Summery: Romano is forced to attend his family's masquerade party. But the night may end up going in his favor when he meets a mysterious masked Spaniard.
Warning: fluff and cuteness
Notes: Valentines Day present for mein1gift. I hope you don't mind the way I handled their relationship. If they don't know each other, that's pretty equal (but I may be wrong so if I am I'm sorry) and they do mutually like one another in the end uwu.
~*~*~
“I can’t fucking believe I have to do this.” He grumbled under his breath while yanking on the ribbons.
“Ouch! Don’t be so rough!” Felicia yelped, massaging her breasts from the rough chafing they went through.
“Sorry. I’m just so pissed at Grandpa.”
“I know, big brother. Trust me, you’ve been very clear about your dislike for parties.” She went to her vanity and put some makeup on her face. Romano fidgetted with his tie for the upteenth time. “It’s no big thing. We’re only gonna entertain people while Grandpa deals with business.”
“I’m used to the old fart’s stupid parties. I’m just happier when I can hide in my room and read.” He sighed. His grandfather, caretaker for him and his little sister, was a rich old tycoon who sold land and got up close and personal with enough corrupt politicians to bankrupt the United States and then pay the economy back in order. That was a pretty big deal in the 30s, so soon after the Depression and the second World War. The two siblings were as pampered as grandchildren could get.
Tonight was his biannual party. He’ll be inviting a bunch of his rich friends over to talk business and get them drunk and happy. Felicia will be inviting all of her friends and friends of friends so that she won’t get bored. Grandpa insisted that Felicia be looked after, since he’ll be busy. Therefore, Romano has to go to a party full of strangers for a whole night.
Felicia pouted at her brother’s less than amused expression and went over to give him a hug. “Just bare with it for a few hours, for me?” She pleaded. “I promise, fratello, once people start going home, you can go to your room and read the night away. I’ll even bring you a glass of wine.”
“Promise?” He eyed her skeptically. She bobbed her head in agreement and he nodded begrudgingly, kissing her forehead. “For you, I can suck it up.”
“Yaay!” She cheered. “Let’s go downstairs, then. I don’t want to keep my friends waiting~. Oh, right! Almost forgot the masks!” She rushed back to her closet and pulled out two similar-looking masks. One was black with gold glitter in star patterns, the other was white with silver glitter in swirls and moons. She handed Romano the star one. “Remember, do not be a spoilsport and take it off. A masquerade is supposed to have an element of surprise and, if everyone knows that you’re you, it ruins the whole illusion.”
“It’s a stupid piece of glorified cardboard, idiota. I’ll be recognized anyway. Masks are useless.”
“Masks are veils between worlds and people. Once you wear a mask, you’re a whole other person. It’s so mysterious and romantic!” She glared at him. “So do not mess this up for me, mister!” She turned and walked out of the room while securing her white mask on her face.
Romano stared at his mask. The eyeless holes stared back at him blankly, the glitter shining under the light of the chandelier. He slowly put the mask on and stood there for a moment, staring at the vanity mirror. He felt absolutely no difference and the only thing the mask succeeded in doing was making him look like the Phantom of the Opera. His lips twisted into a permanent scowl and followed his sister downstairs.
~*~*~
It was 8pm and the house was filled to the brim with guests, all with different masks upon their faces. Romano was forced to mingle with a good amount of them while Felicia made her own rounds around the house, hugging and kissing everyone she met. When Romano saw her again, she kissed and hugged him as if on autopilot before realizing it was her brother.
“There’s so many people here and I can’t recognize any of them!” She explained before rushing off to greet more guests.
Romano managed to find the kitchen and get some food without getting trampled, giving the death stare to anyone that dared to get near. At some point, he heard the band start to play and everyone seemed to calm down and thin out the crowd. Some people went outside to dance and some people stayed in. A good handful went to other rooms, including the kitchen. “There goes my hiding place.” Romano griped when he left.
Romano wasn’t actually someone who hated parties. He liked to dance and chat and flirt. He even flirted with a few of the pretty ladies, who tittered and batted their eyelashes at the sight of any man. He just did not feel comfortable in these big fancy parties full of strangers. He wasn’t nearly social enough to handle them like his gramps or sister did. If possible, the masks made it worse. No matter how different and exotic a mask looked, they all started blending together in his mind and it made it hard to tell who he knew or met before.
What’s worse is that he had been hit on by ladies and males alike over and over, and he can’t even tell which is which! He made the mistake of offending a lady by accident and felt like crying. One guy with long hair came onto him and Romano egged him on until a very big and rough hand grabbed his ass. The guy ran away with a stupidly annoying laugh.
At some point, he ended up on the veranda, staring out at the perfectly sculpted garden with its shaped hedges and fountain. He would’ve happily stayed in that spot the rest of the night. However, Romano’s night just wasn’t going to end up that way. “Hola.” A voice came from behind him. Romano’s light smile turned into a frown yet again as he turned to look. A rather tall and built person, most definitely male, was standing before him. He had chocolate brown locks and his green eyes were shining through the holes of a red and yellow mask, though his smile was the one thing that lit up the area more than any party lights.
Romano felt an instant hate for him. “What?” He rudely snapped. Romano waited for a cheesy pickup line or some invitation to grab a snack or to grab his ass again.
“Mind if I join you?” The man gestured to the empty space beside Romano. There was a distinct accent in his voice, a sort of smooth melody. He was probably the type of guy that had ladies swooning where they stood. Romano would’ve kicked him out on his ass, but he promised his sister that he wouldn’t throw anyone out without asking and hell knows where she is now.
“Knock yourself out.” the Italian snorted, turning away and looking out at the garden. He felt the man lean against the railing beside him and sigh pleasantly.
“It’s such a beautiful garden, isn’t it? The owners have really outdone themselves.”
“Mm.”
“I remember back in Spain, the gardens there bloom year-round. Sometimes, I miss that warmth of the sun. It’s not the same here.” He sighed wistfully.
“Yeah…” Romano raised an eyebrow. ‘So, a Spaniard, huh?’ “America never compares to Europe, no matter how hard they try.” The Spaniard chuckled at that.
“What country do you come from?”
“My family originated from Italy. My sister and I were very young when we moved here.”
“Ahh, that explains the lack of accent. I was afraid I had insulted another American at this party.” Romano snickered under his breath and the Spaniard smiled at him.
“Doesn’t take long to insult an American. Just say hamburgers taste awful.”
“They do, don’t they?”
