[APH] Of Toe Touches and Fingertips [Spamano]
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Spain and Romano
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluffy sex and Romano's mouth.
Summary: Romano is tired, his feet are sore, and Spain knows just how to loosen him up.
Notes: Another kink meme de-anon! Prompt was for a foot rub from Spain to Romano, and I just had fun with it.
It had been a very, very, fucking long day. Romano slammed the door shut and half-plopped, half-fell onto the long couch that Spain kept in his living room. This entire week, Romano had been slammed with report after report about culture habits in (what was formerly southern) Italy, and thus, his boss was forcing him to meet with Spain’s boss.
What a bastard. Of course, that meant staying with Spain for the week, which Romano didn’t mind because that meant someone was cooking for him and he had a body to sleep with that wasn’t his brother. It was just an adage, something to make the deal all the sweeter. A negotiation point his boss knew how to exploit.
Romano reached over his head to the side table and groped for the book he had fallen asleep reading the night before. He stretched out on the couch, his feet taking up the other end, and he frowned as he stared at his shiny black shoes, yanking off his plum colored tie as he went. The shoes were nice enough, Veneziano’s insistence, but they hurt like hell and he already was spending most of the day on his feet anyway. Why did he have to wear such fancy shoes with his suit? They were as stiff as a board and just hurt him.
Romano shoved himself farther down along the couch, propping himself up on a pillow, and cracked the book open to where he’d left off. He heard Spain in the kitchen, bustling around and humming to himself. He hadn’t heard Romano enter the house. There was the occasional clink of ceramic plates and the faucet turning on; he was doing dishes. Or something.
Romano turned to his book, crossing his legs at the ankles and sinking into the plush pillow. It felt so good to just sit down and not do anything. Romano turned the page in his book and was just about to settle into reading when Spain decided to start singing in the kitchen.
“Spain?” Romano called, but the water running from the faucet and the sound of his own tone-def voice blocked Spain’s hearing. “Spain, can you not?” The singing only got louder. Romano groaned, sitting all the way up, and mustered up as much breath as he could.
“Españaaaaa!” he yelled into the kitchen. “¿Puede por favor callas?” Spain’s curly mop appeared in the doorway, lips pursed and a devilish look in his eye.
“Why, Roma, you’re finally home!” Spain chirped, and he wiped his hands on his apron as he made his way across the room to where Romano was sitting. Romano scowled as Spain made his way across the room, and pushed Romano’s feet aside so he could sit on the edge of the couch. Romano stubbornly stretched his feet across Spain’s lap in defiance, holding his book up over his face.
“What were you doing in there?” Romano asked into the book. Spain settled back into the couch cushions and gazed at Romano in his black pin stripe suit. He was so dashing when he tried.
“Dinner dishes from last night,” Spain replied, glancing down at Romano’s feet.
“Try not to be so loud.” Bastard, Romano thought. He got to leave the office at five every day, whereas Romano had been stuck there past closing for the past two days, running around, collecting faxes from his brother and printouts from his boss. Spain only grinned and settled his hands on Romano’s shoes.
As if on cue, Spain started untying Romano’s fancy designer shoes while humming to himself, pulling one off, then the other. Romano peered over the top of his book, his brow furrowed.
“What’re you doing?” he muttered into the pages. Spain tugged one shoe off and dropped it to the floor, untying the other one and following suit. He then tugged Romano’s black dress socks off to expose olive colored feet poking out from under Romano’s pressed trousers.
“Making you more comfortable, mi corazón,” Spain cooed, and Romano frowned even deeper, although he could feel his cheeks heating up.
“Don’t call me that,” Romano spat, but the ice melted from his voice as Spain took his right foot in his hands, and slowly started rubbing the sides of his foot. Romano cocked an eyebrow and his foot twitched involuntarily.
“What are you-“
“I saw how hard you’ve been working,” Spain said in a soft voice. Romano curled his toes gently but then flexed his foot as Spain applied pressure to the top of his foot. “I didn’t know you tried so hard for your boss. Do you always try this hard for all your bosses?” Spain asked, and he threw Romano a coy glance.
Romano only let out a little squeak, sinking into the edge of the couch, holding the book over his blushing face. Of course, bastard, is how he wanted to respond, but he became lost in the sensation of Spain’s fingers over his calloused feet.
Spain then began rubbing his thumb in small circles underneath his biggest toe, and Romano felt a shiver run up his spine. It felt so good, and his feet were so sore. Those shoes were not meant for running around like a madman for hours.
Romano refocused on his book, flexing his toes and allowing Spain to continue working his magic on his feet. He felt a moment of pain as Spain flexed his toes back and a sharp crack cut through the air, but the aftermath felt pleasant. His joints were sore and painful.
Spain hummed gently to himself, some upbeat tune that sounded ridiculously Spanish to Romano. Romano continued to read, his eyes falling over the words, fatigue washing over him as Spain loosened him up. His thoughts drifted to the rest of his week, and how hellish it would most likely be. Staying with Spain made it bearable, but it was still an insane amount of work that he did not want to do. Romano still had the book in front of his face, but he was no longer reading it. All he could think about was the way Spain’s hands were moving along his feet.
