Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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“Did you even tell your boss?”
“I plan on inviting him to the wedding, so he’ll find out then. Do you like basil?” England now found himself standing, arms crossed, on one side of Spain’s kitchen island while Spain dug through his fridge on the other. The time that England could remember when Spain occasionally showed interest in something other than food, sleep, and Southern Italy seemed very far removed from the present.
“You haven’t thought this through at all, have you?” England snapped. “How do you think your people are going to feel about your joining with half of another sovereign nation?”
Spain turned around with an armful of bread, cheese, and tomatoes and toed the fridge door shut. “They aren’t going to know about it, but I’d like to think that if they did they’d feel happy for me. And maybe a little aroused.”
“I didn’t mean that kind of joining, you nitwit!”
“What?”
England leaned forward on the island and said, very slowly and very loudly, “Don’t you think your people are going to notice when they find themselves living in some kind of horrible geographically disjointed Hispano-Italian pseudo-monarchical bilingual quadricameral republic from hell?”
One of Spain’s eyes narrowed, and he turned his head slightly as he gave England a look like he was busy trying to appraise his soundness of mind, and then he snorted in amusement. “This isn’t that kind of marriage. There are no politics involved.”
“…What?”
Pulling a knife out of the block on the counter, Spain shrugged slightly. “You know. It’s just a normal marriage. It’s not all about business these days.”
England stared long and hard at Spain, but Spain didn’t notice the scrutiny; he was too busy slicing a tomato. The sight, to England, was rather disconcerting. The reminder that Spain ate tomatoes and didn’t just pile them up in baskets and love them like they were his own children always seemed rather distasteful. He shook himself. “So what is it about, then?”
“Love,” Spain said matter-of-factly, giving England a look like he was almost offended that not everyone knew that already.
“Love?” England exclaimed. It came out more forcefully than he’d intended, causing Spain to jump. “Since when does love require marriage? You two don’t pay taxes and can’t have kids and it’s not like you need some grand declaration since everyone already knows you’re unhealthily codependent and have been sleeping together forever anyway, so what’s the-“
“We haven’t.”
“…”
“…”
“What?”
“Slept together,” Spain clarified. “We haven’t.”
With that, England’s demeanor changed entirely and suddenly, or at least the focus of his righteous indignation and moral outrage did. He leaned forward as though this conversation was now the most urgent matter in the world. “You’re kidding! What are you waiting for? Are you blind?” Spain had stopped cutting and was merely staring now. He took a short step back, and maybe his fingers tightened around the knife in his hand just a little, because England looked about ready to climb over the counter and throttle him.
“No?”
England slammed both hands down on the marble of the countertop. “You idiot! Can’t you read him at all, or are you really that dense? He worships the ground you walk on! He always has! You could’ve had him in bed centuries ago! Do you know what you’ve been missing? Do you have any idea?!”
“I’ve thought about it,” Spain replied, and England slammed a fist down, because it was quite obvious that in his mind, thinking was nowhere near good enough.
“He’s probably amazing in bed! I mean, he’s all talk and no action! You could top the hell out of him! And do you have any idea how kinky he probably is?”
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For some reason, that made me LOL.
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