Too Much to Bare (but Not That Smutty) [Fanfic] Also, Link Spam
Title: Too Much to Bare (but Not That Smutty)
Universe: Blue Tulip Newsletter (Pirate Edition)
Author: MorriganFearn (The Blue Tulip Universe is the creation of champagnesly)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Spain, Romano
Genre: Action, Romance, Piratalia
Pairings: Spamano
Warnings: Sexual tension, mentions of arousal, blue balling
Summary: Blue Tulip AU. Where Spain got his sword that had been made by Italian princes. What happens when a pirate visits a rural smith on a hot summer day.
So, I claim a wonderful word from pyridene called Fanfiception. That is, this is a short fic that I am trying to insert into the "cannon" of an AU fic, of an AU fanfic. The glorious Blue Tulip 'verse is champagnesly's creation that basically started from the idea of " what if Sweden was a porn star?" Things kind of cascaded from there. The porn studio that Sweden works for is owned by France and the Netherlands, artistic director and finance wizard respectively. Francis is in charge of putting out a monthly newsletter where he writes litrotica stories for the extras, and he recently wrote a devious Spain/America/England piratalia. Some things dropped between the lines of that bit of smutty wonder to make me wonder where Pirate!Spain got his sword, and thus, this. Got all that? Good. You should read the Blue Tulip stuff. And everything else, if your romantic hear is so inclined.
It was one of those broiling hot afternoons when Italy Romano decided it was well and away time for siesta. From the booming of the city bells over the hill he realized that he had already missed the start of lunch, and since his idiot brother was off sailing in stupidly cold northern waters that no one but a moron or a German (redundant, Romano knew) would sail, there would be no lunch waiting for him at home.
Grumpily, he left the stifling brown gloom of his forge, stripping off the coarse shirt that was a close relative to the leather apron already hanging on its nail. It could while away the afternoon in the dust, and come to no harm. He was hot and too tired to care. Crossing the yard to the horse trough, Romano plunged his sweating face into cool water.
Whipping his head out, Romano turned to see where the stream of droplets landed as they were tossed from his hair, and smirked to see a splat on the boarded side of the smithy. Okay, so it was a little childish, and he didn't have Italy Veniziano to compete against, but the silly game was fun, alright?
He shook himself, casting more water in every direction, and feeling the cooling drops dry on his skin in the heat. That felt good. He'd been a fucking genius to fill the trough before he went to work that morning. Wait--if this water was from this morning, why hadn't the sun made the temperature tepid at best?
The thought sent a shiver down Romano's spine, and he whirled, peering looked around the yard in deep suspicion. He had not, in fact, filled the trough. That was the younger Italy's job, and the lazy kid only went to the stream to get water when there were customers, and since he wasn't even in the country right now--
A horse gazed at him coolly, tethered in the shade of one of the Italian maples that had begun to colonize the property after it was obvious that Romano was too fucking busy to clear them, and Veniziano was too fucking lazy (even if Italy complained that as a merchant captain he just couldn't be at home long enough to start a massive horticultural project, while Romano was always on hand. Romano was busy, god damnit). If the horse was here, where was the rider? Romano looked at the house, but the door was shut, and there was no movement through the windows. He stared at the horse, as though it could tell him something. It just flicked an ear.
A low whistle made him turn back to his forge. In the dark rectangle of the entrance a more solid shape had materialized, and it now strolled forward into the early afternoon sun, resolving into a tall man in a scarlet coat. His green eyes glittered with an aristocratic arrogance and greed that Romano was familiar with in his customers, but generally customers did not dress in mixed silk sashes and enough gold to be a walking shrine. The overall effect was careless, suggesting that the man had no disapproving servants to pick out his clothes, and make them match. Meaning that this was most likely a bandit. A successful bandit, but still not one of Romano's customers. He only did work on commission now, anyway, trusting to his grandfather's name, and his own.
"Get the fuck off my property," Romano sent his usual polite greeting of lower classes with a scowl.
The bandit's smooth lips twitched, but he bowed slightly at the waist. "I am talking to the famous smith Italy Romano?"