“They’re half decent if cooked right. They just never are.” The two men laughed gently, stealing glances to make sure no Americans heard them. Small talk continued on between them. The Spaniard had apparently moved to America recently, no more than 4 years ago. His friends brought him along to the party.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t like parties like this. I’d rather have a small party, with all my closest friends, just drinking and talking like we have been.”
“Oh fuck, those parties are the best.” Romano agreed. The Spaniard looked shocked for a moment, then chuckled. “What?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just haven’t met someone I’ve had so much in common with.” His smile became softer. Romano felt his face get hotter.
“O-oh. Well, you just haven’t been around long enough.” He looked away self-consciously.
“I supposed not. Even so, it’s such a pleasure to have a conversation with a good friend. It’s hard to do in big parties such as this. No offense to the party throwers, of course.” He added as an afterthought. Romano smirked a little, amused that this man was telling the brother of the host that this party sucked ass. Then, the first part of what the Spaniard said hit him.
“Since when the hell did I say we were friends?” He accused. The Spaniard blinked.
“We aren’t? Aww, that’s a shame. It was so fun to talk to you, yah know?” He pouted like some 5 year old. Romano didn’t respond, even though he agreed with him. That felt like a problem, agreeing with someone so often. He has never done that, not even his own family.
Back inside the house, the band started playing a bouncy jazzy tune. The Spaniard perked up and smiled largely. “Oh, I love this song!” He grabbed Romano by the arm and ran inside.
“Woah! What the fuck?! Why did you bring me in here?” Romano yelled over the babble of the crowd and the music.
“Well, we can’t listen to the music from out there very well, can we?” He shouted back. Romano grumbled and let himself get dragged to a slightly empty space in the crowd. Everyone around them was dancing in huddles or in pairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Spaniard swaying his hips to the music as well. Suddenly, he grabbed Romano’s other wrist and pulled him closer. “Wanna dance?” He all but purred in his ear. Romano shuddered.
“F-fuck you, I don’t even--” Romano stopped himself, remembering his sister’s words. It’s true that he barely knew this Spaniard, but then, that’s the point of a masquerade. “Sure.” He sighed. The Spaniard smiled in delight, those green eyes of his twinkling happily again. He let go of Romano’s wrists and held out his hands palms up. Romano put his hands in his and followed the man’s lead.
They stayed in the space while they danced. Hips swayed in sync to the music and hands were intertwined as they moved together. The music soon changed into a slower song. The Spaniard pulled Romano closer and their hips melted until they moved together as one body. Romano couldn’t even find it in him to push the man away. He was having far too much fun.
They danced through almost every song that played for the rest of the night, only taking breaks to get a drink. At around midnight, people started to leave and Felicia announced from somewhere that the night was coming to a close and that, if anyone needed a ride, to find her for a car to be ordered. Romano paid little to no attention, choosing to enjoy the last dance of the night with his new friend. Once it was over, he and the Spaniard went to get one last drink. While sitting at the bar, they heard a shout. Romano couldn’t hear what they said, but the Spaniard looked up. Two men, one of them the long-haired not-female that groped him, were waving at them. “Ah, those are the friends who brought me here. I should probably go.”
“Already?” Romano felt his spirits drain. “I mean, fine, okay.” He turned to his drink. The Spaniard smiled and took his free hand.
“I had a lot of fun with you tonight. I hope one day, we'll meet again.” He leaned down and kissed the back of his hand. Romano blinked, turning red.
“Y-yeah, maybe someday, we will.” He flashed the slightest smile. The Spaniard smiled brightly and turned to leave. Romano turned back to his drink, sulking again, when he heard running steps behind him.
“Wait, I didn’t catch your name!” The Spaniard asked, startling him.
“Uh, Romano.”
“Romano…” He said his name, tasting it on his tongue while rolling the r subtly. It gave the Italian goosebumps. “It’s great to meet you, Romano.”
“Antonio, come on!” Those friends of the Spaniard were calling.
“Coming! Well, until we meet again, Romano.” He smiled and ran off again. This time, Romano watched him go, a strange new warm feeling spreading from the kiss lingering on the back of his hand to his heart.
Antonio.
~*~*~
For the past week, Romano couldn’t stop thinking about that night, the dancing, and most of all Antonio. That mysterious Spaniard with his green eyes and bright smile filled every thought in the Italian’s mind. He tried to ignore it at first, insisting that it was stupid to dwell on someone he didn’t know anything about. But, as the days passed, Romano daydreamed about the man. He recalled their conversations about those silly Americans and their respective homelands. Every joke, every anecdote came flooding back.
What he most enjoyed thinking about was the dancing. When he closed his eyes, he could see and feel it all. The warm hands on his or enveloping his waist. Their hips touching. Eyes locked on one another’s, green to hazel. How his heart pounded after every song, no matter how slowly they moved to it.
Finally, Romano threw in the towel and admitted it to himself: he missed Antonio. He wanted to hang out with him again. Problem is, he knows little to nothing about him. They didn’t exactly exchange phone numbers or email addresses or normal addresses. He didn’t even know his last name. His only hope would be to see some sort of guest list.
He stood outside of his sister’s door late one afternoon. He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. The only possible chance of him getting to know Antonio in person was to get a guest list from that night. That list, if it even exists, is currently in his sister’s possession. She may be ditzy at times, but Romano wouldn’t be able to fool her. If he asked for the list, she’d get suspicious. He’s gonna have to tell her about Antonio no matter what.
Romano sucked in a deep breath and knocked on Felicia’s door. A bright “come in!” came from the other side. He opened the door and stepped in. His sister was currently combing her hair in front of her vanity. She spotted him in the mirror and beamed. “Roma, hi! What brings you here?”
“Hey Feli. I, um, have a favor to ask.” The pit of his stomach felt heavier and heavier with nerves.
“Okay, shoot.”
“Do you have a guest list from the party a week ago?”
“No.” His heart sank.
“O-oh…”
“But” she continued her thought. “the guests did have to sign their name for entry.”
“Oh, alright! Could I see it?” Felicia turned in her chair to look at him suspiciously.
“Why do you wanna see it? I thought you hated that party.”
“Not true! I-I mean, I did, but now…” Romano stammered, then took a deep breath and looked at his feet. “I might have… met someone.”
“Ohhh~?” Felicia purred, instantly interested. “My brother, the charmer~.”
“I-It’s not like that, I swear!”
“Oh hush, fratello, you don’t have to be ashamed! I’ll be glad to help you find your bella. So, what’s her name? Maybe I know here.”
