Note: A heated RoHun scene that might've happened between Chpt 16 – 17 in Retrace (in my profile page) But I hope you can read this even if you haven't read the actual fic it's from. You can consider this a drafted/deleted scene if you like.

Loosely based on a Hetalia tumblr prompt, but mostly inspired by the fact that Retrace hit top listed under Romania-Hungary fanfiction even though it has other fun cast members.

I don't intend to pair these two in Retrace, but because there were some RoHun fans reading the fic, here's a little something for you to show my gratitude (and my revenge because you torture me with your amazing feedback). Thank you so much dear readers!

*** Sexual Content

The Answer Was...

"If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us." - Hermann Hesse (German Swiss Poet, Author and Painter 1877-1962)

Blood boiled in his veins every time she let out a damned complaint. He could hear her every word, blathering on about how not-so-incredible his Cluj cave home was, how his people looked at her funny, how his cabbage roll soup tasted terrible, how muddy a path was, how stuffy it felt in some rooms, and how she would've been halfway to Austria if she didn't care much about Turkey.

During their tour, she didn't even bother with the new clothes she was offered. She had accepted them politely, but she was still wearing her teal-green tattered military uniform on top of her white tank top, and boots Romania had provided when they met. In that suit, stored a half-empty syringe and a bottle cap – her silly little treasures.

After a while spent touring the halls of wooden frames, stone and torchlight, trailed by Hungary, he sighed to himself. This was his Cluj caves. His precious sanctuary from the grey skies of death hovering outside the mouths of this Transylvanian mountain. His beloved shelter accommodating surviving families, and recently a Turkish Nation and this annoying Hungarian.

At last, they reached the curtained room he was looking for. All the rooms had either hanging fabric curtains for their doors, or simply wooden planks to close rooms for people's privacy. Living in the caverns mean challenging ventilation systems, so Romania figured the less heavy materials for people's doorways, the safer and the cooler – plus it felt less confining in some tight spaces.

His community liked the idea of fabric doors with the locks being ropes. The only hazard to the very loose privacy was a person, and that was when crucifixes and bibles located in areas of the caves prove its worth in case anyone went insane – also Romania had ensured some hallways were guarded by wooden doors and patrollers.

"There's no door?" Hungary's question snapped him out of his thoughts.

Romania scowled at her as he opened the curtain to enter the small room. She reluctantly followed him inside and looked around.

"This is called a guest room if you haven't yet noticed," he smirked, leaning by the doorway with his arms crossed.

Lit by a couple of small torchlights, there was a low mattress propped up on a short wooden bed frame, a couple of shelves hung by the walls holding up a handful of books and some candles. A cross was decorated with dusty fake flowers on a broken side cabinet by the bed. There were three crates tucked under a small two-people dining table, and if there were two chairs for the table, the whole room would've been cramped.

If she really wanted to annoy him, she would complain about the absence of a rug by the bed and a bell to ring for room service.

Her mouth twitched. "This is where I'll be sleeping?" She turned to him, unsatisfied with the humble room.

"Oh, I am not sorry, your Highness," he said bitterly, locking wine-red eyes to the piercing emeralds. "How about I light you a scented candle? They are incredible air fresheners."

"For your garlic breath, vampire?" she bit back, before sitting on the bed with an aggravated huff.

Romania let out an exasperated noise and grabbed a candle wick from one of the shelves. He fished out a box of matches from one of his pockets and lit the candle.

"You should be grateful you've got someplace to sleep in," he told her gently, as he brushed past her and carefully placed the burning light atop the short cabinet, clearing away the fake flowers. "Also you have all night to build yourself a wooden door, out of whatever it is you can find in here," he laughed, handing her the flowers flaked with dust. "For you."

Ignoring him, she hissed. "I had no choice but to stay here, idiot."