Romano continued to scowl, silent. This man was between him and the forge, and just because Romano made the best swords between Greece and Spain did not mean he was an adept at using them. This man had two daggers within easy reach, and a proper longsword at his hip, even if the scabbard leather was warped with water damage. Even in his casual advance his hands remained at the ready, and the long lines of his body were perfectly balanced. He looked a bit like some of Veniziano's racier sketches, actually.
Impervious to the silence, the man smiled brightly, the innocent grin lighting up his whole face. Romano found embarrassed heat lighting through his cheeks. "I am in the market for a good blade, and your name was the recommendation of the city taverns."
"I only do work on commission," Romano spat.
"And I don't pay for the baubles that I've set my eye on," the other drawled, getting close enough that Romano felt it healthier to step back a pace. "Let us attempt being flexible about our ways, hmm?"
Another step away from that brilliant grin, and Romano found his calves against the lip of the horse trough, the stranger looming over him, the two knives suddenly at the ready. The steel of one blade delicately ran down the invisible stubble collecting on Romano's cheek, caressing his skin until it reached the line of his throat, and rested gently there. The grin was slowly fading, and Romano found himself looking into that arrogance and greed once more.
Heart hammering in his throat, Romano wondered if he was going to die. "Wh-what the fuck was that about paying?" he squeaked, feeling the subtle pressure of the well honed dagger slip against his skin as he talked.
"I don't know," the bandit replied lazily, encouraging the smith to turn with a simple prod of the second blade. "Why don't we go into your smithy? I'll point out the sword I want from among your finished pieces, and then we negotiate."
The word negotiate curled around Romano like a serpent, promising a lot more than it was telling. An arm slung itself around his bare shoulders, now giving him a second knife to hover over his heart, and the bandit easily pulled him into the enclosed darkness of the forge. Stumbling through the door, Romano glanced longingly at the plow blade that he was working on, propped encouragingly near to hand. If he could--
"Ah-ah. Eyes on me," the point of the dagger at his throat lifted to push his chin in the direction of the handsome face of his captor. "You're a naughty one, aren't you? You're planning to hit your good boss Spain over his head as soon as his back is turned. We really can't have that."
The words delivered in such a low amused tone sent another shiver down Romano's spine. Some perverse, impossibly stupid thought made Romano wonder exactly how good this 'boss' was--Spain? As in the terror of the Mediterranean?! "What the FUCK are you doing in my shop!"
The pirate blinked. "I thought I mentioned it? I need a new sword."
"But you're a fucking pirate!"
"Well, yes. But I really am going to pay for it. It never does good to make a craftsman dislike your custom."
"You're supposed to be out on the goddamned ocean!"
"Even pirates need supplies on occasion," Spain conceded with an amused hum, leaning away for the briefest of seconds to grab a coil of spare rope hanging on a nail by the bellows. "You don't know of any floating forges with good reputations, do y--,"
Romano seized what little chance Spain's small movement gave him by removing the most threatening knife from his face, and rammed his elbow forcefully into Spain's side, ducking his head out of the way of the loose circle of short blade and left arm. Spain stumbled back before unleashing that too bright grin. He grabbed at Romano's arm, the cold steel of the dagger still in hand slipping up the vulnerable skin, nearly pricking the curve of the elbow, as the smith tried to flee towards the plow blade. With a hard tug and a turn, Romano was suddenly flying around Spain's body to smack heavily into his own anvil. His lower back erupted in bruised agony, and then Spain was on him, turning his body so he was trapped on his stomach, his arms underneath him, and Spain's heavy, warm weight pressed over him, cloaking his throbbing back. Romano felt the chuckle rumbling through Spain's chest, warm and disturbingly intimate as it breathed passed his ear.
"You're good, Italy Romano," Romano nearly groaned hearing that, blushing and furious with himself for blushing. "Don't try that again. I might end up injuring you permanently. Now, keep your hands on the anvil where I can see them, and I'll let you up. Slowly."
