Gift for pbjsammich
Title: Tales from La Cocina
Author: rosariofebrero
Recipient: pbjsammich
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Spamano
Word Count: 1044
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Lots of language on Romano's part, churros and sexual implications, terrible tomato pun
Summary: Spain’s kitchen was a place that held many of Romano’s memories.
Spain’s kitchen was a place that held many of Romano’s memories. When he was a child, he always found Spain in the kitchen when he was looking for him- drinking a cup of coffee at the table or cooking a meal or experimenting with spices. On the weekends, he’d make Romano churros every morning, always inviting him to help or watch. Romano declined most of his requests, but when Spain wasn’t paying attention, he liked to stand at the doorway and watch him cook. Spain rarely concentrated too hard on anything, but the concentration he showed toward cuisine fascinated Romano from an early age.
Spain took great pride in his food, and Romano could see why. Even if he didn’t admit it, Spain was a fantastic cook. And even if Spain was not the smartest, he seemed to have an inherent understanding of all things related to food. Though he would never say so out loud, Romano swore that he could taste the love Spain put into cooking. Gardening was another thing that came easily to him, and Romano couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. It was one of his favorite hobbies that he picked up at Spain’s house, but he was still a notch under Spain’s skill level.
Now that he was older (and they were together), Spain’s kitchen was still a special place. At the beginning of their relationship, they would sit silently at the counter with cups of coffee, too shy to make a move. Once things began to progress, Spain cooked him many romantic meals over candlelight. Romano insisted that the cheesy music playing in the background wasn’t necessary, but Spain thought otherwise. When Romano was feeling generous, he would help a bit, cleaning the counters and even attempting to do the dishes.
Bored at work, Romano tried to recall some of his favorite recent memories from the kitchen that was so familiar to him, hiding his smile behind his hand.
ﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟ
“Let me do the cutting.”
Romano glared suspiciously at Spain, holding the knife away from him. He knew that his culinary skills were less than impressive, but he didn’t want to be patronized- even if it was for his own safety. “What? Do you think I can’t handle it?”
Spain smiled wearily, still reaching for the knife. “C’mon, just let me do it. It’ll be faster.” But Romano shook his head, sneering at him. Trying to ignore Spain’s idiotic pout, he sliced the vegetables in front of him as quickly as he could, irritated. Spain’s an idiot. I can do this better than he can, he thought, feeling smug as everything went smoothly. He should stop treating me like a fucking baby. Spain still doted on him as an adult, and though it had always bothered Romano, he could never make him stop. Maybe if I prove to him I’m not a child, he’ll shut the hell up for once.
Moments later, Spain tended to the cut on his finger while Romano sat on the counter, forcing back tears and insisting it wasn’t his goddamn fault.
ﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟ
“Can you get the flour out?”
It was months since Romano’s last knife disaster, and after much begging and pleading, Spain had convinced him to join him in the kitchen again. This time they were making a simple cake, and while Spain danced around the kitchen to the beat of the song on the radio, Romano rolled his eyes at the display. Dork. When Spain began to sing along, Roman reached into the bag of flour and threw a handful at his face, satisfied when Spain was reduced to a spluttering mess.
“What was- what was that for?” Spain coughed, wiping flour from his face.
“For being yourself,” Romano replied simply, smirking to himself while he searched the cabinets for vanilla. He failed to notice Spain creeping up behind him with a handful of flour of his own, smiling mischievously before sprinkling it over his head.
Romano whirled around once he realized what was going on, furious. “What the goddamn fuck are you doing?!” he yelled, smacking Spain’s hand away. “That’s going to take forever to get out!”
Spain grinned, tossing the rest of the flour in his hair despite his protests. “You started it!” He laughed and used a pan as a shield when Romano retaliated, tossing flour all over him. When their fight finally came to an end (only because the bag was empty), most of the kitchen was thinly coated in flour, some even reaching the ceiling. Spain scratched his head as he observed the scene, cracking a smile when he noticed Romano’s guilty expression. “You don’t expect me to clean this up myself, do you?”
“Damn right I do,” Romano grunted, turning around so Spain couldn’t see his smile.
ﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟ
Spain set the plate of freshly made churros in the middle of the table, seating himself across from Romano with a smile. Though he didn’t admit it easily, churros were one of Romano’s favorite foods, and he always had to hide his childlike excitement when he made them with Spain. They chatted happily over their meal, sipping coffee and warmed by the sun that shone in through the window. Romano licked the sugar left over on his fingers carefully, noticing when Spain watched for a moment. He looked down quickly, focusing on what was left on his plate.
Romano raised an eyebrow, sucking on his finger again and watching closely for his reaction. Spain only looked up for a brief second, seemingly transfixed before he looked away, blushing lightly. What a pervert, Romano thought, amused. Once they were both finished, they sat in comfortable silence, listening to the birds chirping outside. When Spain was momentarily distracted, Romano reached for his hand, bringing it close to his mouth.
Feeling brave, Romano sucked lightly on Spain’s fingers, trying not to laugh when his face reddened considerably. Remembering something that he had always wanted to say, he sat back against the chair, smirking.
“Hey, Spain?” he asked innocently. Spain only blinked, waiting for him to speak. “Your face looks like a tomato.”
