybe if he stated proof of his block-headed brother's feelings… "He'll miss you. I know he will."

Feliciano's smile held such sadness that everyone who witnessed it felt their insides twist. "You don't have to tell me lies, Signore Gilbert. I doubt Ludwig will be the slightest bit upset."

"Upset about what?" Ludwig asked.

All heads turned to the wide kitchen doorway to find the master of the house returned from his travels.

-oOo-

Ludwig had not taken his Adler-Trumpf when he'd left three months ago. Nor had he been met at the train depot in Berlin; he hadn't sent word ahead of his arrival. He'd hired a horse and ridden through the villages outside Berlin until he reached his own. He was happier than he could remember being in a long time as he entered the gate to his property. He imagined his household would be in a state of pleasant shock upon seeing him, most especially one young man with brownish red hair and brandy-colored eyes.

What he had not been expecting was to find his home as dark and silent as if abandoned, and no one responding to his calls of their names. Dieter, especially, always made it a point to be within hailing distance of the front door. He'd walked the rooms of his house in growing alarm, finding no one and nothing. He'd finally lowered himself to go to the servants' quarters, only to pass the kitchen on his way there and discover a scene that rooted him in place.

He had the stunning thought that this was what war was meant to achieve. It was meant to achieve peace, to erase the boundaries set up that separated nationalities, cultures, and social classes. An epiphany descended on him, wherein he thought, I have run from the very thing I am trying to achieve. It was here in my house all along.

His eyes lingered on the one person in the cavernous kitchen that seemed to draw his eyes like iron to a magnet. He paid no attention to the conversations, preferring to study the lithe form of Feliciano. The man had on an old-fashioned shirt that was white and extremely loose. The collar was open halfway down his chest, and the flowing sleeves were rolled up. Watching the dexterous and highly competent way Feliciano handled a blade as he finely chopped garlic and parsley had brought on another revelation, one that rocked him as the previous one hadn't done: Feliciano was not a bumbling, addle-brained idiot…he was only a bumbling, addle-brained idiot around him. Ludwig viewed this ability of his proximity to unnerve the Italian as irrefutable proof that Feliciano loved him to distraction. Literally to distraction, and the exclusion of all else. Behold, his staff sat in rapt absorption of whatever Feliciano was saying. Herr Honda was seen looking at Feliciano with admiration. Even his bastard of a brother, who was rarely seen outside the eastern wing of the mansion, sat bandying words with Feliciano. All of this lent credence to the fact that Feliciano was a man of some depth and wit. No one person could hold so many different personalities in thrall otherwise.

The mention of his name brought him out of his reverie so that he'd spoken without thought, without realizing that the atmosphere in the kitchen had changed.

Every face turned toward him, but the one face he was interested in lowered again immediately. Feliciano was seen sprinkling the freshly chopped parsley and garlic on the buttered bread.

-oOo-

Dieter was the first to break the silence. He jumped up from his stool at the table to go quickly to his employer. He gave a short bow and dry-washed his hands as his words tripped over themselves. "Sir! Forgive me, but you sent no word ahead that you would be arriving tonight. I would have prepared your rooms…" he finished faintly. He stopped speaking as Ludwig advanced slowly into the room.

Ludwig had eyes only for Feliciano, who was diligently ignoring him. "Upset about what?" he repeated more quietly.

Forks clinked in the sturdy ceramic bowls as Gilbert and Kiku ate their pasta. Frau Alke disappeared immediately to see about readying her master's room and lighting a fire in the hearth. Dieter likewise left to see about his duties. Kiku kept his eyes lowered to his plate, allowing Ludwig and Feliciano that much respect and privacy, but Gilbert sneered openly at his brother's lowered brows.

Feliciano wiped his hands on a small towel. He did not look up. "I'm leaving. My brother should be here shortly to escort me home. I told him I didn't need to be fetched like some wayward boy, but you know how older brothers are…"

Ludwig watched in fascination. He'd never before realized just how much of Feliciano's rambling was only done in his presence. He'd had no idea that he had such an effect on him. Then he blinked. "Leaving? Escort you home?" His face slackened and went numb as the meaning hit. "You're leaving Germany?"