“It’s, um, Antonio.”
“That’s a funny name for a lady.”
“It’s not a lady!” Romano snapped, blushing furiously. Felicia blinked.
“Ohhh. Huh, I never would’ve guessed. You’re always so cold to my guy friends, but then again, we’re related to grandpa, so there’s always that…”
“I told you, it’s not like that!” Romano grumbled and hid his face in his hands. Felicia stopped talking and waited for her brother to speak. “He and I really had fun talking and dancing, so I just wanted to call him up, you know? Hang out and all that bullshit.” His voice slowly faded. There was a long silence before Felicia replied.
“Alright, big bro, I get it. I’ll help you get in touch with your new friend.”
“Thank you.” Romano sighed in relief and managed a smile.
They spent the rest of the day looking through the ridiculously big sign-in sheet pile. Over 1,000 people came to the party and they had to narrow it down to one. Finally, after pinpointing 3 Antonios, they found one that seemed to be a good match. He was the only Plus 1 for a guest: Gilbert Beilschmidt, annoying brother of Felicia’s best friend. She also invited Francis Bonnefoy, who Romano recalled to have long blonde hair and an annoying laugh. His signature was right before Gilbert’s, so they probably came together with his Plus 1. It’s the only scenario that makes sense, but they did note down the other Antonios as a failsafe.
Romano went to the phone the next day and called up Gilbert. After some teasing and yelling, he coughed up Antonio’s phone number. It took a long time of calming his nerves before he sent the Spaniard a text.
“Hey, it’s Romano from the party. Gilbert gave me your number.”
The answer came not 2 minutes later.
“Hola! I didnt know u knew Gil! Its great to talk to u again!”
“Yeah, he’s my sister’s friend’s brother. It’s great to talk to you too. How you been?”
“Ohh, cool! Ive been great! Mostly working this week. Havent stopped thinking about u”
Romano blushed and replied furiously. The conversation went on for hours before Antonio had to go to work.
“Hey, wanna meet up tomorrow? Ill get off work early tomorrow and we can have dinner.”
“Sure, why the fuck not? Where do you want to eat?”
“Carrabba's? Im getting the employee discount there~”
“You work in an Italian grill?”
“Yup! So, what do you say?”
“Alright, then. Better serve some good fucking food.”
“Fantastic! Its a date, then!”
Romano stared at the text for a moment. “A date…” The thought seemed alien. He had been on dates before, but not since he was still in college. Then again, this wasn’t even a full date. He was just going to eat dinner with a friend, that’s all. Nothing more than that.
Tomorrow came along. Antonio texted the details of where his place of employment is and expressed his excitement for seeing Romano again. The Italian called him an idiot, got dressed in semi-casual clothes, and took his car to the restaurant. It was packed with families, friends, and lots of couples. The whole inside had a slight pink look to it, but Romano thought little of it.
Romano went to sit down at an empty table, playing with his fingers and listening to the cashiers call out numbers. The longer he sat, the more nervous he got about seeing Antonio again. They didn’t have their masks on anymore; the illusion and mystery was gone. What if Antonio was disappointed in who he was behind the mask? What if Romano hated who Antonio really was? The thoughts buzzed in Romano’s head and drove him insane.
“Romano?” The Italian froze at the familiar voice. His name flowed like a melody, a subtle little roll at the r while his tongue tasted the name. He turned to see a bright pair of green eyes coupled with an even brighter smile. His hands were behind his back, but Romano remembered how they looked and felt. He wasn’t wearing the fancy suit anymore, but a nice shirt that hugged his body and jeans. His hair was full of chocolate locks. There was no mask anymore, which didn’t worry Romano anymore, since this Spaniard in front of him was just as cheerful and handsome and sweet-looking as when he wore that mask.
“Hey, Antonio.” Romano stood, a little shy despite himself. He held out a hand to shake. Antonio smiled wider and rushed at him to give him a huge hug. He stiffened and awkwardly wrapped his own arms around the bigger man. His shirt smelled like sweat and tomato sauce.
They broke out of the embrace and went to go get their food, Romano ordering spaghetti and Antonio getting a burger while giving Romano a sly wink. Once Romano convinced Antonio that they split the bill, they ate and talked for a while, sharing a few things about one another. They stayed long after they finished their food before checking the time and realizing they’ve been sitting there for 4 hours.
Antonio walked Romano to his car in small silence. Once they got there, Antonio spoke. “It’s been so fun to see you again, Romano. I’ll admit, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the party.”
“Really?” Romano ducked his head shyly.
“Mmhm! Talking to you, laughing about how stupid Americans are, and especially the dancing.” He laughed in delight at the memories they were both recalling.
“Me too…” Romano admitted sheepishly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you either.” He gave the Spaniard a halfhearted punch to the arm. “Could’ve left me your number or something before leaving like that, you fuckface.”
“Ahaha, I’m sorry. It was dumb of me, I know.” Antonio rubbed the back of his head. When they reached Romano’s car, they stood there for a while in silence.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you later.” Romano muttered.
“So does that mean we’re friends now?” Antonio smiled teasingly. Romano snorted out a chuckle, thinking about it. ‘Friends’? For some reason, it didn’t sound right, but for the sake of argument, it’ll have to do.
“Yeah. We’re friends.” Romano managed an amused smile.
“Hurray!” Antonio cheered and dashed forward to hug him tight. This time, Romano hugged him back properly.
“Okay, okay, get the hell off, you idiot.” Romano shoved him away and pulled out his car keys to unlock the door.
“Hold on! I have something to give you!” Antonio started rummaging in pockets. Romano watched him with a raised eyebrow. Finally, he pulled out a card. “Here you go!”
“Um, thanks.” Romano took it. He tried to read it, but it was too dark outside to see much. Just as he was about to get into the car, Antonio leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. The Italian froze in surprise.
“Well, good night.” Antonio grinned as he walked away.
“N-night.” Romano managed out, still standing there for a minute after he left before finally climbing into his car, grumbling about the ‘stupid bastard fleeing’. Curious, he turned on the car, flicked on the light, and stared down at the card. In big letters, it said:
ARE YOU THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA?
Romano frowned in confusion. “Phantom of the Opera”? He opened the card.
If not, say you'll share with me
one love one lifetime
Be my valentine?
Romano read the card again and again, a slow smile building on his face and laughter threatening to burst out of him. He completely forgot that today was Valentine's day. Not only that, but the Spanish moron got him one of the sappiest cards ever. He put the card onto the passenger seat and backed out of the driveway, driving home with the goofiest smile on his face and laughing every so often.
