[Fic] America/Romano
If I Should Wake Before I Die: Kink Meme prompt: [Romano] wakes up early in the morning after a bad dream, craving some intimacy. [He] starts to talk quietly to [America] who doesn't respond.
Word Count: 1,549
Romano
Romano peers down the dark hallway and wants to shout “What do you want bastard?” back, but finds that he can’t speak.
Romano
Who was calling him anyway? At first it sounds like Grandpa Rome, but the more he listens the less it does. Now it sounds more like Spain
Romano.
or his brother. Either way, the shouting is starting to get to him. He wants more than anything to tell the voice to shut up and leave him alone, but he still can’t talk.
Romano!
It’s not Veneciano anymore, and he’s fed up with whoever it is. He stomps his foot on the ground and turns away, covering his ears with his hands as he resorts to willing the voice away.
Romano
And it seems to be working, as the voice is getting softer. It’s then, of course, when he figures out whose voice it is and his opinion about it changes.
…Romano
Panicking now that the voice is retreating, he chases it down the dark hallway, opening every door he passes and trying to shout something-anything-to get the voice to stop disappearing and fails to do so.
…Romano…
The darkness surrounding him is starting to feel oppressive as he keeps chasing after the voice, keeps opening the doors and keeps trying to shout “Wait stop I’m here! Don’t go!”
“Don’t leave me America!”
The voice disappears anyway, leaving him alone in the silent hallway. He opens one last door with shaking hands and finds a well lit room with two comfortable red armchairs facing a roaring fireplace. Romano cautiously steps into the room, the door shutting behind him, to find America sitting in one of the armchairs, staring at the fire with a cold, calculating look that Romano would never usually associate with him. He steps further into the room, coming around to face him, and sees that he’s also sipping red wine. America only looks up at him when he’s standing right in front of him. He merely turns his gaze, cold as ice, towards Romano, waiting for him to speak.
“…America,” he says when he finds his voice.
America scoffs, sips some more wine, and turns back to the fire.
What do you want?
It was America’s voice, but colder and crueler, and it seemed to come more from the room itself than the man. Again Romano struggles to find his voice, for something to say.
“Please…don’t leave,” is what he finally comes up with, tears in his eyes, “Don’t leave me…”
America lets out a humorless laugh and continues sipping his wine before he looks straight into Romano’s eyes.
Just who the hell are you anyway?
Romano woke up with a start.
He leaned back against the headboard and willed himself to relax, wiping the leftover tears from the dream from his eyes.
“It’s just a dream…” There was no way America would forget about him like that. Sure he wasn’t the best at remembering people’s names and sometimes even forgot his own brother (not that Romano remembered who he was), but he and Romano were, you know, like that. No matter how big of an idiot America was, surely he was capable of remembering his own lover.
But still, the thought of those cold, uncaring eyes, of being lost and alone in the dark, of pushing America away and being unable to find him again until it’s too late wouldn’t leave his head.
“Hey bastard,” Romano muttered, positive that his moving around had at least stirred his bed partner, “I’m hungry.”
No response.
“Did you hear me?” he asked a little louder, “I said wake up and get me something to eat!”
Again, no response.
“…Please?” he tried, starting to panic now, and was only greeted by silence.
“America?” Romano hesitated and moved his hand to the other side of the bed, where there should have been a warm, sleeping America in the act of waking up to give Romano a hug and a kiss, tell him it was just a dream and that everything was alright, and go make him a sandwich.
Not that he wanted anything but the sandwich…
Not that it mattered, because the other side of the bed was empty.
Romano’s gaze darted to the open window, wondering if perhaps he was mistaken and he was still in Italy after all, but the shouts coming up from the streets were in English, and the sounds of the city below had a distinct New York quality to them.
Slight aggravation about being left all alone overcoming his not-quite-panic, Romano slipped on some pants and went off to found out what happened to his lover.
The hallway was dark and creepy at this time of night, not that he was scared, or flashing back to his nightmare or anything, he was just making an observation is all. As Romano wandered down the hallway, opening random doors and finding nothing of interest behind them, his panic, despite his best efforts, increased.
Where the hell was America? What if he was hurt or sick or lost somewhere in the city? The only section of New York Romano knew was Little Italy; he’d be completely hopeless trying to find America, if said nation had taken a midnight stroll through the city. Why would he leave the apartment anyway? What were they doing before they went to sleep?
As if a sudden bolt of lightning struck him, Romano remembered the fight.
During the meeting early that day, America had been all over Vietnam. Or maybe Vietnam was all over him, either way Romano still felt justified throwing that tomato at him. America brushed it off as nothing at the time, which made Romano want to throw another tomato, but his brother had dragged him off by then. He made sure to let America have it after they got back to his place.
And America let him have it too, shouting something about being a superpower and the responsibilities that came with it, and how he should stop overreacting when he’s trying to strengthen relationships with other nations.
