A/N - It is a sad fact that the only reason I am any good at Spanish is that I ship Spamano. This fic was built around a lesson on object pronouns - as boring as it sounds - when we learnt how to say 'Look at me' (mírame) which crops up later on in the fic ;)
The title, Siempre y todo, means always and forever, unless I've fucked up. (Speaking of fucking up, thanks to the anon who corrected te amo to te quiero! Kudos to them~)
Lo siento means I'm sorry, as any Spamano fangirl will probably know.
Churros are these amazingly yummy Spanish desserts. If you haven't already, try them.
If there are inexplicable tense changes, I apologise. I also apologise for the incredible sappiness of this fic.
He and Spain are sitting out on the porch, eating churros and waiting for the sun to set. They are quiet; it is that hour of the day when silence reigns unbroken, when even the breeze seems to whisper, Shhh.
Romano is currently reflecting on the day, because the last few hours have been nothing if not eventful.
Feli has recently got together with the potato bastard (and maybe it isn't any of Romano's business but Feliciano can do much better - a fact that he hasn't hesitated to tell the couple), and when that morning Feli decided to tell his fratello about this romantic development, the conversation somehow turned to Romano himself and became frighteningly introspective.
Under Feli's relentless prodding, Romano was forced for the first time to think about several awkward truths. Where they lead to, he isn't quite ready to dwell on.
Spain has always been as demonstratively affectionate as Romano is stiff and aloof. It is something that Romano has experienced first-hand for a very long time, to the point where he has almost got used to the way Spain will sling a casual arm across his shoulders, or card his fingers through Romano's hair, or even brush a kiss to Romano's cheek if he is feeling particularly daring and doesn't mind the inevitable torrent of abuse.
And by got used to, Romano doesn't mean that he has given up bothering to complain about what is clearly just another odd facet of the oddness that is Spain. He means got used to ignoring that twisting flare of warmth that he feels when Spain gets close, or the electric thrill that shivers across his skin when Spain even brushes against him.
Several minutes (and awful realisations) later and Romano has, thanks to Feli's meddling, finally blundered into facing one of the many things that he has been spending years successfully ignoring.
The fact that somewhere along the line, he has fallen in love with Spain.
Beside him, Spain finishes his churro and turns his attention to Romano. "Penny for your thoughts, Lovi," he says, smiling warmly.
At that absolute moment, Romano's thoughts are not entirely appropriate to share with a friend. Dense as Spain is, even he might baulk at hearing 'Fuck, you're beautiful,' from a friend and house-mate. Instead Romano, being the master of subtlety that he is, blurts out; "Have you ever been in love?"
Spain shoots him a slightly puzzled glance. It is uncharacteristic to say the least for Romano to be inviting a talk about feelings. He takes another bite of his second churro and says thoughtfully, "Yes. I have. For the longest time. Y tú?"
Romano plucks a leaf and begins twirling it between his fingers. "Hmm," he says noncommittally, hoping Spain will drop it.
"It's unrequited," Spain offers nonchalantly, as if they were talking about the weather or somesuch.
Romano swivels to stare at him, and Spain meets his gaze with a steady gaze. He is still smiling stupidly, but Romano's known him long enough to recognise the hint of sadness he can't entirely hide.
"You confessed?" He squeaks.
Spain shakes his head. "No - it's a friend. I don't want to alienate him, I'd rather stay as we are. I can tell he doesn't feel the same, though."
A friend. Gil? Or Francis? Romano feels his stomach lurch horribly at the thought of Spain with someone else. "Who?"
"Doesn't matter," Spain says.
Romano doesn't miss the small sigh. "It's the same for me," he blurts. Spain's green eyes hold such pain that Romano would've said anything in that moment to cheer him up, but of all the stupid things to say -
"Unrequited? A friend?" Spain says stupidly.
Shitshitshitshitshit
Even someone as dense as Spain would be able to work it out now. Romano doesn't have that many close friends, and it's pretty obvious that he isn't in love with Arthur or Feli. Romano swallows, throat dry, and concentrates on trying to burn a hole in the leaf with his mind.
There is a sharp intake of breath as Spain realises. "Mírame," Spain says softly. "Lovi, mírame."
Romano stands up and tries to walk off, pretending he hasn't heard him. He knows what is coming next and he's damn well going to delay it as long as possible. But before he has gone even two paces Spain's hand has encircled his wrist, holding him loosely but firmly, and he no longer has any choice.
Spain's soft hands come up to cup his chin, gently turning Romano's face to look into his eyes. Romano tries to turn the contact into a glare, tries to pour out the emotions of fuck-you-I-don't-give-a-shit in the hopes that it will hide the other emotion he is feeling all too strongly.
He gets the horrible feeling it isn't working.
Romano licks his lips nervously. Spain's eyes flicker down to follow the movement, and is Romano imagining that flash of want?
"What I'm about to do will either be a mistake, or…" Trailing off, Spain hesitates for just the briefest moment before pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of Romano's mouth.
Romano stares. Either Spain has worked out that Romano likes him and is toying with him, which isn't a very Spain thing to do, or he's worked out that Romano likes him and feels the same way.
Spain loves me, Romano realises - because what other explanation is there for the way Spain looks away and tugs a hand through his hair, like he always does when he's upset and trying to hide it?
"Lo siento, Lovi, I -" He starts, but he never finishes what he's trying to say because Romano cuffs him lightly to tell him to stop being an idiot and pulls him close and kisses him.
Spain takes a moment to respond; he seems to be frozen in shock for a while. When he does respond, he does so with urgency, as if he's afraid that Romano will run off at any moment. He curves one hand on Romano's hip and rests the other on his cheek, stroking slow circles with his thumb. Dragging Romano closer he deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across Romano's lower lip.
Romano opens his mouth willingly, and Spain's kiss is warm and sweet. He can taste a note of vanilla cinnamon from the churros, and below it is the flavour of Spain, rich and buttery and indescribably perfect.
When they break apart they are both breathing raggedly, and Spain's eyes are wide and sparkling with awed happiness. "Te quiero, Lovi. Siempre y todo," he breathes.
Romano translates the Spanish automatically, and hopes he can pass off the shiver of delight as a reaction to the cool evening. "Te quiero también," he murmurs, grabbing Spain's wrist to drag him inside.
Spain smiles beatifically and pulls him in for another heady kiss.
The next morning when Romano wakes up, they are pressed close in a tangle of limbs. Spain kisses his forehead languidly and sits up, swinging his legs off the bed. The toned muscles in his back ripple as he stretches. Romano presses his lips to the back of Spain's neck, because he can. Suddenly, he feels a flicker of irrational panic. What if he's misinterpreted? What if last night was a mistake to Spain?
As if he can hear Romano's thoughts, Spain turns and winds his arms round Romano's neck, pulling him so close that their noses almost touch.
"Siempre y todo, Lovi," he whispers, and his expression is earnest.
Mouth dry, Romano nods. Spain drops a kiss on his nose and wanders downstairs, humming. Not five minutes later, the scent of churros wafts upstairs, and Romano grins.
Siempre y todo.
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