Feliciano kept the towel in his hands, and hoped it masked the tremor in them. He looked up at last and found the blue eyes round with shock. That strong face was a kick in the gut, but he steeled himself to say what he had to say. "You seem surprised. I know you like to believe I'm stupid, and maybe I am about some things, but your behavior after that night was clear. You don't want me here."

Ludwig struggled to think around his rising anger. He remembered waking up on the floor in his den, with Feliciano draped over his chest. The man had murmured sleepily, and tried to kiss him. He'd turned his head aside with a small curse, already late for retrieving Herr Honda. He'd rolled away from Feliciano's warm nudity unceremoniously, thrown on his trousers and boots, and quickly left the den. The week following that night had been characterized by him going out of his way to avoid Feliciano's clinging attempts to tumble him into bed again. He'd turned a deaf ear to the flowery words of love, and a blind eye to the openly suggestive attire, or lack thereof. Looking back now, he hadn't even considered that Feliciano had noticed his discomfort. The man seemed blind to everything, and routinely ignored Ludwig's wishes.

"I'd hoped that maybe I could change your mind, if I showed you my feelings," Feliciano was saying now. "But if you felt you had to stay away from your own home for so long, then I have no business here. I'm not wanted, and I'm not crude enough to turn a man from his own hearth."

Ludwig stared at the serious face as if he'd never seen it before. Really, he never had seen this side of Feliciano. "I have returned…" Which was his way of asking if the young man might reconsider.

Feliciano continued to astound him by showing that he'd picked up on the question. Looking Ludwig directly in the eye, he said, "Germany is a cold place. Too rigid. Unfeeling. Devoid of life and love." Tears welled in those amber eyes now. "And I can't live without those things. I just can't, Ludwig. Better if I go where I know I'm at least wanted. Excuse me."

Ludwig swayed slightly when Feliciano brushed past him to run out of the kitchen.

He'd hurt Feliciano with his avoidance and absence, Ludwig realized with wonder. Feliciano had taken every insult he'd hurled at him in the past and kept right on smiling, but even he, it seemed, had his limit. Ludwig's callous disregard had done what all his previous words and actions hadn't; succeeded in opening Feliciano's eyes to the fact that his love wasn't returned.

But it is, Ludwig thought suddenly as his resentment surpassed his shock. He was inexplicably angry that his visions of coming home to welcoming arms were so thoroughly shredded. He turned for the doorway, meaning to follow Feliciano, and was brought up by his brother's smirking face. He'd quite forgotten the presence of Gilbert and Herr Honda.

Gilbert wiped his mouth with a linen napkin as he finished his food and sat back in his chair. "Seems you've managed to screw up at last, brother. I say, if you're done with the adorable rascal I'll be more than happy to take him off your hands. What do you say?"

"Go fuck yourself," Ludwig spat as he strode purposefully from the kitchen. "And get out of my house!"

-oOo-

Herr Honda looked distressed at hearing the ultimatum. Gilbert set him at ease. "He's always telling me to get out. He never actually throws me out. This is my home too, no one's kicking me out." He swigged from his wine bottle.

Herr Honda, or Kiku, as he'd allowed himself to be called, watched the older man across from him surreptitiously. Depression and dissatisfaction hung around him like a cloud. It only lifted whenever Feliciano was around to lighten the mood. Now that the Italian was leaving, Gilbert-san would no doubt disappear to his wing of the house again, where he spent whole weeks and months at a time. He searched for a topic to keep him downstairs awhile longer. "Antonio-san will be here tonight. Soon, most likely. Will you still attend the world meeting next week?"

Gilbert grunted. He'd been asked to represent Germany while Ludwig was off gallivanting, but now that his brother was back, he saw no reason to go. He hated being reminded of his powerless state. He, Antonio, and Kiku were to have gone together. "I think I'll stay home."

"It could prove enlightening."

"How so?"

Kiku gave a delicate shrug, already drowsy from the heavy Italian food. "One never knows what will happen at these meetings."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. He appeared to think, but then shook his head slightly. He stood to head back to his room. "My brother can take his rightful place. He's a swine, but well-suited to his position."

Ludwig ran into Dieter as he neared the wide foyer, and asked curtly where Herr Vargas had gone. He was told in stammering tones that Feliciano was in his room packing, even as the doorbell chimed loudly. Dieter rushed to answer it.