He’d always loved Spain’s hands; they were graceful and calloused and beautiful and made him feel amazing. He could do so many things with those hands, from chopping vegetables for stew to gardening to even painting and playing the piano, and for Romano’s favorite use, touching him, running his fingers over Romano’s skin, leaving light touches and playful strokes along his body. It wasn’t even the other uses Spain had for his hands, it was just the touching, and the gentle, loving marks that Spain left with his fingertips, that Romano loved. It made him feel as if he was the most important thing in the world, and if Spain handled him too roughly and without the proper care, he would break like porcelain.
Spain was concentrating on the heels of Romano’s feet, moving between the two, when he felt Romano shudder down his entire body. Spain glanced up at Romano, and noticed a suspicious bulge growing underneath his trousers. Spain grinned and continued, humming a little bit louder. He wasn’t sure if Romano noticed the arousal or was too enamored by his book.
Romano’s head snapped back to reality when he heard Spain’s humming increase in volume. He angrily lowered the book and glared at Spain over the top.
“Spain, you-“ he started, but his eyes widened as he realized the warm feeling in his stomach was pooling out through his groin, and he felt his face heat up in embarrassment.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Spain said, flashing a grin at Romano. Romano’s face had become so red that he was sure he resembled one of the tomatoes that Spain kept on the kitchen counter. Romano immediately hid behind his book again and crouched lower into the couch, bucking his knees up to hide his waist from view. Spain gasped in surprise as one of Romano’s feet slipped from his lap, and he grabbed the limb to pull it back into his lap. Spain bit his lower lip and then reached out into the other side table and grabbed one of the small bottles of lotion he kept hanging around and covered his hands in the substance, rubbing smaller circles into Romano’s feet.
“Now now, Roma, I’m flattered, really,” Spain assured him. “I should have used lotion from the beginning; this feels better now, right?” Romano huffed from behind the book. Spain smiled and began kneading at Romano’s foot at a slower, more deliberate pace. Romano’s toes curled as Spain applied lighter touches to the sole of his foot, and he felt Romano shiver and try to sink lower into the couch.
Romano figured he could suffer through the embarrassment long enough for Spain to let go of his feet-regardless of the arousal, his feet did feel much better. But Spain was being a tease now, and was flicking at each of Romano’s toes at a frustratingly slow speed. Romano wiggled on the couch, grabbing a pillow from the floor and hiding behind it, his face still bright red.
“You’re a bastard,” Romano muttered, but it was half-hearted. Spain sunk a little lower on the couch and held up Romano’s right foot, brought it to his lips, and kissed his big toe. It was just a peck, barely enough contact to register static electricity, but Romano’s breath hitched at the light breath and the soft lips. His skin was even more sensitive than normal, and he could feel the tightness in his trousers, his mind swimming. Romano wasn’t sure it could get worse, until Spain applied a gentle little lick to the side of his foot. Romano reflexively pulled his foot in to his body, pulling it right out of Spain’s hands. Spain shrugged and moved seamlessly to the other foot, using his fingertips to tickle the sole up through his toes.
Romano let out a small whine, and he clamped a hand over his mouth in surprise. Spain glanced at him and then licked the top of his other foot, simultaneously pushing his trouser leg up and dancing his fingertips over the bottom of his leg.
“S-Spain...” Romano muttered, and his breathing quickened as his heart sped up. Each touch only increased the pleasurable sensations crawling down his spine, and Romano had to grip the pillow he was clutching to his chest as hard as he could to stop himself from jumping onto Spain.
Spain started working on the heel of his foot, rubbing the hardened skin between his thumb and his forefinger, working out the kinks in his feet. Spain knew Romano would never ask for any of this, for he was always too nervous or too stubborn to admit he kind of liked the flirtatious pampering that Spain offered. Theirs was a strange relationship, but it worked for them. Spain laid another kiss to the side of Romano’s foot, right by his ankle, and then moved to his ankle, then the bottom of his leg, sliding his hands up his trouser pant. Spain reached over and grabbed the little bottle of lotion, applying more to his hands and working at the muscles on the back of Romano’s leg.
It was then that Romano pushed the pillow over his mouth, trying to stifle himself, but the low, drawn-out moan that emitted his lips was hard to miss, and Spain grinned as he lifted his head from Romano’s leg.
“Would you like me to... move higher?” he asked, and without Romano’s response, Spain repositioned himself so he was straddling Romano’s legs, leaning over him, un-tucking his pressed oxford shirt and undoing his belt. The belt came off with a small click and the whoosh of leather, and Spain pushed the shirt up his abdomen to reveal olive toned abdominals, smooth and sleek and nearly buzzing with arousal. Spain laid a kiss to Romano’s belly button, simultaneously undoing his trousers, pulling them down to reveal pristine thighs.
“You really are quite toned, aren’t you, Roma?” Spain commented, lifting his head to rest his chin on Romano’s stomach. Romano’s legs were bent upwards on either side of Spain’s hips, his feet curling in and his toes brushing against Spain’s cotton socks. Romano still had the pillow pushed against his mouth, his arms clamped over it by the was trembling, his forehead and his ears were bright red and he was breathing haggardly now, his eyes half-lidded, swallowing thickly as Spain moved across his body.
