Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
Here! Have a Spamano. I should warn you though, it has creepy!Spain and some weird stuff going on... Enjoy! :D
There were three things Lovino Vargas was absolutely sure about Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. First, Antonio loved tomatoes. Second, Lovino was in love with him. And third, the man had abso-fucking-lutely lost his mind.
So then, to start with the tomatoes. Antonio absolutely adored them. He grew them in his garden, worked hard on them throughout the year, cared for them like they were his children and savored their taste like they were his defeated enemies. The last bit might've been a bit controversial, though, because the smile on Antonio's face was always that of a fond parent even while having tomato juices falling down his chin while he chewed on his latest ripened treasure, but the though that Antonio was eating children didn't sit well with Lovino at all, so he decided just not to think about it.
The man also called him a tomato, be it appropriate a nickname enough with his cheeks flaming red or not, and Lovino absolutely abhorred that. In his distant youth, Lovino could remember how it had him boiling with rage, causing more redness in its heat. Stupid Antonio and his loathsome tomatoes.
Which leads us to the fact that Lovino was indeed very much in love with Antonio. His tomatoes were delicious, dammit, and the man was always smiling and laughing and making him feel good and he'd be damned if he let another one of his priests tell him that it was wrong of him to feel the way he did.
What did they know about living forever with a sneaky bastard who slowly steals your heart with never-ending affection and such acts that any lover would salivate to have done upon them? And no, Lovino did not mean sex by that because dear Lord would he have more issues than what he already has, had Antonio done something too inappropriate to him as a babe.
No, he was thinking more along the lines of edible food, concern for your wellbeing, suffering through hot summer days naked and together, sleeping naked together, having him give you a massage –naked, of course.
Wait, what?
Now he was just getting fantasy mixed with reality, and like a slave to their habit, his cheeks were on fire. Whatever.
So he wasn't sure exactly when or how, but his heart had started to beat for Antonio and as a country of lovers, it was not something he could ignore or be in denial of for too long. His brother had done little to help him deny this fact, what with his knowing smiles and annoying reminders of his growing feelings.
In the end, under the threat of having Feliciano tell Ludwig to tell Gilbert to tell Antonio about this little revelation of a blossoming amour, Lovino had come to accept himself as he were, well, if not all his flaws, then at least the fact that he wanted to shag the guy who had done a poor job in raising him.
Then came the anxiety of the uncertainty whether Antonio loved him back or not. It's not like Lovino would ever settle for a simple "I love you!" that Antonio was constantly spitting at him, no. It came out too easy and less passionate than what would have him convinced. Hell, sometimes that idiot said it to Francis of all people! He'd used it so much that he'd made the sentence rot.
Then again, Antonio did call him a tomato. And if there was something that everyone knew about Antonio it was that he practically inhaled them. Which would make a simple equation that if the man loved his tomatoes enough to make love to them (disturbing as it was) and if he called Lovino just that, then the country of passion must be madly in love with Lovino as well! Which might tell something about just how fucked up Lovino's way of thinking really was, but he didn't mind as long as the little spark of hope burned brightly.
And the bark of laughter that left Francis's mouth after he had caught Lovino thinking it out loud would never make him think otherwise!
Though, it wasn't like Lovino was in a hurry to run to Antonio and confess. In fact, he would have liked to prolong this faithful day until he ran out of days altogether, but when he had been rudely woken up by someone breaking into their house, taking Feliciano hostage by pressing a gun to his head and swearing to God that if he did not get his ass moving in the direction on Antonio's dick, then something bad was going to happen.
To his hypothetical question whether or not he would be a whole Italy once his brother was gone the kidnapper, who looked suspiciously like the man from the market who sold them their fresh fruits and vegetables, answered by shooting at the floor right beside his leg. Apparently to all of their surprise the gun turned out to be real as it left a pretty little reminder on their wooden floor, and Feliciano took this opportunity to stop acting like this was a well planned out plan and started crying.
