[Untitled] Prologue (3/4)
anonymous
September 5 2010, 10:54:03 UTC
Feeling an uncharacteristic bolt of bravery, Romano mumbled, "We don't really talk about sex much. M-mostly we just...do it."
Italy's ears pricked. With some effort shuffling his chair nearer, he leaned on his propped hand, patiently awaiting more information. Romano's ears burned. The words 'fucking forget it, it's nothing' were precariously balanced on the tip of his tongue, the truth wisely hanging back. Then suddenly it was there, toppling from safety like a bungee jumper hurling himself off a bridge. "We never talk about sex actually. Ever. I don't think either of us has ever even said the fucking 's' word out loud before."
A moment later the portcullis was lowered and the drawbridge raised, Romano retreating to the safety of his defences. "What the fuck are you being so fucking nosy for anyway, bastard?!" he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. "What right do you have to ask personal questions?! Stop fucking looking at me like that! Stop it!"
Italy's brow knitted. "Ve, big brother, how am I looking at you? M'only asking 'cause I care."
"You're judging me! Stop fucking judging me!" he insisted, desperately shaking the empty bottle upside down. When he realised he’d sucked the thing dry he slammed it down again, shoving it across the table. "Just because we don't talk about sex that doesn't mean we have a bad relationship and it doesn't mean we don't have good sex and it doesn't mean Spain doesn't give me everything that I want in bed and I don't have any weird kinks or anything that I want to ask him to fulfil so fucking shut up and stop fucking staring at me you fucking...fucking..."
Oh Christ, was he crying? Was he actually crying? What the hell...
Romano flinched when Italy patted his hand, scrubbing his eyes with his fists. "Don't get upset, big brother," he said with remarkable tenderness. "It's nothing to cry about."
"Y-you're a fine fucking one to talk..." Romano muttered, though it was with less ferocity than usual. Deflated, he buried his head in his hands and groaned, "fucking wine."
[o3o]
Italy stayed silent for several long moments, eyes fixed blankly on the empty wine bottle, a finger pressed to pursed lips as he sat deep in thought.
“Big brother..?”
His answer came in the form of a muffled “what?” filtering up from somewhere behind Romano’s arms.
“Are you too shy to talk about sex?” he asked slowly.
Romano’s head tilted up at that, characteristic scowl firmly in place. His cheeks flushed with what was probably a mixture of intoxication and embarrassment.
“‘m’not fucking shy!” he snapped. “What do you think I am, a fucking girl?”
Italy looked rather perplexed at that. “Why would I think that you’re a girl...?” He caught on a moment later. “Eh? Oh no. It’s not that, big brother! It’s just that, you know, you can be a teeny-weeny bit intro... intro... intro-something sometimes, and really, brother Spain isn’t very shy at all-”
“Yeah, okay. I get it.”
“- I mean, he’s always so happy to take his clothes off if brother France tells him to! And when brother France-”
“I said that I get it, Veneziano! Jesus Christ!” Romano interrupted, his entire face flaming. His teeth clashed in his mouth as he spoke, gnawing his words and spitting them out. “Of course it’s me. When is it not?”
Even drunk, Italy knew his brother well enough to catch the distinct note of bitterness in his brother’s voice. “Don’t you think that I know that he’d have no issue talking about sex? He’s a pervert, and a creep, and he has no fucking shame, and God knows he’s probably done everything under the fucking sun, and I still can’t talk to him about it!” He slammed his fist onto the tabletop, probably intending to make his point more emphatic. Instead, a small throb of protest licked up his wrist, triggering something in his mind that made him realise that he wasn’t really as angry as he was telling himself he was and, in reality, his head just felt fuzzy and he had come over very, very tired.
[Untitled] Prologue (4/4)
anonymous
September 5 2010, 11:00:53 UTC
Like a plug being pulled, Romano felt the last of his fury drain away, dispersing in the breath that hissed free of clenched teeth. His head flopped forwards, his forehead landing in the safety of his palm. “…Spain’s this amazing, considerate lover, and I can’t even talk to him about sex,” he sighed. “And you know what the worst part is? He’d do it. If I told him the kinds of things that I wanted from him, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t make fun of me, or get impatient. I know that. He’d do it with that stupid, single-minded idiocy of his. Fucking moron.”
Italy remained silent for a long time, carefully mulling over his brother’s words as best as he could with a wine-addled mind. Eventually, figuring that they were both too drunk and too close to bother beating around that dratted proverbial bush, Italy asked the most pressing question at the forefront of his mind.
“What kinds of things do you want from him?”
