Gerita Fluff

Gerita Chpt. 2

He slowly stood up, running his fingers through his hair. The little Italian mans blush shone through his face. He took a deep breath.
He hurriedly wrapped the leftover pasta in a Tupperware, and put it in the fridge. He turned of the TV and exited the house. The walk to Germany's was about 4 or 5 countries over, and he made a note to avoid a few of them.
As he walked up the front steps, his knees buckled. He fell over, and started to softly cry. Apparently, the supposed "Softly" wasn't soft enough, because the door creeped open a bit.
"Ugh, Italy." The tired sounding German voice said, when Italy looked up, he saw the man in a pair of dark green pants, and a black tank-top, "Why must you always get yourself into trouble."
The German man picked the brunette up of the steps, and took him inside his home. The house was incredibly clean, and Italy would have noticed the smell of metals and cleaning supplies lingering around the place, but he was to involved in another sent.
Germany smelled amazing in Italy's book. The smell was reminiscent of old, battered, clothing, sweat, metal, Clorox, and something entirely indescribable. Something undoubtedly German, but not like the harsh Germany Italy knew so well. It was almost, sweet. And kind, and forgiving.
Italy was rendered speechless as the German sat him on his couch, and told him to take his pants off.
"W-What?!"
"Italia, you cut yourself on your upper thigh, I can't get to it if you're pants are on."
Italy gulped, and closed his eyes, and did as he was told.