‘Friends’... that most definitely doesn’t sound like the right word.
Kitt = St. Kitts and Nevis, a former British colony
Leon = Hong Kong
José = Portugal
Rated K
Mochas
Just this once, Romeo would like to not attend the annual Vargas Christmas party. Or, as he liked to call it, “too many people crowded into too little space.” He considered simply not showing up, but he was sure Feliciano would notice his absence eventually and mention it to Grandpa, or worse, Lovino. That was not a risk he was willing to take.
His phone buzzed with a text, and he almost didn't look at it. There was every possibility that it would be from someone in the family wanting something done, and he didn't to right now; on the other hand, it could be from his boyfriend or one of his friends from school. Lo and behold, it was Paula, begging him to take her cousin off her hands. He threw on a coat and drove down to the Kirklands'.
–
There are few things in life that are as much fun as teasing your cousins about their love lives. This is amplified when you have two families, and therefore have more cousins to tease. Right now, Peter's target was Paula.
“So is it Emil? It's got to be Emil, that's why you won't tell me!” he crowed. “You know, I can go talk to him for you, he's my cousin too after all.”
“Don't phrase it like that, you sick dill. It's none of your business, anyway.”
“Oh, it definitely is. I wonder if that's why he dropped Ceramics this semester? I mean, I know you're in a whole bunch of those art classes, maybe he couldn't stand to break your heart every time you looked up.”
“Honestly, Juliet, cut out the earbashing already. And quit grinning like some kind of shot fox, you imbecile. You look like Bruce when you do that, and that's not a compliment.”
“If you don't give me a straight answer, I'll tell him!” Paula crossed her arms and looked pointedly away from him. Peter pulled out his phone and opened it up. “Let's see, to Emil... 'Paula says that she thinks you are the cutest boy in school and that she really really likes you, and she asked me to ask you if you would go out with her, love, Peter.' How's that sound?”
“Peter, I think it'd be best to recall that Emil's accent is thick, not his head,” came a voice from near the door. “Your uncle let me in. I think he's your uncle? The blond one.” Romeo. Peter's cheeks turned red almost instantly, and he didn't even try to fight it. It wasn't his fault that he had possibly the single hottest boyfriend in the history of ever, and it's not like anyone was sober enough to care except Paula and maybe Kitt or Leon.
“That's all of them,” he said, and waved Romeo over. “Don't even worry about it, whoever it was is probably hammered enough they thought you were Her Majesty the Queen herself, never mind any pesky details like the fact you're a ginger.”
“And 19.”
“And a guy.”
“Though they did hit the overly-dramatic prominent European family nail right on the head,” Paula interjected. “Go do your flirting thing in a coffee shop where the rest of us sane people don't have to listen to you.” Romeo seemed to take this as an opportunity, and he grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him up and close.
“She's right,” he whispered in Peter's ear. “Let's go on a date, sí?” Peter was pretty sure that blood wasn't supposed to leave your head that quickly. Romeo just winked and headed toward the door, Peter's hand still in his.
About ten minutes of walking down brightly-decorated streets later, Peter noticed they were near a small coffee shop run by one of the extended Vargas cousins. “Rom, let's get something warm to drink, it's freezing,” he said, smiling mischievously. When Romeo nodded, he changed course and headed straight for the coffee shop.
–
Romeo still got butterflies in his stomach whenever Peter looked at him. The twinkle in his eye, his earnest smile and penchant for mischief, his flawless hair that was so difficult to tame. He was simply the most handsome and funnest guy to be around, and it was still hard to believe he was actually going out with him, even three months in. He was so caught up in Peter, in fact, he almost couldn't answer the question. As Peter led the way, Romeo used his free hand to raise up his scarf and cover his slowly reddening cheeks.
They walked together in silence, simply enjoying each others' company, until they reached the coffee shop. When they walked in, a man with a short brown ponytail laughed, and Romeo's smile froze.
“Well, if it's not my favorite cousin! What'll it be, caffè moracchino?”
“Because I need that at night on the 23rd, José. No, I trust you'll fix me one before Mass like the rest of us. I'll get whatever this one's getting,” he replied cautiously.
“You on a date? Fantastic! Whaddya want, blondie? It's on the house, courtesy of the Montagues.” Romeo's smile melted into a quiet chuckle as José tried to explain the intricacies of Good Coffee to an English boy and said English boy was far more inclined to just get peppermint mochas. As the night moved on and the mochas were drained, as jokes were exchanged and whipped cream was kissed off a nose, Romeo thought that maybe the Christmas reunion wouldn't be so bad, after all.
So I have a question about your secret santa exchange! Is there a sign up submission process? In other events there was a place to sign up by saying your name and a few requests/prompts. Are we doing something similar, or is our reblog enough?
No…I just should be a small secret santa thing (I don’t really have time to check all these things….). That’s why there are no requests.
If you want to find out what the person you got would like to have anyway you can still ask them anon-questions about it.
But since it’s about spamano I guess requests arn’t that necessary!
He held my hand, planting a soft, gentle kiss onto it with his dry, parch lips. It was faintly warm, warm but not comforting like he probably had meant it to be. How could it be comforting? When he was holding onto to me so weakly, barely able to grasp my shirt, and yet, he tries. It was heartbreaking. It was dark and bleary and all I could do was cry. Cry for reasons I couldn't imagine ever happening, and cry for reasons I knew I couldn't prevent. His lips moved slowly, his word as audible as a whisper, and I leaned in to listen.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Spamano, SpaBel, France, Prussia, Mentions of Hungary, Veneziano, Netherlands, USUK and GerIta
Warnings: Cheating Partners, Fail Sex, then Real Sex.(Does badly written smut count?)
Word count: 5,978
Rating: M
Summary: "I hate you." Were the words that remained unspoken as silence settled in between them. Romano hasn't spoken a word to him and Spain doesn't expect him too--after all how do you say 'I'm sorry?' But if they both stay silent, then how would they know what the other needs?
Note: Happy Valentine's Day!!! I'm sorry it's so late! Tumblr likes to eat my submissions.
Trembling hands clenched upon his throat spoke the words of a six week silence as he pressed, with hands Spain once thought delicate, the tired air from his sleepy throat.
'I hate you' were the words that begged to be spoken yet remained concealed beneath tight lipped silence as he stood in the wide porcelain kitchen filled with tomatoes mere feet away from the shelf of knives, forks, and glass wine bottles blank faced and staring as his world crumbled apart but was told that it meant nothing, that it wasn't important, how she could understand, but that she hoped they could still be friends, and how she was oh-so-sorry...