Romano flushed dark red at that, snapping his gaze up to see if his little brother was being serious. Upon finding that he was, Romano shuffled in his seat and considered pretending that he hadn’t heard him. It wouldn’t work, of course. His brother, being the idiot that he was, would just keep asking and asking until Romano acknowledged that he had heard him, and then would cry if Romano gave him an answer that was in any way elusive, or told him to piss off. It was simply a matter of pre-empting the hassle and avoiding it, Romano told himself as the ugly truth danced dangerously on the top of his tongue, rather than a genuine need to get something that had been bothering him off his chest.
“I want stupid things,” he burst out, surprising himself and Italy both. “I… I want him to tie me up and blindfold me and I want him to pin me down and do sinful things to me and I want him to talk to me like I’m something dirty, and I want to be helpless--” oh God why wasn’t he stopping? “--and I really, really want him to spank me like I’m a dirty little boy.”
His face flamed red when he finally managed to snap his God-damned traitorous mouth shut. This flustered feeling wasn’t helped in the slightest by his brother’s thoughtful expression, either. It would have been easy to handle disgust or ridicule with a few choice words and well placed fists, but quiet consideration was something else entirely. Romano shifted uncomfortably, wishing his brother was laughing at him instead.
“That’s not so strange,” Italy said finally. “Germany’s spanked me a few times.”
Romano played that reel of images for a few painful moments, and then replaced it with a vision of France getting hit by a train when his stomach turned over. But his brother’s rather open admittance of his sordid bedroom activity was of slight comfort, even if that wasn’t the very worst of the many things Romano was desperately finding himself in need of.
Swallowing quietly, he dug imaginary dirt out of his fingernails and ever so softly whispered, “You promise not to tell anyone, right?” His fists clenched a moment later, eyes flickering with an unnecessary measure of malice. “If you dare tell anyone about this I will fucking murder you, dammit.”
Italy shrank beneath the look, nodding quickly. “I-I wouldn’t betray you that way, big brother. I love you.”
Oh, that’s it, Romano thought, lumbering out of his seat in the direction of the sink when that vulgar emotion was thrust in his face (alongside his digestive system suddenly protesting that entire bottle of wine), I’m gonna’ be sick.
--- Start as you mean to carry on. Which is why the more special part of this writing duo accidentally left one of her silly part breakers in. Please excuse that.
Re: [Untitled] Prologue (4/4)
anonymous
September 5 2010, 12:57:11 UTC
Pfft, I love this. I had this crazy grin all through reading it because really, Feli is so adorable and shameless about everything XD Will be stalking this thread like no joke!
Let me shower you with non-tsundere love, you guys! <3
anonymous
September 5 2010, 14:36:31 UTC
Wait, what the hell? How on earth did two people write this together and get such a nice, coherent style? ... Badass.
Your writing is seriously good here, guys. (Or whichever one of you finally wrote this up, I guess?) The humor is woven beautifully into the narration and Romano's drunken thoughts, and the way it flows perfectly makes it funny as hell. I mean, I read some of those hilarious descriptions, and the funny was just sneaky; it just ambushed me and I'd have to stop mid-sentence to laugh, then to go back and reread.
The descriptions of how Romano thinks about emotions are just hilarious, but they're also pretty accurate, I'd say. I actually got up and read a couple of these to my very confused brother, including this one: “Alright, alright, fine. Jesus Christ,” Romano broke in before the first, fat tears could escape his brother’s eyes, swallowing the awkward lump in his throat that he was fairly sure was emotion, and not vomit. For some reason, that just slayed me. And this is still funny, but the description really works, too: Romano felt niggling guilt gambolling around his belly and thoroughly hoped it was just the wine making its presence felt. Otherwise, this inconvenient emotion was going to be tumbling about his insides all night until he let it out in a sticky mess. Ew. XDDD
I won't quote the whole two paragraphs, but the entire bit about the words being balanced precariously on his tongue and the drawbridge being raised was just an epic explanation of how tsundere!Romano works. I mean, he's always tsundere, so that's a bit redundant, but ... XD
So, uh, yeah. I read the prompt immediately before reading the fill. I read the Italy bros sitting there drinking together having semi-coherent conversation together, and I read Italy asking his brother about his sex life, but I was still surprised when everything just came bursting out out of Romano. A+, guys. And I especially enjoyed the mind-burning effect of Italy telling his brother that Germany had spanked him on multiple occasions before. Italy, honey? Never change.
And the descriptions of what kind of a lover Spain is, how bitter and aware Romano is about his own ability to communicate his needs, and Romano's list of dirty little fantasies were all amazingly promising. The latter in a very different way, granted, but still! I'd say this looks like it's going to be fantastic, but it's already there. ♥
And randomly? I don't like Spamano at all, honestly. I came for the kink, but I'm actually staying for the Spamano for once. And maybe even the background GerIta, too. The kink is just an awesome bonus after that characterization. I almost never see a Romano that's both believable and likable -- I thought no one wrote him that way, really! -- but here he is, staring me moodily in the face. And a Germany and Italy that I can actually believe have sex instead of just awkward cuddling or something is pretty cool, too. Great job, you two.