"You know," he tossed the flowers on a shelf and turned to her, his back against the wall, "your so-called freedom was implied after I gave you that cursed German bottle cap, right? And if that wasn't obvious enough, I did tell you about that message in a bottle – "

She was suddenly striding up to him, tearing off her jacket and growling. Any normal thug would roll up their sleeve and use an arm to punch someone – not Hungary. She would take everything off like a she-Hulk, and use every muscle to deliver a fatal blow.

He swallowed hard. "Magyar what else do you want from m – "

She roughly pinned him against the wall with her arm against his neck, choking his words. Her other hand gripping his wrist, she pressed a knee up his groin to keep him from kicking her, making him feel uncomfortable overall.

"Yes," she spat at him, a hair's breath away from his face. "You're right. I should've gone to my beloved Austria already, but you know who and what kept holding me back?" She shook her grip on him against the wall, repining him on the spot and bruising him on impact.

"You," she declared. "You keep reminding me that I haven't enough supplies to last my journey back, idiot!"

"How – is that – my fault?" he said through gritted teeth. He could feel her blazing heat against his face. "You were free to go – shut up – and get your own supplies from some – dead guy out there!" He wriggled. "You damned turul! Let go of me!"

Hungary never ceased her daggering gaze, but they slowly looked him over as if they were trying to pierce through each tiny fragment of his face and skin. Romania suddenly felt exposed and naked under those needling pupils. The corner of her mouth tilted to a smile, and his heart pounded in his ears.

She leaned in closer, pressing her body against him, he felt like he was suffocating under her heat. Actually, he didn't know if it was his own heat scorching him.

"I think…" she spoke slowly, "you were hoping – " she removed her arm from his neck, " – that I'd stick around…"

He was about to push her off him, when he suddenly stopped and looked at her suspiciously. Her tone of voice softened.

"You still need my help, Romania," she grumbled.

He didn't know what suddenly made him hesitate to hit her; if it was the burning blaze between them, or the biting insults they silently shared, or the lethal green gaze that read his loathing, or the slightly parted lips whispering a quiet challenge against his speechless mouth. What was she doing? What was he doing?

There was a battle field between them, barbed wires and explosives kept them distant, and guns were ready to fire at will if one of them made a move.

She had challenged him before, many years ago for Transylvania, but none of those moments were as heated as this, or as close as this, or as confusing as this. He could feel her breath trickling his skin, she could see his throat take in another gulp. Too close. Back off. No wait.

Behind her deadly countenance, there was a mystery, a poison, a hate and a curiosity within. Reflected in her eyes were his own, hooded in shadow, and yet glinting with the same kind of mischief, curse, loathing and…curiosity...

This was maddening. He finally cleared his thoughts and muttered, "I never took you for someone so submissive." This made her frown, and he chuckled. "You had a lot of options to leave my country, Hungary. You just like being swayed by people like Turkey – "

"That's not true," she fumed.

"You also sway to people like Austria…and Prussia..."

She gripped his collar with clenched fists, ready to suffocate and bruise him on the wall again. "You asshat."

He choked in her grasp, "You had so many options to – ack! To just leave me alone!"

"Just because there're a lot of options then, that doesn't mean they're good ones!"

"Oh, I bet if you pick even the stupidest choice you'd still make it out alive, right? Ack! Just don't say you never had a choice!"

"Shut up! Don't think I can rethink my choices by the likes of you!"

"You were swayed! Don't deny it! Why are you still here?"

"Why are you still here?"

Romania paused, realizing his gloved hands were simply clinging unto her arms. He was pinned against the wall by this impulsive Hungarian, but he could've escaped her moments ago before all this – he could've just chosen to walk away. Did he subconsciously stopped trying to writhe free from her?

Romania witnessed Hungary flinch back at her own puzzlement from the question, but she renewed her menacing gaze.

He grinned. "You could've killed me a long time ago," he said. "You just like me too much to leave me dead on the side of the road."

"I don't like you, asshat," she growled. "I hate you."

"And I to you too, witch."