Up and down, up and down, up and down, neither could forget the (perceived) image of her wonton breasts bouncing near his face as hisbody moved in unison, spilling out his seed and filling her slippery pink essence white with a long, stretched out moan that mixed with hers--though not quite right-- and capped the night Spain, Prussia, and France went drinking--but Romano stayed home because he expected Spain to do the same and yelled at him when he did not because he only wanted Spain to pay attention--more attention to him--because they were both so busy...
"Have you ever considered that your relationship with him isn't healthy?" France leaned across the table, grabbed his drink and took it back with elegance. "All he seems to do is yell at you."
"That's just his way of showing that he cares about me." He gave another smile but his face was so tired and his friends could see how decades of dating his feisty Italian lover had taken its toll upon him.
Spain never knew why they fought so often or why Romano didn't seem to like him much at all anymore. He yelled at him, screamed at him, called him names; he sounded half pleased and half pained while making love and that bothered him. Did he not want to be together? He sank deeper into his depression at the thought that he may have hurt his love, that Romano didn't want him, that he'd probably been raping him because he pushed him away. He always pushed him away, told him no, that he wasn't in the mood, that he just didn't want too and yet came for more, demanded it and Spain did not understand. Romano used to fight with him, fight for power and for dominance and take control of him but what happened?
Sometimes he laid docile below him, eyes shut and whining as he pushed into him but why did he close his eyes? Did he not want to see Spain's face?
Though he could remember so clearly when it happened; his nervous confession of love for him was so adorably awkward and n sincere that it made his heart flutter with a feeling he never knew but could remember because his face--Romano's burning red and beautiful face--was the same as the feeling he felt. He couldn't have been happier, he knew it was serious and everything appeared to be so permanent from the start, but no longer. They'd come to a stalemate. When he looked at America and England, or Germany and Veneziano he didn't know why his relationship had to have been so different and he hated them for their good fortune. He hated the teasing smiles or encompassing hugs, the public displays of affection that he always wanted but could never have and it hurt him. He didn't know why Romano just didn't seem to love him, why they always needed to find something to fight about, why he never wanted to hug, kiss, cuddle, or sneak away with him...
He just didn't understand.
"I guess I can understand, Hungry always hits me for some stupid reason but at least I know that she doesn't really mean it or anything, but Romano just really seems to hate you..." Prussia put in but of course Spain denied it. He loved Romano and Romano loved him-- but if that was the case then, he wondered, why did things end up the way they did? How did he ended up drowning his sorrows and already halfway drunk by the time Belgium sauntered into the bar to greet them and why he could not remember; though he remembered her smile, Romano didn't smiled at him anymore, her laugh, Romano never laughed with him either, and her sweet voice, Romano only yelled at him for everything he did as she talked with them, until one by one France, Prussia, and other occupants left the bar were gone and it was only him and her in its late hours, them alone and together.
"We should get you home." He remembered her words though he didn't remember his own nor what made him want to stay, spend the night at her place and return to his love in the morning. He was too drunk, too confused, too scared to recall anything other than the fact that he was wrong and although he never had any thoughts of it beforehand, he couldn't stop his hands from touching her as she sat him on her couch. He could remember that, and he would never forget though it was still a foggy haze because wanted to remember Romano, how much he loved him and how he must have been waiting for him and yet there was something that stopped him from that--even as Belgium asked him to stop he did not; the deep shade of pink she turned reminded him of his lover though to him she would never be as pretty. She had long hair to pull, and it was yellow and eyes of green that shinned with pleasure and he had none of that. His eyes shinned with love or at least they used to, his hair wasn't long but he had that curl that drove him wild, and she did not. Romano's body was slender and smooth and perfectly firm and steady as he fucked him and he could do things to him, do things with him that he couldn't do with her. His voice was smooth and low and wonderfully hot when he moaned--she was so different from him, so different from his love how could he stand to touch her? Her voice was pitched high, her body soft and delicate, and she had breasts, soft, big, bouncing boobs and orangey-pink nipples that tasted like beer, or maybe it was him, and hardened as he played with them but someone not as appealing at Romano's. This wasn't the body he wanted to play with, this wasn't the body he wanted to fuck, or the voice he wanted to hear scream out his name, this wasn't the man hes made love too for however many years they've been together. This was a woman, this was his friend, this was their, friend--this wasn't Romano, this wasn't his lover, but despite it he continued on, his mind coming forth with the a drunken rationalization for his actions as she no longer pushed him away but returned his advances until the deed was done, he was cumming inside of her, it was four in the morning, and he was sober enough to realize what he did, know there was no way to take it back, and immediately left without a second look, and although he greeted him like usual he was hurting inside and no longer cared if Romano yelled at him for being late because he knew that he stayed up waiting and worried and although weeks had flown by without him telling him a thing Spain knew that nothing would be the same.
Netherlands was extremely disappointed when neither Belgium nor Spain told Romano what occurred between them that night; because Spain was his lover and Belgium his friend and Romano deserved to know the truth drunken mistake or not.
So, in a fit of guilt and shame, after all she helped Romano confess his feelings for Spain, Belgium visited him one night, crying and apologizing, still wanting to be his friend because to her it meant absolutely nothing. Though to him it meant the world and as she cried he died a little more and more inside. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak--it was as if the hand of God itself clenched over his mouth and prevented his thoughts from slipping through tightlipped silence and clenched teeth. It shut his mouth, pressed his tongue and snatched the words from his angry throat so he couldn't. He wanted to breath, he tried so hard not to die, not to let this kill him because Spain wasn't his entire life, he could survive without him though he knew that there was such little time where he was without Spain because that damn bastard raised him! There wasn't a time when Spain didn't love him, and at first--he resented that.
He resented Spain because he didn't need him, he never needed him, everything was fine before he came, everything was fine with Veneziano, and their Grandfather-- and Spain, and Austria, and Holy Roman Empire, and France could have all gone to hell and now he wished it stayed that way.
Spain could go to hell and relive the skin burning from his bones and turning into ash for the rest of eternity. And Belgium could go with him.