Phew, I managed not to hit the character limit by not copy-and-pasting everything I wanted to. :Db God, spell-check hates my comments so badly! And apparently "gamboling" only has one "l" in it. Who freakin' knew? That was an amazingly funny word choice, by the way, both for the kinda gay connotations and mental pictures it generated as well as for its rarity.
Re: [Untitled] Prologue (4/4)
anonymous
September 5 2010, 16:40:21 UTC
this prompt has my favorite pairing and all of my favorite kinks and I love thoughtful brother Feli... I can feel this will be one of my favorite kinky fics ever.
May I just say that I absolutely adore you? Yes? Yes. Kaythanks.
"Romano played that reel of images for a few painful moments, and then replaced it with a vision of France getting hit by a train when his stomach turned over."
Oh, Lovi. <3
ReCaptcha: denial preway. I think we already got past the denial bit, captcha.
OP here!!!
anonymous
September 10 2010, 04:49:05 UTC
Whhaaaat iiiisss thiiiiss?! =>_<=
I-I feel so terrible for taking so long to respond to this, but lately college has had a monopoly on my time. I was scrolling through the fills tonight for the first time in a week, and as I came across this one I was like, "Wow. This has everything!" and was wondering how something matched my interests so perfectly before I realized I had made the request!!!
And... just... wow. This is absolutely beyond fantastic. I am so excited for this fill!!! You went beyond my expectations already, and everything you're doing is making me happy. I love Romano's characterization, I love the relationship with his brother, I love what I've heard of his relationship with Spain, and I just love how it's written. I appreciate everyone who takes the time and effort to do a fill, but there are some who are truly great writers, and I can see that I've got some of them ^_^
When I originally made the request, I had no idea how Italy would find out about Romano's secret fantasy, but this works so well! And the way he said it! Just hearing his fantasies made me hot; I can't wait until the actual porn. I'm just so happy right now! I've had one person start a fill for me before, but never finish it. I understand that real life takes its toll, though. But thank you so much, and I really look forward to reading more!!!
“I want stupid things,” he burst out, surprising himself and Italy both. “I… I want him to tie me up and blindfold me and I want him to pin me down and do sinful things to me and I want him to talk to me like I’m something dirty, and I want to be helpless--” oh God why wasn’t he stopping? “--and I really, really want him to spank me like I’m a dirty little boy.” <--I just can't stop reading this. I love it. LOVE IT.
Random!Anon
anonymous
September 10 2010, 12:14:33 UTC
Thank you so much for making this request, OP, 'cause otherwise I never would have gotten to read this awesomeness! *dances around like a happy Spaniad idiot :D*
[Part 1] 1/6
anonymous
September 10 2010, 18:10:21 UTC
“Aaw, Ita, it’s so good to see you!” Spain announced with conspicuous glee, hurling his arms around Italy’s neck and dragging him close. He pulled away a moment later, squeezing his forearms gently as he looked Italy over, humming his approval. “You look really well as usual! I like your shoes; are they that fancy Italian leather? I bet Romano would like a pair of those.”
“Don’t fucking talk about me like I’m not here!” Romano snapped, appearing behind Spain with an expression to curdle milk. Obviously feeling no desire to be in this quaint little cafe first thing in the morning when it was freezing cold, he nodded a greeting to his brother and tossed his satchel at his feet, flopping into a seat at the table Italy had been occupying. Coffee pots and arranged mugs clattered, Italy’s poured cup sloshing over the side.
“Romano,” Spain chastised, pulling his own seat out and elegantly perching in it, “Don’t swear in a place like this. Children might hear you. And be careful, you nearly knocked the cups over.”
“Fuck you,” Romano responded (though marginally quieter than before). Spain sighed and turned his smile to Italy once more, Romano swallowing the sticky bile in his throat. This was precisely why he didn’t enjoy spending time with both of these morons together, assaulted by this sickening display of gut-wrenching affection every time it happened. They chatted and they laughed and every so often they mentioned his name, but Romano paid little to no attention to the conversation, only offering the occasional guttural, noncommittal grunt.
He looked up when Spain ruffled his neatly preened hair, instantly moving to straighten it out again. “Oi, dozy,” he laughed, pointing to the plate in front of him that was housing a large, fluffy muffin. “Ita bought you your favourite kind of muffin! Isn’t that kind of him? Say thank you.”