She gritted her teeth and tightened her hold on his collar. "What can make you shut up?"

"I hope you do know you're the one pinnin' me against the wall here," he gibed, "which explains my babbling in an attempt to escape from ye – hh!"

She pushed him up against the wall and pressed her lips against his, knocking the air right out of his lungs. Romania's body stilled, his mind suddenly and completely disoriented. What is she doing? he wondered, as the lush lips tortured his mouth. When she finally drew away for a breath she looked just as perplexed as he was, and he stole this chance to lean in and kiss her.

They were curious.

It felt as if time was paralyzed and everything lost focus. Eyes fell shut, surrendering to the surging wave of fiery desire ignited by the contact of warm lips, shot across the warzone. She pulled his collar, parting his lips open to invade, drawing him deeper into the kiss, and he let her. Her mouth was searching, tasting, and feeling for his tongue, his teeth, and the walls of his mouth. He could barely breathe, his hands were glued against the wall, overwhelmed and unable to do anything but cling unto stone as she constricted him with her body.

The kiss was slow and gentle at first, but when he let a moan escape him, it was Hungary's winning flag – the kiss turned ravenous and eager for each other's mouths. A land mine exploded everything in its path in their raging war, and fire and smoke was everywhere.

Romania never had this with her, and the only chance he had a fraction of her was when they were so young and naïve. Back then, she had kissed him first, arresting time and casting a spell for a little dare. That was so many centuries ago, before their bloody, scarring, deadly, despicable hate – and before other Nations swept their hearts away.

He panted for breath, saying, "Wait. You tried to kill me…"

Hungary felt his lips with her thumb. "I should've killed you…" she said, before immediately stealing his lips again. Romania felt his heart surrender control as she scorched his mouth with her tongue until he was melted wax in her clutches.

Funny, why would he even ask her that question when he already knew the answer? They had always tried to kill each other and they would always regret never being able to. It was in their Nature.

He gathered his own strength, turned her around and roughly pinned her against the wall. The war was not over.

Furious with the sudden shift, she tugged his collar and locked their lips again. She sucked on his lower lip and nipped it to bleed. In his frustration, he slipped a gloved hand under her shirt, making her shudder. Their kiss deepened, the war raged on. Romania's mind was spinning with questions, and he wondered if she even knew what she was doing. One thing for sure…

They were challenging each other.

This was all a game. A trick. A hate. A curiosity. A warfare. He devoured her poison, and she drank in his curse. He felt her hands let go of his collar, rake down his chest and pull up his shirt. His breath hitched when her fingers travelled up his abdomen, leaving marks of torment.

He retaliated, tilting her head back and breaking their kiss, he relished her neck with his mouth. His two sharp fangs ghosted over her pulse point where his lips taunted her skin in a circling scrimmage. Her breathing turned harsh, as he pulled her in closer and kneaded the skin below her breasts.

Hungary bit back a moan, and in response to his trespassing fingers caressing her sides, she plagued his mouth with her delicious tongue, and dug her nails along his shoulders. She clawed his jacket halfway off him so she could corrupt his bare skin. Once more, his back was against the wall, her vicious leg in between his crotch making him quake. They'd almost crashed against the small table if she didn't watch where she was going.

Romania savoured her, neck to mouth – never tired of the taste of the hate and curiosity shared, and never tired of the cursed and poisonous tinge of blood. Against their skin was the lick of sweat, touch of rainwater, earth, ash, metal, and somehow the scent of a familiar sweet flower overpowering each other's senses.

"…wh – what are we doing?" he stuttered, kissing her jaw with his lips.

"I don't know…" she murmured, tousling his hair with scuffling fingers. "I hate you."

"And I to you too." Too close. Back off. No wait.

How many seconds or minutes passed when they had started this war, Romania lost track of time as she liquefied in his mouth and in his arms. Drifted in a trance lost in her lips, his fingers had wandered around on their own, up her sides and around her breasts, which made her gasp and arched herself onto him.