How Spain always seemed to know the exact touches that sent Romano into a frenzy was lost on him. Spain was paying particular attention to his bare stomach, peeking out from above his boxers and below his dress shirt, and Spain shifted, leaning his elbow against his groin, applying much needed pressure against it and Romano tightened his legs around Spain’s waist and involuntarily bucked his hips just slightly, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Spain-“
“Yes, Roma?” Spain asked innocently, a wicked grin creeping across his cheeks. Romano lowered the pillow from his face, his chest heaving, cheeks flushed with arousal and desire. He pressed the pillow to his chest and Spain leaned on it, so he was level with Romano’s head. Romano narrowed his eyes at him, tensing his body.
“You,” he muttered, his voice breathy, “are a fucking tease.” Spain grinned and craned his neck to steal a kiss from Romano’s lips and Romano frowned, using one hand to grab Spain’s chin. “If you don’t do something right now, I’m gonna kick you in the balls,” Romano warned, and he released Spain’s chin. Spain repositioned himself again, this time hovering over Romano’s stomach, and Spain felt his own tightness against the zipper of his jeans but he sent green eyes back up to Romano and licked his lips.
“Oh really?” Spain murmured, and he moved his hands from Romano’s waist to underneath the elastic band of his boxers, and down his thighs to where he was mostly hard, and gripped the base of his cock with a small squeeze. Romano squeaked and buried his face into the pillow in embarrassment, and Spain couldn’t help but give a little chuckle at how cute Romano was being.
That earned Spain a jab in the leg with Romano’s left foot, and Spain grinned and let go with one hand to pull his boxers down his legs to meet his trousers, and leaned down, and kissed the head with the smallest of kisses. He heard Romano let out another low moan, certain he heard his own name mixed into the sounds, and took the head of the member into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the tip, tasting hints of the (non-toxic!) hand lotion and the faint smell of cinnamon that he knew Romano’s soap was made from.
Romano leaned his head back against the edge of the couch, still holding onto the throw pillow, his chest heaving, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, trying to stop his panting from sounding too desperate but failing miserably. Every bit of Spain’s touch was intoxicating, like an exquisite drug that coursed through him and became a part of him. Spain was really the only person in the world whose touches could turn him into a puddle of goo, and as this thought passed through his brain, he closed his eyes and moaned “Oh, Spain...” into the air.
That sound was all the allowance Spain needed to continue.
Spain lifted his eyes, hearing his name rolling from Romano’s lips, and the edges of his mouth twitched up into a smile that lit his face. He then went back to working on Romano, trying to make him feel as special and comfortable as possible. Using his free hand he caressed Romano’s right thigh, making small circles with his thumb, feeling the flesh ripple beneath his fingertips. He took more of the member between his lips, stroking gently, using his tongue to electrify every sensitive nerve he could reach. He knew he was doing well when Romano’s hips bucked slightly, and his toes curled into Spain’s sides.
Romano tossed his head to the side, biting his lip, his chest heaving. He didn’t want to sound too desperate and girly, but the heat in his belly was getting to him and his fingernails were digging into the pillow he was pushing into his solar plexus. He finally let out a haggard gasp, not realizing he’d been holding his breath the entire time, when Spain ran his hand over his lower abdominals, those fingers tingling along his skin.
Spain sensed a peculiar taste in his mouth, along the underside of his tongue, and he knew Romano was reaching his peak. Spain (as frustratingly slow as possible, the jerk) slid his mouth from Romano’s cock with a resounding pop, smacking his lips and grinning. He then slid forwards, pressing the organ between his chest and Romano’s lower stomach, and laid kisses along his abs, his lower ribcage, all the way to where his shirt met skin, and then Spain pushed himself up, straddling Romano, and laid a kiss to his jugular. Romano gasped again, this time allowing a breathy moan to escape, along with some jumbled Italian words. Spain caught a “mio Dio” in there and smiled into Romano’s neck.
“I don’t speak Italian, mi corazón, you know that,” he murmured into Romano’s neck, and the endearment that had earlier made Romano furious sent a shiver down his spine, his entire body shuddering and bucking up to where Spain was straddling him. Romano tossed the pillow from his chest, allowing Spain to gently fall onto his chest and threw his arms around his neck, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss.
Spain’s hoisted waist came down on top of Romano’s and as a relieving, tingling sensation ran through him, he felt a particular zing run up the back of his legs from his heels. He flexed his feet, the toes cracking again, and rubbed one foot against Spain’s ankle, surprised at the flexibility. Spain twitched at the sensation and pulled away from Romano, one arm on either side of his head, giving him a bewildered look.
“What?” he asked between pants. Romano still had his arms around his neck, looking off in another direction, as if he were contemplating something.
“My feet-they feel really flexible,” he said, and he moved his legs a little bit. “And my legs feel good.”