Romano stared at the thing, his mouth watering. It was indeed his favourite, blueberry and chocolate chip, but dammit all if it didn’t make him mad that his brother knew that. “‘s’not my fucking favourite,” he grumbled, turning his nose up at it. It almost hurt to lie, but nonetheless, it didn’t stop him from continuing. “I hate blueberry muffins.”
Both of them made a sound of confusion, Spain the first to say, “that’s not true, Romano. You were saying just last week how much you like--”
“Well, I’ve changed my fucking mind, haven’t I?” he growled, shrugging. “I don’t want it.”
Italy’s expression gave away every sliver of emotion. Spain, not one to be prone to anger, managed to look a little miffed. “Romano, at least say thank you for the thought--”
“I’m not saying ‘thank you’, dammit!” Romano snapped, folding his arms grumpily. It was childish and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Why the hell should I say thank you for something I didn’t want in the first place?!”
“Because it’s a nice thing to do,” Spain explained, looking for all the world like the pseudo father-figure of Romano’s memory, patiently explaining the difference between right and wrong like he was such a fucking authority on it.
“Tch.” Romano pointedly looked away, scowling at the delicately curved iron legs of the table next to them. “Maybe I don’t feel like being nice,” he muttered. Not like my fucking perfect brother, who’s always nice and thoughtful and oh-so wonderfull, his mind added bitterly.
Incapable as Spain was of noticing the subtler things, he knew Romano well enough not to attempt his infamous cheer-up charm in public, so instead he patted his knee twice under the table and turned his attention back to Italy.
After only a few moments of excited chattering, the issue of the unwanted muffin was forgotten, eclipsed by the fact that Spain and Italy hadn’t seen each other in so long. Romano could forgive them that, he supposed. They really hadn’t seen one another socially in a couple of months (not since his little brother had come to Spain’s house for dinner with them both, a night that, from what Romano could recall, he didn’t want to remember) so it was acceptable that they rambled breathlessly at one another for a while, Romano listening in and pushing his coffee cup around the table.
Re: [Part 1] 2/6
anonymous
September 10 2010, 18:17:48 UTC
Eventually he even started sporadically contributing to the conversation with stray comments and muttered corrections, much to Spain and Italy’s delight.
When the topic switched from football, to France’s eternal will-they-won’t-they relationship with England (a relationship Romano really didn’t give a shit about) he stood up quietly and pulled his chair back under the table with one foot.
“Romano?” Spain asked, looking up at him in confusion. “Where ya’ going?”
“Toilet,” Romano murmured, shrugging before squeezing his way around tables and chairs between himself and the pale oak door marked with a neat, artistic rendition of a man.
“Brother Spain?” Italy piped up, dragging Spain’s gaze away from where Romano had just disappeared into the men’s.
“Yeah?” he responded, smiling brightly.
“Is my brother okay?” he said. “I’ve not seen him for a while - I mean, I’ve talked to him on the phone lots and I’ve seen him at meetings and we went for coffee a few times - but he got so angry over my present. I think maybe it’s because of before.” He sighed sadly for good measure.
Spain just laughed. “Don’t you worry, Ita,” he chuckled. “Romano’s just being his usual grumpy self. He loved your present, I’m sure.”
“I hope so,” Italy pouted. “I didn’t mean to make him mad.”
“Romano’s being a little bit spoilt, that’s all,” Spain said, smiling helplessly. “My fault, I suppose. I always gave him exactly what he wanted when he was younger. I still do, but that’s because he’s so cute that I can’t help it!”
Italy laughed too, a soft, pleased sound, his lips stretching into a contented smile. “I’m glad that you look after him so well, brother Spain,” he said. “My brother has so many secrets that it’s really hard to know what he wants sometimes. It’s even super-hard to buy him a birthday present!”
Spain gave him a smile that he didn’t intend to be cocky, despite the tiny stir of smugness roused deep within. “Really, Ita?” he asked. “Because I know all of Romano’s secrets.” All the secrets that counted anyway, like how he liked his tagliatelle alla bolognese; or how he would pretend that he wasn’t scared during horror films, but closed his eyes for most of it anyway; or how many times he would say ‘no’ until he let Spain give him a morning kiss, depending on his mood; or how his feet had to be warm before he got in bed because he hated having cold feet in bed; or how he had a sensitive spot just beneath his ear that turned his legs to mush if Spain kissed it just right...
Grinning dopily, Spain added, “Yeah, I definitely know all of Romano’s secrets.”
“You do?” Italy said, sounding distinctly hopeful. “I really had hoped you would, because he got so upset the other day because he wanted to tell you something and I just want him to be happy and he was so sad, but now I know you know all of his secrets, so he must have told you already!”