Damned curiosity. "You jackass," she jolted.

Romania suddenly jerked back when her hand squeeze his manhood – her vengeful act. His hands retreated to the wall as if her machine gunfire was killing everyone in the battlefield. Damn it. He was gasping for air when she squeezed tighter.

"You started it," he groaned. He didn't know what to do.

Hungary smiled against his lips from the white flag he raised. She softened her touch and moved slowly against him – lips and fingers. Romania admitted she best him, but feeling her ass was a trick he can try to level the plane field, and it worked. She fell limp beneath him and her chest heaved for air.

His pants felt tight, Hungary had loosened his belt and pulled him to her, making him stagger forward. She stumbled back and carried him down to the cold floor in a tangle of limbs, halfway undressed.

When he toppled on to her she flipped them around so she had the upper hand over him. Hungary cursed in his mouth, and he poisoned her skin with his touch. They ravaged each other's passionate loathing, holding on to each other's lustful lips, and taking in each other's bodies with invading hands. Hungary clutched his manhood until his hips submitted to her, Romania corrupted her breasts until her bra loosened for him. What was she doing? What was he doing?

It was an abhorrence tainted with damned curiosity as they explored each other. Any form of affection was blinded by lust and torturing careful contact. There wasn't a question of making something out of this moment, because in their eyes, they were only fighting each other. A game. A trick. A chess piece's move across the board. Until checkmate? Stalemate? Whatever it was, the question lingered in their minds. What the hell was this?

Her skin was a burning destruction, her tousled hair was a cascading flood, her nails digging into his skin were bone spears, her quiet moans were bullets, and her mouth was a toxic death. Everything about Hungary was terrible, venomous, destructive, electrifying, unpredictable, mysterious, and in some odd twisted way…so damn good.

However, questions had been flashing in Romania's mind. After all the annoying weeks of travelling with her, and after all the torments and death threats, why was she doing this to him? Why was he doing this to her? If there were any more words for total confusion, he would love to know right now.

She drew her head back for air; something in her wrinkled brows, and closed countenance told him she felt the same total confusion.

When she finally looked down at him, they both glowered at each other's flustered hot faces, ruffled clothes, slick skin and racing hearts. She was quick to hide the red in her cheeks and the quiver in her mouth. She sat up, eyes wide at a dawning dreadful realization of the man beneath her.

"You shit!" she barked, pushing herself off his body. She looked disoriented but still pretty; glazed in sweat, hair in wavy tangles and lips kissed to red. She hurriedly fixed her clothes and started pacing around the curtained doorway.

Romania stood up, picked up his fallen hat, and fixed himself, brushing his clothes and combing his hair with his hand. He watched her peer outside the curtain door to check if anyone was around.

A little too late for that, Romania thought, clearing his throat loudly to catch her attention. He noticed her skin flushed pink in some areas around her neck, and a black bra strap hanging down her shoulder.

He didn't know what to say. "Well, I – er," he stammered, searching for words, "that was – oh, okay, let's not –"

"Oh god," she rubbed her temples sensing a headache.

Romania cautiously stepped towards her. "It was your fault," he accused.

"It was your fault!" she shot back. "You were annoying me! I only wanted to shut you up! It's just – you just – argh! You kissed me back, damn it!" Her hands flew to her head, still trying to understand what had happened.

Romania rubbed the back of his neck and said, "That was…maddening, I know. I don't get it either."

At that moment, questions resurfaced and he could finally read them clearly in his mind. Why did she do that to him? And why did he do that to her? What the hell happened? Should he say something related to their loathing? Or that other 'L' word…? He cringed at the mere notion of that other 'L' word, and she caught sight of it.

She gave him a knowing look, and pointed a finger towards the door.

"Get out of my room," she demanded in a low tone.

"Technically, it's sort of a guest room of my house, so it is my roo – oof!"

