Pairing: Spain x Romano
Warnings: cursing (in Spanish, English and Italian!), silliness, crack and a banana suit kink(?).
Author's Note: This is me assuming responsibility for having implanted that lovely image of "Spain holding a tomato-patterned Banana suit that may or may not belong to Romano." into my dearest Arba and Laura~. Likewise, I hope it brings a laugh to everyone else! :)
"Maledizione! Stupid piece of- vaffanculo, merda!"
There was a flash of yellow, a perfect and ripe shade of gualda that immediately caught the attention of bored emerald eyes. Flitting about, the Spaniard rolled onto his back, his bare flesh relieved in the novel coolness of that side of his bed, a happy little sigh leaving him. He is soon darting up into a sitting position, however, when he also glimpses a head of messy red, and readily he hears the chants of ¡Que lindo color de rojo y gualda- viva, España, viva! -before he shakes the patriotism bubbling in his thoughts. He doesn't shake away, however, the extremely familiar face of the being that fits his sight of red hair.
Spain is confused, however, as to why he can see so much xanthous reflecting inside the bathroom from what he can see from his position.
Giving a slight twist to the side to get rid of a pestering crick in his back, the brunette gives another happy sigh as he is relieved from the annoyance before he slides out of bed and pads towards his bathroom. Maybe Romano decided to change the towels, or curtains? He begins to think up possible solutions. Admittedly, it has been a while since he had gotten rid of those tomato-patterned mats of his, so maybe Romano was preparing to replace them until the others got washed? Spain began to pout a little, all the thinking at such an early time- it's already eleven in the afternoon, he notes, but it's early enough for a Saturday, he figures -giving him a slight headache. He shirks the prospect that it may also have to do with the hangover he's long since learned to deal with, and opts with gripping the shiny silver door handle and checking for himself what it is that has Romano so agitated so soon.
"Romano, what are you doing, amor-?" Spain begins, his usually cheery smile lilting his lips in his usually cheery manner.
He halts with bated breath, however, when he is met with a very flustered Southern Italian engulfed in a large yellow... thing.
The seconds that neither speak, emerald eyes wide in shock while olive-flecked amber alight in sheer trepidation, stretch on for a seeming eternity. Spain is utterly speechless, and presumably so is Romano- until he begins to utter little incoherent sounds that increase in coherence, until Spain is being violently shoved, although he does nothing because he remains shell-shocked. He wants to ask Romano why he is doing it, because he loves his Romano very dearly and frankly, he is unsure why the Italian is cursing so scathingly and in both their languages until it dawns on him why it is that Romano can't fully use his strength against him.
Romano is wearing a banana suit.
"Fucking, pompinaio, maldita sea, get the fuck- stop staring at me, dammit!- get the fuck out, bastard-!" the redhead is shooting off rapidly, somehow managing to hide behind the Spaniard while forcibly shoving him out of their shared bathroom.
He is promptly cut off, however, when the Spaniard finally swivels and takes hold of his shoulders (or, at least, what he can hold onto of them).
"Romano, what happened?" he asks seriously, and although the Italian doesn't want to trust the interested glint in his eyes, he can sense the worry lacing the Spaniard's tone that only he hears. "Why are you dressed like this? Did someone make you wear it?"
Cheeks flaring a bright red, the Italian wants to kick at his lover but doesn't (or rather, can't, because the stupid suit only gives his ankles and below freedom to move) and opts with giving a headbutt to the brunette. Spain, obviously, gives a pained cry, but it doesn't seem to phase him because he's promptly shaking Romano for him to look back up at him.
"Romano, amor, what happened?"
A sinking feeling of utter embarrassment settles in his stomach, and Romano sincerely wishes then that Spain weren't so fond of sangria's then because, well, how in the fuck was he supposed to explain this shit now?
"I, um, well you and I, um," he rapidly stutters, his words slurring and not making much sense even to himself which only further worsens his situation. "last night, um- fuck, don't you remember, fucker?"
Spain slowly shakes his head, expression still taut in that of concern, and it takes every fiber of Romano's being to keep from simply punching his face in. Why why why whyyyyyy did this shit have to happen to him?
Turning his head to the side, the Italian takes a moment to try and wriggle away, but Spain merely adjusts both of them so he's now pressing Romano against the sink, and he's facing him and the mirror. Romano is somewhat grateful, in a bitter manner, because now he doesn't have to see himself- but it doesn't remove the fact that he's still in the motherfucking suit, and he looks down into the ground in his shame. A fleeting moment is allowed to pass in his ridiculous hope that the floor will just swallow him up and he won't have to deal with this anymore; but, the moment never comes, and he finds it easier to bore a hole into the very interesting tiles as he forces himself to say what he is so reluctant to confess.
"We, um, a-after we left the club, we fucking, um, ended up in front of a costume shop." he preambles, furiously twiddling his fingers in anxiety before Spain soothes them by cupping them in his own warm hands.
"Si?" the brunette encourages, a genuine look on him that, for a moment, Romano forgets about what's going on and what he's stuck in.
"That stupid Potato Bastard's Brother, fucking Prussia- shouldn't even be alive, the bitch- had made us bet who could drink more, and you had won. S-so, the loser had to wear a costume of the w-winners choice, and, f-fuck," he bristles at the clear reverie, face coloring and Spain can swear he can almost recollect the moment. "y-you fucking made me wear this piece of shit, you fucking, fuck, bastard!"
Blinking his eyes owlishly, Spain shoots Romano an incredulous look- and even when it's battled with a very ardent glare, spares another incredulous look before he takes a moment to let go of his hands and try to remember.
"W-what?" he asks no-one in particular, his brows furrowed in his strong attempt to recall this event. "Romano, really? I, I don't remember doing any of this- why would I choose a banana suit? -are you sure that's exactly what happened?"
And Spain tenses when Romano's cheeks color even more, if its even possible anymore, and his heart sinks because he's unsure of everything now.
"Romano, is that everything that happened last night?"
Visibly tensing, the Italian mutters a few more curses, giving a slight shove to the Spaniard before proceeding to hide himself in the safety of his neck and shoulder. Spain almost pulls him off, but refrains when he mutters his answer, and has to keep from flushing as hotly himself as the words slowly register in his brain.
"W-we, you know, f-fucking," he trembles, his hands clutching desperately at him and finally manage to seek purchase on the loose pajama shorts he's wearing with the Spaniard's help. "w-we came home, a-and, you fucking... seduced me, you piece of shit...!"
Spain wants to apologize when Romano's voice trembles at the end of his recount, but stops when the Italian spares a glance at him after he finishes. It is then, Spain notes/recalls, why he had gone with the banana suit.
"Well, how could I resist? You look so adorable like this, Roma~ look, I can't even stop my excitement from it right now!" he chuckles mirthfully at the flushed face he receives, outright laughing when Romano proceeds to beat at his chest in a half-hearted manner.
"What the fuck, you damn- what is wrong with you, you stupid bastard! Stop saying things like that, dammit!"