So I came across a ship I had never considered the other other day, and well... hijinks ensued. This is just how I imagine it going down. I hope you lovers of rare ships enjoy!
Unexpected Attraction.
England sighed, shuffling his papers away into his briefcase. There was an important meeting this week between the British and Italian governments, which meant he would have to babysit the macaroni brothers for a few days. What on earth was he going to do with them? The weather was too miserable to play football, he couldn't take them out to dinner without them complaining, and British women were liable to punch them in the face (the phrase 'battleaxe' was born here, afterall). It didn't help that they still shook like a chihuahua with a fever whenever they saw him – seriously, how long had it been? Stupid cowardly morons... He wasn't looking forward to this. At least they weren't staying in his house.
He got to the doors of Parliament just as the Italian delegation arrived – the bastards had bloody sharp suits for politicians. Who were they trying to impress, looking so fancy? Wankers. However, he put on his best professional smile, greeting them properly like a nation should. He spotted the macaroni brothers with their boss, looking less than pleased and talking with their hands, like always. Resigning himself to fate, he went over to say hello, groaning internally when the brothers immediately started quaking in their fancy shoes.
"Good afternoon." he greeted, annoyance more obvious in his voice than he would have liked "Glad you made it here in one piece. How was your trip?"
"Good, thank you, Mr England, sir." Italy said very quickly.
"Yes. Fine. Very good." Romano agreed.
Oh, for fucks sake... The politicians disappeared, chatting and joking, into the building. Normally England would have followed them, but if they wanted to get any real work done then it was best to keep these two out of the way, hence his current assignment. He forced his professional smile back on, which only seemed to make them shake more.
"It's getting on, so how about we get some lunch?" he suggested "We've had some great restaurants open around here lately."
They both went very pale, pursing their lips like he was trying to poison them as they nodded their heads with great reluctance. This was going to be a long few days...
This was the absolute worst! Why did they have to come to Britain?! It was cold and wet and the food was terrible and the girls were violent and they had to deal with that scary blond fucker! He was even scarier when he smiled! What was he planning?! What kind of horrors did he have in store for them this time around?! Last time they were in the country he took them to the Tower in London – the most haunted frickin' place in the whole damn world full of ghosts and horrible stories and weird noises and IT WAS HORRIBLE AND THEY DIDN'T LIKE IT AND OH GOD WHAT WAS HE PLANNING THIS TIME?!
"Stop shaking, you damn coward." Romano ordered his brother, ignoring the fact that he was shaking just as much "This is a diplomatic meeting, there's nothing to be scared of!"
"They put baked beans in everything here." Italy whimpered "Even pasta..."
They both jumped as England returned with their drinks, putting on that creepy smile of his as he put the tray on the table.
"The food will be about 20 minutes." he reported "You know, I was a little worried about the weather, but it's brightened up nicely, hasn't it?"
"It's cold like a Nordics ballsack." Romano swore before he could stop himself.
They both flinched. It took Britain a moment to respond, turning his cold green eyes on them.
"Is that so?" he responded, voice frigid and scary like the psycho that he was.
"Not that that's bad!" Italy tried to respond, shaking his hands desperately "It's refreshing even! Like a cool breeze in the summer! Or an ice-cold shower when you've got a raging boner!"
"Shut the hell up, you weirdo!" Romano swore, going scarlet at his brothers mindless rambling "To think I have to miss the movie for this shit..."
"Movie?" Britain asked.
Aw shit. Romano regretted opening his big mouth, his brother glaring at him in the 'what have you done?' fashion – they last thing they wanted was to get up close and personal with the second scariest fucker after Russia... However, it was too late now.
"W-we wanted to go see a movie this week." Italy explained, eyes on what passed for coffee on this god forsaken isle "It won't be playing by the time we get home. We've been waiting months for this movie, and now we can't see it. It kinda sucks."
"Oh? That's a shame. What movie was it?"
"That one with the haunted hotel." Romano told him "A lot of reviewers have said it's pretty good."
England smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Really?" he chuckled "I didn't think you two would like movies like that."
"Movies aren't real, so it's fine." Romano answered "Not like those damn actual haunted hotels which you have in droves, I'm sure."
"Well..." England said thoughtfully.
They both flinched. Oh dear god, he wasn't going to take them to a haunted hotel, was he?! The thought made them both quake in fear, especially as England seemed to come to a decision.
"I think that movie is still playing here." he admitted "If you like, I could find a theatre and we could go after lunch."
"Eh, really?!" Italy immediately perked up "We could still see the movie? That's great!"
"You're kidding me?" Romano agreed "That'd be like the best possible thing to do right now!"
"Well, that's settled, then." England smiled, a little less scarily than before as he pulled his phone out of his pocket "I'll get the times. Hopefully it isn't showing too late."
Thank god, something to keep these two quiet. Going to the movies seemed to excite them enough that they stopped being afraid of him, going back to their incessant chatter and nonsense noises throughout lunch. There was a few hours until the movie, so he took them shopping to kill time – they both had an odd fascination with Wedgwood, especially the antique collections, and seemed abnormally thrilled to discover Poole Pottery.