She pushed him out the doorway before he could finish. "OUT!" she yelled, swinging the door close. She let out an exasperated noise at the curtain she tried to slam in his face – after all it was only a piece of fabric between them. "UGH! Stupid cheap door!"

Romania shrugged. "It's a technological advancement in these times."

She peered through the curtain with a clenched fist around the fabric.

"We do not speak of this," she seethed, "I will murder you, feed your little manhood to the cannibals, and dump your body in a boiling chemical river!" She disappeared in her room, adding, "Just leave me alone!"

Romania rolled his eyes and mumbled, "As you wish." He gave an awkward bow at the closed curtain, burying the subject deep in the underworld.

He didn't want to deal with her any more after this, and thank goodness she was going to pretend it never happened. Somehow, he knew that that was an unspoken promise between them – honestly they didn't expect that...performance.

Damned curiosity.

To hell with curiosity.

He started down the cave's hallways for his own room, thinking never to speak of it again – whatever it was. As he walked on, he erased memories in his head, dismissed questions in his mind and forgot the lips that made him feel so damn good. The only question that lingered was …

What the hell was that?

When his footsteps faded away down the hall, Hungary let out a long sigh of relief.

Sitting in the far corner of the room, she was wrapped in her military suit jacket, fiddling with the German bottle cap in her fingers. It had been in her pocket with Austria's syringe the whole time that cursed Romanian was here. She turned the bottle cap over and over as if it were time turning back to destroy something in the past. Tears flowed down her cheeks damning herself to sob.

She bit her lip, shaking away the reminder of his warmth against her. Everything about Romania was terrible, venomous, destructive, electrifying, unpredictable, mischievous, and in some odd twisted way…so damn good.

She diminished the thoughts, and had the urge to run away from here and into the arms of her German friends. That moment was a cry for Austria and Prussia, she told herself. Not for the Romanian lips.

Damned curiosity.

The next morning, Turkey had a duty to fulfill before a council meeting at Romania's Table. Romania had specifically ordered the Turk to invite Hungary to the meeting. It was important to round up the patrollers and the two guest Nation Beings for assignments and responsibilities, and some news about the cave community's move to Poland.

Turkey had asked why it had to be him to deliver the message, instead of the Romanian approaching Hungary himself, but the only answer he got from Romania was, "I have important business with my mother's urn to attend to, so ugh, just invite her over okay?"

Odd guy, ain't he? Turkey pondered as he wandered down the hall and reach Hungary's room door. Romania had told him where her room was by counting the number of doorways to the spare guest room. Romania had described to him a curtained door most-likely-barricaded-by-something-dangerous-like-probably-a-bunch-of-corpses-or-something. Then again, all Turkey found when he reached Hungary's doorway was a harmless closed curtain, like all other rooms in the hall.

Turkey scratched his head and called her name. "Hungary?"

No one answered.

"Hello…? Hey, Hungary? 'ellooo?"

No reply.

Out of random he figured knocking on the curtain even though it was…just a curtain. It was still a door, he supposed. He didn't want to just open it to look for her inside – he had manners too. He closed a hand and knocked on it, barely expecting any sound from fabric when suddenly –

Knock! Knock!

It sounded. He nearly jumped when he felt wood against his knuckles. A curtained door most likely barricaded, Romania had said.

He knocked on the door again, astounded by the fabric's illusion over a wooden door underneath. He took a step back when a grating sound erupted behind the curtain and a familiar face poked through. She looked tired but happy when she made out who it was standing in her doorstep.

"Good morning, Turkey," yawned the Hungarian Nation. She had used the bed frame as the perfect wooden door propped upright – all to keep somebody out.

She shrugged. "It's a technological advancement in these times."

(~)

Writer's Ramble:

I don't own Hetalia, but I do own Retrace. You'll find more Romania-Hungary interactions in there :d

(I curse madredhattie(in tumblr) for that picture she requested from me(cover) 3 )

Thanks for reading! Feedback would be fangtastic~