Notes: Information about the Italian locales mentioned in this story are linked to in my writing journal post with the story.

Quick language info:

Fútbol – soccer

mi amado - my beloved

Revenge Plots and Vespa Drives

He would never bet against Spain on a Fútbol match again. Oh it's not that (as an Italy) he wasn't very proud of their Italian team- but Spain's team always gave them a tough game. And the matter at hand was not so much losing the game, but the bet that had been riding on it.

"Romano, you look so cute!" Spain said with an appreciative sigh. Romano scowled- half of it directed at Spain himself and half of it directed at the pink atrocity he now had on over his clothing.

"Well don't get used to it, you pervert! I'm only doing this because you won the bet. Because, you know, I would never wear anything specifically for you otherwise. Ever. It's like something that potato-freak probably does to my poor, hapless brother. Shit..." Romano glared northward. "Damn you! You'd better not be doing this to my brother, you bastard!"

"This really isn't something I think Germany would like," Spain remarked, stepping over to him and appreciatively running his hands over the frilly apron.

"It figures you would like it though. Jerk." Romano glowered and swatted his hands away as they started to dip lower. "Also. There was nothing in the deal about you being able to touch me while I'm in this ridiculous thing."

Nonplussed, Spain shrugged and withdrew his hand. He pivoted to the left, acting as if he was about to saunter away; but quickly turned back- leaning in as close as he could to Romano without actually touching the other country.

"I think I can manage one night without touching you," he whispered mere centimeters from Romano's lips. The other country tensed. "The question is: can you keep from touching me?"

He clenched his fists, having to resist physically pushing Spain away. "Of course I can."

"Ah..." Spain leaned a hair's breadth closer, trailing his words up the pale cheek and towards Romano's ear. "Because I'm not sure you can."

He blew a wisp of air into his ear and the southern Italy jerked back; red as a tomato and (if possible) glaring even more so than before.

"Y-yeah, well...I'll show you!" Defiantly crossing his arms, a brilliant idea surfaced in his mind. "If I can keep from touching you, for the rest of the night, you have to promise to do whatever I ask of you tomorrow."

Spain quirked an eyebrow and smiled. "Okay." He stuck out a hand. "A deal's a deal."

Romano reached out to shake on it when it hit him, just at the last second before their skin made contact, that he wasn't supposed to touch Spain. He jerked his hand away and snorted. "Nice try. I'm not that stupid."

Chuckling to himself, Spain casually walked over to the couch and plopped down on it. "Then it looks like we're in for a long night."

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He still wasn't sure how he'd managed to pull it off. Between Spain saying various things he knew would make Romano want to smack, punch or head-butt him and the pervert putting on quite a display of wanking off in full view in an attempt to get Romano's hands on him; Romano was sure he was going to slip up and lose.

But somehow, he'd won the bet; and so the next day was his to dictate. He snickered to himself as he plotted out all the horrible things he was going to put Spain through as revenge for the apron. Looking down at a his list, aptly labeled "List of Evil Things to Make Spain Do Today," Romano thought about all the complaints he'd heard about these very activities.

By the end of this day, Spain was going to regret ever crossing South Italy.

"So uh..." Spain looked warily at the maniacal grin on Romano's face. "What am I to do today?"

"Heh. Oh you just wait and see. Now put this on." He tossed a helmet to Spain.

"Just a helmet? Is this some weird kink?"

Romano spluttered, his face going as red as the motorcycle helmet he held. "N-No! Along with your clothes, you pervert! Jeez!"

Spain sighed and put on the helmet. "No fun, Romano; no fun at all."

Grumbling, Romano grabbed the other country by the arm and dragged him out the front door. As Spain expected, Romano's red vespa was waiting for them.

"Okay you loser, first on the agenda is..." He trailed off dramatically as he glanced to his list. "Ah yes. This is pure hell."

Seating himself on his vespa, he glared over to where Spain was relaxing by the door. "Get on."