“That’s because I gave you a foot massage after being in those torture chambers all day,” Spain said, slightly incredulous. Romano trained his eyes back on Spain and gave a half shrug. Romano looked thoughtful for a moment, and-was that the beginning of a smile?-pulled Spain closer to him again.
“If you don’t take off your stupid jeans right now,” he whispered murderously, his demeanor becoming icy, “I’m going to kill you.”
“This is the thanks I get for making your feet less tense? Thanks, Romano,” Spain said, giving Romano a shit-eating grin. Romano rolled his eyes and pushed himself up the couch a little bit, leaning his back to the edge and removing his dress shirt, so the wife beater underneath was all that was left. At that, Spain was now sitting on his lap, undoing his own belt and tossing it to the floor, sliding his jeans down over his hips followed by his boxers, and then leaned right over Romano, two hands on his chest, cocks sliding together, and laid a kiss right on Romano’s lip, hips bucking into him. Romano laid a hand lazily against Spain’s cheek, grazing his knuckles along his cheekbone and kissed him back. For a moment, the kiss was sweet and innocent, their heads tilted slightly, and they pulled apart, and they opened their eyes at the same time. Romano searched Spain’s eyes for something; what he wasn’t sure. But Spain just gave him a lazy smile, brilliant eyes lighting up at just the sight of Romano, and he brushed his fingers through Romano’s bangs in an affectionate way that he only did when they were alone.
“Mi corazón preciosos,” Spain said in a soft voice, his fingers still running through Romano’s hair. Romano just looked back at him, breathing deeply, and Spain saw the familiar glint of desire in his eyes. Spain leaned down and kissed him again, more forcefully, and ran his hands down Romano’s face and neck, along his collarbone, over the edges of his shoulders as he kissed and ground into him, providing the delicious friction they’d both been craving. At first he moved slowly, timing every movement with every heartbeat that pounded through his chest. But the kisses grew sloppy and the movements erratic, pleasure winning over any sort of rhythm, and Romano broke their kisses with a load groan and buried his face into Spain’s shoulder, sweat matting his hair to his forehead, and he dug his nails into Spain’s thin cotton shirt. He felt fingers sliding down his stomach to his groin, gripping his erection with Spain’s, and he could feel Spain leaving kisses in the crook of his neck and his shoulder. Romano’s voice wavered with each movement and his desperate pleading sounds became louder and more frequent, some remnants of Spain and Spagna coming out between breaths.
Finally Romano’s body tensed, his heels digging into the sides of Spain’s legs, and he climaxed, his face buried in Spain’s shoulder, breathing deeply, breathing in the scent of fresh air and tomatoes off of Spain’s sun kissed skin. Spain was soon to follow, leaving a damp kiss to the side of Romano’s neck as he relaxed.
They lay for a moment, orange and red light filtering in through the curtains and splashing over them like paint strokes. Romano stretched out his legs and flexed his toes again, wiggling them and enjoying the slight breeze that was coming from the open window in the kitchen. Spain had moved his head to Romano’s chest, his arms around either side of Romano. He let out a low groan and pushed himself up, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto Romano, who frowned.
“Sorry, Roma-here-“ and he pulled his t-shirt off and used it to wipe off Romano’s soiled stomach and waist, and whatever had gotten onto the couch itself (and on Spain). He then tossed the shirt aside and sat up, pulling his jeans and boxers up. Romano lay on his back, hands folded on his chest, staring at the ceiling, eyelids fluttering. He was still incredibly tired, but he felt very awake at the same time.
“Roma, pull up your nice pants, they’ll get even more wrinkled,” Spain ordered, and Romano scoffed. So then Spain did it for him, buttoning his pants carefully (the button was a little too big for the hole). He discarded the belt to the floor and then pulled Romano’s wife beater down over his stomach and slid his arms around Romano’s chest and stomach, settling his head to his chest.
“Let’s take a siesta now,” Spain said, yawning. Romano dropped a hand to the back of Spain’s head and pulled at the slight curls that made up his hair. Spain looked up at him, a huge smile plastered on his face. Romano looked at him, expressionless for a moment, and then-
His lips twitched, and the corners curved up, his eyes softening. The smile grew, and the dimples he naturally had in his cheeks showed as they rarely did, and he breathed deeply through his nose. Spain then laid his head back down and tightened his grip on Romano’s waist, wiggling his head into the crook of his neck. Romano laid his cheek in Spain’s hair and pulled his knees up, his legs tangled with Spain’s on the couch. The room smelled of the flowers outside the kitchen window.
“We can make dinner later,” Spain murmured, already half asleep. Romano wiggled his hips and felt how tense his legs were not. As much as he hadn’t expected it, the foot massage did him some good. He knew he’d continue to be sore throughout the week but this made it more palpable, more bearable.
Spain let out a small snore. Romano stretched his free arm (he had one around Spain at the moment) and then reached to the floor and picked up his book, propping it on Spain’s head and turning the page to where he left off, sinking his head into the pillow beneath him. He only got three and a half sentences in before his head was lolling and he was fast asleep.
--
Fluuuuuuffffffffffffffff. Also my first Spamano post, not my first Spamano written, though.