Moved by his brother's insane methods, Lovino was out of the house hopefully faster than a bullet, because being shot at was not something he had planned for the day. Not that standing in front of Antonio's house, panting and a bit paranoid was either.
The next thing he knew was that Antonio had opened the door for him, greeted him, gushed at him, gotten a bit worrying because of his lack of response and finally just standing there, repeating his name as if it was a question he expected an answer to. Without thinking too much, because that had clearly worked just fine this far, Lovino just grabbed the man's wrist and started dragging away.
It wasn't much of a plan, but Lovino'd be damned if he made his confession unromantic by just blurting it out in the front steps of Antonio's door while being out of breath. So maybe it wasn't a beach with a sunset view, and it was no candlelight dinner either, and even if the tomato fields within a reasonable walking distance from the idiot's house reminded Lovino more of manual labor from the past than it did of a romantic confession spot, the setting would have to do.
Once where he indented the two of them to be, he turned around to face the rotten old man following him like he had been delighted from the way they had been holding hands, Lovino took a deep breath in the boiling afternoon sun and opened his mouth.
"I..."
The words were fighting back, not wanting to voiced at all. He felt too hot suddenly and to distract himself from Antonio's gaze that was trying to peek beyond his eyes to understand what this was all about, Lovino concentrated on the droplet of sweat that was making its way down the other's forehead.
This had been such a bad idea. It had, hadn't it? Lovino was sure that waiting a couple of centuries more to unfall in love with Antonio would have been much easier. But it wasn't about wanting things to be easy, not really. It was about being insecure and suddenly so sure that Antonio would never love him back the way he wanted him to.
Lovino could only curse himself for that sinking feeling that had decided to take the moment to itself and fill him with fear. Suddenly the tomato fields weren't that impressive, and the shirt he was wearing was plain. He was sure Antonio saw nothing in him but piles and piles of personality flaws and that was hardly something love, was it?
"I love you," he breathed out despite all that.
"I'm in love with you," he repeated, just because Antonio had the habit of being downright stupid and Lovino needed to make sure that he had been understood.
The man stood in front of him, out of words and shock still from the surprise, Lovino would assume. When almost two seconds had tick tocked by, Lovino could take the silence no more and dejectedly dropped his gaze to stare at the dry ground.
"That's all I've wanted to say for about three hundred years." And having said that, he ran away.
Which introduces us to a batshit insane Antonio. Lovino had done wisely and not ran back to Rome where he shared an apartment with his brother, because Feliciano was apparently not on his side and would have opened the door to a very persistent Antonio.
Instead, Lovino found himself locked inside his nice little residence somewhere in Sicily. With Antonio continuously knocking on his door, his voice going from whiny and pathetic to angry and commanding to a pleasant singsong which, quite frankly, scared the shit out of Lovino.
"I want this door to open so bad, hmm, I wonder what I should do~?" He could hear the man speak to himself, the sentence followed by a giggle that had Lovino bite back a whimper.
"I could wait here until the mouse has to come out to search some food." Another laugh from Antonio and a curse from Lovino upon the realization that aside from dust, the house had no food to offer.
"Or I could burn the house down and force the mouse out!" That was not love! The man was a fucking psycho who took whatever he wanted with questionable methods! It was not a reminder Lovino wanted right now. But that was in the past, of course. Antonio was only kidding, right? Right. "Oh, how I love to see things burn~" Lovino was scared...
"Though I wonder if boss has enough strength to spare to-" a loud bang was heard from his door and it creaked painfully as it almost gave in, "kick this obstacle in?"
By now Lovino was already hiding underneath his bed, trembling while going through all the possible escape routes he could think of. But of course, with a persistent Antonio, there were none. He could only hide and pray that he survived whatever it was that was heading his way.
After a long row of silence that almost had him convinced that Antonio had given up and moved on with his life, the door was completely kicked in, wood shattering from the brute force. The sudden sound startled Lovino enough to make him jump and hit his head against the bottom of his bed.