He hated her, he hated him, though he hadn't said it, hadn't said a word about it, and because he never planned to say a word again theexpressions hadn't revealed themselves as Spain finally came home, sauntered in from the short hall, smile dropped and words faded as he watched Belgium fall into tears of desperation before Romano, unfazed, and silently pondering whether or not killing a country was possible, or even worth the effort of trying because Spain didn't love him. It was all a trick, all a trick to make him feel better about falling for the man who raised him. It was a lie so that Spain wouldn't loose his friendship and he knew that, he knew that, he continued to tell himself that as he watched him run off with France and Prussia, as he watched him compliment the pretty nations at the meetings, as he watched him fawn over Veneziano and leave him behind.
His world enclosed. Spain never loved him and now it was clear--you don't hurt the ones you love, he knew that. He didn't want to love him, never wanted to love him because it hurt so bad. It hurt to be ignored, hurt to be lonely, hurt to have been lied too this entire time because, 'Belgium and I are just friends Romano! I love you, so just trust me ok?' was the biggest fucking lie Spain's ever told. He hated him and he could feel his suffocated soul scream in pain though he hadn't said a word.
Though blank walls spoke no judgment and ticking clocks told no tales, life choose Spain; despite the thumbs that pushed powerfully upon his throat, life chose him as death overcame Romano's actions.
He faltered. His honest and determined grip slipped away, going limp as he fell back into the darkness of the creaking bed with a strangled wail of desperate confusion and unending anger...
He hated him, he hated him, he hated him, he hated him, but life choose him.
Veneziano was the first to realize there was something wrong; his brother typically didn't come home to see him, spend the night and sleep together. Although he was never one to read the atmosphere, it was obvious that Romano was upset because he couldn't keep himself from crying as the rain continued to fall, pouring down in southern Italy for days on end. And France was the second; because Spain hadn't been his usual carefree self, he was unusually quiet and bleak. Although he never did admit to the cheating France could tell by the way Romano glared at her, how Spain seemed to be so tired, as his lover avoided his gaze and denied his smiles but Spain never spoke of it, and so neither did he. Speaking would only bring back the pain and humiliation no one ever expected to happen, and so they never spoke. But as the silence settled in between them and the house went cold, dead, and still, the unvoiced sorrow clawed its way through raw throats and sleepless nights like thunder.
Spain watched him move robotically throughout the house, cutting, washing, tinkering, never sending him a spare glance, always moving, but still never speaking. And dinner was no exception. He would sit, for the first time, stare, longer than he had before, and wait for him to complete the meal he suspected to be poisoned yet ate anyway as he awaited the divine punishment he knew deserved for hurting the man who he loved, but still had not come as the eighth week of silence came to a close.
Something had to be done.
Thus, when he found him sleeping on the couch one evening, dinner unmade, heat turned off, and the television glaring quietly and bright lights fluttering in the perfectly porcelain living room playing a program he'd never seen before, he gave him a blanket, turned for the heat, and decided to finally accept the thoughts that have plagued him for so long.
Romano's pain and silence has been far too much for him to bear; he never wanted to upset him, that is why he never planned on him finding out, it was a mistake and he loved him too much to continue on watching him suffer. He didn't know what he wanted or expected from him, but he could assume from very strong hints that he wanted him to leave.
He could hear the clank of his knife hit the cutting board with the precision of skilled hands and he thought of how easily he could put his skill and practice to use as he sat unarmed, typing away on the laptop screen in the dimly lit bedroom later on that same day as he sent long and boring emails to his boss.
Could countries die? He has pondered that before but never more than now. Prussia never vanished when his country was dissolve but Rome did. Yet he was an empire, not a country. Humans died and he never envied that trait until now. What was death? What did it feel like? Was it an escape? Did it feel like a release? Did you forget? Was it like sleep? In sleep you forget your worries and dream sweet dreams or so he always thought but no more. His dreams have darkened; they've become something terrible, something twisted, something dark and fearful-- as he dreamed of himself. Himself how he used to be, the him he wanted to forget with his past conquests. How many has he murdered? How many nations has he tormented? How many wars had he fought? How many people has he hurt and still nothing was worse than hurting a loved one. In his dreams he hurt Romano, he beat him, raped him, tore him apart and it scared him. The world was ending and he made love to his unwilling boyfriend amongst the ashes despite the fact that he'd already killed him. But Spain didn't want to think about that. He didn't have time for his desolate dream world. He didn't have time to be sad because it wasn't his place to be.
He wondered what Romano would cook, why he hadn't left him, and why the bed was never made, if it's one thing he couldn't stand it was an unmade bed-- but then again he never tried to fix it either.
He needed to go.
Though Romano hadn't asked him nor did he want too it wasn't right and wasn't fair for him to stay where he was not wanted. He would stay with France until Romano went back to Italy...
Though he never got the chance to put his plan into action. He never got the chance to express his sorrows.
Had he known that night would break his boyfriends silence with low moans and grunts which filled the air with reds of passion as buttons and ties where snatched, torn, and melted away with the collision of bodies and wrapping of sheets--he never would have planned to go.
Because their sigs and grips sounded perfect, and the feelings of his lips connecting with his and tongues dancing, swirling, within his mouth as the younger nation thrust, with all his might, fucking him mercilessly without rhythm or beat, felt faultless.
Though his movement was quick, clumsy, and not what Spain expected when he entered the room as he worked, he was alright, more than that really. His desires formed into a raging need as Romano kissed him, for the first time in too long, he thought. Spain was able to disregard his work, forget his unanswered question of, 'did you need anything Roma?' and plans to leave as he took him into his arms and returned the kiss with an eager hum of content.
At first Romano stiffed, not exactly sure of what to do or think because he himself didn't know what he was doing, he only wanted to peek and see what Spain was up too and if he fixed the bed but damnit he had needs! He'd denied himself for so long and... He had needs and this damn bastard Spain was the only one there to satisfy them--though he knew that it wasn't true. He loved Spain, and he could control his feelings he didn't need sex because the real problem was that, despite seeing him every day, Romano missed him. He missed him so so much...
So he kissed, moaned, and peeled back clothing as they stumbled toward the bed--and it was easy. It was easy not to think as his lips moved with Spain's, to take control and slid his tongue into his mouth, over his teeth, and draw out a moan-- Spain was so predictable. It wasn't easy to breath, however, because the older nation took his breath away--he always kissed him sweetly, like he loved him, and passionately, as if it would be the last time, and slowly, like he never wanted it to end. Spain was the best damn kisser in the world and Romano didn't need to kiss the other nations to know that--because Spain was perfect, but he wasn't one to sit back and be kissed--he always had to be the one doing the kissing, always the one to do the touching, the trailing of his fingers down his broad chest, the pulling, the tugging, the ripping off his shirt and sliding a hand between his legs. He needed to make Spain's breath hitch; least he get tired and bored because Romano knew he wasn't the best lover in the world, that Spain could easily find someone else due his charm and good looks; he needed to keep him interested, interested so that Spain would at least try to keep his facade...