"Um..." Spain scratched his head. "Usually when people bet to make someone their slave for the day- they don't try and kill them on a chaotic vespa drive. It tends to be more of a...in bed all day activity, ya know?"

"Spain. You lost. Get on the vespa."

Sighing, and honestly a bit perplexed as to what this "pure hell" Romano threatened could be, Spain did as requested, got on the back of the seat and wrapped his arms tightly around the southern Italy. Not about to let Romano get away with too much, he leaned up and rested his chin on Romano's shoulder.

"I'm ready and raring to go, mi amado."

"Oi!" He shouted over the revving of the engine as he willed down his blush. Peeling out of the driveway with a hard left turn, Romano was pleased to feel the way Spain clutched at his waist in panic. Serves you right, talking to me like that. But this, Spain, is only the beginning of your day from hell. You have no idea how much misery you'll be in by sunset.

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Romano's vespa came to a screeching halt, almost throwing his passenger off, as he slammed on the brakes. The mostly quiet streets of Pontelandolfo all looked up at their loud arrival and Spain offered them an apologetic smile as he climbed off the scooter. Romano spoke quickly in Italian to some of the people, a couple of men leaving momentarily only to return carrying a heavy object in their arms. The southern Italy took this from them, staggering under its weight as he walked over to the other country with it.

"Spain. You're going to compete in the La ruzzola del formaggio."

"The...what?" He asked.

Repressing a cackle at Spain's wary look, Romano handed over the large cheese wheel tied with a rope. "You heard me. These guys can throw ones that weigh up to 34 kilograms; so how wussy are you?"

Spain dipped under the weight as Romano handed it off, several of the local men coming over to help him set up for the throw.

Romano crossed his arms triumphantly. Humiliating Spain, in front of a bunch of normal farmers no less, seemed like the best and most evil way to kick off the day.

He laughed when Spain botched the first two throws, and teased that perhaps they needed to get him something lighter weight.

"Some man you are!" He taunted. "Shall I have them get out a one kilogram for you?"

Frowning, Spain heaved the 20 kilogram one he'd been struggling with and it went clattering forward onto the cobblestones. The crowd of people parted and watched it go, all cheering as it went past the previous mark.

Damnit! Romano scowled as the villagers congratulated Spain on his throw. That jerk! He was supposed to be horrible at this!

Spain received pats on the back and compliments on his toss, all of the townspeople surprised that a lanky Spaniard managed to throw it as far as he had. He just smiled, making a remark that it must be thanks to his conquistador heritage.

Yanking his list out of his pocket, Romano perused it for something even more evil and hellish for Spain to partake in next. He was not going to give up just yet.

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They drove towards the east coast, zooming past olive groves and coming up on the Adriatic Sea on their left. Romano kept pushing his vespa faster; hitting speeds Spain was certain weren't anywhere near safe. It didn't help that he was taking hairpin turns as sharp as possible, seeming to relish the way Spain clutched him closer when he did.

"Ya know…you could…" He closed his eyes as they took another tight turn. "You could slow up."

"No," Romano retorted, purposely starting to speed up even more. "We have lots to do today and little time. You aren't getting out of this bet that easily."

"What are we even doing?" Spain asked feebly, once again gripping tighter as they took a particularly quick turn.

The southern Italy considered his options. He could reveal to Spain now what evils he had in store; the very activities that so many had come back from sore and crying for their mothers. Or, he could keep Spain guessing; leaving each and every new stop a terrifying "what if" in his wussy Spaniard mind.

"As if I'd tell you my evil plan!" Romano replied, deciding that the element of surprise was best.

Spain sighed. Whatever 'evil plan' the other country had intended was looking to be more of a chaotic adventure than anything actually threatening. Then again, after an incident with Romano and a mustache- he wasn't too surprised that things were turning out like this.

Their next stop was at Castellana Grotte and the elaborate cave system that was located there.

"I hope you're up for this, Spain. It's a two hour walk," Romano had warned with a poorly disguised gleeful smirk.

