FIC: Fields of Sunshine
Fanfic masterlist here.
Title: Fields of Sunshine
Length: 2,150 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex scenes (outdoors)
Genre: Tee-hee
Characters, Pairings: Spain/S.Italy
Summary: Good harvest equals good mood. Good mood equals "Christ, can you get your clothes off any slower?"
Notes: Filled for the Hetalia Kink meme. Original request: Spain/S.Italy. Sex in a tomato field. I CUT NO CORNERS.
Romano wiped away the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand, standing upright and casting his gaze around the lush green fields dotted with plump red tomatoes as brief distraction from his self-appointed task of harvesting. The air was humid but sweet, the fertile earth vibrating with the hum of distant Spanish guitars that strummed a song from his boyhood, sky a faint orange that cast a fiery glow across the land. Vaguely wondering about the time, he picked a stick up off the ground and held it above the back of the palm of his other hand. He was Italian and had no use for watches, so makeshift sundials did the job just fine. The shadow cast made it clear that it was halfway through the afternoon siesta he generally indulged in, and he tossed the stick aside to pick up a full basket, more than ready to head back and make up for lost napping time.
"Spain, you bastard!" He called out across the field, squinting as a head of curly black hair popped up among the crops and swivelled around in search of him. A, "Yes, Romaaaaaano?" was the sing-song reply that accompanied Spain's lazy search of the younger nation. He had his back towards Romano and only just realised it when Romano approached, only a few steps away. Those dark green eyes lit up and he smiled fondly, hands full with his own basket to be able to envelop Romano in the usual hug.
"Isn't the crop marvellous?" He gushed excitedly, making Romano roll his eyes. "We can make some delicious gazpacho with this!"
"Whatever," Romano replied, with significantly less bite than he had employed in his childhood. Their relationship was much less antagonistic now and Romano had, insistently, grown up. That didn't mean he was any less a brat. "I'm damned tired and hungry."
"Okay, okay,” Spain replied with a grin. "I have a little bit more to do, so you go take your basket to the tree and go wait inside the house, okay?"
"I'll kill you if you're late," Romano grumbled out of habit, nevertheless obeying and trudging towards the little hill that overlooked the entire tomato field. There was a single rain tree there that was centuries old - a little younger than Spain, as he had been told - and its branches reached out to the sky, providing perfect shade for mid-harvesting breaks. He placed his basket down by a few others, all of them brimming with tomatoes, and he sat down leaning against the tree trunk, staring at black curls among a sea of green and red, fingers absentmindedly playing with the grass by his thigh.
Before long, he got to his feet and brushed away the dirt from the seat of his trousers. He was starting to get drowsy under the midday sun and the thrum of the earth, and if he planned on taking a nap, he was going to do it on flatter ground. He shuffled down to the base of the hill and absently ran his hands along the leaves of tomato plants as he scoured around for a patch of earth to lie down on. He encircled the hill halfway before he managed to find a good stretch that shaded him from the sun. Romano laid down, pillowing his head with both hands as he closed his eyes and began to snooze.
Romano never dreamed very much when he slept, and when he did dream, they tended to be abstract and ridiculous things he forgot by the time he awoke. The featherlight touches tracing the curve of his nose and lips were dreamlike and comfortable in the warmth of the tomato field, and as Romano's head lolled gently to the side, he heard a familiar voice cooing his name. He didn't respond at first, vaguely aware that it could be his imagination running wild, but the voice grew that little bit louder, that little bit more real, more tangible. He allowed his eyes to flutter open reluctantly.
"Roma," Spain's face was out of focus and silhouetted, but the Italian could hear the indulgence in his voice. "Querido, you're too big for me to carry you anymore."
"Liar," Romano drowsily protested, only too aware of the amount of strength Spain possessed. "You singlehandedly conquered the Mayan civilisation."
"Aw, Roma," Spain tittered adoringly. "You make me blush, hijito."
"You're too damned noisy," Romano grumbled sleepily, about to drift off again.
There was a content sigh from above. "You look so comfy."
Romano was trying to come up with a good comeback in his half-asleep state, but whatever quip he had diminished into an unintelligible mumble that was almost appreciative when he felt Spain brush away the bangs from his face and kiss his forehead softly. Those fingers stroked the side of his face gently, in a familiar gesture that Romano would incapacitate himself before ever admitting openly that he enjoyed. He could feel Spain's body heat pressing up close against him, his warm breath rolling across his skin in soft puffs. He smelled of soil and chili and tomato, significantly earthy, though he suspected it was mostly due to the fact that they were on the ground in a field of ripe tomatoes, and the more Romano allowed Spain to indulge him, the more he felt how close and very present Spain was, lying there in the dirt on his side by Romano.
Those fingers flattened against his cheek and slid down to his neck, thumb caressing his throat as Romano unknowingly tilted his head closer to Spain to allow him better access, which the older nation was more than delighted to take advantage of. He opened his sleepily, heavily lidded and still somewhat unfocused, but they connected with Spain's warm gaze. In that moment, the thumb on his throat stopped and Romano didn't react as Spain leant forward to capture his lips in a kiss. He felt, rather than heard, the sigh against his mouth and those hands began to move again.
