Title: Quieres Bailar

Summary: Here, in the open field, under the bright Spanish night sky, Anita reminds Lovina how to dance, and Lovina begs herself to do what she has wanted to for so long. Fem!Romano/Fem!Spain, genderbent, AU, one-sided

Warnings: Genderbending, AU, Romano/Spain, Femslash

A/N:

I imagine them to be about…late teen-ish? Lovina sixteen and Anita eighteen.

Her shoulders are tense, her eyes red and puffy, her little green dress torn and dirtied. Lovina hates the dress, hates the stupid stockings she was forced to wear, hates the cursed Mary Janes adorning her feet–they are too small and squish her toes. She rips off the little black shoes and tosses them far into the trees.

There is a loud thwack as it collides with something far off. She freezes and watches with horrified curiosity as a silhouette rises and groans, stumbling forward.

When she realizes who it is, she groans exasperatedly, turns around and stalks off, trampling several flowers underneath her nylon-covered feet as she goes.

"Go away, Anita," she yells, knowing that she is following her. She hurriedly buries the part of her that is elated in Anita's actions.

"Lovina, your mother is frantic, be reasonable," the woman pants, reaching out to grab Lovina's arm, struggling to keep up in her high-heels and pencil skirt.

"Don't you dare ask me to 'be reasonable,' bastard," Lovina spats, yanking her arm away and turning around to glare at her.

"You ran out of the party because Francis insulted you." Anita looks tired, her hair in disarray, falling out of her bun, and the bags underneath her eyes are dark. For a moment, Lovina almost feels sorry.

"That's–…what do you know!" Lovina huffs, rubbing at her eyes, trying to hide the new wetness gathering there. "You're just a stupid asshole." She doesn't do anything when Anita wraps her arms around the smaller girl, and begins to rock her from side to side. Lovina wills away her stupid teenage hormones when she blushes at the touch.

"I may be stupid, and I may be…an asshole," she pauses to chuckle lightly and receives a soft hit to her chest for her…inappropriate behavior. "But I am older than you–"

"Two fuckin' years," Lovina grumbles into her chest.

She laughs good-naturedly, like always, and continues, "And I know a few things from experience."

When she doesn't continue, Lovina looks up. "Like what?"

"Oh, like…when Francis commented on your bow?"

Lovina unconsciously reaches up to touch the white ribbon tied where her usual headband would reside. "Yeah," she says quietly, lowering her hand again.

"He said, 'oh, mon petite poule, your feathers are all…eh, ruffled. And what is that absurd…thing on you head.' " Anita speaks Francis' part with a horrible French accent, making Lovina smile despite herself. "He was really getting back at you for dumping wine on him at the last party." She smiles as Lovina shakes with, what she hopes is, laughter.

When she calms herself, Lovina raises her head and asks her so quietly Anita must strain to hear her. "Does…does my bow look okay?"

Anita pauses for a good long moment, taking in the sight of a self-conscious Lovina, blushing as she waits for reassurance. She smiles softly, brushing Lovina's bangs out of her eyes. "It looks beautiful." Lovina stutters out something in Italian, but Anita doesn't pay it any mind. Instead, choosing to look up at the sky and comment about the stars, "They're very bright tonight; don't you think, Lovina?"

Lovina rolls her eyes, but looks up. Refusing to agree with her, she says, "Not really." She watches Anita's smile widen out of the corner of her eye.

"Do you remember when I tried to teach you how to dance?" Lovina says nothing. "You had the worst case of two-left-feet I ever did see."

Lovina's face burns and she yells obscenities at the still-grinning Anita, struggling against the arms around her shoulders. But Anita is strong, if only in will, and holds the littler girl closer, shushing her affectionately in Spanish. As Lovina settles down, Anita drags a careful right hand to a bony hip. The other hand tenderly trails its way to Lovina's hand. She cups the hand in her own and curves her fingers around Lovina's hip. She begins to shift her feet, slowly at first, allowing Lovina to get used to the pull and push directions of her hands, pressing her nose into the soft amber hair. Anita waits until Lovina finally agrees to follow along, though begrudgingly, before making more intricate dance moves.

"I would say you've gotten better…but," Anita frowns, twirling them around, while Lovina focuses on their feet, trying not to make a mistake.

"Shut up, you bastard. I can dance just fine," she mumbles, and Anita can see the furious flush on the tips of her ears.

"Yes, lo siento…of course you can," she says, grinning as she kisses the top of Lovina's head. They waltz around to their own imaginary music, and Lovina, eventually growing used to the rhythm and foot patterns, lifts her head slightly to stare at the necklace that adorns Anita's neck. It hangs perfectly between her clavicle bones, just above her sternum, cradled perfectly in the divot there.

For a moment she's jealous of it and its ability to be so close, but she reminds herself that it isn't very rational to be jealous of inanimate objects.

She sighs softly through her nose, causing Anita to look down at her in genuine curiosity and worry.

God, it bugs her how Anita can be so heartfelt and sincere in everything. So empathetic it makes Lovina want to…to…to kiss her hard, to surprise her, to have Anita see her in a different light than just a "little sister." She has played that role for far too long; she can't stand it anymore.

Anita meets her eyes, and she smiles, the grin nearly splitting her face in two.

It disgusts and entices her all the same. She is tempted to lean in, and to do what she has wanted to for so long. To take the oblivious idiot by the shoulders and press their lips together–but she has imagined all the scenarios. She has imagined Anita pressing back after a moment of surprise, but she has also imagined Anita pushing her away. She has seen Anita, so very clearly in her mind, curling her fingers into her hair as they press their bodies together. She has seen Anita look at her with shame and disappointment. She has seen Anita reject her in so many forms, she has almost begun to think them real. She has seen the Anita in her mind not only turn her down, but later console her, pressing kisses to her neck and jawline, while apologizing for her unfortunate and miserable situation. In her mind now, there are two Anitas. One, who is repulsed by Lovina's feelings, and the other, who is anything but.

Lovina hates herself for not taking all the chances before, so she gathers all her courage. She looks up at Anita, determined to allow her desires to lead her. She opens her mouth to speak–

"Are you feeling okay, Lovi?" Anita asks as she twirls Lovina around before bringing her back again, continuing the dance.

Growing nervous when she meets the olive eyes glowing with unspoken amusement. "Y-yeah," is all Lovina manages to get out, before ducking her head again and dancing closer to Anita.

Maybe next time...

Quieres Bailar- (Spanish) Want to dance?

mon petite poule- (French) my little hen

lo siento- (Spanish) I'm sorry

A/N:

I don't care much for the Spamano pairing, but when it's genderbent, oh, I just adore it. Idea thanks to Oren Lavie's music; which gave me a very vivid visual in my mind I just had to write down.

Oh, and hey, does anyone have any pointers for speaking French with a Russian accent? Weird and off-topic, I know, but it's important!

...Eh, kind of...