His body pressed his against Spain's, pulling out another moan and he remembered the first time they made love and their positions were reversed--As Spain stumbled back while Romano pushed and guided him toward the bed so that he may tumble on top with a small grunt--he remembered that it was Spain on top of him. That he was one who touched and tugged and made him scream, and for a moment he paused. Spain was careful, he took it slow, he looked at him with so much love...
Spain paused as well, fearful that he may leave, that Romano may regret what he started and leave him, he didn't want that, he couldn't take that--
"Romano." He whispered as he always did before, or after, and sometimes even during sex--reaching to touch his face, to tell him how much he was loved and adored, but stopped as he saw the somber look on his face and wondered to himself; had he regretted this? Romano turned away, knocking back the Spaniards hand in bitterness before sitting up, his shaky legs touching the floor, over Spain's discarded clothing. "Romano." Spain repeated, now panicked and scared because he didn't know what to do or how to fix this but he wouldn't let him go, he loved him more than anything else and though he messed up he wanted to fix it, a mindset that presented itself to both as he grabbed unto his arm, not permitting him to leave. "Don't go." He asked, his voice now stern though it had no effect as Romano pulled against it, determined to leave despite Spain's tightened grip.
"That's enough Romano!" He yelled. His rare frightening mood showing itself because he couldn't dare himself to lose something so precious. "I don't understand you." He admitted. "I don't. You hate me, don't you? That's it isn't it? You hate me and you aren't talking to me but you didn't leave when Belgium told you what happened! Then you come to me and...What do you want from me?" He didn't understand, he wasn't good at reading other people and even if he were he had the feeling that Romano's actions were too strange for even the most skilled person to understand but he wanted to--he wanted to understand him.
Although he stilled, the Italian personification still hadn't spoken.
"I love you-"
"Shut up!" He spoke, he spoke for the first time and although his words were rude Spain was happy to hear his voice-- and he spoke again. "I hate you!" Finally he spoke, snatching Spain's grip on his arm away as he turned and glared. "I hate you." Again he repeated, staring into the others pitifully hurt expression.
"I know. I'm so sorry Romano."
"I hate you." He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear his lies. Spain didn't love him, how could he?
"I know you do." Spain's body shifted, moving closer to Romano as he wrapped naked arms around body, pressing them together in a tight hug. "I know it isn't enough, but I'm sorry." He told him. Yet how could he sound so hurt? How could he look so broken? So tired? If Spain didn't love him then how could he so easily make it feel like he did when they were together?
He put up with him, he tried to work with him, he made love with him. Spain wasn't mean, and he wasn't vindictive, he was honest and kind and sweet and he wouldn't lie...
"I love you." And though Romano knew this--and he loved him too--both knew it would take so much more than that, it would take more than love, more than devotion, more than care but it would work. Wouldn't it?
He acted. Showing him just much he was loved and cared for, Spain showing him that he belonged to Romano and him alone. He took him, pulling him back unto the bed and into his arms and on top of him where he belonged.
He slid his hands up his body, taking special care to feel every dip and curve of his form before lifting his face and kissing him slowly. Tongues sliding, licking, coaxing over his lovers, tasting him for the first time in weeks; his body and heart as his knee slid between Romano's legs teasingly slow and steady drawing out such of beautiful moans from him that mad his cock swell and harden along with his lovers beneath his thigh.
He loved it--the way they melted together, how perfectly they fit together, how well he knew him; he loved him. He loved him and he wanted to make love to him and how him just how much.
But as Romano growled, clawed his fingers, through Spain curly hair, and steadied himself Spain knew that he wouldn't have control. Twirling, pulling, rasping, knowing what he wanted exactly, Romano had the power and had to issues with showing it. Gasping and panting and attacking his neck, biting and kissing and leaving marks that claimed him as his own as he traveled downward, laying light kisses his collarbone and hearing him whine excited him, it enthralled him and he wondered how he could have ever lived outside of this very moment.
"Romaa." Spain's head fell back, cheeks flared red and already hard and--reaching, running his hand over Romano's ever growing bulge and flexing his fingers-- checking if he was too, Spain could not help but writhe beneath him, begging, pleading, wanting more than what he was giving.
"Shut up." Despite the pre-sex high it was feeling, his chest fluttered as he spoke to him again--even if his words were a mere repeat of the ones before he smiled and brushed his twitching cock through his pants, casing him further discomfort and pleasure to be gratefully relieved as Spain sat up in a rush-- knocking his chest against Romano's lips and sending him back with a hiss. Had they forgotten how to have sex?
"I'm sorry Romano." Spain wrapped his arm around him, keeping him steady in his lap before pulling the Italians nursing hand away from his mouth and kissing it sweetly. "I'm so, so, sorry." Another kiss, another apology.
"Whatever bastard! You're an idiot!" He humped, running his tongue across his lips because--while it didn't hurt as much as he lead Spain to think--he did cause him pain.
"I know. I'm sorry...do you still want to do this?" He remembered his dream, he remember before, how tired and utterly disgusted he seemed to be all those times beforehand and Spain didn't want to make him unhappy...
Thus, as Romano was quiet for a moment--which honestly scared Spain-- before replying with a soft, 'yea,' Spain held in a breath, before leaning to kiss his love.
They kissed again, quick, paced, and hot, doing their best to get back on track.
"Shi-shirt." Spain gasped, not very subtle but his request got the job done as Romano stopped, sat up, and pulled away his shirt revealing the only body Spain ever wanted to love. He couldn't stop touching him, trailing hands and eyes slowly down his abdomen and sides despite their ticklishness, and his need to cry out in joy was surprised but held it in to just smile instead.
"Stop looking at me like that creeper! I'm not a tomato or something!" He flushed, looking away as Spain reached to unhook the button on his jeans and peel back the flaps--
"Because you're much better than tomatoes Romano. You're my love." -- helped Spain pull them off, lifting his hips, wiggling and shimmying out his pants as Spain watched with glee.
"You too...stupid." He couldn't stop himself from inserting the remark as Spain snapped his eyes from him and unworked his own trousers though he appreciated the 'sentiment'-more than that really.
