Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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“No!” England insisted, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest indignantly. He looked at Spain down the length of his nose and declared, “You’re squandering a precious resource!”
Spain tried to keep from rolling his eyes. England was probably just this cranky because he most likely wasn’t having any sex himself, which meant that Spain could easily snipe back about how England was squandering America, but he managed not to. “I’m not squandering,” he said. “Romano is Catholic.”
“So are you; what’s your point?”
“No, he’s really Catholic,” Spain said, giving England a meaningful stare. Spain knew it had been a while, but surely England hadn’t forgotten what being Catholic was like. It took a long moment, but finally realization dawned across England’s features, like the very belated rising of a rather oblivious sun.
“Oh my god.”
“Exactly.”
“No wonder you want to marry him,” England said, his voice much quieter than it had been since he barged into the house.
“That’s not why I want-”
“Oh please,” England scoffed. “You can talk to me like a bloody adult, especially when it’s a damned emergency!”
“An emergency?”
“You want sex, don’t you?” England always had been quite sure, Spain had long since discovered, that everyone else was secretly just as perverted as he was deep down in the very core of their beings. In most cases, he was to some degree mistaken, but in this case Spain did actually want sex quite badly. It wasn’t like he’d been actively thinking about it for an enormously long time, but he’d loved Romano for what felt like forever and at some point that had changed to being in love with Romano, and now that those feelings (or something like them, Romano had never said) were known to be returned, something had sort of cracked inside Spain.
It was on his mind all the time now. He tried not to let it show, but when England asked if he wanted sex, the answer that immediately sprang to mind was not, “Well, yes, I suppose.” It was more along the lines of, “I want to give him something to stop complaining about. I want to pull his hair until he comes, even if it takes hours. I want to take him to la Tomatina and lick him clean afterward.”
What he said was, “Well, yes, I suppose.”
“So have you planned anything yet?”
“Yeah, we talked about it, but-”
“So who’s officiating?”
“…A priest.”
England did not look impressed with this answer. Spain vaguely wondered if maybe he was supposed to know of the priest he wanted, but then England asked, “And where is it going to be?”
“A church?”
This answer didn’t seem all that much better, if England’s eyebrows were anything to go off of. “And when were you going to have this priest come to this church and marry you?”
Spain very nearly answered, “I’m not marrying a priest, I’m marrying Romano,” but he caught himself just before the words could tumble out of his mouth and replied instead, “Soon, I hope.”
Voluntarily throwing his hands up in defeat for the very first time in front of Spain, England exclaimed, “You are an unmitigated fool! You haven ‘t planned anything at all, have you?”
“We talked about it.”
“And now you’re no closer to getting married than you were before you talked about it, are you?”
“Well, temporally…”
Suddenly Spain found himself with England’s index finger pressed over his lips, silencing him. Normally he would’ve considered the action flirtatious, but when England did it, it came off as a threat. “Shut up and get me a phonebook,” he said lowly. “I can’t trust you to do anything.”
Spain wondered why suddenly this was a matter of England trusting him, but England was the kind of guy who spent his afternoons talking to himself, so sometimes it was better to just let things slide. “Who are you calling?”
When England rolled his eyes, it was in such a grandly exaggerated manner it almost looked physically painful. “Priests and cathedrals first, apparently. Get the bloody phonebook, would you?”
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