"So damned hot," Romano mumbled, receiving only a chuckle in response as those lips began to kiss along his throat and those fingers pressed into the slightly quivering muscles in his stomach. His breathing quickened as lips gave way to a tongue and his shirt pooled higher and higher with Spain's wrist, exposing his chest to Spain's wandering mouth. Spain lapped at one of his nipples with a Spanish laziness that all at once endeared and infuriated him, and Romano's own hand found its way to Spain's hair, fingers curling into those dark locks, pushing slightly, insistently.
He could feel that smile on his skin as Spain began to move lower and lower, kissing and biting gently as he did so, hands working him out of his trousers now. "Take your damn clothes off," Romano complained. "Just looking at you makes me feel like I'm gonna roast to death."
"Aw, Roma," Spain grinned. "You should just tell me you want to see me naked!"
"I will never say that," he ground out, a little too awake for his own good, flushing as he glared at Spain who only laughed and mentioned something about him being 'cute'. Spain complied anyway, tossing all their clothes aside once they were both properly undressed.
He settled back into the cool earth and the grumbling dissolved into groans and soft, hitched breaths as Spain took Romano's cock into his mouth and sucked lazily. He took his time, licking long and slow along the underside of Romano's cock, curling his tongue around the head and bobbing his head up and down, sucking gently all the while. It was driving Romano insane at how much more sensitive he was when Spain took it at his own pace, slow and gentle and not at all like how they usually did this. He felt Spain grip his cock tightly and gasped, shuddering as Spain began to pump him a little faster, tongue travelling lower, toying with him almost painfully in his newfound hypersensitivity. He licked along and under the delicate skin of his balls, only stopping to hold Romano's hips down when the thrashing got too violent for him to handle. He hoisted Romano's waist up, gently pushing his legs against his torso to grant him better access to his lower half. Spain continued to pump Romano, this time at a more leisurely pace, as he busied his tongue with Romano's asshole, coaxing it until he was able to slide his tongue in and out with a little ease.
"Dio," Romano's voice cracked, breaking into a rare lapse of Italian in Spain's presence. "Troppo lento, idiota."
Spain replaced his tongue with his fingers, relishing the twitching body beneath him as Romano gripped both his legs back and basically offered himself up to Spain. 'Lento' was a shared word in Spanish and Italian, and it made Spain grin a little. Slow? Oh, Romano had no idea how slow Spain could be if he wanted to. He felt just a little mean then and decided to tease the younger nation a bit.
"Roma, your face is so red, like a tomato," Spain's grin widened a little at the indignant splutter Romano managed as he pulled his fingers out and released his grip on Romano's cock. "It makes me want to eat you all up."
"You're just all fucking talk!" Romano shouted desperately, flushing even more so as he grabbed the pendant hanging from Spain's neck with one hand and yanked him forward. "With absolutely nothing to show for it, you dick!"
"Ooh, I don't think so," Spain replied wickedly, supporting his weight with both his hands on the ground, flanking Romano's sides. "I think I've shown off quite a bit."
"If you don't fuck me right now," Romano growled, eyes narrowing dangerously. "You will have no more vital regions of which to speak."
Spain affected a slight (yet completely in-character) squeak for show, already positioned and very ready to partake of Romano's willing body. He rarely managed to get Romano in such a generous mood and he was going to milk it for all it was worth.
The initial thrust was sharp, but it didn't hurt as much as the sting of fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. He repositioned himself quickly, pressing back Romano's thigh with one hand and holding himself up with another hand on the ground as he began to thrust into Romano steadily, gaze half-lidded but completely focused on Romano's wanton expression and provocative voice. He moaned out a string of yeses and harders and please for fuck's sake faster but Spain refused to let the pace increase too much. It frustrated Romano to no end, too slow and too overwhelming, and Romano began rolling his hips back into Spain's to urge him on, but the country of passion, as he liked to call himself, was fully in control and completely enjoying the slow torture. Romano felt his entire body shaking from the flood of sensations and he came with a gasp. He laid there on the ground, chest heaving slowly, vaguely aware of the erratic pace that overtook Spain for a moment before he too collapsed on top of Romano.
They stayed there for a moment, eyes almost closed, feeling dead to the world as their heartbeats calmed down slowly from a frenetic tarantella-esque pace. The scent of tomatoes and earth and musk hung in the air heavily, sky even more fiery now that the sun had begun to slip from the sky. The strumming guitars had long since faded, now replaced with the incessant cricketing of cicadas and breaths that were only starting to cool down.
Romano limply raised a hand and curled his arm around Spain's neck, pulling him closer for a slow kiss, openmouthed and sweet and deep and he closed his eyes. He felt teeth nibbling gently at his lower lip and sighed as Spain budged closer and changed the angle of the kiss. His fingers threaded in thick, curly, sweat-drenched hair and for that single moment, time inched to a halt. Everything regained its dreamlike quality and Romano wondered if he'd been having a particularly good nap when Spain finally broke the kiss and gently pulled Romano up to sit. They dressed with minimal fuss, amidst an idle discussion of football ('soccer' as America always insisted to deaf ears) and dinner, and by the time they had returned to the main house with their baskets of tomatoes the sun had finally set.
EPILOGUE
The next day, when Italy came back from his walk through the fields, neither Romano nor Spain acknowledged the dirtied pair of tomato print boxers he found as their own.
Spain did however get a headbutt afterwards for cooing over how cute his little Romano was for wearing tomato undies even after all these years apart.