But they were barely into the three kilometer trek when Romano himself started complaining about how tired he was and that his legs were starting to hurt. Spain sighed, figuring that this was yet another part of Romano's revenge, and he offered to carry the other country on his back.

"It'll be like when you were a young," he reasoned.

Trying to hide his blush in the low-light of the cave, Romano coughed. He was torn- half wanting to make Spain carry him just to make his day worse and half embarrassed at even the thought of doing so.

Before he made a decision, Spain grabbed him and hoisted him up on his back. Romano feebly pounded against him with his fists. As much as he hated to admit it, sometimes Spain could be obnoxiously strong.

"Hey! Stop that!"

Spain chuckled. "You're the one complaining about walking so much. Jeez, you've gotten big."

"Jerk! You're going to smack my head into some stalactite!"

"Then perhaps you should watch your head."

The two fussed before finally Romano got violent enough that Spain let him down. Midway through the tour, Spain made an offhand remark that his feet were killing him and Romano seemed to brighten. And when he commented that his legs would be aching for days, Romano (giving the impression that his legs were sore as well) leaned against Spain's side with a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Much to Spain's relief, Romano's improved mood meant he didn't drive quite as quick or recklessly as they left the town behind and headed southwest.

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By their third stop, Spain had figured out what Romano had been trying to accomplish with his bizarre revenge trip. Outside of the meals, which Romano pointedly noted were not part of the punishment because he wouldn't eat badly due to Spain, it was obvious that the southern Italy had concluded that all the complaints geared at his tourism locales would clearly be just as irritating and misery-inducing for Spain.

Oh Romano. Spain thought to himself. How wrong you are…

He'd taken them next to the ghost town of Craco, where Romano ended up scaring himself more than Spain by recounting the town's history and talking about the mummy in the nearby church. And when Romano started jumping behind or clinging to Spain at each and every shadow or trick of the light, the older country had to repress a dopey grin at the thought that they were strolling arm and arm, albeit only due to Romano's fear.

"This place is pretty eerie, Romano," he'd remarked to appease him.

Romano perked up. "You think so?"

Spain nodded, trying to look as serious as possible. "Oh yah. I've got chills down my spine."

And with that, Romano's smug grin surfaced back on his face as he steered them out of the abandoned alleyways to where they'd parked the vespa.

"Jeez, you just can't handle anything!" He ranted, casting a wary look at the church that held the mummy. "So we'll just have to leave. Because you are such a wuss."

Spain chanced an arm around Romano's waist, playing the part well. "It's just so creepy. I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks about that mummy, even if he is a saint."

And, much to Spain's delight, Romano didn't throw off his arm and instead seemed to slightly lean into his side as he sighed in exasperation. "Loser."

Spain smiled to himself, and they didn't move apart until they got back on the vespa.

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They tore through the countryside of Basilicata, Romano back in his element as he zoomed down the Autostrade at speeds that were definitely over the limit. Taking to roads on the shoreline, Romano's vespa hugged the twenty mile west coast by the Tyrrhenian Sea, flickers of the setting sun and the blue water blurring as they past them by.

The vespa skidded into a small parking lot by the coast and Romano shooed Spain off the back of the seat. He had to admit to himself, things were turning out pretty well. Spain had already complained about his legs aching at the cave, and the walk through Craco surely exacerbated that issue along with scaring him with the town's lore. Adding this on top of it would be icing on the cake, and Romano couldn't wait to see the result.

Romano got off the vespa and set his helmet aside; looking to the other country with a very devious grin.

"Okay Spain. Take off your clothes."

Spain raised an eyebrow. "Really Romano? Here?"

"Oi! Just do it!" Romano shouted as he started rummaging in the small bag he'd secured to his vespa.

Spain shrugged and pulled off his shirt, and as he started to tug off his pants, a wad of fabric smacked him in the face.

"Put those on, moron. And don't look over here while I'm changing!"

He chanced a glance up, catching sight of Romano standing on the other side of the vespa pulling down his own pants.