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluffy sex and Romano's mouth.
Summary: Romano is tired, his feet are sore, and Spain knows just how to loosen him up.
Notes: Another kink meme de-anon! Prompt was for a foot rub from Spain to Romano, and I just had fun with it.
It had been a very, very, fucking long day. Romano slammed the door shut and half-plopped, half-fell onto the long couch that Spain kept in his living room. This entire week, Romano had been slammed with report after report about culture habits in (what was formerly southern) Italy, and thus, his boss was forcing him to meet with Spain’s boss.
What a bastard. Of course, that meant staying with Spain for the week, which Romano didn’t mind because that meant someone was cooking for him and he had a body to sleep with that wasn’t his brother. It was just an adage, something to make the deal all the sweeter. A negotiation point his boss knew how to exploit.
Romano reached over his head to the side table and groped for the book he had fallen asleep reading the night before. He stretched out on the couch, his feet taking up the other end, and he frowned as he stared at his shiny black shoes, yanking off his plum colored tie as he went. The shoes were nice enough, Veneziano’s insistence, but they hurt like hell and he already was spending most of the day on his feet anyway. Why did he have to wear such fancy shoes with his suit? They were as stiff as a board and just hurt him.
Romano shoved himself farther down along the couch, propping himself up on a pillow, and cracked the book open to where he’d left off. He heard Spain in the kitchen, bustling around and humming to himself. He hadn’t heard Romano enter the house. There was the occasional clink of ceramic plates and the faucet turning on; he was doing dishes. Or something.
Romano turned to his book, crossing his legs at the ankles and sinking into the plush pillow. It felt so good to just sit down and not do anything. Romano turned the page in his book and was just about to settle into reading when Spain decided to start singing in the kitchen.
“Spain?” Romano called, but the water running from the faucet and the sound of his own tone-def voice blocked Spain’s hearing. “Spain, can you not?” The singing only got louder. Romano groaned, sitting all the way up, and mustered up as much breath as he could.
“Españaaaaa!” he yelled into the kitchen. “¿Puede por favor callas?” Spain’s curly mop appeared in the doorway, lips pursed and a devilish look in his eye.
“Why, Roma, you’re finally home!” Spain chirped, and he wiped his hands on his apron as he made his way across the room to where Romano was sitting. Romano scowled as Spain made his way across the room, and pushed Romano’s feet aside so he could sit on the edge of the couch. Romano stubbornly stretched his feet across Spain’s lap in defiance, holding his book up over his face.
“What were you doing in there?” Romano asked into the book. Spain settled back into the couch cushions and gazed at Romano in his black pin stripe suit. He was so dashing when he tried.
“Dinner dishes from last night,” Spain replied, glancing down at Romano’s feet.
“Try not to be so loud.” Bastard, Romano thought. He got to leave the office at five every day, whereas Romano had been stuck there past closing for the past two days, running around, collecting faxes from his brother and printouts from his boss. Spain only grinned and settled his hands on Romano’s shoes.
As if on cue, Spain started untying Romano’s fancy designer shoes while humming to himself, pulling one off, then the other. Romano peered over the top of his book, his brow furrowed.
“What’re you doing?” he muttered into the pages. Spain tugged one shoe off and dropped it to the floor, untying the other one and following suit. He then tugged Romano’s black dress socks off to expose olive colored feet poking out from under Romano’s pressed trousers.
“Making you more comfortable, mi corazón,” Spain cooed, and Romano frowned even deeper, although he could feel his cheeks heating up.
“Don’t call me that,” Romano spat, but the ice melted from his voice as Spain took his right foot in his hands, and slowly started rubbing the sides of his foot. Romano cocked an eyebrow and his foot twitched involuntarily.
“What are you-“
“I saw how hard you’ve been working,” Spain said in a soft voice. Romano curled his toes gently but then flexed his foot as Spain applied pressure to the top of his foot. “I didn’t know you tried so hard for your boss. Do you always try this hard for all your bosses?” Spain asked, and he threw Romano a coy glance.
Romano only let out a little squeak, sinking into the edge of the couch, holding the book over his blushing face. Of course, bastard, is how he wanted to respond, but he became lost in the sensation of Spain’s fingers over his calloused feet.
Spain then began rubbing his thumb in small circles underneath his biggest toe, and Romano felt a shiver run up his spine. It felt so good, and his feet were so sore. Those shoes were not meant for running around like a madman for hours.
Romano refocused on his book, flexing his toes and allowing Spain to continue working his magic on his feet. He felt a moment of pain as Spain flexed his toes back and a sharp crack cut through the air, but the aftermath felt pleasant. His joints were sore and painful.
Spain hummed gently to himself, some upbeat tune that sounded ridiculously Spanish to Romano. Romano continued to read, his eyes falling over the words, fatigue washing over him as Spain loosened him up. His thoughts drifted to the rest of his week, and how hellish it would most likely be. Staying with Spain made it bearable, but it was still an insane amount of work that he did not want to do. Romano still had the book in front of his face, but he was no longer reading it. All he could think about was the way Spain’s hands were moving along his feet.