A man Feliciano had shown him a photograph of stood on the threshold, looking displeased and identical to Feliciano himself. Dieter welcomed him inside. Ludwig was able to spot a car parked in front of his house before the door shut.

The newcomer looked Ludwig up and down with a disdainful curl of his lip. "Lovino Vargas," he said by way of an invitation. "I'm here for my brother."

Ludwig turned for the stairs without a word.

Dieter offered a smile in apology for his master's rudeness. Lovino dropped his bag on the floor. "Contemptible asshole."

Feliciano's door was unlocked. His trunk was open on the floor, and he was in the process of filling it with clothes. Ludwig entered, paused at seeing this, then closed the door behind himself. He twisted the brass key and locked it for good measure. The key was dropped in his pocket. Feliciano glanced up at hearing his door locked, noted the actions with the key, but bent his head to resume packing without a word of protest.

Ludwig noted this behavior with interest. The man had another key, or was confident he could get through a locked door with no trouble. Both possibilities added to the revelation that Feliciano was not helpless. Seemed helpless, yes, but was in fact nothing of the kind. This knowledge quickened Ludwig's blood, as did thoughts of what he planned to do shortly. He waited patiently until Feliciano had closed and latched his trunk, and had set a brown leather valise on top of it. Feliciano took his great coat and a scarf from the closet.

"I heard the doorbell," he said as he tugged on his coat.

"Yes. Your brother has just arrived." He marveled that there was flour on the man's nose and little bits of dough and parsley still on his hands. Unkempt as ever, and just as absent-minded in Ludwig's presence. I fluster him.

"I should go, then. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Feliciano."

His hands stilled in wrapping the scarf around his neck. The way Ludwig said his name, with his German accent, always made his knees go weak. "Don't."

"I cannot let you leave."

"You can't stop me."

"Oh, can't I?"

Feliciano looked at him then, over one shoulder, and Ludwig was both startled and excited to see a hint of anger in the golden eyes. He'd never seen Feliciano angry. The thought set his pulse to a throbbing tempo.

"Ludwig." It was said warningly.

"I apologize," Ludwig cut him off. "For my behavior after we were together, but surely you understand that your…wildness, for lack of a better term, is unseemly? I accept that we have feelings for each other, but-"

"You're unbelievable."

The words, spoken quietly, halted Ludwig with their fury.

"You always seek to control everything," Feliciano went on. "Everything, down to your feelings, which even now you can't bring yourself to admit completely. You should have walked into my room now, which I deliberately left unlocked, and told me in no uncertain terms that you love me madly, and that you can't live without me. I know you do. And if you really had an interest in keeping me here, you would have said so. But no, everything has to be on your terms, your way. Always, everything has to follow a certain order. Your life is all about rules and routines, and anything that doesn't follow either goes right out the window, is that it? Well, I have breaking news for you, Herr Beilschmidt. Passion is neither controlled nor capable of being confined to rules and order. It lives and breathes on its own, as it lives and breathes between us. You think that what we feel for each other is common? So common that you can throw it away? On the contrary, it is more rare than black diamonds. You know this. You feel this, and yet you walked away. And now you stand and tell me that you cannot let me leave, and I'm to interpret a locked door as evidence of your feelings? Forgive me, but I am not swayed. I won't live in your cages."

Ludwig could not remember ever being so fundamentally appalled in his life. He was left, in the aftermath of this remarkable speech, with a sense of having grossly misunderstood and underestimated his ally. He realized with private horror that he didn't know Feliciano. Not at all. "Feliciano…I've apologized," he said awkwardly. "I am here now, what more do you want of me? I won't turn you away again, that I promise."

Feliciano looked aside and shook his head, as if dealing with a simpleton. He uttered a word in Italian that Ludwig knew to be a foul curse, one that had his mouth parting in dismay.

"You are a child. Yes, a child," Feliciano emphasized when Ludwig spluttered in shock. "When it comes to people and emotions you are as ignorant as the brat who thinks all can be forgiven with an apology. Words. Only words. They mean nothing, Ludwig."

A stew of dull rage, chagrin, and deep offense reddened Ludwig's face. He was nearly incoherent with his surprise at this unprecedented and unforeseen turn of events, but he was not completely speechless. "I am no child," he grated.

"Spoken like a mature adult."