Spain levered his weight from Romano's back, one arm winding around his side, and Romano tried desperately not to think of the way the calloused, damp palm felt resting tightly against his torso, one finger casually rubbing the dip of his navel. Then the warmth at his back, and the hand at his front disappeared, and Romano was left spluttering and red faced for an instant. Only to discover the bite of twisted rope fibers around his wrists and then wrapping between them, tying him to the anvil.
Romano glared furiously as Spain, all smiles and cheer, entered his line of vision. "There we are. Now I'm going to lay this dagger right here," he placed the blade that had been massaging Romano's skin only a few minutes ago near Romano's hands, but just tantalizingly out of reach no matter how he squirmed. Spain's eyes flashed emerald as he watched, and Romano had to look away, imagining what Spain saw in the tight writhing of his limbs. "If you are really determined, you could probably pick it up in your mouth and begin to hack away at your binding. If you're a good boy," Spain's grin vanished around Romano's half naked body, and his voice began to float from the area of wall where Romano stored the finished pieces waiting to be picked up by their owners, "I'll leave it in your hands when I'm finished taking what I want, and we've agreed on payment."
Simmering, Romano leaned over, glaring at the hilt of the blade, as though by magical anger he could get it to move closer to the ropes. The mouth suggestion wasn't that bad, in comparison to being stuck all day and for who knew how long before a client wandered out of the city, and made the trek to the little farm and smithy perched on the rocky coast. He gulped, trying to figure out the right angle for his head and mouth.
It took three shallow gashes to the backs of his hands before Romano could begin sawing away, and even then the rope was refusing to part with any kind of alacrity. Spain returned with a low whistle before any real progress was made. A tan hand removed the handle from Romano's mouth as Spain's very warm body encircled his back once again.
"Tsk, tsk, so stubborn. I wish you would stop impressing me like this," Spain murmured into Romano's neck.
"You think I'm doing this to fucking impress you, shithead?" Romano growled, over the awkward rush of interest in his loins.
Another stupid little heat uncoiling laugh. Spain's lips brushed his skin. "I think you're trying to free yourself. As a member of the society of free rogues myself, I can only applaud it as an admirable goal. You could try joining us," one hand settled on Romano's shoulder.
Romano spat, cheeks aflame as the hand began to slide down his back, aided by the perspiration of the hot shack. Another few inches, and Spain would be palming the bottom of his breeches. "I can make more gold in a month than you can in three."
"True enough," Spain almost sounded disappointed, and his hand left its contact with Romano's skin. "Will this be enough payment?"
Something looped around Romano's neck, and he looked down to see a solid gold chain with a dangling crucifix at the bottom. "Jesus," he whispered. "You fucking rob a priest for this?!"
"No," Spain's smile curved against the nape of his neck.
"I'm not fucking taking anything stolen from the church. And remember, you bastard, you're paying me both for the sword and for the time and energy I'm going to have to devote to fucking replacing it. What are you making off with, anyway?"
A red leather scabbard appeared before his hands on the anvil along with Romano's plummeting heart. "N-not that one."
"Excuse me?" Spain inquired lightly, bringing his chin to rest in the cradle between Romano's shoulder and neck. "I have you tied up, entirely at my mercy, and I'm being generous enough to pay you. This sword is the right weight, has a beautiful balance, and fits me perfectly."
"That one is my little brother's. Our grandfather made it for him. You can't have it because I can't fucking replicate it. I'm just not that good. I'll never be that good."
Spain paused, or stilled, or somehow seemed to stop breathing, stop being anywhere near Romano. "Where's your brother now? Shouldn't he have this with him?"
Romano scowled at his stinging hands. "He's not the right size to use it, the fucking ninny. Maybe if he practiced more he wouldn't trip over the blade so much. I don't know. I'm even more fucking useless about the stabby stabby aspect than he is. God damned nincompoop. He rarely ever takes it with him. But it's his, and our fucking family heirloom, and you can't take it."
The weight of gold removed itself from Romano's neck. Two jeweled necklaces set in silver magically drooped onto the anvil's horn. "Then I'll borrow your family sword. Two months. When I return, you will have made me a sword to replace this one. I will exchange it, and you get the gold chain as well."
"I fucking told you, I'm not taking anything from the fucking church, you goddamned thief!"