He couldn't afford to cry out in pain though, not now when Antonio was walking around his house like he owned the place, his pleasant and creepy voice calling out. "I'm in, Lovino!"
Yeah, like he needed to be told that.
"Where are you~?"
The man stood still, as if waiting for him to actually run to him. When Lovino did no such thing, Antonio started to search again, footsteps falling slow and heavy as he traipsed along, raising the intensity of Lovino's heartbeat every time the sound grew nearer. Once in his room, however, those familiar boots in the range of his sight, Lovino could swear the beating stopped altogether.
Please don't find me, please don't find me, oh crap he's crouching down!
"Hello, Lovino," Antonio smiled at him, lifting the bedspread from out of the way so that he could see properly underneath the bed. Low on space to defend himself in and in such a hurry to scramble away, Lovino got his ankle captured by Antonio who pulled him out from under with little effort.
To keep him in a vulnerable position, Antonio held him up from the leg enough to keep Lovino's ass from touching the floor, leaving him an uncomfortable mess of a cursing Italian.
"W-what the hell do you think you're doing!" Lovino screeched, trying to aim a kick, only to have his other leg captured as well.
"Are you uncomfortable?" Antonio dared to laugh as he voiced his question.
"Let me go you bastard!" Was all there was left to say as he struggled fruitlessly.
"You are? Well that's good, because that's how I felt when someone I love dearly confessed to me and then ran away before I could say anything." The blood rushing from his legs had made Lovino's cheeks unbearably red by now, and he found he had a hard time looking at Antonio in the eye.
"And that's also how I felt when I consulted Francis about it and he said they'd probably already convinced themselves that I don't love them back."
"You crazy fuck! None of those has nothing to do with the physical torture you're putting me through!" Lovino tried to reason after feeling his ass being raised a bit further from the floor.
"Hmm, I guess you're right," Antonio said thoughtfully before smiling once again, letting go of Lovino's legs and sitting down on his bed. Lovino cursed, quickly on his feet and facing his current enemy. An enemy who looked rather amused if anything while patting his lap.
"Come sit down, Lovino."
"No way."
"Please?" The man asked, tilting his head in his attempt to look cute.
"Stop it, you're way too old for that shit."
There was a silent staring contest where Lovino glared and Antonio took the blank-look approach, before he moved in to get a hold of Lovino's waist, pulling him down on his lap where he wanted him to be.
"I love you," he simply said then, ignoring all the squirming and struggling that Lovino had a habit of doing whenever someone caught him. "And I don't understand why you're making this so difficult," he continued, words a bit muffled by the hand that was pressing itself against his face to help Lovino enable to rid himself of a clingy Spaniard.
"Even Feliciano said that you should be over your denial by now!"
Just how many nations did this idiot consult before coming to creep the shit out of him anyway?
"Y-you just make it sound too plain!" He finally admitted it with his face burning from embarrassment.
"Plain?" Antonio asked, confused.
"You're supposed to be the country of passion, right? So why do you keep saying it like I'm five years old and related to you?"Lovino all but demanded, both embarrassed and accusing at the same time.
Somehow, Antonio's eyes grew distant and no doubt was his mind in a place where Lovino was far from the age of consent and perhaps even related to him. Slowly, a small smile filled Antonio's previous blank and Lovino couldn't help but shiver because of it. The sound of a hand connecting with a reddened cheek with brute force broke the magic (an unbelievably disturbing silence that usually only England managed with his drunken ass talking about fairies and shit. It was fucking depraved old-man magic, Lovino was sure.) and slowly Antonio's gaze refocused on him.
"You're so silly, Lovi," the old man breathed out, laughing lightly as if all the creep in him had been safely stuffed away.
"And you're prolonging this." Completely ignoring the fact that it was Lovino himself that had waited for an unhealthy amount of time to finally stumble out of the closet, unprepared and helplessly exposed without his cloak of denial, of course. Somehow, he needed to make this all Antonio's fault. "All I want is to have my love returned."