The sarcasm was razor sharp; Ludwig winced as he felt it cut him. Feliciano took hold of his valise and started toward him, obviously intending to leave, even if he had to go through one tall and broad German to do so. Ludwig had never before felt this sense of events not being in his control. At least, never this strongly. He was off balance, teetering, and thus eager to grab onto any safety measure. He held out a hand beseechingly to Feliciano's set face. "Please. What would you have me do?"

Lovino walked around the den, where he'd been made to sit. He was asked if he would like dinner, to which he'd declined a reply. The servant who'd shown him to this room, later wheeled in a cart of covered dishes. He recognized the smell of home cooking. His suspicions were confirmed when the cover on the largest dish was whisked away to reveal a plate of steaming agnolotti and fresh bread. He knew his brother's handiwork when he saw it. No doubt it had been prepared in honor of his arrival.

There was no table in this den, only a desk and chairs, a sofa. The food was set out on the desk. Lovino turned a chair to sit at the plate. "How much longer will my brother be?" he asked as the servant poured rich red wine into a stemmed glass.

"I cannot say, Herr Vargas," Dieter responded quietly. "I will see that he is alerted to your wish to depart."

"Thank you." He tucked the napkin provided into his collar and took up the silver knife and fork. He'd been traveling for days, and there had been scarcely anything fit for consumption since leaving Italy.

-oOo-

Dieter left the den just as the doorbell rang again. He opened the door to find Herr Carriedo standing there with a modest traveling bag at his feet. A round of enthusiastic greetings was foisted upon the rattled butler, after which the Spaniard was ushered into the den with Herr Vargas, who glanced up as he was eating.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo took one look at the Mediterranean features he knew so well and felt his skin tighten. His ready smile faltered. "What are you doing here?"

Lovino sniffed at the rudeness. He returned his eyes to his plate of food, and resumed eating. "Now that you're here? Leaving as soon as I can." He ate a last heaping forkful of pasta, gulped a mouthful of wine, and stood up. He threw his napkin down after wiping his mouth, and strode toward the door.

Antonio shut it with a snap and stood in front of it. "I think not, Lovino. I'm heartily sick of this stand-off between us. It's been years-"

"Move."

"And I won't continue like this."

"I said move, or I will move you."

Antonio crossed his arms. The smirk on his face was devilish. "I invite you to try."

The valise was on the floor between Ludwig, and where Feliciano now stood facing the windows on the far wall. The question hung between them still, growing heavier with each passing minute. It seemed to gather additional questions to it as well, unspoken, yet heard clearly by both of them. It boiled down to whether or not Feliciano forgave Ludwig, and if so, would another chance be given. These were the questions that went unasked, but that had Ludwig stiff as a board with tension. His hands were knotted into fists by his sides, and his back was ramrod straight. His chin was lifted. He watched Feliciano's slim back with unblinking eyes. It was the posture of a soldier being upbraided or awaiting commands. In times of stress, Ludwig often fell back on his years of service. It was this love and need for discipline in all things that had this current mess on his hands, but it was a habit he was unable to break. He waited, breath held.

"Do you love me?" Feliciano finally whispered.

The words, soft as they were, nevertheless released Ludwig's mounting dread in a torrent of emotion and feelings that had him briefly sinking toward the floor. His breath escaped him in a loud exhalation. He managed to stand upright, calling on the same discipline that had stood him in good stead all these years. "Yes," he said hoarsely. He was shaky with relief, but aware that things were far from fine yet. "Yes."

Feliciano turned from the dark window. His eyes were equally dark, and appeared stark in his face. His fingers clutched at his coat sleeves tightly. "To what extent?"

Here, Ludwig knew, was where the potential lay to botch things irreparably. He'd never been good at expressing feelings of any sort, and he had no experience whatsoever with the kind of wordy, poetic declarations that Feliciano seemed to need. And so, though the feelings raged within him, constricting his breathing, and drying his mouth, he was left without the means to express them. He stood with his lips parted, and his eyes staring. In his defense, he brought up something that had been mentioned a few minutes earlier. "You said words mean nothing. I have no words strong enough to convey my feelings."

Feliciano was impressed. And he understood Ludwig very well, knew of his many limitations. "I will use your word. Wild. You said I'm wild, si? Do you love me wildly?"