"And you wouldn't be. This is my grandmother's necklace. Made for her from Incan gold to be part of her dowry by her very generous father. It's worth is a little blood stained, I'll admit, but something tells me this blade wasn't meant to slice cheese. Haha. So, will you take my offer?"
Romano paused, furiously calculating the worth of the necklaces on the anvil, trying not to think about the solid gold chain, and what he could melt it down for, and the time it would take North Italy to return from his tour of the god forsaken North Sea.
"You'd better bring that sword back without a nick or scratch, or I'm taking that out of your hide, you bastard," Romano threatened at last. "And it had better fucking be within the next two months. I'll make you pay for every fucking hour past that."
"Don't tempt me," Spain retorted in his ear, as the scabbard and sword disappeared. "Now push against me, and I'll cut you free."
Romano groaned slightly as the hand looped around again, steadying itself against his abdomen. He thought that he could get away with it, disguised as a grunt of effort, or something. But Spain's stupid clever lips pressed against his jaw, even as the dagger sliced against the tension in the ropes.
"Goddamnit, keep your eyes on your fucking knife!" Romano yelled furiously, knowing he had to be glowing red as a quick vile evil tongue tasted the sweat that had run from his temples.
The rope parted with a soft snickt, and Spain was instantly, innocently standing back from Romano, as though he hadn't been cradling the shorter smith and kissing him helpless. Fucking pirate. Romano turned on him, eyes flashing, only to feel embarrassed as lazy eyes examined him once more.
"If I didn't have to get back to town to catch the tide," Spain murmured, and Romano had the grimmest premonition the pervert knew he was hard, and maybe even interested in the idea of stealing the pirate for the night. "Ah well, two months then, Italy Romano. Two months."
He winked, and was out the door before Romano could even rub the feeling back into his wrists.
End. MF
In other news, rec time! Th15mak35n053n53 and I are in the same anime club, where we were watching Betrayal Knows My Name (thank GOODNESS that's over) but through all the drivel she caught the threads of Sleeping Beauty, and made an AMV to "Once upon a Dream." Also, finally, TMN5's Buffy vid is up. So if you miss season one and Willow being bad ass, this might be for you.
Universe: Blue Tulip Newsletter (Pirate Edition)
Author: MorriganFearn (The Blue Tulip Universe is the creation of champagnesly)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Spain, Romano
Genre: Action, Romance, Piratalia
Pairings: Spamano
Warnings: Sexual tension, mentions of arousal, blue balling
Summary: Blue Tulip AU. Where Spain got his sword that had been made by Italian princes. What happens when a pirate visits a rural smith on a hot summer day.
So, I claim a wonderful word from pyridene called Fanfiception. That is, this is a short fic that I am trying to insert into the "cannon" of an AU fic, of an AU fanfic. The glorious Blue Tulip 'verse is champagnesly's creation that basically started from the idea of " what if Sweden was a porn star?" Things kind of cascaded from there. The porn studio that Sweden works for is owned by France and the Netherlands, artistic director and finance wizard respectively. Francis is in charge of putting out a monthly newsletter where he writes litrotica stories for the extras, and he recently wrote a devious Spain/America/England piratalia. Some things dropped between the lines of that bit of smutty wonder to make me wonder where Pirate!Spain got his sword, and thus, this. Got all that? Good. You should read the Blue Tulip stuff. And everything else, if your romantic hear is so inclined.
It was one of those broiling hot afternoons when Italy Romano decided it was well and away time for siesta. From the booming of the city bells over the hill he realized that he had already missed the start of lunch, and since his idiot brother was off sailing in stupidly cold northern waters that no one but a moron or a German (redundant, Romano knew) would sail, there would be no lunch waiting for him at home.
Grumpily, he left the stifling brown gloom of his forge, stripping off the coarse shirt that was a close relative to the leather apron already hanging on its nail. It could while away the afternoon in the dust, and come to no harm. He was hot and too tired to care. Crossing the yard to the horse trough, Romano plunged his sweating face into cool water.
Whipping his head out, Romano turned to see where the stream of droplets landed as they were tossed from his hair, and smirked to see a splat on the boarded side of the smithy. Okay, so it was a little childish, and he didn't have Italy Veniziano to compete against, but the silly game was fun, alright?