Romano wasn’t pleased with that at all, and rightfully barricaded himself in the bedroom for the rest of the night, effectively kicking America out of his own bed.
In retrospect, not one of his more brilliant plans now that he was not-scared and all alone and needed him the most.
Romano found himself in the living room now, and jumped when he heard loud snore. Carefully he approached the couch from whence it came and discovered America, sleeping on the couch, brows furrowed in response to some random dream. Now that that mystery was solved, Romano felt himself relax slightly, not because he found America, but because it meant there wasn’t some random creeper in the apartment. Clearly.
He poked his lover a few times to wake him up so he could get some food and maybe some cuddle time, but all that earned him was an annoyed swat and a grunt. In retaliation, Romano snatched the blanket he was using and pulled him to the ground, effectively waking him up.
“Attack!” America shouted and sprang up to take a defensive position, eyes darting around the room, looking for the threat. When they fell on Romano, he snorted, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and looked away. “What do you want?”
What do you want? The voice that was America’s yet not echoed in Romano’s head.
“I…I’m hungry,” he eventually said.
“Then go make yourself something to eat,” America snatched up his blanket off the floor and settled back on the couch, “You’ve already made it very clear that you want nothing to do with me.”
The cold, smirking America from his dream resurfaced in his mind, the one that pushed him away and wanted nothing to do with him. Romano was finding it just as difficult to say what he wanted to his America as it was to that one.
Instead, he opted to yank the blanket off him once more. Before America could protest, Romano fell on top of him on the couch and covered them both with the blanket.
“Romano…” America said as a warning.
“...Don’t leave.”
“What?”
“You heard what I said; I’m not going to repeat it!” Romano certainly wasn’t blushing when he buried his face into America’s chest to hide from his embarrassment, and even if he was embarrassed, that didn’t mean he was blushing, because he wasn’t.
America chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around him, “You know for all the annoying things you do, you do at least one cute one?”
“Not cute,” he protested before pulling away and looking his lover in the eye, “And what do you mean annoying?”
He responded with a kiss to the forehead, “Did you have a bad dream or something?”
“No,” he lied, “Just…your bed is cold.”
“And the couch is warm?” Romano answered by wrapping his arms tighter around America. “Worth it,” he heard him sigh and mutter as he returned the gesture.
“What do you mean by that?” Romano asked as America yawned.
“Nothing. G’night,” he kissed his temple before snuggling against him and falling straight back to sleep.
“Hmph,” Romano grunted before burrowing further into America’s body heat and following him off to a nightmare-less dream land.
Word Count: 1,549
Romano
Romano peers down the dark hallway and wants to shout “What do you want bastard?” back, but finds that he can’t speak.
Romano
Who was calling him anyway? At first it sounds like Grandpa Rome, but the more he listens the less it does. Now it sounds more like Spain
Romano.
or his brother. Either way, the shouting is starting to get to him. He wants more than anything to tell the voice to shut up and leave him alone, but he still can’t talk.
Romano!
It’s not Veneciano anymore, and he’s fed up with whoever it is. He stomps his foot on the ground and turns away, covering his ears with his hands as he resorts to willing the voice away.
Romano
And it seems to be working, as the voice is getting softer. It’s then, of course, when he figures out whose voice it is and his opinion about it changes.
…Romano
Panicking now that the voice is retreating, he chases it down the dark hallway, opening every door he passes and trying to shout something-anything-to get the voice to stop disappearing and fails to do so.
…Romano…
The darkness surrounding him is starting to feel oppressive as he keeps chasing after the voice, keeps opening the doors and keeps trying to shout “Wait stop I’m here! Don’t go!”
“Don’t leave me America!”
The voice disappears anyway, leaving him alone in the silent hallway. He opens one last door with shaking hands and finds a well lit room with two comfortable red armchairs facing a roaring fireplace. Romano cautiously steps into the room, the door shutting behind him, to find America sitting in one of the armchairs, staring at the fire with a cold, calculating look that Romano would never usually associate with him. He steps further into the room, coming around to face him, and sees that he’s also sipping red wine. America only looks up at him when he’s standing right in front of him. He merely turns his gaze, cold as ice, towards Romano, waiting for him to speak.
“…America,” he says when he finds his voice.
America scoffs, sips some more wine, and turns back to the fire.
What do you want?
It was America’s voice, but colder and crueler, and it seemed to come more from the room itself than the man. Again Romano struggles to find his voice, for something to say.
“Please…don’t leave,” is what he finally comes up with, tears in his eyes, “Don’t leave me…”
America lets out a humorless laugh and continues sipping his wine before he looks straight into Romano’s eyes.
Just who the hell are you anyway?
Romano woke up with a start.
He leaned back against the headboard and willed himself to relax, wiping the leftover tears from the dream from his eyes.