Spain’s smile was suddenly false, lips tugged Cheshire Cat-like over his teeth. “He was upset?” he said mock-cheerfully, cocking his head. “Remind me when that was because you know I forget things every so often, little Ita. My old brain gets a bit fuzzy from time-to-time.”
“Oh, of course, brother Spain!” Italy said, sipping his coffee. He swept a moustache of beige foam from his upper lip with feline precision, fingers curling around the pleasant warmth of the cup. “It was a few weeks ago now, that weekend you invited me over for dinner and you found big brother asleep on the kitchen floor.”
Ah, that night. Well, Spain definitely remembered, because the moment he had managed to rouse Romano from a heavily booze-induced slumber, he had proceeded to throw up all over his shoes. “So, he was upset, huh?” he said quietly, forced smile faltering. Romano had certainly failed to mention that the following morning. “I’m sure he’s told me all about it since then, but he gets worked up about a lot of things so if you could just remind me what he was upset about, too...”
Italy's ears pricked. With some effort shuffling his chair nearer, he leaned on his propped hand, patiently awaiting more information. Romano's ears burned. The words 'fucking forget it, it's nothing' were precariously balanced on the tip of his tongue, the truth wisely hanging back. Then suddenly it was there, toppling from safety like a bungee jumper hurling himself off a bridge. "We never talk about sex actually. Ever. I don't think either of us has ever even said the fucking 's' word out loud before."
A moment later the portcullis was lowered and the drawbridge raised, Romano retreating to the safety of his defences. "What the fuck are you being so fucking nosy for anyway, bastard?!" he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. "What right do you have to ask personal questions?! Stop fucking looking at me like that! Stop it!"
Italy's brow knitted. "Ve, big brother, how am I looking at you? M'only asking 'cause I care."
"You're judging me! Stop fucking judging me!" he insisted, desperately shaking the empty bottle upside down. When he realised he’d sucked the thing dry he slammed it down again, shoving it across the table. "Just because we don't talk about sex that doesn't mean we have a bad relationship and it doesn't mean we don't have good sex and it doesn't mean Spain doesn't give me everything that I want in bed and I don't have any weird kinks or anything that I want to ask him to fulfil so fucking shut up and stop fucking staring at me you fucking...fucking..."
Oh Christ, was he crying? Was he actually crying? What the hell...
Romano flinched when Italy patted his hand, scrubbing his eyes with his fists. "Don't get upset, big brother," he said with remarkable tenderness. "It's nothing to cry about."
"Y-you're a fine fucking one to talk..." Romano muttered, though it was with less ferocity than usual. Deflated, he buried his head in his hands and groaned, "fucking wine."
[o3o]
Italy stayed silent for several long moments, eyes fixed blankly on the empty wine bottle, a finger pressed to pursed lips as he sat deep in thought.
“Big brother..?”
His answer came in the form of a muffled “what?” filtering up from somewhere behind Romano’s arms.
“Are you too shy to talk about sex?” he asked slowly.
Romano’s head tilted up at that, characteristic scowl firmly in place. His cheeks flushed with what was probably a mixture of intoxication and embarrassment.
“‘m’not fucking shy!” he snapped. “What do you think I am, a fucking girl?”
Italy looked rather perplexed at that. “Why would I think that you’re a girl...?” He caught on a moment later. “Eh? Oh no. It’s not that, big brother! It’s just that, you know, you can be a teeny-weeny bit intro... intro... intro-something sometimes, and really, brother Spain isn’t very shy at all-”
“Yeah, okay. I get it.”
“- I mean, he’s always so happy to take his clothes off if brother France tells him to! And when brother France-”
“I said that I get it, Veneziano! Jesus Christ!” Romano interrupted, his entire face flaming. His teeth clashed in his mouth as he spoke, gnawing his words and spitting them out. “Of course it’s me. When is it not?”
Even drunk, Italy knew his brother well enough to catch the distinct note of bitterness in his brother’s voice. “Don’t you think that I know that he’d have no issue talking about sex? He’s a pervert, and a creep, and he has no fucking shame, and God knows he’s probably done everything under the fucking sun, and I still can’t talk to him about it!” He slammed his fist onto the tabletop, probably intending to make his point more emphatic. Instead, a small throb of protest licked up his wrist, triggering something in his mind that made him realise that he wasn’t really as angry as he was telling himself he was and, in reality, his head just felt fuzzy and he had come over very, very tired.
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Like a plug being pulled, Romano felt the last of his fury drain away, dispersing in the breath that hissed free of clenched teeth. His head flopped forwards, his forehead landing in the safety of his palm. “…Spain’s this amazing, considerate lover, and I can’t even talk to him about sex,” he sighed. “And you know what the worst part is? He’d do it. If I told him the kinds of things that I wanted from him, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He wouldn’t make fun of me, or get impatient. I know that. He’d do it with that stupid, single-minded idiocy of his. Fucking moron.”