He shook himself, casting more water in every direction, and feeling the cooling drops dry on his skin in the heat. That felt good. He'd been a fucking genius to fill the trough before he went to work that morning. Wait--if this water was from this morning, why hadn't the sun made the temperature tepid at best?
The thought sent a shiver down Romano's spine, and he whirled, peering looked around the yard in deep suspicion. He had not, in fact, filled the trough. That was the younger Italy's job, and the lazy kid only went to the stream to get water when there were customers, and since he wasn't even in the country right now--
A horse gazed at him coolly, tethered in the shade of one of the Italian maples that had begun to colonize the property after it was obvious that Romano was too fucking busy to clear them, and Veniziano was too fucking lazy (even if Italy complained that as a merchant captain he just couldn't be at home long enough to start a massive horticultural project, while Romano was always on hand. Romano was busy, god damnit). If the horse was here, where was the rider? Romano looked at the house, but the door was shut, and there was no movement through the windows. He stared at the horse, as though it could tell him something. It just flicked an ear.
A low whistle made him turn back to his forge. In the dark rectangle of the entrance a more solid shape had materialized, and it now strolled forward into the early afternoon sun, resolving into a tall man in a scarlet coat. His green eyes glittered with an aristocratic arrogance and greed that Romano was familiar with in his customers, but generally customers did not dress in mixed silk sashes and enough gold to be a walking shrine. The overall effect was careless, suggesting that the man had no disapproving servants to pick out his clothes, and make them match. Meaning that this was most likely a bandit. A successful bandit, but still not one of Romano's customers. He only did work on commission now, anyway, trusting to his grandfather's name, and his own.
"Get the fuck off my property," Romano sent his usual polite greeting of lower classes with a scowl.
The bandit's smooth lips twitched, but he bowed slightly at the waist. "I am talking to the famous smith Italy Romano?"
Romano continued to scowl, silent. This man was between him and the forge, and just because Romano made the best swords between Greece and Spain did not mean he was an adept at using them. This man had two daggers within easy reach, and a proper longsword at his hip, even if the scabbard leather was warped with water damage. Even in his casual advance his hands remained at the ready, and the long lines of his body were perfectly balanced. He looked a bit like some of Veniziano's racier sketches, actually.
Impervious to the silence, the man smiled brightly, the innocent grin lighting up his whole face. Romano found embarrassed heat lighting through his cheeks. "I am in the market for a good blade, and your name was the recommendation of the city taverns."
"I only do work on commission," Romano spat.
"And I don't pay for the baubles that I've set my eye on," the other drawled, getting close enough that Romano felt it healthier to step back a pace. "Let us attempt being flexible about our ways, hmm?"
Another step away from that brilliant grin, and Romano found his calves against the lip of the horse trough, the stranger looming over him, the two knives suddenly at the ready. The steel of one blade delicately ran down the invisible stubble collecting on Romano's cheek, caressing his skin until it reached the line of his throat, and rested gently there. The grin was slowly fading, and Romano found himself looking into that arrogance and greed once more.
Heart hammering in his throat, Romano wondered if he was going to die. "Wh-what the fuck was that about paying?" he squeaked, feeling the subtle pressure of the well honed dagger slip against his skin as he talked.
"I don't know," the bandit replied lazily, encouraging the smith to turn with a simple prod of the second blade. "Why don't we go into your smithy? I'll point out the sword I want from among your finished pieces, and then we negotiate."
The word negotiate curled around Romano like a serpent, promising a lot more than it was telling. An arm slung itself around his bare shoulders, now giving him a second knife to hover over his heart, and the bandit easily pulled him into the enclosed darkness of the forge. Stumbling through the door, Romano glanced longingly at the plow blade that he was working on, propped encouragingly near to hand. If he could--
"Ah-ah. Eyes on me," the point of the dagger at his throat lifted to push his chin in the direction of the handsome face of his captor. "You're a naughty one, aren't you? You're planning to hit your good boss Spain over his head as soon as his back is turned. We really can't have that."