Tired of the constant jibes at his food, he decided to treat them to some pastries. The brothers practically jumped right out their shoes when they ate them, exclaiming in shock how delicious they were. He was more than a little insulted that they were so surprised... Luckily the movie was showing around dinner time, so they could grab a bite to eat afterwards, before he showed them back to their hotel, and his duties as the host nation would be expertly completed.
He wouldn't have pegged the macaroni brothers for horror movie fans – Italian horror movies were more funny than scary. The movie was American, but based on a British book, so England was a little curious about it too. They got their overpriced popcorn and drinks, going into the dark theatre as the adverts played to the slowly gathering crowd. However, something went wrong somewhere, and England ended up sitting between the brothers. He was going to get up and move, but the previews started, what few lights were on extinguishing, and then it was just too awkward.
It seemed Italy and Romano were much like America when it came to horror movies, flinching and covering their eyes during the scary scenes, although they didn't scream as much. That was kind of unexpected, actually, considering what usually came out of their mouths. The movie was only okay, not at all scary in England's opinion, so mostly he was just bored, having finished his popcorn in the first act. He tried not to tap the arm of the chair, but it was difficult as the jump scares just kept coming.
Italy flinched particularly violently when the ghost flashed up (yet again, how droll), grabbing England's hand in his shock. The sudden contact made him flinch as well, but Italy didn't seem to notice, if anything gripping his hand tighter, eyes glued on the screen as the hero fought off the ghost in a dramatic fashion. England settled back down, going back to watching the film. Perhaps, in his terror, he had mistaken England's hand for the arm of the chair, or forgotten that he was sitting between the two brothers.
His chair arm theory was dismissed as the terrified nation started clawing at his fingers in an attempt to get a better grip on his hand, the other one over his mouth. With a sigh, England let him hold his hand – there was no harm in it. It was like watching a movie with America, only less suffocating. Italy seemed happy enough, squeezing his hand for support.
The movie finally ended. England had seen worse, but he wasn't going to be rushing out for the DVD either. As the lights went up, Romano started gobbing about what a predictable ending it was and how he saw it coming and all that jazz. As Italy turned to him to reply, he released for the first time that he wasn't holding his brothers hand. Horror crossed his face as he went deathly pale, eyes going a little wider than was natural. Since he didn't want the idiot to have a freak out in the middle of the cinema, England casually let go of his hand, standing up and grabbing his coat from the seat, agreeing with Romano.
Italy was freaking out a little bit. More than a little bit. Quite a lot, actually. He thought nothing of holding his big brothers hand during a scary movie, or Germany's hand, or Spain, France, or Prussia's, but England... he had never, in a million years, thought of holding Britains hand! Britain terrified him! Had he put a curse on his hand? Was he going to come after him?
He knew he shouldn't be afraid of England any more – it had been nearly 100 years since the last time they were at war – but what was 100 years to a nation? Britain was a rough character! The way he and France were always fighting... It was hard enough dealing with him without another person, like Germany or Japan, as a buffer, but knowing he had held his hand for a good 30 minutes made his guts feel all tense.
After the movie, he took the two to a gastropub for dinner, swearing the food at his place had improved, no matter what anyone said. Judging by their earlier lunch, the brothers had their doubts. However, British beer was very good (albeit warmer than they would have liked), which made the overcooked meat and bland roasted vegetables seem more palatable. By 9, they were all sick of the nicey-nicey diplomatic we're-all-friends routine, so England went to pay the bill.
"God, two more days of this shit." Romano groaned, loosening his tie "I don't see why we both have to take part in these circuses – it's not like we don't have work to do at home!"
"Look on the bright side." Italy suggested "At least we got to see the movie."
Romano huffed happily.
"I guess. You know, I swore you were going to grab my hand during the scary part." he said "But then I remembered England was sitting next to me – how awkward would that have been?"
"... I have to pee."
Italy jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Romano probably guessed why he was so awkward, snickering behind his back as he ran away. How embarrassing – perhaps if he apologised properly, England wouldn't curse him. The last thing Germany said to him was to be careful, he was going to be super mad about this. Feeling something behind him as he stood at the urinal, Italy looked around, spotting a large man. He waited, despite the fact that the other urinals were free...
"Ah, sorry, I won't be a minute." he apologised anyway.
The man smiled back, but not in a way Italy was comfortable with.
"Wow, you're really cute." the large man noted "What brings you here?"
"Um... I had to pee?"
"That's funny." the man laughed.
"It is?"
"I like your clothes." he went on "Very fancy. Italian?"
Abort mission. Red flag. Italy was incredibly uncomfortable, and decided it was time to get out of the situation. The large man, however, leaned over him, pinning him to the wall. He smiled greasily.
"You busy tonight, cutie?" he asked.
"Yes." Italy told him, hoping he sounded braver than he felt "And I'd like to leave now. My brother is waiting for me."