Italy remained silent for a long time, carefully mulling over his brother’s words as best as he could with a wine-addled mind. Eventually, figuring that they were both too drunk and too close to bother beating around that dratted proverbial bush, Italy asked the most pressing question at the forefront of his mind.
“What kinds of things do you want from him?”
Romano flushed dark red at that, snapping his gaze up to see if his little brother was being serious. Upon finding that he was, Romano shuffled in his seat and considered pretending that he hadn’t heard him. It wouldn’t work, of course. His brother, being the idiot that he was, would just keep asking and asking until Romano acknowledged that he had heard him, and then would cry if Romano gave him an answer that was in any way elusive, or told him to piss off. It was simply a matter of pre-empting the hassle and avoiding it, Romano told himself as the ugly truth danced dangerously on the top of his tongue, rather than a genuine need to get something that had been bothering him off his chest.
“I want stupid things,” he burst out, surprising himself and Italy both. “I… I want him to tie me up and blindfold me and I want him to pin me down and do sinful things to me and I want him to talk to me like I’m something dirty, and I want to be helpless--” oh God why wasn’t he stopping? “--and I really, really want him to spank me like I’m a dirty little boy.”
His face flamed red when he finally managed to snap his God-damned traitorous mouth shut. This flustered feeling wasn’t helped in the slightest by his brother’s thoughtful expression, either. It would have been easy to handle disgust or ridicule with a few choice words and well placed fists, but quiet consideration was something else entirely. Romano shifted uncomfortably, wishing his brother was laughing at him instead.
“That’s not so strange,” Italy said finally. “Germany’s spanked me a few times.”
Romano played that reel of images for a few painful moments, and then replaced it with a vision of France getting hit by a train when his stomach turned over. But his brother’s rather open admittance of his sordid bedroom activity was of slight comfort, even if that wasn’t the very worst of the many things Romano was desperately finding himself in need of.
Swallowing quietly, he dug imaginary dirt out of his fingernails and ever so softly whispered, “You promise not to tell anyone, right?” His fists clenched a moment later, eyes flickering with an unnecessary measure of malice. “If you dare tell anyone about this I will fucking murder you, dammit.”
Italy shrank beneath the look, nodding quickly. “I-I wouldn’t betray you that way, big brother. I love you.”
Oh, that’s it, Romano thought, lumbering out of his seat in the direction of the sink when that vulgar emotion was thrust in his face (alongside his digestive system suddenly protesting that entire bottle of wine), I’m gonna’ be sick.
---
Start as you mean to carry on. Which is why the more special part of this writing duo accidentally left one of her silly part breakers in. Please excuse that.
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Please please continue!
I totally laughed at the random [o3o] popping out of nowhere though
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Your writing is seriously good here, guys. (Or whichever one of you finally wrote this up, I guess?) The humor is woven beautifully into the narration and Romano's drunken thoughts, and the way it flows perfectly makes it funny as hell. I mean, I read some of those hilarious descriptions, and the funny was just sneaky; it just ambushed me and I'd have to stop mid-sentence to laugh, then to go back and reread.
The descriptions of how Romano thinks about emotions are just hilarious, but they're also pretty accurate, I'd say. I actually got up and read a couple of these to my very confused brother, including this one: “Alright, alright, fine. Jesus Christ,” Romano broke in before the first, fat tears could escape his brother’s eyes, swallowing the awkward lump in his throat that he was fairly sure was emotion, and not vomit. For some reason, that just slayed me. And this is still funny, but the description really works, too: Romano felt niggling guilt gambolling around his belly and thoroughly hoped it was just the wine making its presence felt. Otherwise, this inconvenient emotion was going to be tumbling about his insides all night until he let it out in a sticky mess. Ew. XDDD
I won't quote the whole two paragraphs, but the entire bit about the words being balanced precariously on his tongue and the drawbridge being raised was just an epic explanation of how tsundere!Romano works. I mean, he's always tsundere, so that's a bit redundant, but ... XD
So, uh, yeah. I read the prompt immediately before reading the fill. I read the Italy bros sitting there drinking together having semi-coherent conversation together, and I read Italy asking his brother about his sex life, but I was still surprised when everything just came bursting out out of Romano. A+, guys. And I especially enjoyed the mind-burning effect of Italy telling his brother that Germany had spanked him on multiple occasions before. Italy, honey? Never change.