The words delivered in such a low amused tone sent another shiver down Romano's spine. Some perverse, impossibly stupid thought made Romano wonder exactly how good this 'boss' was--Spain? As in the terror of the Mediterranean?! "What the FUCK are you doing in my shop!"
The pirate blinked. "I thought I mentioned it? I need a new sword."
"But you're a fucking pirate!"
"Well, yes. But I really am going to pay for it. It never does good to make a craftsman dislike your custom."
"You're supposed to be out on the goddamned ocean!"
"Even pirates need supplies on occasion," Spain conceded with an amused hum, leaning away for the briefest of seconds to grab a coil of spare rope hanging on a nail by the bellows. "You don't know of any floating forges with good reputations, do y--,"
Romano seized what little chance Spain's small movement gave him by removing the most threatening knife from his face, and rammed his elbow forcefully into Spain's side, ducking his head out of the way of the loose circle of short blade and left arm. Spain stumbled back before unleashing that too bright grin. He grabbed at Romano's arm, the cold steel of the dagger still in hand slipping up the vulnerable skin, nearly pricking the curve of the elbow, as the smith tried to flee towards the plow blade. With a hard tug and a turn, Romano was suddenly flying around Spain's body to smack heavily into his own anvil. His lower back erupted in bruised agony, and then Spain was on him, turning his body so he was trapped on his stomach, his arms underneath him, and Spain's heavy, warm weight pressed over him, cloaking his throbbing back. Romano felt the chuckle rumbling through Spain's chest, warm and disturbingly intimate as it breathed passed his ear.
"You're good, Italy Romano," Romano nearly groaned hearing that, blushing and furious with himself for blushing. "Don't try that again. I might end up injuring you permanently. Now, keep your hands on the anvil where I can see them, and I'll let you up. Slowly."
Spain levered his weight from Romano's back, one arm winding around his side, and Romano tried desperately not to think of the way the calloused, damp palm felt resting tightly against his torso, one finger casually rubbing the dip of his navel. Then the warmth at his back, and the hand at his front disappeared, and Romano was left spluttering and red faced for an instant. Only to discover the bite of twisted rope fibers around his wrists and then wrapping between them, tying him to the anvil.
Romano glared furiously as Spain, all smiles and cheer, entered his line of vision. "There we are. Now I'm going to lay this dagger right here," he placed the blade that had been massaging Romano's skin only a few minutes ago near Romano's hands, but just tantalizingly out of reach no matter how he squirmed. Spain's eyes flashed emerald as he watched, and Romano had to look away, imagining what Spain saw in the tight writhing of his limbs. "If you are really determined, you could probably pick it up in your mouth and begin to hack away at your binding. If you're a good boy," Spain's grin vanished around Romano's half naked body, and his voice began to float from the area of wall where Romano stored the finished pieces waiting to be picked up by their owners, "I'll leave it in your hands when I'm finished taking what I want, and we've agreed on payment."
Simmering, Romano leaned over, glaring at the hilt of the blade, as though by magical anger he could get it to move closer to the ropes. The mouth suggestion wasn't that bad, in comparison to being stuck all day and for who knew how long before a client wandered out of the city, and made the trek to the little farm and smithy perched on the rocky coast. He gulped, trying to figure out the right angle for his head and mouth.
It took three shallow gashes to the backs of his hands before Romano could begin sawing away, and even then the rope was refusing to part with any kind of alacrity. Spain returned with a low whistle before any real progress was made. A tan hand removed the handle from Romano's mouth as Spain's very warm body encircled his back once again.
"Tsk, tsk, so stubborn. I wish you would stop impressing me like this," Spain murmured into Romano's neck.
"You think I'm doing this to fucking impress you, shithead?" Romano growled, over the awkward rush of interest in his loins.
Another stupid little heat uncoiling laugh. Spain's lips brushed his skin. "I think you're trying to free yourself. As a member of the society of free rogues myself, I can only applaud it as an admirable goal. You could try joining us," one hand settled on Romano's shoulder.
Romano spat, cheeks aflame as the hand began to slide down his back, aided by the perspiration of the hot shack. Another few inches, and Spain would be palming the bottom of his breeches. "I can make more gold in a month than you can in three."
