Waltz

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Notes: This is a bit of Germany/Italy/Austria/Hungary/Japan written for a request on the Hetalia Kink Meme. The request was a polyamourous slice of life. I know it seems a bit weird, but I promise it made sense in my head. So, some poly slice of life - because believe me, it's not all about the orgies, people.

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It's all a dance, Austria thinks, a smile flitting across his lips as he watches them. He hadn't realized it before because he's so used to hearing the music that the moves look strange without it. Once he knows, though, it's like the music was there the entire time and he's only just hearing it now. It's always there in his mind, a melody constantly changing with the steps. Sometimes it's discordant, when they bicker or disagree, sometimes it all flows together as sweetly as the notes that rise from his piano.

Hungary is teaching Germany how to cook one of her native dishes but the electric mixer does not care much for the blonde, and the feeling is mutual. The tune shifts, the dance twisting into a whirl, like the colors of Hungary's dress as she bustles about the kitchen, the music skittering playfully with her laughter as Germany loses his battle with the kitchen implement and draws back, disgruntled. His annoyance is only a tiny note out of place, smoothing back into the familiar melody as Italy bounds into the kitchen, all leggy, precarious grace and smiles and "Ve~" as he proceeds to lap the batter from Germany's cheek, then from Hungary's as the stoic blonde nation turns the color of a ripe tomato.

Japan has wisely kept out of the fracas, although there's a hint of a smile, an expression that might have gone unnoticed if Austria had been looking for it instead of listening. They both know it doesn't matter, as the playful knot of bodies spills out of the kitchen, Italy with the bowl and Hungary brandishing the spoon with a laugh as she tries to wrest the unfinished dessert from his grip.

The kitchen tiles give way to smooth hardwood floor, and somewhere a violin string breaks as Italy's sock-clad feet fail to find purchase. "Ve~?" And the music screeches, cacophonous, the bowl sliding from Italy's hands - batter landing on the carpet, the furniture; first a few droplets, then a deluge, and it doesn't even register past the tearing noise of an orchestra falling apart. Austria tenses, fingers freezing on the keys as the motion draws out into infinity. The brocaded chair in Italy's path is wonderful to look upon, uncomfortable to sit in, and will not make a good substitute for the flighty nation's internal organs.

Steel flashes and the chair goes flying, three hundred years old and now kindling, but for once the cost is not foremost on Austria's mind. He never even registers moving, but Italy is cradled in his arms, and as he looks down into the foolish golden eyes - expression ever guileless - he hears "Ve~" and the music begins again, soft at first, like his relief. Hungary's hand squeezes at his own as Germany appears beside them, faster than he'd ever seen the large nation move before. Japan has sheathed his katana and is using one of Austria's handkerchiefs to dab at a few splatters on Italy's forehead.

He should scold Italy - foolish, useless Italy - but instead he makes a sound that might have been pain and gives him a tender kiss on top of his head. Italy hugs him, as happy as if he hadn't almost killed himself with his recklessness, nuzzling his face against Austria's neck and making them both sticky. Beside him, Germany rests a hand on his shoulder, warm, and Hungary laughs softly, leaning up to flick her tongue at the clinging clump of batter on his cheek. The music is soft, but still omnipresent, a low warmth that suffuses right to his bones.

They clean up the mess together, a cluster of proud nations - and one idiot - on hands and knees, scrubbing at the carpet with rags and brushes. Hands bump occasionally, each brief touch another step in their dance, then partners change hands and Japan herds Italy up the stairs to the washroom and Hungary smiles as Germany retrieves Austria's glasses from beneath the piano, setting them back on the austere nation's nose with an ease that Austria isn't sure he'll ever quite become used to.

Then Japan comes down and Germany goes up - the only one who ever manages to effectively attend to Italy, in the tub or elsewhere. Austria ignores the suggestive look on Hungary's face as she hints that perhaps Germany could use his help. It makes him think of being sandwiched between the two as Japan's fingers card through his hair and Hungary purrs and stretches like a lioness with her kill. He still has a sense of propriety though, and he tells her that perhaps she should be the one to help them - she's quite efficient after all.

As she heads up the stairs in a cascade of eager notes, Austria settles back at his piano. He frowns as he sees droplets of sticky batter lingering on the keys. Then Japan eases up beside him and he turns. Japan is a strange addition to their orchestra, one that Austria was unsure about to begin with. But Japan wipes the goo from the instrument with a damp rag and the Asian nation's calm is a soothing island in the sea of chaos that surrounds their household. Japan's fingers move over the keys with a touch that is confident but respectful, and Austria allows himself to smile just a little.

He doesn't know how to play, but Austria is willing to teach him. But it's when Japan expresses an interest in his dances that Austria feels a surge of pride accompanying his interest. When three damp, euphoric nations - even if one is slightly embarrassed - come down from the washroom, Japan has learned some of the steps. Germany settles on the sofa, a nation wrapped protectively in each arm as they watch. Then the dancers split apart, catching hold of their relaxing partners and pulling them in. Hungary to Japan, Germany to Austria, Italy bouncing on the couch and making those happy noises of his.

Austria pulls out of the whirl, sliding back into place at his piano as Italy leaps in, grabbing Hungary's hands - graceless, graceful boy and beautiful girl. They exchange partners with no hesitation as Austria bows his head to the keys, closing his eyes and struggling to give the music in his mind a voice with his hands on the keys. He can't see them dancing like this, but in his mind's eye - and ear - they move together in that same intrinsic pattern as his notes. All together and apart, the back and forth of them.. the dance is everything, it's encompassing and it's beautiful and it's something that no one else will understand because it's theirs. Their way. Their waltz.

-fin-

End Note: Poly group dynamics can be particularly fascinating because even with a group of people who form a single unit, the inter-unit relationships are all unique and diverse. It's not always a cut and dried - who tops who or is in charge of who else, although I would say in this group, no matter what the posturing by the boys, Hungary is definitely the one calling the shots. Italy is the low rung on their ladder - the omega - and is treated in several respects both like a child and... well... not. Austria thinks of himself as the voice of reason (and he is - sometimes) but they all contribute to the larger whole in some respect and I imagine them as a generally happy cohesive unit. Sure they have their disagreements and spats, but even two-people units have those. With five viewpoints and mindsets and hearts to deal with, it's bound to be a bit more complicated. But happy. I hope I got that across, at least. It doesn't always take two to be happy - sometimes you're just lucky enough to find four other people who fill in all your gaps. It's not greedy... it's just another kind of love.