Author: rosariofebrero
Recipient: pbjsammich
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Spamano
Word Count: 1044
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Lots of language on Romano's part, churros and sexual implications, terrible tomato pun
Summary: Spain’s kitchen was a place that held many of Romano’s memories.
Spain’s kitchen was a place that held many of Romano’s memories. When he was a child, he always found Spain in the kitchen when he was looking for him- drinking a cup of coffee at the table or cooking a meal or experimenting with spices. On the weekends, he’d make Romano churros every morning, always inviting him to help or watch. Romano declined most of his requests, but when Spain wasn’t paying attention, he liked to stand at the doorway and watch him cook. Spain rarely concentrated too hard on anything, but the concentration he showed toward cuisine fascinated Romano from an early age.
Spain took great pride in his food, and Romano could see why. Even if he didn’t admit it, Spain was a fantastic cook. And even if Spain was not the smartest, he seemed to have an inherent understanding of all things related to food. Though he would never say so out loud, Romano swore that he could taste the love Spain put into cooking. Gardening was another thing that came easily to him, and Romano couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. It was one of his favorite hobbies that he picked up at Spain’s house, but he was still a notch under Spain’s skill level.
Now that he was older (and they were together), Spain’s kitchen was still a special place. At the beginning of their relationship, they would sit silently at the counter with cups of coffee, too shy to make a move. Once things began to progress, Spain cooked him many romantic meals over candlelight. Romano insisted that the cheesy music playing in the background wasn’t necessary, but Spain thought otherwise. When Romano was feeling generous, he would help a bit, cleaning the counters and even attempting to do the dishes.
Bored at work, Romano tried to recall some of his favorite recent memories from the kitchen that was so familiar to him, hiding his smile behind his hand.
ﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟ
“Let me do the cutting.”
Romano glared suspiciously at Spain, holding the knife away from him. He knew that his culinary skills were less than impressive, but he didn’t want to be patronized- even if it was for his own safety. “What? Do you think I can’t handle it?”
Spain smiled wearily, still reaching for the knife. “C’mon, just let me do it. It’ll be faster.” But Romano shook his head, sneering at him. Trying to ignore Spain’s idiotic pout, he sliced the vegetables in front of him as quickly as he could, irritated. Spain’s an idiot. I can do this better than he can, he thought, feeling smug as everything went smoothly. He should stop treating me like a fucking baby. Spain still doted on him as an adult, and though it had always bothered Romano, he could never make him stop. Maybe if I prove to him I’m not a child, he’ll shut the hell up for once.
Moments later, Spain tended to the cut on his finger while Romano sat on the counter, forcing back tears and insisting it wasn’t his goddamn fault.
ﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟ
“Can you get the flour out?”
It was months since Romano’s last knife disaster, and after much begging and pleading, Spain had convinced him to join him in the kitchen again. This time they were making a simple cake, and while Spain danced around the kitchen to the beat of the song on the radio, Romano rolled his eyes at the display. Dork. When Spain began to sing along, Roman reached into the bag of flour and threw a handful at his face, satisfied when Spain was reduced to a spluttering mess.
“What was- what was that for?” Spain coughed, wiping flour from his face.
“For being yourself,” Romano replied simply, smirking to himself while he searched the cabinets for vanilla. He failed to notice Spain creeping up behind him with a handful of flour of his own, smiling mischievously before sprinkling it over his head.
Romano whirled around once he realized what was going on, furious. “What the goddamn fuck are you doing?!” he yelled, smacking Spain’s hand away. “That’s going to take forever to get out!”
Spain grinned, tossing the rest of the flour in his hair despite his protests. “You started it!” He laughed and used a pan as a shield when Romano retaliated, tossing flour all over him. When their fight finally came to an end (only because the bag was empty), most of the kitchen was thinly coated in flour, some even reaching the ceiling. Spain scratched his head as he observed the scene, cracking a smile when he noticed Romano’s guilty expression. “You don’t expect me to clean this up myself, do you?”
“Damn right I do,” Romano grunted, turning around so Spain couldn’t see his smile.
ﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟﾟ･*:`º``º`:*･ﾟ
Spain set the plate of freshly made churros in the middle of the table, seating himself across from Romano with a smile. Though he didn’t admit it easily, churros were one of Romano’s favorite foods, and he always had to hide his childlike excitement when he made them with Spain. They chatted happily over their meal, sipping coffee and warmed by the sun that shone in through the window. Romano licked the sugar left over on his fingers carefully, noticing when Spain watched for a moment. He looked down quickly, focusing on what was left on his plate.
Romano raised an eyebrow, sucking on his finger again and watching closely for his reaction. Spain only looked up for a brief second, seemingly transfixed before he looked away, blushing lightly. What a pervert, Romano thought, amused. Once they were both finished, they sat in comfortable silence, listening to the birds chirping outside. When Spain was momentarily distracted, Romano reached for his hand, bringing it close to his mouth.
Feeling brave, Romano sucked lightly on Spain’s fingers, trying not to laugh when his face reddened considerably. Remembering something that he had always wanted to say, he sat back against the chair, smirking.
“Hey, Spain?” he asked innocently. Spain only blinked, waiting for him to speak. “Your face looks like a tomato.”