"True enough," Spain almost sounded disappointed, and his hand left its contact with Romano's skin. "Will this be enough payment?"
Something looped around Romano's neck, and he looked down to see a solid gold chain with a dangling crucifix at the bottom. "Jesus," he whispered. "You fucking rob a priest for this?!"
"No," Spain's smile curved against the nape of his neck.
"I'm not fucking taking anything stolen from the church. And remember, you bastard, you're paying me both for the sword and for the time and energy I'm going to have to devote to fucking replacing it. What are you making off with, anyway?"
A red leather scabbard appeared before his hands on the anvil along with Romano's plummeting heart. "N-not that one."
"Excuse me?" Spain inquired lightly, bringing his chin to rest in the cradle between Romano's shoulder and neck. "I have you tied up, entirely at my mercy, and I'm being generous enough to pay you. This sword is the right weight, has a beautiful balance, and fits me perfectly."
"That one is my little brother's. Our grandfather made it for him. You can't have it because I can't fucking replicate it. I'm just not that good. I'll never be that good."
Spain paused, or stilled, or somehow seemed to stop breathing, stop being anywhere near Romano. "Where's your brother now? Shouldn't he have this with him?"
Romano scowled at his stinging hands. "He's not the right size to use it, the fucking ninny. Maybe if he practiced more he wouldn't trip over the blade so much. I don't know. I'm even more fucking useless about the stabby stabby aspect than he is. God damned nincompoop. He rarely ever takes it with him. But it's his, and our fucking family heirloom, and you can't take it."
The weight of gold removed itself from Romano's neck. Two jeweled necklaces set in silver magically drooped onto the anvil's horn. "Then I'll borrow your family sword. Two months. When I return, you will have made me a sword to replace this one. I will exchange it, and you get the gold chain as well."
"I fucking told you, I'm not taking anything from the fucking church, you goddamned thief!"
"And you wouldn't be. This is my grandmother's necklace. Made for her from Incan gold to be part of her dowry by her very generous father. It's worth is a little blood stained, I'll admit, but something tells me this blade wasn't meant to slice cheese. Haha. So, will you take my offer?"
Romano paused, furiously calculating the worth of the necklaces on the anvil, trying not to think about the solid gold chain, and what he could melt it down for, and the time it would take North Italy to return from his tour of the god forsaken North Sea.
"You'd better bring that sword back without a nick or scratch, or I'm taking that out of your hide, you bastard," Romano threatened at last. "And it had better fucking be within the next two months. I'll make you pay for every fucking hour past that."
"Don't tempt me," Spain retorted in his ear, as the scabbard and sword disappeared. "Now push against me, and I'll cut you free."
Romano groaned slightly as the hand looped around again, steadying itself against his abdomen. He thought that he could get away with it, disguised as a grunt of effort, or something. But Spain's stupid clever lips pressed against his jaw, even as the dagger sliced against the tension in the ropes.
"Goddamnit, keep your eyes on your fucking knife!" Romano yelled furiously, knowing he had to be glowing red as a quick vile evil tongue tasted the sweat that had run from his temples.
The rope parted with a soft snickt, and Spain was instantly, innocently standing back from Romano, as though he hadn't been cradling the shorter smith and kissing him helpless. Fucking pirate. Romano turned on him, eyes flashing, only to feel embarrassed as lazy eyes examined him once more.
"If I didn't have to get back to town to catch the tide," Spain murmured, and Romano had the grimmest premonition the pervert knew he was hard, and maybe even interested in the idea of stealing the pirate for the night. "Ah well, two months then, Italy Romano. Two months."
He winked, and was out the door before Romano could even rub the feeling back into his wrists.
End. MF
In other news, rec time! Th15mak35n053n53 and I are in the same anime club, where we were watching Betrayal Knows My Name (thank GOODNESS that's over) but through all the drivel she caught the threads of Sleeping Beauty, and made an AMV to "Once upon a Dream." Also, finally, TMN5's Buffy vid is up. So if you miss season one and Willow being bad ass, this might be for you.