Hetalia: Wrong Things To Say
Title: Wrong Things To Say
Rating: NC-15 (references to sex)
Genre: Angst
Characters/Pairings: Romano, Spain, mentions of Veniziano | Spain/Romano
Summary: There are some things, Romano decides, which should never be said.
Notes: An old fill I did from the Hetalia Kinkmeme. The request was for Spain to falsely confess to Romano, and then have the truth slip out during sex, when Spain says the wrong name.
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In the pale moonlight, Romano could just make out the outline of Spain's arms around him. Naked, bare, tanned and faintly reflecting the only source of light, even with the visual, Romano was still numb to his touch. Or at least, he very much wished he were.
He wished he couldn't feel the soft heat from the other man's chest, bleeding into his back, couldn't feel the soft weight of Spain's ankle overlapping his, Antonio's forehead resting against his left shoulder, those warm tears running down his skin.
"I'm sorry."
There are a lot of things, Romano absently decides, that shouldn't be said. "I'm sorry" would probably be one of them.
"I love you" he considered, would have to join "I'm sorry", which he himself, finds quite sad. He makes a mental note that "I love you" shouldn't be said, kneeling, roses (with cherry tomatoes interspersed at well-placed intervals between the blooms) in hand, and that beautiful smile on his lips.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" would decidedly, be another. However, after much thought, Lovino, in a rare moment of honesty, thinks that perhaps "yes, I'm sure" would be just as much at fault. He tries not to think about what comes after that.
Because if he did, he'd be compelled to add "Veniziano" to the list. Not that there was anything wrong with his brother's name, by itself. But there was a great deal wrong with it, when it was coming out of Spain's mouth, when he (he, Romano) was lying under him, writhing in his own sweat and pleasure at being fucked by his lover, who had screamed his brother's name when he came.
Romano swallowed.
He had one chance to say something that would not make the list, and he had to do it right. He, the one who always lied, always turned away and said the contradictory words, had said nothing but the truth that night. It was the absolute truth when he said "I love you too" (albeit looking away, blushing tomato-red). He hated the feeling of vulnerability, but risked it when he lay naked under Spain, panting his name like he had only in his dreams, squirming in his own skin wanting moremoremore which Spain gladly gave all of to-
To the wrong person, as it seemed.
Romano swallowed again, his throat feeling drier than ever.
He wanted nothing more than to hiss "bastard" under his breath.
He wanted to cry, because this experience just hurt so fucking much.
He wanted out of his arms, now, out of that addictive warmth which he shouldn't be feeling.
He wanted to sleep, and hold the possibility that Spain would be gone in the morning, close.
He wanted to wake up in cold sweat and realise that it was all just a dream, nothing more.
But what he wanted (in a nutshell: Spain), he got. And it wasn't as fucking wonderful as he thought it would be.
"It's okay," he lied.
If the truth could only hurt him, would lies save him then?
(It's not like at this point, he had anything more to lose.)