He’d always loved Spain’s hands; they were graceful and calloused and beautiful and made him feel amazing. He could do so many things with those hands, from chopping vegetables for stew to gardening to even painting and playing the piano, and for Romano’s favorite use, touching him, running his fingers over Romano’s skin, leaving light touches and playful strokes along his body. It wasn’t even the other uses Spain had for his hands, it was just the touching, and the gentle, loving marks that Spain left with his fingertips, that Romano loved. It made him feel as if he was the most important thing in the world, and if Spain handled him too roughly and without the proper care, he would break like porcelain.
Spain was concentrating on the heels of Romano’s feet, moving between the two, when he felt Romano shudder down his entire body. Spain glanced up at Romano, and noticed a suspicious bulge growing underneath his trousers. Spain grinned and continued, humming a little bit louder. He wasn’t sure if Romano noticed the arousal or was too enamored by his book.
Romano’s head snapped back to reality when he heard Spain’s humming increase in volume. He angrily lowered the book and glared at Spain over the top.
“Spain, you-“ he started, but his eyes widened as he realized the warm feeling in his stomach was pooling out through his groin, and he felt his face heat up in embarrassment.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself,” Spain said, flashing a grin at Romano. Romano’s face had become so red that he was sure he resembled one of the tomatoes that Spain kept on the kitchen counter. Romano immediately hid behind his book again and crouched lower into the couch, bucking his knees up to hide his waist from view. Spain gasped in surprise as one of Romano’s feet slipped from his lap, and he grabbed the limb to pull it back into his lap. Spain bit his lower lip and then reached out into the other side table and grabbed one of the small bottles of lotion he kept hanging around and covered his hands in the substance, rubbing smaller circles into Romano’s feet.
“Now now, Roma, I’m flattered, really,” Spain assured him. “I should have used lotion from the beginning; this feels better now, right?” Romano huffed from behind the book. Spain smiled and began kneading at Romano’s foot at a slower, more deliberate pace. Romano’s toes curled as Spain applied lighter touches to the sole of his foot, and he felt Romano shiver and try to sink lower into the couch.
Romano figured he could suffer through the embarrassment long enough for Spain to let go of his feet-regardless of the arousal, his feet did feel much better. But Spain was being a tease now, and was flicking at each of Romano’s toes at a frustratingly slow speed. Romano wiggled on the couch, grabbing a pillow from the floor and hiding behind it, his face still bright red.
“You’re a bastard,” Romano muttered, but it was half-hearted. Spain sunk a little lower on the couch and held up Romano’s right foot, brought it to his lips, and kissed his big toe. It was just a peck, barely enough contact to register static electricity, but Romano’s breath hitched at the light breath and the soft lips. His skin was even more sensitive than normal, and he could feel the tightness in his trousers, his mind swimming. Romano wasn’t sure it could get worse, until Spain applied a gentle little lick to the side of his foot. Romano reflexively pulled his foot in to his body, pulling it right out of Spain’s hands. Spain shrugged and moved seamlessly to the other foot, using his fingertips to tickle the sole up through his toes.
Romano let out a small whine, and he clamped a hand over his mouth in surprise. Spain glanced at him and then licked the top of his other foot, simultaneously pushing his trouser leg up and dancing his fingertips over the bottom of his leg.
“S-Spain...” Romano muttered, and his breathing quickened as his heart sped up. Each touch only increased the pleasurable sensations crawling down his spine, and Romano had to grip the pillow he was clutching to his chest as hard as he could to stop himself from jumping onto Spain.
Spain started working on the heel of his foot, rubbing the hardened skin between his thumb and his forefinger, working out the kinks in his feet. Spain knew Romano would never ask for any of this, for he was always too nervous or too stubborn to admit he kind of liked the flirtatious pampering that Spain offered. Theirs was a strange relationship, but it worked for them. Spain laid another kiss to the side of Romano’s foot, right by his ankle, and then moved to his ankle, then the bottom of his leg, sliding his hands up his trouser pant. Spain reached over and grabbed the little bottle of lotion, applying more to his hands and working at the muscles on the back of Romano’s leg.
It was then that Romano pushed the pillow over his mouth, trying to stifle himself, but the low, drawn-out moan that emitted his lips was hard to miss, and Spain grinned as he lifted his head from Romano’s leg.
“Would you like me to... move higher?” he asked, and without Romano’s response, Spain repositioned himself so he was straddling Romano’s legs, leaning over him, un-tucking his pressed oxford shirt and undoing his belt. The belt came off with a small click and the whoosh of leather, and Spain pushed the shirt up his abdomen to reveal olive toned abdominals, smooth and sleek and nearly buzzing with arousal. Spain laid a kiss to Romano’s belly button, simultaneously undoing his trousers, pulling them down to reveal pristine thighs.
“You really are quite toned, aren’t you, Roma?” Spain commented, lifting his head to rest his chin on Romano’s stomach. Romano’s legs were bent upwards on either side of Spain’s hips, his feet curling in and his toes brushing against Spain’s cotton socks. Romano still had the pillow pushed against his mouth, his arms clamped over it by the was trembling, his forehead and his ears were bright red and he was breathing haggardly now, his eyes half-lidded, swallowing thickly as Spain moved across his body.