Ludwig swallowed, but did not shy from the admission. He met the brown eyes across the room with some measure of pride on his own face. "Yes."

"Passionately?"

"Yes."

"To the exclusion of all else? Enough so that you will never, ever again attempt to stem the tide of your need for me?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Show me, then. "

Show him. Highly provocative words. They were a command, an invitation, a challenge; incendiary. Ludwig hesitated only a moment before nodding once, slowly, as he unknot his tie. Feliciano's arms remained tightly folded, but his eyes followed the German's movements as the heavy tunic was removed, and the shirt beneath it hung on the doorknob. Ludwig undid the three buttons fastening his fly.

At this point, he dropped his hands by his sides and simply stood that way for a few moments. He didn't like to have sex forced upon him like this, but he couldn't let Feliciano walk out of his life either. He tried to remind himself that he'd followed him up here with the intention of soothing his ruffled feathers with kisses and intense fucking, but all of that had flown right out of his mind at being faced with Feliciano's righteous wrath. Besides, he thought, the things he'd admitted were true. And by God, he would see that yon brazen Italian knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt.

Feliciano looked his fill. The pale shoulders were so impressively wide, tapering down to a lean waist. The chest and abdomen rippled with muscle in the lamplight. The crotch of the uniform pants bulged noticeably over healthy male organs.

Saliva pooled in his mouth at remembering his one night with Ludwig. He'd been a virgin to physical love, but that wasn't to say he was a stranger to the human body. He'd seen countless male appendages, as well as females in all their particular splendor. He'd had the privilege of beholding some truly spectacular love rods, and Ludwig's was right up there with the memorable ones. Long. Thick. As hard as tempered steel when fully roused. The eggs beneath Ludwig's mighty weapon were capable of producing enough cream to sire an entire army of blond Germans, if Feliciano remembered correctly. The saliva filled his mouth and he swallowed repeatedly, suddenly uncomfortable in his great coat. He raised heavy-lidded eyes to Ludwig's face.

There was a warm, compact feeling of intense gratification in the pit of Ludwig's stomach at seeing the look of unadulterated desire on Feliciano's face. Desire for him, even after his bad behavior. A man could ask for nothing more from life, but to be cherished as he so obviously was. A man was validated in such a look as Feliciano was currently giving him. The gratified feeling sank lower, into his loins, which proceeded to respond by swelling heavily along his thigh. It was a heated club against his skin.

He walked to Feliciano, unhurried. The atmosphere of the room was unutterably fraught with sizzling anticipation on both men's parts; one expected to be fucked to within an inch of his life, the other was a life-long over-achiever and meant to demonstrate his commitment to unfailing excellence by fucking the other into a sex-induced coma. Their blood burned and raced in their veins as the distance between them shrank. Feliciano actually began to sweat with the heat of his rising desire. Ludwig's nipples stood as stiffly as he himself did. When he'd reached the shorter man, he put a hand on his folded arms. Feliciano dropped his defensive posture and stood expectantly.

Coat and shirt were whisked off together, briefly blinding Feliciano in the flurry of garments. A thick arm snaked around his waist, lifted him, and his trousers were treated in a similar fashion. They were dropped, along with his shoes. He thought he would be put down then, but instead Ludwig's other arm joined the first and he was lifted higher.

It was a jaw-dropping display of Ludwig's physical power. His large hands gripped Feliciano's slim hips and lifted him so that he was able to nuzzle and lick around the smaller man's exposed genitals. Being so high off the floor left Feliciano dizzy. He gripped Ludwig's wrists as he opened his mouth to protest, but then the attentions to his groin swept over him. His head dropped forward on a sigh.

Ludwig's warm breath fanned lightly over the soft, pink pouch before he fit it entirely into his mouth. Feliciano left off sighing to cry out. The way he squirmed and kicked his legs at the gentle sucking made it difficult to hold on to him, but Ludwig stiffened his arms. He lifted him higher still and pushed his face between the slender thighs. He lowered Feliciano just enough so that he was sitting lightly on his face, with the majority of his weight still supported by his arms. Ludwig bit and sucked his way around the sensitive stretch of skin between anus and scrotum, before latching on to the puckered hole itself.