“It’s just a dream…” There was no way America would forget about him like that. Sure he wasn’t the best at remembering people’s names and sometimes even forgot his own brother (not that Romano remembered who he was), but he and Romano were, you know, like that. No matter how big of an idiot America was, surely he was capable of remembering his own lover.
But still, the thought of those cold, uncaring eyes, of being lost and alone in the dark, of pushing America away and being unable to find him again until it’s too late wouldn’t leave his head.
“Hey bastard,” Romano muttered, positive that his moving around had at least stirred his bed partner, “I’m hungry.”
No response.
“Did you hear me?” he asked a little louder, “I said wake up and get me something to eat!”
Again, no response.
“…Please?” he tried, starting to panic now, and was only greeted by silence.
“America?” Romano hesitated and moved his hand to the other side of the bed, where there should have been a warm, sleeping America in the act of waking up to give Romano a hug and a kiss, tell him it was just a dream and that everything was alright, and go make him a sandwich.
Not that he wanted anything but the sandwich…
Not that it mattered, because the other side of the bed was empty.
Romano’s gaze darted to the open window, wondering if perhaps he was mistaken and he was still in Italy after all, but the shouts coming up from the streets were in English, and the sounds of the city below had a distinct New York quality to them.
Slight aggravation about being left all alone overcoming his not-quite-panic, Romano slipped on some pants and went off to found out what happened to his lover.
The hallway was dark and creepy at this time of night, not that he was scared, or flashing back to his nightmare or anything, he was just making an observation is all. As Romano wandered down the hallway, opening random doors and finding nothing of interest behind them, his panic, despite his best efforts, increased.
Where the hell was America? What if he was hurt or sick or lost somewhere in the city? The only section of New York Romano knew was Little Italy; he’d be completely hopeless trying to find America, if said nation had taken a midnight stroll through the city. Why would he leave the apartment anyway? What were they doing before they went to sleep?
As if a sudden bolt of lightning struck him, Romano remembered the fight.
During the meeting early that day, America had been all over Vietnam. Or maybe Vietnam was all over him, either way Romano still felt justified throwing that tomato at him. America brushed it off as nothing at the time, which made Romano want to throw another tomato, but his brother had dragged him off by then. He made sure to let America have it after they got back to his place.
And America let him have it too, shouting something about being a superpower and the responsibilities that came with it, and how he should stop overreacting when he’s trying to strengthen relationships with other nations.
Romano wasn’t pleased with that at all, and rightfully barricaded himself in the bedroom for the rest of the night, effectively kicking America out of his own bed.
In retrospect, not one of his more brilliant plans now that he was not-scared and all alone and needed him the most.
Romano found himself in the living room now, and jumped when he heard loud snore. Carefully he approached the couch from whence it came and discovered America, sleeping on the couch, brows furrowed in response to some random dream. Now that that mystery was solved, Romano felt himself relax slightly, not because he found America, but because it meant there wasn’t some random creeper in the apartment. Clearly.
He poked his lover a few times to wake him up so he could get some food and maybe some cuddle time, but all that earned him was an annoyed swat and a grunt. In retaliation, Romano snatched the blanket he was using and pulled him to the ground, effectively waking him up.
“Attack!” America shouted and sprang up to take a defensive position, eyes darting around the room, looking for the threat. When they fell on Romano, he snorted, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and looked away. “What do you want?”
What do you want? The voice that was America’s yet not echoed in Romano’s head.
“I…I’m hungry,” he eventually said.
“Then go make yourself something to eat,” America snatched up his blanket off the floor and settled back on the couch, “You’ve already made it very clear that you want nothing to do with me.”
The cold, smirking America from his dream resurfaced in his mind, the one that pushed him away and wanted nothing to do with him. Romano was finding it just as difficult to say what he wanted to his America as it was to that one.
Instead, he opted to yank the blanket off him once more. Before America could protest, Romano fell on top of him on the couch and covered them both with the blanket.
“Romano…” America said as a warning.
“...Don’t leave.”
“What?”
“You heard what I said; I’m not going to repeat it!” Romano certainly wasn’t blushing when he buried his face into America’s chest to hide from his embarrassment, and even if he was embarrassed, that didn’t mean he was blushing, because he wasn’t.
America chuckled softly and wrapped an arm around him, “You know for all the annoying things you do, you do at least one cute one?”
“Not cute,” he protested before pulling away and looking his lover in the eye, “And what do you mean annoying?”
He responded with a kiss to the forehead, “Did you have a bad dream or something?”
“No,” he lied, “Just…your bed is cold.”
“And the couch is warm?” Romano answered by wrapping his arms tighter around America. “Worth it,” he heard him sigh and mutter as he returned the gesture.
“What do you mean by that?” Romano asked as America yawned.
“Nothing. G’night,” he kissed his temple before snuggling against him and falling straight back to sleep.
“Hmph,” Romano grunted before burrowing further into America’s body heat and following him off to a nightmare-less dream land.