100 Ways to Woo an Italian [4/?]
anonymous
October 5 2009, 05:04:57 UTC
If Romano was shocked to wake up and find his room sparkly clean, he was completely mortified to look around further and see Spain sleeping like a cat at his feet. He leapt out of bed with a (totally manly) shriek, eliciting only sleepy protests from the older nation.
"You... You creepy bastard! I said the couch, dammit! G-Get out of here! Go to hell, Spain!"
It took a few moments before Romano could peel himself off the wall and take his place back beside a thoroughly unconscious Antonio. Irritably, he started prodding Spain's shoulder.
"Nnnngh... five more minutes, Romano. Just let me get... my thoughts together..." He yawned and rolled over.
"Spain," He breathed in a very menacing way, "did you never learn not to sleep in on me?" He cracked his knuckles and Antonio shot up immediately, crossing his legs with a little yelp.
"Now get out, dammit!"
Romano raised an arm with every intention of backhanding the other nation, but was caught quite off guard when kneading fingers seemed to appear out of nowhere on his shoulders, rubbing in a really pleasantly painful way. His hand fell with an embarrassing sort of gurgle. Spain cooed and slipped behind him, starting to press in earnest.
"You need to relax, my cherry tomato~"
"Don't call me... guh... bastard."
Romano couldn't begin to imagine how hard he was blushing. He could practically feel a heartbeat in his cheeks. And he couldn't even move, could he? Those hands felt so good. D-damn, was he purring? Oh, but couldn't help it... the... ffffff...
"N-No, go back. There... guh."
He bit his lip, letting out a noise halfway between a growl and a sigh, feeling more than a little betrayed by how nice Spain's massage was. He couldn't even protest beyond a halfhearted "buhhhh."
"Spain is the country of passion, mi tomate~ Try not to be too mad when you can talk straight again, okay? Think of your blood pressure!"
Antonio laughed, and Lovino probably would have bristled up had he been able to do anything beyond "hnnng" more and sway wherever Spain's rubbing sent him.
"You really are kind of like a cat, aren't you?"
One hand started to drag up his neck from his shoulders (dammit, what was he doing?), trailed up his jaw line, tugged at his ear... and Romano felt much more helpless to stop it than he was comfortable with. His protests came out kind of breathy, kind of more inviting than he hoped. What was he even trying to say, again? Spain's hand ruffled his hair, rubbed his head, tugged on his- AW HELL NO.
"Go to hell, Spain!"
Romano gave him a sound smack across the face and stormed out of the room in a fit of ranting and raving. He was even trying to be nice, and... that bastard! That bastard! Not even seeing his house had been scrubbed top to bottom was enough to put Romano's fuming for hours. That... that bastard!
~*~
Things continued in much the same way, with Spain sleeping on the couch and Romano spending every moment of his free time dreading another assault of love. And Spain was true to his word: not a day went by that he didn't express love in multiple ways. There was the day where Lovino'd been out running errands and checked his cellphone to find almost 20 voicemails... all Antonio, each one getting progressively less romantic and more upset, until by the last one, he had broken down completely into heaving sobs and an occasional "WHERE ARRRRRE YOU?" or "ARE YOU OKAAAAAAAAAAAY?". Then there was the day when Romano opened up his fridge and pantry and cupboards to see every piece of food in his house replaced with bags and boxes of those nasty, chalky little valentine's day heart candies. And then the time he actually did go out to get pasta with Veneziano, and what did that bastard do but follow them to the restaurant, bum-rush the duo, and start pledging his heart to Italy by mistake.
"You... You creepy bastard! I said the couch, dammit! G-Get out of here! Go to hell, Spain!"
It took a few moments before Romano could peel himself off the wall and take his place back beside a thoroughly unconscious Antonio. Irritably, he started prodding Spain's shoulder.
"Nnnngh... five more minutes, Romano. Just let me get... my thoughts together..." He yawned and rolled over.
"Spain," He breathed in a very menacing way, "did you never learn not to sleep in on me?" He cracked his knuckles and Antonio shot up immediately, crossing his legs with a little yelp.
"Now get out, dammit!"
Romano raised an arm with every intention of backhanding the other nation, but was caught quite off guard when kneading fingers seemed to appear out of nowhere on his shoulders, rubbing in a really pleasantly painful way. His hand fell with an embarrassing sort of gurgle. Spain cooed and slipped behind him, starting to press in earnest.
"You need to relax, my cherry tomato~"
"Don't call me... guh... bastard."
Romano couldn't begin to imagine how hard he was blushing. He could practically feel a heartbeat in his cheeks. And he couldn't even move, could he? Those hands felt so good. D-damn, was he purring? Oh, but couldn't help it... the... ffffff...
"N-No, go back. There... guh."
He bit his lip, letting out a noise halfway between a growl and a sigh, feeling more than a little betrayed by how nice Spain's massage was. He couldn't even protest beyond a halfhearted "buhhhh."
"Spain is the country of passion, mi tomate~ Try not to be too mad when you can talk straight again, okay? Think of your blood pressure!"
Antonio laughed, and Lovino probably would have bristled up had he been able to do anything beyond "hnnng" more and sway wherever Spain's rubbing sent him.
"You really are kind of like a cat, aren't you?"
One hand started to drag up his neck from his shoulders (dammit, what was he doing?), trailed up his jaw line, tugged at his ear... and Romano felt much more helpless to stop it than he was comfortable with. His protests came out kind of breathy, kind of more inviting than he hoped. What was he even trying to say, again? Spain's hand ruffled his hair, rubbed his head, tugged on his- AW HELL NO.
"Go to hell, Spain!"
Romano gave him a sound smack across the face and stormed out of the room in a fit of ranting and raving. He was even trying to be nice, and... that bastard! That bastard! Not even seeing his house had been scrubbed top to bottom was enough to put Romano's fuming for hours. That... that bastard!
~*~
Things continued in much the same way, with Spain sleeping on the couch and Romano spending every moment of his free time dreading another assault of love. And Spain was true to his word: not a day went by that he didn't express love in multiple ways. There was the day where Lovino'd been out running errands and checked his cellphone to find almost 20 voicemails... all Antonio, each one getting progressively less romantic and more upset, until by the last one, he had broken down completely into heaving sobs and an occasional "WHERE ARRRRRE YOU?" or "ARE YOU OKAAAAAAAAAAAY?". Then there was the day when Romano opened up his fridge and pantry and cupboards to see every piece of food in his house replaced with bags and boxes of those nasty, chalky little valentine's day heart candies. And then the time he actually did go out to get pasta with Veneziano, and what did that bastard do but follow them to the restaurant, bum-rush the duo, and start pledging his heart to Italy by mistake.
Reply
Leave a comment