Feliciano arched strongly on a sob of naked pleasure. He gripped the blond hair between his legs, bit his lip, then cried out again as his hole was sucked harder. His legs flailed helplessly until he was able to get his knees awkwardly on Ludwig's shoulders. The constant belief that he would fall, coupled with the insanely intimate sucking on his ass had him nearly faint. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as vertigo and pleasure combined to have him swaying precariously. But Ludwig held him firmly. He could feel his fully engorged cock leaking down the bunched muscles of Ludwig's back.

Feliciano was slowly lowered long minutes later, until his feet were only a foot off the floor. The strong arms were around his waist again. He leaned his head weakly against one solid shoulder. Soft-lipped kisses were pressed along the back of his neck and in his hair, as he was carried to the bed. Ludwig took a few seconds to shed his high boots and trousers, before climbing in beside him. He rolled and covered Feliciano's body completely with his own.

The days were cold now. The room was kept warm, but it didn't warm Feliciano half so well as Ludwig's hot weight did. He closed his eyes on a smile, the better to feel.

Their noses rubbed together for a time, sliding along each other, before Ludwig took bold possession of Feliciano's mouth. It was unlike the kisses they'd shared that night; this time Ludwig kissed with his whole body. His hands roamed roughly, one behind Feliciano's neck, the other holding the moaning Italian's arm down. Then they were on his slim chest, in his hair, laced with his fingers…Ludwig's thighs nudged Feliciano's wide and he settled himself between them. The intimate contact of their groins, with nothing hindering the sensation of skin on skin, wrung excited whimpers from one, and a low grunt of hunger from the other.

All the while, Ludwig humped and undulated on Feliciano's body, kissing him fiercely the entire time. He humped and humped, more and more forcefully, until he was all but fucking Feliciano into the mattress, though no penetration had taken place. His mouth was greedy, hard, bruising. So desperately hungry, slanting this way and that. Feliciano was no better, gorging himself richly on the tongue provided, loving the intrusive thrust of it down his throat. He broke away only once to pant, "I…I'm coming!"

A gruff reply. "Come."

It hampered neither man in the slightest, and when, shortly afterward, Feliciano's knee was grabbed and pressed upward until it rested on Ludwig's shoulder, he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. He'd dreamed of this for three lonely months. He felt Ludwig grasp his own cock in one hand and rub the broad head over his seed-covered hole.

Ludwig tortured him. He pressed the tip of his dripping cock to Feliciano's puckered flesh, then retreated. Pressed again, and then drew away. He did that several times, pushing just the tiniest bit farther each time. Feliciano wanted it. He wanted it rammed into him the way it had been at their first mating. This drawn-out exercise wound his nerves to the breaking point. Each time the velvety tip pushed against his hole, he relaxed his sphincter, trying to suck the big cock into him. Little kissing noises, faint sounds of the minute suction of his ass grasping at the round head could be heard. Again and again Ludwig pressed and withdrew, leaning up on one hand to see between their bodies. His hair was free of its usual slicked back style to hang over his brow and ears. "Please," Feliciano begged. "Please."

The begging, accompanied by Feliciano's writhing and ragged breathing, excited Ludwig unbearably. He held to the pulsing hole this time, pressing until his cockhead suddenly popped past the tight ring of muscles there. The young man beneath him gasped, and Ludwig could well imagine the pleasure that caused him to shiver. Almost immediately he pulled out again with another small popping sound. This went on for some time. He fucked Feliciano with just his knob, causing the younger man dire distress as far as pleasure went. Feliciano was limp, almost keening in ecstasy, by the time Ludwig shoved all the way in without warning.

"Uhhnff! Lu-!"

Another jerk forward of his hips cut Feliciano off with a strangled yell. Ludwig leaned down to his contorted face. "I love you this much," he grated between his teeth. He punctuated his words with a hard, driving thrust. "And this much." Another thrust. "Here, do you feel that? Do you? Do you? Do you?"

The four-poster bed was sturdy enough to withstand a bomb, yet it creaked with the force of Ludwig's violent attentions. Made to bare his soul this way, challenged by Feliciano's words and his threat to leave, Ludwig cast all inhibitions aside and positively assaulted the poor Italian with his lovemaking. He reveled in the violence, though, was spurned to greater thrusts by Feliciano's loud yells and whimpering mewls. His eyes fell on the white silk scarf Feliciano had been wearing. It had fallen on the pillow when he'd taken off his coat and shirt. Ludwig leaned up on his knees now, and took a firm hold on Feliciano's hips. He stilled his thrusting.