'He's so spoiled,' was a thought that drifted through Antonio's mind as he watched the southern part of Italy stare at him demandingly, want fighting with utter mortification behind his fiery eyes. 'Spoiled rotten.'
"Then stop convincing yourself that I don't." Antonio lifted his hand to run it through Lovino's perfectly conditioned hair, his combing turning into yanking every time the Italian made a movement to take advantage of the lack of arms on his waist and flee.
"Yeah? Why don't you try to convince me that you do?" Lovino snarled back, soon enough learning that resistance was futile and that Antonio had no intentions to remain gentle were he to use much force in his attempts to escape.
Then, suddenly the world ran out of balance and Lovino wasn't sure what had him spinning in the air until his back hit the mattress, his blinking eyes seeing nothing but the ceiling until Antonio's mug replaced the scenery.
"You want passion, huh?" Antonio smirked down at him, expression rather smug before turning into something that did a well job in mocking the intense stares that people in Spain's soap operas were so fond of doing.
"I love you, Lovino Vargas," he said, voice deeper and eyes darker, although the stupid smile on his face was something the man didn't manage to swallow down in time as he leaned down to kiss his love full on the lips.
Lovino took the kiss because waiting for so long sure had made him hungry for one, only then squirming in protest again, shoving Antonio hard on the shoulders. "Not like that, you dick! Is this a fucking joke to you!"
Antonio withdrew, eyes bored with his accusations and eternal anger, movements lazy as he rolled from lying on top of Lovino. "I'm not joking when I say that I have no idea how to convince you."
"Just-!" It wasn't like he had any more of an idea how it could be done. Stepping out of denial had been a miracle in itself, but he just couldn't seem to shake his habit of making things difficult. "I dunno, okay? At least I made sure to have a meaningful location when I confessed!"
He was huffing, head still contently lying against the pillows of his old, abandoned bed because somewhere at the back of his mind he wanted to be kissed again in this vulnerable position. Antonio, the impossible man, just leaned his head against his hand and raised an eyebrow at his words.
"So you want sunset beaches, moonlight walks and candlelight dinners, is that it?" For someone who held such a fondness for Italy and was friends with Francis, Antonio's tone of voice sure was mocking his desire for romance and it made Lovino boil with rage and hurt. Especially when that mirth leaked out in low chuckles, a large war-worn hand landing on his mouth to keep him quiet.
"It's funny, Lovino," the other said, bitten nails pressing against Lovino's cheek ever so harder every time he tried to get rid of the hand to be able to voice his disapproval of the other's attitude. "Because all I've ever wanted was you."
And the hand was gone, his mouth free to speak had Antonio not just pilfered him of his vocabulary. Lovino could feel his blood hot on his face, his breath growing short like he had just been ravished my mere words and although he wanted to look away, Antonio held his gaze like he owned the damn thing.
"I love tomatoes and I love Lovino, so I can assure you that I was very much romanticized by your efforts, but I don't really care about the background as long as it's you that I'm with. Do you know why?"
"Why?" Lovino breathed, his delusional mind tricking him to think that Antonio was constantly gravitating towards him, he was sure.
"Because for about three hundred years and more I've loved you more than my heart can bear."
It was hard to hear anything through the bounding of his heart that had his eardrums scream in protest, but despite that Lovino found himself completely and utterly enamored.
"And now that I have your volunteered consent, I don't care if we're in a dusty old house, because even if it's against my character, I've been patient enough," Antonio continued, less smiles and more heavy intent to make good use of the bed they were lying on.
"You're too cheesy." Lovino gasped in his last attempt to stay in his rebellious character, voice crumbling because he wanted so much of what had yet to happen.
"Shut your mouth," growled Antonio before completely pressing him against the bed with his whole body, kissing him for the wasted thee hundred years worth and let his hands touch places where both of them had dreamed to touch and to be touched.
"Consider yourself convinced," was the last coherent sentence Lovino heard that night, before everything was drowned in the wails of centuries of frustration being released.
And that was that.