How Spain always seemed to know the exact touches that sent Romano into a frenzy was lost on him. Spain was paying particular attention to his bare stomach, peeking out from above his boxers and below his dress shirt, and Spain shifted, leaning his elbow against his groin, applying much needed pressure against it and Romano tightened his legs around Spain’s waist and involuntarily bucked his hips just slightly, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Spain-“
“Yes, Roma?” Spain asked innocently, a wicked grin creeping across his cheeks. Romano lowered the pillow from his face, his chest heaving, cheeks flushed with arousal and desire. He pressed the pillow to his chest and Spain leaned on it, so he was level with Romano’s head. Romano narrowed his eyes at him, tensing his body.
“You,” he muttered, his voice breathy, “are a fucking tease.” Spain grinned and craned his neck to steal a kiss from Romano’s lips and Romano frowned, using one hand to grab Spain’s chin. “If you don’t do something right now, I’m gonna kick you in the balls,” Romano warned, and he released Spain’s chin. Spain repositioned himself again, this time hovering over Romano’s stomach, and Spain felt his own tightness against the zipper of his jeans but he sent green eyes back up to Romano and licked his lips.
“Oh really?” Spain murmured, and he moved his hands from Romano’s waist to underneath the elastic band of his boxers, and down his thighs to where he was mostly hard, and gripped the base of his cock with a small squeeze. Romano squeaked and buried his face into the pillow in embarrassment, and Spain couldn’t help but give a little chuckle at how cute Romano was being.
That earned Spain a jab in the leg with Romano’s left foot, and Spain grinned and let go with one hand to pull his boxers down his legs to meet his trousers, and leaned down, and kissed the head with the smallest of kisses. He heard Romano let out another low moan, certain he heard his own name mixed into the sounds, and took the head of the member into his mouth and swirled his tongue around the tip, tasting hints of the (non-toxic!) hand lotion and the faint smell of cinnamon that he knew Romano’s soap was made from.
Romano leaned his head back against the edge of the couch, still holding onto the throw pillow, his chest heaving, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, trying to stop his panting from sounding too desperate but failing miserably. Every bit of Spain’s touch was intoxicating, like an exquisite drug that coursed through him and became a part of him. Spain was really the only person in the world whose touches could turn him into a puddle of goo, and as this thought passed through his brain, he closed his eyes and moaned “Oh, Spain...” into the air.
That sound was all the allowance Spain needed to continue.
Spain lifted his eyes, hearing his name rolling from Romano’s lips, and the edges of his mouth twitched up into a smile that lit his face. He then went back to working on Romano, trying to make him feel as special and comfortable as possible. Using his free hand he caressed Romano’s right thigh, making small circles with his thumb, feeling the flesh ripple beneath his fingertips. He took more of the member between his lips, stroking gently, using his tongue to electrify every sensitive nerve he could reach. He knew he was doing well when Romano’s hips bucked slightly, and his toes curled into Spain’s sides.
Romano tossed his head to the side, biting his lip, his chest heaving. He didn’t want to sound too desperate and girly, but the heat in his belly was getting to him and his fingernails were digging into the pillow he was pushing into his solar plexus. He finally let out a haggard gasp, not realizing he’d been holding his breath the entire time, when Spain ran his hand over his lower abdominals, those fingers tingling along his skin.
Spain sensed a peculiar taste in his mouth, along the underside of his tongue, and he knew Romano was reaching his peak. Spain (as frustratingly slow as possible, the jerk) slid his mouth from Romano’s cock with a resounding pop, smacking his lips and grinning. He then slid forwards, pressing the organ between his chest and Romano’s lower stomach, and laid kisses along his abs, his lower ribcage, all the way to where his shirt met skin, and then Spain pushed himself up, straddling Romano, and laid a kiss to his jugular. Romano gasped again, this time allowing a breathy moan to escape, along with some jumbled Italian words. Spain caught a “mio Dio” in there and smiled into Romano’s neck.
“I don’t speak Italian, mi corazón, you know that,” he murmured into Romano’s neck, and the endearment that had earlier made Romano furious sent a shiver down his spine, his entire body shuddering and bucking up to where Spain was straddling him. Romano tossed the pillow from his chest, allowing Spain to gently fall onto his chest and threw his arms around his neck, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss.
Spain’s hoisted waist came down on top of Romano’s and as a relieving, tingling sensation ran through him, he felt a particular zing run up the back of his legs from his heels. He flexed his feet, the toes cracking again, and rubbed one foot against Spain’s ankle, surprised at the flexibility. Spain twitched at the sensation and pulled away from Romano, one arm on either side of his head, giving him a bewildered look.
“What?” he asked between pants. Romano still had his arms around his neck, looking off in another direction, as if he were contemplating something.
“My feet-they feel really flexible,” he said, and he moved his legs a little bit. “And my legs feel good.”