-oOo-

Feliciano's eyes widened to their fullest extent at feeling himself turned on that unyielding cock, turned like one would turn a pheasant on a spit. The sensation of his inner canal twisting along the veiny length, the sheer friction, had him screaming shrilly, even as he came in an explosive rush. Ludwig turned him until he was on hands and knees, trembling from exquisite pleasure and not a little pain. He had to lean his head on his forearms as a wave of dizziness threatened to have him fainting for real. Ludwig leaned over his back and took something from the pillow by his head. He couldn't care less what it was; he was nearly senseless in the aftermath of his latest orgasm, and ready to sleep.

He was pulled up sharply by a fistful of his hair. He opened his mouth to complain at this treatment and had the twisted length of his scarf set between his teeth. Now he yelled, but the sound was muffled against the material. He sensed the ends of the scarf being gathered in one of Ludwig's hands, and sure enough, his head was pulled backward at a sharp angle by the scarf, the way one would jerk the reins on a horse. He started to drag at the cloth digging into his cheeks, but had both wrists grabbed and restrained behind his back by Ludwig's other hand. He was left like that, kneeling, tilted forward, with only the scarf held in Ludwig's fist to keep him from crashing face first into the wall behind the bed. He felt movement behind him. A moment later, Ludwig's warm breath caressed his ear.

"Now, my little Italian stallion. Let us see how well Germans ride, ja?"

Feliciano tried to speak, only to have the scarf, and subsequently his head, yanked sharply.

"Nein. No words. Allow me to show you, as you said."

Ah. He'd forgotten that Ludwig did not like to have his authority challenged. Nor did he tolerate ultimatums. That he'd allowed either only demonstrated the depth of his feelings. Feliciano let this knowledge soothe him. He remained still, feeling the hot cock throb in time to Ludwig's heartbeat deep inside him.

Ludwig spread his knees for balance.

It was well that Feliciano was gagged. The heavy amounts of precum leaking from Ludwig helped to lubricate his barbaric thrusts, but he didn't need this to know his German was in a state of high excitement. Bondage was a fetish of his, or so he'd heard, and now, being able to indulge in it, Ludwig was unstoppable. For himself, Feliciano screamed around the gag, and felt tears of intense and unbelievable pleasure course down his cheeks. He bit the scarf savagely, pulled his wrists futilely, but there was no escaping the brutal pounding of his ass. Due to the angle of his body, that wild cock stroked past someplace inside him that had spots dancing behind his lids, it felt so good. A spate of breathless, guttural German escaped the man behind him, no doubt lustful words of pleasure. He felt his climax build and crest again swiftly, and his cum flew out of him in wild arcs fanned by the swinging motion of his cock. Another vicious thrust that skated across that place in him, and a smaller orgasm rocked through him. By now the only thing keeping him upright was the scarf in his teeth. He blacked out briefly, only to surface and find himself still being fucked out of his mind. Ludwig now had both feet on the mattress, his knees bent sharply to allow his relentless hammering to continue.

Only later, much later, did Ludwig finally allow Feliciano to collapse on the bed. He pulled out of him and dropped beside him, deliciously spent. A few minutes passed as his body shut down in a tiny nap. He knew nothing but sweet peace for that short time, until a moan by his side roused him again.

He rolled to Feliciano in concern, belatedly realizing that he'd behaved like a brute. All manner of apologies and pleas for forgiveness were ready on his lips, but Feliciano only snuggled into his side with a soft murmur. No anger, no recriminations, no comments on his lack of finesse. Feliciano accepted him as he was, rough parts and all, and loved him still. I can do no less, he thought with a sleepy smile. He thought for a long time, while he held Feliciano against his side.

This wasn't once or twice or three times. It wasn't a temporary arrangement, or something either of them could escape. Remembering Feliciano's speech when he'd walked into this room, Ludwig gazed down at the handsome face. He brushed a finger along the red indentations the scarf had left on Feliciano's cheek. The man was sleeping soundly.

Ludwig dropped a kiss on his nose and buried his face in his sweaty hair. He closed his eyes. "Ohne dich kann ich nicht leben (1)," he whispered.

(1) I can't live without you.