"Is he cute like you?" the large man asked "The three of us could-"
The man reached up, fingers brushing his hair curl. As a horrid shiver ran down Italy's spine, the large man was suddenly thrown aside, kicked to the ground. For a large man, he moved quickly, spinning around to fight back, but immediately went silent. England glared at him, foot still suspended in the air, giving him his best punk glare, hands in his pockets.
"Fuck off with that shit, obnoxious wanker." he growled "This is a respectable establishment. You wanna pull that shit, I know a nice lake to cool you off. Nice and deep. Catch my drift?"
It appeared he did, as the large man ran off, not even looking at England. As the bathroom door swung closed, the blond turned to Italy.
"You okay?" he asked.
Italy startled, as if he was forgotten he was a part of the situation. Britain had looked pretty cool for a moment there...
"Yes!" he reported "Sorry... thanks..."
"Sure." England answered "I guess you're used to Germany having you back, aren't you? You should be more assertive... feel free to put that away any time."
Italy practically burst into flames, realising his zip wasn't done up. He ran back to Romano to let England urinate in peace.
"Stop laughing!"
"C'mon, it's funny!"
"No it wasn't!"
Romano continued to laugh at him as he took off his shirt, getting ready for bed. Italy glared at him as he brushed his teeth.
"First you hold his hand, then he saves you from some creeper in the bathroom." Romano summarised "You better tell that potato bastard you got a new best friend, Veneziano." he snickered "He's gonna be crushed."
"You're awful, Romano." Italy sighed "It's embarrassing enough."
"Alright, alright, I'll stop." the older brother swore "But it's gonna be awkward tomorrow – just make sure you don't kiss him or he might fall in love with you."
Italy threw his toothbrush at his brother, who just laughed.
Italy knew he was dreaming – the atmosphere was too hazy and vague to be anything else – but at the same time he couldn't wake up, so was stuck in this weird situation. It was world war two again, and he had been captured by England, only he was wearing his leather punk jacket over his military uniform. His captor sat in a chair, arms and legs crossed, that evil smirk of his plastered on his face. Italy was knelt on the floor before him, arms tied behind his back, dog collar around his neck.
"This situation is really weird." he complained, conscious enough to recognise the oddness of his dream.
"What's weird about it?" England asked him "It's what you wanted."
"Eh?" Italy responded, surprised "No way, I would never ask for this: you scare me."
This seemed to make the dream England happy, as he smiled wider, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward.
"I scare you?" he purred.
Italy couldn't help but start shaking, the setting and the uniform bringing back the righteous fear he had of England at that time. England uncrossed his legs, kicking apart Italy's knees, and pressed the toe of his boot against his crotch.
"You like being scared, don't you?" he teased.
Italy's whole body lit up like a torch. He shuttered incoherently, shaking as his member started to rise, teased up by the pressure of England's foot. He was terrified, but at the same time... at the same time, it felt really, really good, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to stop. Britain laughed.
"You masochist."
He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Italy's hair and forcing him down, onto his back. He started to get hot, in the best possible way, as his captor leaned over him. He somehow realised he was naked, which he hadn't been before (but that was the way of dreams), as England's gloved hands ran down his bare legs. He was still shaking, but no longer in fear, and England licked his lips.
"You like being scared?" he asked again "I know how to scare you."
"N-no." Italy stammered "I don't like being scared."
"Liar."
"It's true! I hate being scared!"
"This part of you says otherwise."
He grabbed Italy's engorged member, making him shiver in delight.
"N-not there!" he begged.
"Not here?" England teased on "Then where?"
England gave him a squeeze, moving his fingers provocatively. It felt so good. Italy ached his back, hips aching. He felt his whole body burn. He couldn't look at England, who continued to smirk, eyes cold and in charge.
"M-my hair." Italy breathed "Touch.. my hair."
"Hm?"
England responded exactly as Italy had wanted, grabbing his curl and twisting it in his fingers. The rest of his dream was a delirious haze of sensation, of touch and heat, something rough and deep, and a pain that tasted to sweet...
When Italy woke up, he remembered it distinctly. It took his waking brain a moment, but it all came flooding back, making his whole body go scarlet. A strangled cry of embarrassment and shock escaped his throat, causing Romano to look around the bathroom door.
"Veneziano?" he called "You okay?"
"Yes!" he replied too quickly and too loudly "I'm fine! I just... had a bad dream."
"Yeah, I know." Romano grumbled "It was so bad a heard you moaning about it at 3 in the morning! Stupid little brother."
Romano shut the bathroom door, leaving him alone. Italy sighed, tension draining from him. Why did he have to have a dream like that? How was he going to look England in the eye today? As he relived the dream in his waking mind, his body reacted – he could practically feel England's fingers digging into his skin, his teeth tauntingly brushing his neck, the force of his hair being pulled... he was bought back to the here and now was a towel was thrown roughly at his head.
"Go have a cold shower." Romano ordered "And kindly refrain from having a sex dream when we're sharing a room."
"Yeah... sorry."
Nothing more awkward than having to face someone the morning after having a naughty dream about them. How will Italy handle it? Hopefully in an interesting manner, or this won't be a very interesting story :P Please look forward to the next chapter!
All reviews greatly appreciated.