"NO LOOKING!" Romano yelled; his face going scarlet as he covered himself. Spain just laughed and shook his head. Only Romano would freak out like this after countless times of sleeping in the nude or having sex with Spain.

The wad of fabric turned out to be swim trunks, which Spain changed into, wondering what water-related activity Romano deemed hellish enough for him.

"Kayaking?" He queried minutes later when they'd reached the two-seated vessel waiting for them on the beach.

Romano, who was still a bit red in the face and constantly glaring at Spain for ogling his swim trunks, replied. "Sea kayaking. Get in and start rowing. We're going around the shoreline."

The two clambered into the kayak, Romano taking the front seat and lounging back in it as Spain picked up the oar and pushed them off into the water. After paddling a few strokes, he paused.

"Where's your oar?"

Romano snorted. "Yeah right. This is your punishment, loser, not mine."

Spain's eyebrows creased as he glanced at the waylaid oar up on the beach. "Look, I'm not asking you to row- but I think we might need it to keep balance."

Shifting around in his seat, Romano leaned over the back of it and got in Spain's face. "You lost the bet. It is your job to do what I say today, Spain." He prodded him in the chest. "And I say rooow-argh!"

Between his unbalanced position and the force of his prod, Romano toppled sideways into the shallow water, the kayak and Spain tipping over with him.

Spluttering, Romano surfaced. "Damnit Spain!" He rubbed an arm across his face, wiping the grit of the sand away. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Spain steadied himself against the overturned kayak and glared back. "Hey, that was your fault! I told you it wasn't balanced without the other oar."

"Well if you weren't whining about rowing…"

"I told you, you didn't have to row."

Romano huffed, splashing the water up at Spain's face. "Jeez! You're ruining your punishment day!"

He wiped the water away and had to laugh at the ridiculous situation. Unable to resist, he asked, "What, am I not allowed to have fun?"

"No! You are supposed to be miserable and hate this day with every fiber of your being!" Romano shouted, splashing him again.

Spain was about to comment that he couldn't really, given whom he was with; but Romano's rage wasn't subsiding. The southern Italy had gotten one of his maniacal grins, and before Spain could say a word, Romano had pounced on him.

They floundered about in the shallow water, Spain feeling his back hit the sand as Romano's weight came down on top of him. Partially to stop the hands that were pounding against his chest and partially just because he wanted to, Spain wrapped his arms around the other country and pulled him close.

Romano tensed as the arms wrapped around him, his eyes straining against the water to glare down at Spain. And even though he knew what the bastard was up to, that not so subtle hand sliding up behind his neck being a dead give-away, he still felt his face heat up significantly when Spain leaned in and captured his lips in a kiss.

Spain you jerk! How dare you kiss me when we're underwater! Damnit! Romano internally raged. And not about to be outdone by the 'country of passion,' he slid his hands from where they were trapped against Spain's chest to his shoulders and deepened the kiss.

The lack of air in water finally registering, Romano used his grip on Spain to yank him up and into a standing position in the shallows. They both shivered at the sudden feeling of the cool air on their wet skin, and Romano was glaring daggers as they pulled back from their kiss.

"I hate you," he muttered feebly.

The content smile on Spain's face just widened, and he trailed his hand up from Romano's neck and into his hair. "Could've fooled me."

As he tangled his fingers through the red-brown hair, he chanced a small tug on Romano's curl. As expected, this set Romano off and he head-butted Spain back into the water screaming "Don't touch that!"

Spain spluttered through a mouthful of salt water as he regained his footing, catching the fleeting glimpse of Romano storming past him to the beach. He sighed; there went that moment.

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They'd gotten dressed in silence, and Spain was almost reluctant to put his arms around Romano's waist when he got on the vespa. Of course, Romano's anger carried over to his driving and Spain decided he had no choice but to cling to the Italy for his life as he sped through the countryside. The silence thickened as they drove, both of them staring out at the passing sights, the sunset giving everything a warm red glow as they drove northward to Naples.