“That’s because I gave you a foot massage after being in those torture chambers all day,” Spain said, slightly incredulous. Romano trained his eyes back on Spain and gave a half shrug. Romano looked thoughtful for a moment, and-was that the beginning of a smile?-pulled Spain closer to him again.
“If you don’t take off your stupid jeans right now,” he whispered murderously, his demeanor becoming icy, “I’m going to kill you.”
“This is the thanks I get for making your feet less tense? Thanks, Romano,” Spain said, giving Romano a shit-eating grin. Romano rolled his eyes and pushed himself up the couch a little bit, leaning his back to the edge and removing his dress shirt, so the wife beater underneath was all that was left. At that, Spain was now sitting on his lap, undoing his own belt and tossing it to the floor, sliding his jeans down over his hips followed by his boxers, and then leaned right over Romano, two hands on his chest, cocks sliding together, and laid a kiss right on Romano’s lip, hips bucking into him. Romano laid a hand lazily against Spain’s cheek, grazing his knuckles along his cheekbone and kissed him back. For a moment, the kiss was sweet and innocent, their heads tilted slightly, and they pulled apart, and they opened their eyes at the same time. Romano searched Spain’s eyes for something; what he wasn’t sure. But Spain just gave him a lazy smile, brilliant eyes lighting up at just the sight of Romano, and he brushed his fingers through Romano’s bangs in an affectionate way that he only did when they were alone.
“Mi corazón preciosos,” Spain said in a soft voice, his fingers still running through Romano’s hair. Romano just looked back at him, breathing deeply, and Spain saw the familiar glint of desire in his eyes. Spain leaned down and kissed him again, more forcefully, and ran his hands down Romano’s face and neck, along his collarbone, over the edges of his shoulders as he kissed and ground into him, providing the delicious friction they’d both been craving. At first he moved slowly, timing every movement with every heartbeat that pounded through his chest. But the kisses grew sloppy and the movements erratic, pleasure winning over any sort of rhythm, and Romano broke their kisses with a load groan and buried his face into Spain’s shoulder, sweat matting his hair to his forehead, and he dug his nails into Spain’s thin cotton shirt. He felt fingers sliding down his stomach to his groin, gripping his erection with Spain’s, and he could feel Spain leaving kisses in the crook of his neck and his shoulder. Romano’s voice wavered with each movement and his desperate pleading sounds became louder and more frequent, some remnants of Spain and Spagna coming out between breaths.
Finally Romano’s body tensed, his heels digging into the sides of Spain’s legs, and he climaxed, his face buried in Spain’s shoulder, breathing deeply, breathing in the scent of fresh air and tomatoes off of Spain’s sun kissed skin. Spain was soon to follow, leaving a damp kiss to the side of Romano’s neck as he relaxed.
They lay for a moment, orange and red light filtering in through the curtains and splashing over them like paint strokes. Romano stretched out his legs and flexed his toes again, wiggling them and enjoying the slight breeze that was coming from the open window in the kitchen. Spain had moved his head to Romano’s chest, his arms around either side of Romano. He let out a low groan and pushed himself up, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto Romano, who frowned.
“Sorry, Roma-here-“ and he pulled his t-shirt off and used it to wipe off Romano’s soiled stomach and waist, and whatever had gotten onto the couch itself (and on Spain). He then tossed the shirt aside and sat up, pulling his jeans and boxers up. Romano lay on his back, hands folded on his chest, staring at the ceiling, eyelids fluttering. He was still incredibly tired, but he felt very awake at the same time.
“Roma, pull up your nice pants, they’ll get even more wrinkled,” Spain ordered, and Romano scoffed. So then Spain did it for him, buttoning his pants carefully (the button was a little too big for the hole). He discarded the belt to the floor and then pulled Romano’s wife beater down over his stomach and slid his arms around Romano’s chest and stomach, settling his head to his chest.
“Let’s take a siesta now,” Spain said, yawning. Romano dropped a hand to the back of Spain’s head and pulled at the slight curls that made up his hair. Spain looked up at him, a huge smile plastered on his face. Romano looked at him, expressionless for a moment, and then-
His lips twitched, and the corners curved up, his eyes softening. The smile grew, and the dimples he naturally had in his cheeks showed as they rarely did, and he breathed deeply through his nose. Spain then laid his head back down and tightened his grip on Romano’s waist, wiggling his head into the crook of his neck. Romano laid his cheek in Spain’s hair and pulled his knees up, his legs tangled with Spain’s on the couch. The room smelled of the flowers outside the kitchen window.
“We can make dinner later,” Spain murmured, already half asleep. Romano wiggled his hips and felt how tense his legs were not. As much as he hadn’t expected it, the foot massage did him some good. He knew he’d continue to be sore throughout the week but this made it more palpable, more bearable.
Spain let out a small snore. Romano stretched his free arm (he had one around Spain at the moment) and then reached to the floor and picked up his book, propping it on Spain’s head and turning the page to where he left off, sinking his head into the pillow beneath him. He only got three and a half sentences in before his head was lolling and he was fast asleep.
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Fluuuuuuffffffffffffffff. Also my first Spamano post, not my first Spamano written, though.