Lovers lay stripped down to their bare minimals as they kissed,( tonguing, licking sucking), touched, (trusting, rubbing) and gasped as if it were the first time, still having yet to push past the clothing barriers which kept them apart. Though both knew better as they'd done this hundreds of times before yet somehow new as fingers tangled dangerously in hair and teeth clanked and bodies twisted awkwardly trying to adjust to one another--Spain nearly sending them flying over the bed as he--oh-so smoothly--tried to reverse their positions and roll on top to be met with failure, a small panic, and a bit of a headache as he saved Romano but not himself.
Yet still they continued on; touching, kissing, moaning as they melted together, hot as heavy, breaths left their thoughts white and blank as everything ceased to exists but each other. And Romano, still on top, moved down. Further than the collarbone he stopped at before and ran his tongue over Spain's muscular stomach --was it normal to find him so damn irresistible?-- and it drove him crazy. He moans and drives his hips upward, begging to be touched and taken--his pleads made Romano's cock pulsate behind his shorts and he palms himself to sooth the ache of arousal that puts him on edge as he mouths the budge of Spain's briefs.
"Romano." He cried. "Don't tease me." He's wanted this for a long time now, he couldn't take it any longer, he wanted to be inside him--or have Romano inside him, whichever he didn't care, he just wanted to be fucked--(which answered his minds earlier debate.) He wanted Romano to make love to him, he wanted to feel him sliding in and out of him, filling him with his essence and making him whole.
So when he slid down his shorts to reveal his very erect member throbbing and dripping with precum he didn't send him a teasing smile as ask Romano to suck him, despite really wanting to, he more so wanted to do this together--
" I want you inside of me." He wanted to do all sorts of things to him. He wanted to pound him so hard that he screamed, he wanted to suck him, to ride him, to do everything and anything he was willing.
Romano did not reply, not with words and instead crawled toward the drawer, took the half empty bottle of lube from its dark home and shook out of his own underwear, exposing himself fully to his Spanish lover and blushing in embarrassment as he was showered in compliments.
"You're beautiful."
"I'm a man..."
"...I'm so sorry..."
"...I know..."
"I love you."
And there was a pause, just a slight one as if he wasn't sure of himself or wasn't sure of Spain but he replied, softly and quietly as he opened the bottle, slapped the behind and squirted, far more of the cold clear liquid into his palm than he needed before replaying.
"I love you too Spain." And rubbing together his palms. "Spread your legs." He demanded, allowing the excess to fall unto the sheets with little care because they'd be washing them soon anyway...
He gave Spain a questioning look.
"I'm ready." He stated, smiled, and lifted his hips to make the job easier as Romano inserted his finger, slowly working his way around the tight ring of muscles. Spain's passage clenched, trying to push him away, but only making him more determined.
"Relax."
He forced a hand between his knees and spread them further still so that his view wasn't blocked and he could wrap his fingers around his cock and move. Up and down, and up and down, just the way Spain liked it. The Spaniard moaned, toes curled into the sheets, and he lifted his ass, meeting Romano's fingers eagerly now that he pumped his cock with eager thrusts and an orgasm began to build. His body relaxed and Romano could feel that as he continued to stretch him, preparing him for what was to come next.
"R-Roma." He whined. "I'm ready." and Romano was happy to oblige him, though it was an impulsive choice yet neither truly cared as he lined his thick cock with his hole and pressed inside of him, watching as it was swallowed in whole. Spains muscles fluttering and clenching, trying to push him out, sent a wave down his shaft. Romano moaned deeply, gave his lips a little roll, and began to move his hips forward, pushing and pulling as Spain's breath hitched, he gasped, and he moaned--he was always the type to trash about wildly during sex, screaming and moaning and begging him for more as Romano's rough trusts continued on-- it was easy to know what he liked even if Spain never said as much and he knew that he enjoyed a rough fuck.
"Ro-ma-no." He grunted every syllable, unable to catch his breath even for a moment as his lover's thrusts become less and less controlled--fucking his needy hole without restraint and enjoying the sensation of his cock swelling inside of him, hitting that sweet spot as his muscles tightened.
The gasps and grunts, and, yeses and whimpers; They couldn't stop. Not this. Not something so perfect and meant to be. The desperate push of his hips, the hisses as Spain claws at his back, the orgasm building inside of him, and desire to share it with his love as he reached, pulled and tugged at Spain's leaking member in that rough manner he knew he liked because he was so wonderfully close to coming undone that he wanted to share it with him, he wanted to end this together and though they don't have the timing quite right it's perfect still as he erupts inside of him as Spain's muscles tighten on a particularly deep thrust--his orgasm coming, spreading throughout his body like a wave and, and taking him over. For a moment he's gone-- lost within the throes pleasure and passion as he feels the white hot fire course throughout his body and shoot into Spain's.
Out of breath, out of mind, and happy see Spain in a similar state, as the proof was spread across his chest as he laid back with a smile, Romano pulled out of him, mustering just enough strength to roll over to his side.
And though they lay together after their sensual assault boyfriends remain unspeaking, unable to find words, and averting gazes.
"Romano." He whispered.
"What?"
"Are...you mad?"
"I'm tired. I need a shower now and-"
"Don't go." He asked, his voice now stern. He wrapped his arms around him and held on for dear life. "Stay with me, we have to cuddle..." He kissed him lightly though it had no effect as Romano pulled against it, determined to leave despite Spain's pleas.
"Let go!"
"But Roma!" He dragged.
"Just let me turn around. Stop whining over everything." He rolled his eyes and turned to face him as Spain wrapped his arms around him again.
"I love you-" He sang.
Spain took him back, pulling him back unto the bed and into his arms where he belonged, his place and only his. "I love you so much It-ta-ly~ you and only you. You're perfect and beautiful and-" Romano flushed, his face completely red when Spain used that name for him and began to sputter before finally deciding on:
"I'm a man you jerk! I'm not beautiful!" Spain laughed, pulling him in, feeling his warmth, and nuzzling closer.
"Then you're handsome."
"You're ok...at best." He snuggled in just a little closer, just a litter nearer, just until he could hear Spain's heart beat and somehow he knew that it was for him, just as his was for Spain.
As it should be.
And together lovers rested, drifting back into the silence of slumber...
Though it wouldn't be the same, nothing would be the same but it would work out because he was no longer silent, neither of them were and that was what mattered the most--love and attention-- they were able to get what they needed...
Should I clarify what I would like to receive? I think I only put down fictions and art, but I would really be happy to receive anything. I don't want to discriminate talent ^^
You can do so if you want. Just send us your new gift request and we'll add it! c:
