(I’ll admit that I passed over this a few times because ‘not nice to Spain’ + ‘nice to the ladies’ + ‘Spain as a lady’ did not compute with me. I didn’t know how to make it work! I tried, but I’m still not sure if this is what OP is looking for.)
In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady
Romano could, more or less, tell when his dilemma started. He had always been hostile toward her as far as he could remember and for good reason. Whatever verbal abuse she got from him, she had caused upon herself. The constant affection; a ruffle of his hair here, a lovingly prepared meal there made him sick to his stomach. But mostly, it was whenever she left the house dressed in her battle regalia with a large axe in one hand only to come back in scraps being scolded by her boss for protecting him did he truly despise her. It was in the way she handled her affairs, in the way she mismanaged her authority as the boss that he resented her. Her resolve was weak no matter how large her dominion was and no matter how powerful her deadly strikes were. She was the epitome of everything he did not want to become when he got older - a monster with a weakness.
Nevertheless, no matter how repulsed he was at her lack of firmness, he always got a knock from the door of jealousy whenever she was with him, the well-known pervert everyone knew to avoid. Sometimes he would reason with himself that she was simply slow on the uptake. Other times, he could not even begin to defend her obliviousness to the constant gropes sent her way. How she could never notice, he will never know, but as a growing boy with very little fighting power, all he could do was watch from behind a rock or behind a tree, cursing with all his might the Frenchman who was supposedly consoling his confused friend.
Over the years, he had learned to ignore it because no matter how much he cursed him, he was and would always be scared of France. It would have been acceptable if it had stopped there. As he grew older, for some unknown reason, Spain became more noticeable. He could always tell when she was ready to go off to the fields because her hair would be haphazardly tied up and her attire, loose trousers and a white, laced shirt, was accompanied by a basket to carry the ripe, red tomatoes that were ready for the picking. More often than not, she was dressed in men’s attire, lounging lazily like any other man while those who knew better looked on with lecherous eyes. Nothing riled him more than a pervert looking at an ugly lady, which Spain was until about the time he hit puberty.
He would never forget the moment he barged into her room while she was getting ready for some formal event her boss had arranged for. Her dress, reminiscent of the time period, was blood red, ribbons decorating the heavy cloths that looked light as a feather with the way she carried it. Her stylized hair was up in a bun with few wisps left at the nape of her neck which was, for the moment, swept aside to allow her to lace her dress. The effort to lace the dress herself was futile as she could not reach the back. Romano could only watch in horror at the stupidity of the action.
“An idiot wouldn’t be able to do that on their own,” he voiced.
In response, Spain lifted her flustered face to regard him, one end of the lace still precariously pinched between her thumb and index finger. Her cheeks, powdered white, were nonetheless glowing pink as her green eyes brightened with recognition.
“Ah! Romano,” she said in a voice more melodious than he could ever remember. “Help me with my dress.”
In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady Part 2
anonymous
May 25 2009, 18:42:26 UTC
And when she presented her back to him, it was Romano’s turn to get flustered. He had never seen a woman’s bare back before or at least partially bare in this case because the idiot probably forgot an essential undergarment. He had grudgingly assisted her, muttering complaints all the way as she asked for him to pull harder as the dress needed to be tighter to fit just right. By the time he had tied the ribbon at the end of the lacing, he was sweating, if not from the effort then from the thought of being that close to an almost naked woman. That night, all he could think about was her smooth, flawless skin and the curves of her body the corset had so helpfully made apparent. He didn’t even have to touch himself to soil his sheets. He knew then that he would never look at a woman the same way again.
It was with slight mortification that he was caught off-guard when Spain found him later that same night, once elegant dress in disarray and wavy hair out of its once neat bun. She scolded him only half-heartedly as she caught him trying to wash away the evidences of his embarrassing thoughts. Thankfully or maybe even unfortunately, she had assumed that he had not outgrown his childhood habit of wetting the bed. After a heated argument, the heat coming mostly from his side, Spain confronted him with an issue. She looked despondent as she told him that he would have to go home while she tried to sort things out in her house. She never told him that war was brewing nor did she tell him that her new boss was going to be French. From then on, he moved from house to house, never knowing where he would eventually end up, although sometimes, he would still find himself with Spain.
Years later, after conquests and failures with many beautiful women, Romano learned the art of seduction in a way he thought would put even France to shame. After unification with his brother, not once did he picture Spain in the incident that had forever changed him. Strangely enough, it would be France that would remind him of the one thing he should never have considered.
During one of his visits to Spain’s house, a result of much coaxing from his brother, he spied another one of France’s antics. The Frenchman was cooking with Spain in the kitchen then. He was behind her with one arm around her waist and a hand resting above hers as they stirred something in a pot set over the flame. Spain’s hair was tied up in a ponytail allowing France easy access to her neck as he dropped kisses around it and murmured sweet nothings that made Romano’s blood boil.
“Catalonia, all of you should be mine,” he murmured, unaware of the opposition itching to knock him out from behind.
“Catalonia hates you,” Romano screamed from where he stood because he was not going to go anywhere near France if he could help it.
“Oh,” France said in an amused tone of voice as he turned to face him. “What are you going to do about it?”
Romano did not have any time to answer because Spain appeared next to him in no time at all, fawning over him the way she did when he was younger. No matter how irritated he was, he could not help but realize that this may have been one of the things that endeared him to her. It was probably that and the proximity of her exposed cleavage to his line of sight. She teased him mercilessly when he turned red, but he could only manage to take the teasing with shame as he glared at France for daring to unbutton her blouse when she was unaware. Needless to say, that night had been as interesting as the first. Alas, he was as alone as he had been that first time as well.
From then on, Romano’s reluctance turned into valor and he took every chance he got to enamor Spain because if he didn’t, some other prick would. While he could never admit to such an embarrassing act, Spain made it easier by being her dimwitted self. Romano was conflicted between whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. She never caught on, not until he tried to steal a kiss from her lips.
In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady Part 3
anonymous
May 25 2009, 18:43:46 UTC
“Romano, what are you trying to do?” she said, pink cheeks making her rarely irritated face glow. He thought it was both alluring and absolutely repulsive.
“Bastard, what do you think I’m trying to do?”
It took time for the state of their circumstance to click in Spain’s head and when it did, she smiled and gave him the answer that would infuriate him to no end.
“But you were my cute protectorate,” she said as she poked at his cheeks the way she always did.
Somewhere out there, he knew someone was laughing at him.
He may have been a coward, but this was something he was resolved to never back down from. Grabbing the hand that was incessantly jabbing his cheek, he swiftly used his other hand to curl around her waist and dip her halfway down for their first, real kiss. Almost immediately, he fled from the scene with an angry face as red as the tomatoes they both loved.
Humiliation was something Romano got used to over time because rejection was never too far away whenever he made an attempt at charming her. What stung even more was the fact that he was serious about it unlike the way he flirted with various, beautiful women his Italian blood sought after. Most of the time, she simply laughed at him for being funny. Other times, when she thought he wasn’t looking, she would be the one turning red from embarrassment, a sure sign that things were not simply flying over her head.
When Romano presented her with a lovely, red carnation, she promptly set the flower aside to which his response was to retrieve said flower and put it in her hair before letting out a string of profanities and calling her a hideous bastard. Awkward moments like those would later be squashed by an invitation for a drink or two that would last well into the night. By the time it was over, everything would be forgotten and they would once again be back to square one.
It was not until Spain acknowledged her bewilderment to his actions that she brought up the taboo topic herself.
“Is it that entertaining to make fun of me?” she asked while lounging on a couch. The business attire she usually wore for meetings had long since been replaced by more comfortable clothing. However, it still did not take away from the fact that her skin was exposed due to her scratching her stomach. Romano tried his best not to look, but he could only do so much before it became unbearable.
“What do you mean?” Romano asked distractedly.
“When you were a kid, you consented to marrying me.”
Romano accidentally swallowed his own spit and coughed repeatedly, hoping that the topic would go away. He was flabbergasted and more embarrassed than he had ever been. Only now did he remember that he did, in fact, fail to reject that marriage proposal.
“And that was just because you were jealous of your brother,” she added.
While the brutal truth did take some of the embarrassment away, it also caused a familiar and often denied ache to resurface. The competition was so close, almost too close and too good that it overshadowed whatever it was he had left to show for. Romano felt the moisture gather in his eyes, frustrations of many years threatening to break free from its often angry surface. This was his, not his brother’s.
In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady Part 4
anonymous
May 25 2009, 18:44:53 UTC
“Romano,” Spain said as she looked with horror at his pitiful face. Her habit of casually throwing sensitive statements around assured him that she would not be able to identify the source of his distress no matter how painfully obvious it was.
“You’re an idiot,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “You’re always an idiot. I-I like you, damn it,” he admitted. He couldn’t look at her because he knew he’d find a dumbfounded face and that was the last thing he wanted to see at the moment.
“But you’re like a son to me,” Spain replied with an honest and serious tone of voice. It forced him to look at her and study her expression because he did not want to believe what he just heard.
“You must be kidding,” he said dryly.
Spain, cheeks pink once again, responded to him with a shake of her head.
Romano decided that it was enough humiliation for one day and fled with whatever dignity he had left.
Time passed before he could look past the incident and for whatever reason, the poor heart the bastard kept breaking always came back for more. If anything, his flirtations grew with intrepidity because his brain told him that Spain just needed convincing. He hoped that she would realize that their previous relationship could be damned and that despite every little insult thrown her way, he may have just adored her for centuries. Admitting it was the last thing he would do, but after everything he’d been through, he felt that she owed him at least an equivalent reciprocation. He was a brat like that, but then again, it was Spain’s fault to begin with.
There was, however, only so much stupidity Romano could deal with before he finally snapped. The culmination of those little annoyances begged for a no less than all-out approach. Every little thing Spain did, every god-damned expression on her face was interpreted as a provocation such that he could not blame himself for what happened one weekday afternoon.
“You’re not complaining,” Spain had said, the frown on her face making her confusion quite obvious.
“Do I have to be complaining all the time?” Romano snapped, digging his fork into his food like a grumpy child.
“You always do when I’m late.”
“You’re always late,” Romano responded with irritation.
He would never admit that he was jealous of those bastards at the meeting who kept her with them longer than necessary. He would also not admit that he imagined those same bastards, his girl-flirting, idiotic brother included; making passes at her because the ensemble she was wearing that day was more provocative than usual. He would punch himself before telling Spain that when she took her suit jacket off, she revealed an incorrectly buttoned blouse that displayed not only her necklace but also her lacy, bedroom-worthy bra. He would swear eternal celibacy rather than confess that the combination of that, her calf-defining stilettos and her sinfully short, supposedly formal skirt was turning him on like nobody’s business. But most of all, he would rather roast in the depths of hell than admit that looking at her beautiful face rather than the rest of her made his heart beat faster and stronger than he could imagine possible.
“Give me a minute,” Spain said frowning as she hurried to the kitchen, probably sensing animosity from him. It was unfortunate that she was too thick-headed to realize that the animosity was directed at something other than her initial observation.
In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady Part 5
anonymous
May 25 2009, 18:45:51 UTC
It only took seconds before Romano decided to follow her and when he touched her shoulder to get her attention, she jumped slightly and spilled tomato sauce on her chest. Romano cursed in a long string of angry Italian, angry Italian he made sure Spain would not understand because she had stupidly, inadvertently combined two of his favorite things.
“Romano?”
And before she could even react or before his guilt could kick in, he licked the red sauce on her chest, becoming bolder with each, initially shy lick. Before long, he had her pinned on the wall, hand holding her chin his place, tongue inside her mouth melding her taste with the taste of luscious tomatoes. He was lost in appreciation of what was happening and reveling in the fact that she wasn’t resisting. She was kissing him back as passionately as he was her, her hand hooking behind his neck in a sudden, confusing change of heart. During this time, Romano was unbuttoning her wrongly worn blouse and getting his hands over more of that exposed skin. A bold hand latched onto her covered breast and squeezed with appreciation. This was probably what his young self was dreaming about when he saw her bare back so long ago.
Pent up frustration from previous, repeated rebuffs from her caused him to grip angrily and powerfully at her arm to hold her back. No protests came from her end considering the fact that if she wanted to, she could have easily thrown him across the room with that same arm. Short, sexy hitches of breath reminded Romano that she was enjoying this as much as he was and when he bit at her neck, he couldn’t deny his gratification at having elicited a throaty moan from her. It took a while to work her bra but when he did, he gave her bosoms, slightly obscured by her undergarment and decorated by a cross pendant, a good, hard stare. Binding those things should have been considered a crime.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be--,” were the only words she managed to get out of her mouth before he covered it with his hand. She always had the knack for saying embarrassing things and that certainly was not needed at the moment.
Romano’s other hand moved from her arm to her waist, rubbing her skin with insistence before shamelessly pulling her skirt up. He saw her eyes widen with surprise and almost called her an idiot for being shocked over it considering that her clothes were already hanging off of her and that his hands had already been in more conspicuous area. Still, she needed to be distracted so he opted for lavishing his attention on her ample chest while massaging her inner thighs. She was so sufficiently enthused by it that she stripped off her underwear herself and wasted no time in divesting him of his pants. Whatever protests she had before were long gone.
“You’re sloppy,” she said laughing as he clumsily tried to find the best position for them. She gladly assisted by hitching herself up on him and latching both her legs around his waist.
“Shut up, damn it,” Romano responded with slight embarrassment at having been so honestly called out.
“But you’re not half-bad with the foreplay,” she said next, burying her face in his neck.
Nothing could have been as sweet as the expression he drew out from her when he pushed himself all the way in. She threw her head back, teeth gnashing against each other as she stared up in the ceiling in concentration. Her cheeks were red, blinking lashes drawing his attention to her deep, green eyes.
In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady Part 6
anonymous
May 25 2009, 18:49:55 UTC
“You are so damn ugly,” he said in his own way of expressing his appreciation for her. “I have never seen an uglier lady in all my life.”
“You say that now of all times,” Spain said in panic and it took everything in Romano to stop from smirking at her in retaliation for what she’d done to him earlier.
“Yes, definitely ugly,” he repeated before proceeding to move inside of her.
All the Spanish he had ever cared to learn was dwarfed by whatever it was that was coming out of her mouth. Being that he’d lived with her long enough, he was able to easily pick out the most important words, a combination of pleas and gentle commands probably tailored to make him go crazy.
He could easily tell when she climaxed because her movements became so insistently erratic that he had to reposition the both of them to keep from falling over. And after she was through, she continued to drive him mad by whispering Spanish endearments in his ear, lightly nipping at his neck in subtle encouragement. Romano followed not long after, slamming her one last time to the wall with his body shuddering.
Strangely enough, post-coital bliss aside, he felt compelled to arrange her clothing, properly this time as it became apparent to him that after all those years, she still did not know how to dress herself. Amused by this, Spain gave him a kiss on the cheek which he promptly swatted away with his hand.
“I can do that myself,” she said but continued to watch him diligently do his self-appointed task.
“No you can’t,” Romano replied, straightening out her collar and making sure all the buttons found its place. No one would ever see more of Spain than he wanted if he could help it. When he was done, he felt the heat in his face intensify as the awkwardness of what had happened started kicking in.
“Romano?” Spain inquired when he hid his face on her shoulder.
Romano did not answer for a good, full minute, but when he did, he allowed himself to say the one endearment he would ever give her the pleasure of hearing.
“Mi querida España,” he murmured because that much had always been true from the very beginning.
End.
(Mi querida España = My darling Spain. I, shamefully, borrowed this from a song.)
Re: In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady Part 6
anonymous
May 25 2009, 20:24:19 UTC
...That was beautiful and well-written. You didn't butcher fem!Spain at all. I suppose he'll be like that if he was a girl. Good job anon. :D
For some reason, I found myself tearing up toward the end. Wasn't this supposed to be humor/romance? idk with myself. Must be the lack of sleep. Or maybe I was totally sympathizing with Romano's pain (and laughing at him. Dammit, am I contradicting myself?). :D
Brb, going to sleep. This was some hell of a bedtime story. XD
fl;kja;sf. FL;JKASKL;JFKL;ASF LKJGKL;ADGHL; OH MY GOD.
I-I never thought this would've been filled. In fact, I completely forgot about it until I checked the kink_aid this morning and promptly creamed myself in excitement right before going to school, mind you, and shamelessly read it after school again and again and again I just--
Oh my God my mind is blown by this beautiful fic, oh you have no idea. Both Spain and Romano were characterized too perfectly and every single detail you wrote just sunk into me like cement. I can't express my happiness and satisfaction with just words I am just likely typoing all over the place right now and using spellcheck more frequently than I would like because I am too incorherent to manually type coherently at the moment and I'm sure that didn't make too much sense either but-
fg;lajsd; FUCK I'm rambling. What I'm trying to say is: Thank you. Thank you so much for this amazing fic, thank you thank you thank you. You just, like, took this prompt and RAN with it. Like, this is completely what I wanted and more I just.
Thank you thank you thank you oh my Goddddd ♥♥♥♥♥♥ I. Love. This.
(I’ll admit that I passed over this a few times because ‘not nice to Spain’ + ‘nice to the ladies’ + ‘Spain as a lady’ did not compute with me. I didn’t know how to make it work! I tried, but I’m still not sure if this is what OP is looking for.)
In Pursuit of That Ugly Lady
Romano could, more or less, tell when his dilemma started. He had always been hostile toward her as far as he could remember and for good reason. Whatever verbal abuse she got from him, she had caused upon herself. The constant affection; a ruffle of his hair here, a lovingly prepared meal there made him sick to his stomach. But mostly, it was whenever she left the house dressed in her battle regalia with a large axe in one hand only to come back in scraps being scolded by her boss for protecting him did he truly despise her. It was in the way she handled her affairs, in the way she mismanaged her authority as the boss that he resented her. Her resolve was weak no matter how large her dominion was and no matter how powerful her deadly strikes were. She was the epitome of everything he did not want to become when he got older - a monster with a weakness.
Nevertheless, no matter how repulsed he was at her lack of firmness, he always got a knock from the door of jealousy whenever she was with him, the well-known pervert everyone knew to avoid. Sometimes he would reason with himself that she was simply slow on the uptake. Other times, he could not even begin to defend her obliviousness to the constant gropes sent her way. How she could never notice, he will never know, but as a growing boy with very little fighting power, all he could do was watch from behind a rock or behind a tree, cursing with all his might the Frenchman who was supposedly consoling his confused friend.
Over the years, he had learned to ignore it because no matter how much he cursed him, he was and would always be scared of France. It would have been acceptable if it had stopped there. As he grew older, for some unknown reason, Spain became more noticeable. He could always tell when she was ready to go off to the fields because her hair would be haphazardly tied up and her attire, loose trousers and a white, laced shirt, was accompanied by a basket to carry the ripe, red tomatoes that were ready for the picking. More often than not, she was dressed in men’s attire, lounging lazily like any other man while those who knew better looked on with lecherous eyes. Nothing riled him more than a pervert looking at an ugly lady, which Spain was until about the time he hit puberty.
He would never forget the moment he barged into her room while she was getting ready for some formal event her boss had arranged for. Her dress, reminiscent of the time period, was blood red, ribbons decorating the heavy cloths that looked light as a feather with the way she carried it. Her stylized hair was up in a bun with few wisps left at the nape of her neck which was, for the moment, swept aside to allow her to lace her dress. The effort to lace the dress herself was futile as she could not reach the back. Romano could only watch in horror at the stupidity of the action.
“An idiot wouldn’t be able to do that on their own,” he voiced.
In response, Spain lifted her flustered face to regard him, one end of the lace still precariously pinched between her thumb and index finger. Her cheeks, powdered white, were nonetheless glowing pink as her green eyes brightened with recognition.
“Ah! Romano,” she said in a voice more melodious than he could ever remember. “Help me with my dress.”
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It was with slight mortification that he was caught off-guard when Spain found him later that same night, once elegant dress in disarray and wavy hair out of its once neat bun. She scolded him only half-heartedly as she caught him trying to wash away the evidences of his embarrassing thoughts. Thankfully or maybe even unfortunately, she had assumed that he had not outgrown his childhood habit of wetting the bed. After a heated argument, the heat coming mostly from his side, Spain confronted him with an issue. She looked despondent as she told him that he would have to go home while she tried to sort things out in her house. She never told him that war was brewing nor did she tell him that her new boss was going to be French. From then on, he moved from house to house, never knowing where he would eventually end up, although sometimes, he would still find himself with Spain.
Years later, after conquests and failures with many beautiful women, Romano learned the art of seduction in a way he thought would put even France to shame. After unification with his brother, not once did he picture Spain in the incident that had forever changed him. Strangely enough, it would be France that would remind him of the one thing he should never have considered.
During one of his visits to Spain’s house, a result of much coaxing from his brother, he spied another one of France’s antics. The Frenchman was cooking with Spain in the kitchen then. He was behind her with one arm around her waist and a hand resting above hers as they stirred something in a pot set over the flame. Spain’s hair was tied up in a ponytail allowing France easy access to her neck as he dropped kisses around it and murmured sweet nothings that made Romano’s blood boil.
“Catalonia, all of you should be mine,” he murmured, unaware of the opposition itching to knock him out from behind.
“Catalonia hates you,” Romano screamed from where he stood because he was not going to go anywhere near France if he could help it.
“Oh,” France said in an amused tone of voice as he turned to face him. “What are you going to do about it?”
Romano did not have any time to answer because Spain appeared next to him in no time at all, fawning over him the way she did when he was younger. No matter how irritated he was, he could not help but realize that this may have been one of the things that endeared him to her. It was probably that and the proximity of her exposed cleavage to his line of sight. She teased him mercilessly when he turned red, but he could only manage to take the teasing with shame as he glared at France for daring to unbutton her blouse when she was unaware. Needless to say, that night had been as interesting as the first. Alas, he was as alone as he had been that first time as well.
From then on, Romano’s reluctance turned into valor and he took every chance he got to enamor Spain because if he didn’t, some other prick would. While he could never admit to such an embarrassing act, Spain made it easier by being her dimwitted self. Romano was conflicted between whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. She never caught on, not until he tried to steal a kiss from her lips.
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“Bastard, what do you think I’m trying to do?”
It took time for the state of their circumstance to click in Spain’s head and when it did, she smiled and gave him the answer that would infuriate him to no end.
“But you were my cute protectorate,” she said as she poked at his cheeks the way she always did.
Somewhere out there, he knew someone was laughing at him.
He may have been a coward, but this was something he was resolved to never back down from. Grabbing the hand that was incessantly jabbing his cheek, he swiftly used his other hand to curl around her waist and dip her halfway down for their first, real kiss. Almost immediately, he fled from the scene with an angry face as red as the tomatoes they both loved.
Humiliation was something Romano got used to over time because rejection was never too far away whenever he made an attempt at charming her. What stung even more was the fact that he was serious about it unlike the way he flirted with various, beautiful women his Italian blood sought after. Most of the time, she simply laughed at him for being funny. Other times, when she thought he wasn’t looking, she would be the one turning red from embarrassment, a sure sign that things were not simply flying over her head.
When Romano presented her with a lovely, red carnation, she promptly set the flower aside to which his response was to retrieve said flower and put it in her hair before letting out a string of profanities and calling her a hideous bastard. Awkward moments like those would later be squashed by an invitation for a drink or two that would last well into the night. By the time it was over, everything would be forgotten and they would once again be back to square one.
It was not until Spain acknowledged her bewilderment to his actions that she brought up the taboo topic herself.
“Is it that entertaining to make fun of me?” she asked while lounging on a couch. The business attire she usually wore for meetings had long since been replaced by more comfortable clothing. However, it still did not take away from the fact that her skin was exposed due to her scratching her stomach. Romano tried his best not to look, but he could only do so much before it became unbearable.
“What do you mean?” Romano asked distractedly.
“When you were a kid, you consented to marrying me.”
Romano accidentally swallowed his own spit and coughed repeatedly, hoping that the topic would go away. He was flabbergasted and more embarrassed than he had ever been. Only now did he remember that he did, in fact, fail to reject that marriage proposal.
“And that was just because you were jealous of your brother,” she added.
While the brutal truth did take some of the embarrassment away, it also caused a familiar and often denied ache to resurface. The competition was so close, almost too close and too good that it overshadowed whatever it was he had left to show for. Romano felt the moisture gather in his eyes, frustrations of many years threatening to break free from its often angry surface. This was his, not his brother’s.
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“You’re an idiot,” he said, rubbing at his eyes. “You’re always an idiot. I-I like you, damn it,” he admitted. He couldn’t look at her because he knew he’d find a dumbfounded face and that was the last thing he wanted to see at the moment.
“But you’re like a son to me,” Spain replied with an honest and serious tone of voice. It forced him to look at her and study her expression because he did not want to believe what he just heard.
“You must be kidding,” he said dryly.
Spain, cheeks pink once again, responded to him with a shake of her head.
Romano decided that it was enough humiliation for one day and fled with whatever dignity he had left.
Time passed before he could look past the incident and for whatever reason, the poor heart the bastard kept breaking always came back for more. If anything, his flirtations grew with intrepidity because his brain told him that Spain just needed convincing. He hoped that she would realize that their previous relationship could be damned and that despite every little insult thrown her way, he may have just adored her for centuries. Admitting it was the last thing he would do, but after everything he’d been through, he felt that she owed him at least an equivalent reciprocation. He was a brat like that, but then again, it was Spain’s fault to begin with.
There was, however, only so much stupidity Romano could deal with before he finally snapped. The culmination of those little annoyances begged for a no less than all-out approach. Every little thing Spain did, every god-damned expression on her face was interpreted as a provocation such that he could not blame himself for what happened one weekday afternoon.
“You’re not complaining,” Spain had said, the frown on her face making her confusion quite obvious.
“Do I have to be complaining all the time?” Romano snapped, digging his fork into his food like a grumpy child.
“You always do when I’m late.”
“You’re always late,” Romano responded with irritation.
He would never admit that he was jealous of those bastards at the meeting who kept her with them longer than necessary. He would also not admit that he imagined those same bastards, his girl-flirting, idiotic brother included; making passes at her because the ensemble she was wearing that day was more provocative than usual. He would punch himself before telling Spain that when she took her suit jacket off, she revealed an incorrectly buttoned blouse that displayed not only her necklace but also her lacy, bedroom-worthy bra. He would swear eternal celibacy rather than confess that the combination of that, her calf-defining stilettos and her sinfully short, supposedly formal skirt was turning him on like nobody’s business. But most of all, he would rather roast in the depths of hell than admit that looking at her beautiful face rather than the rest of her made his heart beat faster and stronger than he could imagine possible.
“Give me a minute,” Spain said frowning as she hurried to the kitchen, probably sensing animosity from him. It was unfortunate that she was too thick-headed to realize that the animosity was directed at something other than her initial observation.
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“Romano?”
And before she could even react or before his guilt could kick in, he licked the red sauce on her chest, becoming bolder with each, initially shy lick. Before long, he had her pinned on the wall, hand holding her chin his place, tongue inside her mouth melding her taste with the taste of luscious tomatoes. He was lost in appreciation of what was happening and reveling in the fact that she wasn’t resisting. She was kissing him back as passionately as he was her, her hand hooking behind his neck in a sudden, confusing change of heart. During this time, Romano was unbuttoning her wrongly worn blouse and getting his hands over more of that exposed skin. A bold hand latched onto her covered breast and squeezed with appreciation. This was probably what his young self was dreaming about when he saw her bare back so long ago.
Pent up frustration from previous, repeated rebuffs from her caused him to grip angrily and powerfully at her arm to hold her back. No protests came from her end considering the fact that if she wanted to, she could have easily thrown him across the room with that same arm. Short, sexy hitches of breath reminded Romano that she was enjoying this as much as he was and when he bit at her neck, he couldn’t deny his gratification at having elicited a throaty moan from her. It took a while to work her bra but when he did, he gave her bosoms, slightly obscured by her undergarment and decorated by a cross pendant, a good, hard stare. Binding those things should have been considered a crime.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be--,” were the only words she managed to get out of her mouth before he covered it with his hand. She always had the knack for saying embarrassing things and that certainly was not needed at the moment.
Romano’s other hand moved from her arm to her waist, rubbing her skin with insistence before shamelessly pulling her skirt up. He saw her eyes widen with surprise and almost called her an idiot for being shocked over it considering that her clothes were already hanging off of her and that his hands had already been in more conspicuous area. Still, she needed to be distracted so he opted for lavishing his attention on her ample chest while massaging her inner thighs. She was so sufficiently enthused by it that she stripped off her underwear herself and wasted no time in divesting him of his pants. Whatever protests she had before were long gone.
“You’re sloppy,” she said laughing as he clumsily tried to find the best position for them. She gladly assisted by hitching herself up on him and latching both her legs around his waist.
“Shut up, damn it,” Romano responded with slight embarrassment at having been so honestly called out.
“But you’re not half-bad with the foreplay,” she said next, burying her face in his neck.
Nothing could have been as sweet as the expression he drew out from her when he pushed himself all the way in. She threw her head back, teeth gnashing against each other as she stared up in the ceiling in concentration. Her cheeks were red, blinking lashes drawing his attention to her deep, green eyes.
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“You say that now of all times,” Spain said in panic and it took everything in Romano to stop from smirking at her in retaliation for what she’d done to him earlier.
“Yes, definitely ugly,” he repeated before proceeding to move inside of her.
All the Spanish he had ever cared to learn was dwarfed by whatever it was that was coming out of her mouth. Being that he’d lived with her long enough, he was able to easily pick out the most important words, a combination of pleas and gentle commands probably tailored to make him go crazy.
He could easily tell when she climaxed because her movements became so insistently erratic that he had to reposition the both of them to keep from falling over. And after she was through, she continued to drive him mad by whispering Spanish endearments in his ear, lightly nipping at his neck in subtle encouragement. Romano followed not long after, slamming her one last time to the wall with his body shuddering.
Strangely enough, post-coital bliss aside, he felt compelled to arrange her clothing, properly this time as it became apparent to him that after all those years, she still did not know how to dress herself. Amused by this, Spain gave him a kiss on the cheek which he promptly swatted away with his hand.
“I can do that myself,” she said but continued to watch him diligently do his self-appointed task.
“No you can’t,” Romano replied, straightening out her collar and making sure all the buttons found its place. No one would ever see more of Spain than he wanted if he could help it. When he was done, he felt the heat in his face intensify as the awkwardness of what had happened started kicking in.
“Romano?” Spain inquired when he hid his face on her shoulder.
Romano did not answer for a good, full minute, but when he did, he allowed himself to say the one endearment he would ever give her the pleasure of hearing.
“Mi querida España,” he murmured because that much had always been true from the very beginning.
End.
(Mi querida España = My darling Spain. I, shamefully, borrowed this from a song.)
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For some reason, I found myself tearing up toward the end. Wasn't this supposed to be humor/romance? idk with myself. Must be the lack of sleep. Or maybe I was totally sympathizing with Romano's pain (and laughing at him. Dammit, am I contradicting myself?). :D
Brb, going to sleep. This was some hell of a bedtime story. XD
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Oh Romano ;_; <3
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Oh my God I--
fl;kja;sf. FL;JKASKL;JFKL;ASF LKJGKL;ADGHL; OH MY GOD.
I-I never thought this would've been filled. In fact, I completely forgot about it until I checked the kink_aid this morning and promptly creamed myself in excitement right before going to school, mind you, and shamelessly read it after school again and again and again I just--
Oh my God my mind is blown by this beautiful fic, oh you have no idea. Both Spain and Romano were characterized too perfectly and every single detail you wrote just sunk into me like cement. I can't express my happiness and satisfaction with just words I am just likely typoing all over the place right now and using spellcheck more frequently than I would like because I am too incorherent to manually type coherently at the moment and I'm sure that didn't make too much sense either but-
fg;lajsd; FUCK I'm rambling. What I'm trying to say is: Thank you. Thank you so much for this amazing fic, thank you thank you thank you. You just, like, took this prompt and RAN with it. Like, this is completely what I wanted and more I just.
Thank you thank you thank you oh my Goddddd ♥♥♥♥♥♥ I. Love. This.
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