Warnings: Incest, non-very explicit sex and homosexual relationships.

Disclaimer: Neither Hetalia nor its characters belong to me; these are works of the great Himaruya, I just destroy his beautiful custom with incestual work with gay relations between countries...

Lovino was hypocrite.

IHe knew this better than anyone.

Everyone thought the basic of him, which was headstrong, bad spoken and grumpy; and he wasn't going to make an effort to change this.

But some, at most a couple of close friends; which were counted with the fingers, they knew, or believed.

Yes, he could be a bastard to others, a guy who liked flirting with beautiful women and a useful-for-nothing.

All he knew was insulting and change his personality in the presence of a lady.

That was not entirely true; because it was very good in the kitchen, he wasn't bad in art and could play several sonatas and concertos in the loneliness of his room.

Of course, everything was overshadowed by his brother.

Feliciano.

Ahhh, Feliciano.

The boy with the brightest smile you will ever know, a hopeless coward, and, to deceive, a bit stupid and innocent.

Couldn't be farther from the truth.

His brother had seen many wars and heard of too many battles, lived experiences that serve to horror stories and struggles that would freeze the blood of the Potato Bastard.

He had been saved by desperate cries of women and brought down with laughter of young children, he had been frozen with fire and burned with ice; but he just would sit in his place, perhaps swinging, letting go that stupid catchphrase and smiling as if he didn't understand anything.

Because, like him, Feliciano was also a hypocrite.

A big and stupid hypocrite.

Yes, he faked his fear of irrelevant things, his pain to unnecessary injuries and that silly smile that accompanied him everywhere.

And no one noticed.

Everyone thought: "It has always been like this so, why pretend it?"

Everyone but Lovino.

Perhaps, were they there with the italian, during the reign of the Mafia, during the height of the punisher Holy Inquisition, during the diseases that kill people on the shoals of Venice?

No, just him.

But of course, nobody will say anything.

Everyone knows the same, feel the same, think the same, they are copies of rough paper whose ink has stained the words written by the pen of life; but... No one will say anything.

They have lived long enough to know that not worth fighting for something that has already been lost.

There were many who tried, for example; Spain, England, or the lands of the Middle East.

Today they keep trying, perhaps silently, in soft whispers that slide down across their lips to get anywhere.

After all, they are all hypocrites.

That's what Lovino would say, observing his handsome brother observe the dark streets of Rome.

That's what he would whisper over the minor's skin, sliding his dry lips over the soft and sweet skin that mimicked the intricate maze of the streets of Venice.

That's what he would think while gets rid of the last clothes that cover the body practically naked of the other Italian.

That's what he would moan in Feliciano's ear as he entered in him, waiting to move while clinging to his bare shoulders.

That's what he would mark on his neck and on his lips, the pettings that weren't distributed and left without being received.

That's what he would shout when he reached climax with his brother, uniting their foreheads and mouths in a desperate attempt to get out of that hell that was immortality, consuming their souls and hearts through the passage of time, which demanded in their knees to stop fighting. But they wouldn't.

That's what Lovino would confess to the sad eyes of Feliciano.

The next morning, no one would say anything, nobody would whisper nothing and no one would yell anything.

They would just smile pretending that aren't broken, that they aren't tired, that they don't hide a sick love.

And no one will say anything.

After all...

Life itself is hypocrite.