And the descriptions of what kind of a lover Spain is, how bitter and aware Romano is about his own ability to communicate his needs, and Romano's list of dirty little fantasies were all amazingly promising. The latter in a very different way, granted, but still! I'd say this looks like it's going to be fantastic, but it's already there. ♥
And randomly? I don't like Spamano at all, honestly. I came for the kink, but I'm actually staying for the Spamano for once. And maybe even the background GerIta, too. The kink is just an awesome bonus after that characterization. I almost never see a Romano that's both believable and likable -- I thought no one wrote him that way, really! -- but here he is, staring me moodily in the face. And a Germany and Italy that I can actually believe have sex instead of just awkward cuddling or something is pretty cool, too. Great job, you two.
Phew, I managed not to hit the character limit by not copy-and-pasting everything I wanted to. :Db God, spell-check hates my comments so badly! And apparently "gamboling" only has one "l" in it. Who freakin' knew? That was an amazingly funny word choice, by the way, both for the kinda gay connotations and mental pictures it generated as well as for its rarity.
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... ♥?
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I don't know about you, Romano, but *I* want Antonio to do those things to you.
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"Romano played that reel of images for a few painful moments, and then replaced it with a vision of France getting hit by a train when his stomach turned over."
Oh, Lovi. <3
ReCaptcha: denial preway. I think we already got past the denial bit, captcha.
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I-I feel so terrible for taking so long to respond to this, but lately college has had a monopoly on my time. I was scrolling through the fills tonight for the first time in a week, and as I came across this one I was like, "Wow. This has everything!" and was wondering how something matched my interests so perfectly before I realized I had made the request!!!
And... just... wow. This is absolutely beyond fantastic. I am so excited for this fill!!! You went beyond my expectations already, and everything you're doing is making me happy. I love Romano's characterization, I love the relationship with his brother, I love what I've heard of his relationship with Spain, and I just love how it's written. I appreciate everyone who takes the time and effort to do a fill, but there are some who are truly great writers, and I can see that I've got some of them ^_^
When I originally made the request, I had no idea how Italy would find out about Romano's secret fantasy, but this works so well! And the way he said it! Just hearing his fantasies made me hot; I can't wait until the actual porn. I'm just so happy right now! I've had one person start a fill for me before, but never finish it. I understand that real life takes its toll, though. But thank you so much, and I really look forward to reading more!!!
“I want stupid things,” he burst out, surprising himself and Italy both. “I… I want him to tie me up and blindfold me and I want him to pin me down and do sinful things to me and I want him to talk to me like I’m something dirty, and I want to be helpless--” oh God why wasn’t he stopping? “--and I really, really want him to spank me like I’m a dirty little boy.” <--I just can't stop reading this. I love it. LOVE IT.
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“Don’t fucking talk about me like I’m not here!” Romano snapped, appearing behind Spain with an expression to curdle milk. Obviously feeling no desire to be in this quaint little cafe first thing in the morning when it was freezing cold, he nodded a greeting to his brother and tossed his satchel at his feet, flopping into a seat at the table Italy had been occupying. Coffee pots and arranged mugs clattered, Italy’s poured cup sloshing over the side.
“Romano,” Spain chastised, pulling his own seat out and elegantly perching in it, “Don’t swear in a place like this. Children might hear you. And be careful, you nearly knocked the cups over.”
“Fuck you,” Romano responded (though marginally quieter than before). Spain sighed and turned his smile to Italy once more, Romano swallowing the sticky bile in his throat. This was precisely why he didn’t enjoy spending time with both of these morons together, assaulted by this sickening display of gut-wrenching affection every time it happened. They chatted and they laughed and every so often they mentioned his name, but Romano paid little to no attention to the conversation, only offering the occasional guttural, noncommittal grunt.
He looked up when Spain ruffled his neatly preened hair, instantly moving to straighten it out again. “Oi, dozy,” he laughed, pointing to the plate in front of him that was housing a large, fluffy muffin. “Ita bought you your favourite kind of muffin! Isn’t that kind of him? Say thank you.”
Romano stared at the thing, his mouth watering. It was indeed his favourite, blueberry and chocolate chip, but dammit all if it didn’t make him mad that his brother knew that. “‘s’not my fucking favourite,” he grumbled, turning his nose up at it. It almost hurt to lie, but nonetheless, it didn’t stop him from continuing. “I hate blueberry muffins.”
Both of them made a sound of confusion, Spain the first to say, “that’s not true, Romano. You were saying just last week how much you like--”
“Well, I’ve changed my fucking mind, haven’t I?” he growled, shrugging. “I don’t want it.”
Italy’s expression gave away every sliver of emotion. Spain, not one to be prone to anger, managed to look a little miffed. “Romano, at least say thank you for the thought--”
“I’m not saying ‘thank you’, dammit!” Romano snapped, folding his arms grumpily. It was childish and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Why the hell should I say thank you for something I didn’t want in the first place?!”