And today was going so well, too. Damnit. They both cursed inwardly.

Night fell as they neared the city, its lights illuminated up ahead on the horizon. As they veered into the narrow alleys of the Spanish Quarter of Naples, the rain started. At first it was a light drizzle, but as they wove through the streets- it turned into a steady downpour.

Already still a bit cold from their impromptu swim, Spain shivered and held Romano closer.

"Geh. It's just rain," he mumbled.

"Yes, because I wanted to be sore, miserable and wet," Spain retorted. He was still a bit irritable after having such a nice swim with Romano ruined because he'd done one thing wrong.

Romano perked up a bit at this, one last vestige of his revenge plot nagging at the back of his mind. It would require a sacrifice on his part, but it would be worth it.

Turning the next corner, Romano swerved into a large puddle of standing water; the spray from the tires dousing them both thoroughly.

"Ooh look at me, I'm Spain the loser. I hate getting wet!" Romano mocked.

Spain just laughed and nuzzled into Romano's neck. "Aww, you're all wet too. And I'm going to need someone to warm me up when we get home..."

He blushed at that, so much that Spain swore it even pinked the back of Romano's neck.

"S-Stop that!"

He sneezed, resting his helmet against the back of Romano's helmet with a groan. Romano started, nervously peering over his shoulder at the country rested against him.

"Spain?"

"Hmm?"

Romano caught a glimpse of the exhausted and sniffling Spain behind him and kicked up the speed of the drive, trying his best to avoid the puddles now. He flushed and mumbled. "We'll be home soon."

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The moment they got in the door Spain rushed off to put on dry clothing and insisted Romano did the same. He really couldn't argue the point, both of them being soaked to the bone by the constant rain that was still falling outside.

After changing into his loose pajamas, Romano wandered towards Spain's room and found the other country shivering under his bed sheets.

"Hey," he mumbled and Spain's eyes blinked open.

"You cold?"

Romano shook his head. "No. You are though."

Spain shrugged. "It happens. I'll get warm soon."

Romano wasn't quite sure what he meant by this, but as he glanced away- Spain's hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed his wrist, tugging Romano into the bed with him.

"S-Spain! What the hell?"

He smiled, pulling the struggling Romano closer and wrapping his arms around his middle. Romano tried his best to shake him off, but it was hard to push at him when he had him so securely held from behind. After a moment, he just resigned himself to his fate and huffed in frustration. Spain was cold, after all.

"I wanted to say thanks," he murmured in Romano's ear.

"W-What for?"

"For our date today."

Romano blanched. He rolled around in Spain's arms to face him and glared. "Date? Today was my revenge! Not a date!"

Spain chuckled, leaning his forehead down against Romano's. "A romantic stroll through a cave? Sunset kayaking? A twilight drive through Naples? Sure, the mummy and the cheese throwing were a bit weird but…" He pressed a kiss to Romano's forehead. "It was fun."

Romano brooded; his great revenge plan was in shambles and his face was burning up. He feebly shoved at Spain.

"You were supposed to hate it."

"As if I could ever hate spending a day with you."

The southern Italy's face turned an even brighter shade of red at that, and he buried his head against Spain's chest in hopes he wouldn't notice.

"J-Jerk."

"Oh Romano…"

"What?" He snapped.

Whatever Spain had intended to say got cut off as he sneezed. "Sorry. I think I might be getting a cold."

Romano glanced up at him, his irritating smile and his pathetic sniffles. Shifting a bit in his arms, he leaned up and quickly kissed him.

"Go to sleep, you moron," Romano muttered, once again burying his face into Spain's chest.

Spain looked down at Romano fondly, unable to miss the tomato-red blush practically emanating off his face. He rolled briefly onto his side, switching the lamp off and tugging the blankets up over both of them. Then, after pressing a kiss to Romano's forehead, Spain pulled him closer and smiled.

"Goodnight, Romano."