“Because it’s a nice thing to do,” Spain explained, looking for all the world like the pseudo father-figure of Romano’s memory, patiently explaining the difference between right and wrong like he was such a fucking authority on it.
“Tch.” Romano pointedly looked away, scowling at the delicately curved iron legs of the table next to them. “Maybe I don’t feel like being nice,” he muttered. Not like my fucking perfect brother, who’s always nice and thoughtful and oh-so wonderfull, his mind added bitterly.
Incapable as Spain was of noticing the subtler things, he knew Romano well enough not to attempt his infamous cheer-up charm in public, so instead he patted his knee twice under the table and turned his attention back to Italy.
After only a few moments of excited chattering, the issue of the unwanted muffin was forgotten, eclipsed by the fact that Spain and Italy hadn’t seen each other in so long. Romano could forgive them that, he supposed. They really hadn’t seen one another socially in a couple of months (not since his little brother had come to Spain’s house for dinner with them both, a night that, from what Romano could recall, he didn’t want to remember) so it was acceptable that they rambled breathlessly at one another for a while, Romano listening in and pushing his coffee cup around the table.
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When the topic switched from football, to France’s eternal will-they-won’t-they relationship with England (a relationship Romano really didn’t give a shit about) he stood up quietly and pulled his chair back under the table with one foot.
“Romano?” Spain asked, looking up at him in confusion. “Where ya’ going?”
“Toilet,” Romano murmured, shrugging before squeezing his way around tables and chairs between himself and the pale oak door marked with a neat, artistic rendition of a man.
“Brother Spain?” Italy piped up, dragging Spain’s gaze away from where Romano had just disappeared into the men’s.
“Yeah?” he responded, smiling brightly.
“Is my brother okay?” he said. “I’ve not seen him for a while - I mean, I’ve talked to him on the phone lots and I’ve seen him at meetings and we went for coffee a few times - but he got so angry over my present. I think maybe it’s because of before.” He sighed sadly for good measure.
Spain just laughed. “Don’t you worry, Ita,” he chuckled. “Romano’s just being his usual grumpy self. He loved your present, I’m sure.”
“I hope so,” Italy pouted. “I didn’t mean to make him mad.”
“Romano’s being a little bit spoilt, that’s all,” Spain said, smiling helplessly. “My fault, I suppose. I always gave him exactly what he wanted when he was younger. I still do, but that’s because he’s so cute that I can’t help it!”
Italy laughed too, a soft, pleased sound, his lips stretching into a contented smile. “I’m glad that you look after him so well, brother Spain,” he said. “My brother has so many secrets that it’s really hard to know what he wants sometimes. It’s even super-hard to buy him a birthday present!”
Spain gave him a smile that he didn’t intend to be cocky, despite the tiny stir of smugness roused deep within. “Really, Ita?” he asked. “Because I know all of Romano’s secrets.” All the secrets that counted anyway, like how he liked his tagliatelle alla bolognese; or how he would pretend that he wasn’t scared during horror films, but closed his eyes for most of it anyway; or how many times he would say ‘no’ until he let Spain give him a morning kiss, depending on his mood; or how his feet had to be warm before he got in bed because he hated having cold feet in bed; or how he had a sensitive spot just beneath his ear that turned his legs to mush if Spain kissed it just right...
Grinning dopily, Spain added, “Yeah, I definitely know all of Romano’s secrets.”
“You do?” Italy said, sounding distinctly hopeful. “I really had hoped you would, because he got so upset the other day because he wanted to tell you something and I just want him to be happy and he was so sad, but now I know you know all of his secrets, so he must have told you already!”
Spain’s smile was suddenly false, lips tugged Cheshire Cat-like over his teeth. “He was upset?” he said mock-cheerfully, cocking his head. “Remind me when that was because you know I forget things every so often, little Ita. My old brain gets a bit fuzzy from time-to-time.”
“Oh, of course, brother Spain!” Italy said, sipping his coffee. He swept a moustache of beige foam from his upper lip with feline precision, fingers curling around the pleasant warmth of the cup. “It was a few weeks ago now, that weekend you invited me over for dinner and you found big brother asleep on the kitchen floor.”
Ah, that night. Well, Spain definitely remembered, because the moment he had managed to rouse Romano from a heavily booze-induced slumber, he had proceeded to throw up all over his shoes. “So, he was upset, huh?” he said quietly, forced smile faltering. Romano had certainly failed to mention that the following morning. “I’m sure he’s told me all about it since then, but he gets worked up about a lot of things so if you could just remind me what he was upset about, too...”
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