DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia: World Series.
WARNING: Very-affectionate!America, fail!coffee making, naggy!Canada, a lot of cursing (from both America and Romano). Oh, and fluff.
A Little Break
"America, I swear to God, come back home!"
America pouted and pressed the delete button.
"Damn it, Canada, let me take a breather once in a while, wouldja?" America mumbled to himself, checking his list of missed calls, most of which titled "Matthew". He huffed, pressing the lock button on his cell phone and sticking it in his jeans pocket then returning to his work at the stove. No sooner than he had turned on the flame did his phone ring again.
Aggravated, he turned off the flame and looked at his cell screen, his aggravation levels rising when he say that the Caller ID was, once again, "Matthew".
"For the love of Christ…Hello?"
"ALFRED."
"That's my name, don't wear it out!" America replied with false cheeriness, when, really, he was this close to smashing his phone into tiny, humpty-dumpty fragments.
"Where—the fuck—are you?"
He was hiding out in Buenos Aires, but no need to tell Canada that. "In Narnia, duh."
"WHAT?"
He sighed, his frustration levels increasing much too fast. "Look, I'm on a well deserved vacation with someone very…important…" He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks, but honestly found that it wasn't out of embarrassment, but of happiness. "I'm keeping up with my work 'cause I've got my Boss sending me it to me and I'm keeping up with my country's current affairs thanks to the Vice*. So will you please calm the fuck down and stop fucking calling me?"
He said a lot of other things after that, most of which he was sure he would be hung for.
After he finished his little "chat" with his brother, America silenced his cell and slid it into his back pocket, turning back on the flame and setting a coffee pot above it.
Buenos Aires was a beautiful city, America decided as he looked outside the window, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. He made a mental note to himself to do something to pay Argentina back for doing him this favour—i.e., lending America a free vacation house for the next two weeks without a single complaint.
He was distracted from his train of thought by a very loud, very long yawn coming from the adjacent room, the bedroom.
"Oi, bastard, where's my damn coffee?" Romano called out to him in his usual, angry voice, except with a heavy amount of drowsiness seeping into it.
America sighed blissfully, slowly walking into the bedroom where Romano was hunched over their shared desk, a laptop and stacks of papers in front of him. Only a fourth of those papers belonged to America.
"Here ya go, hon. Don't drink too fast~" the blonde teased, handing Romano his cup and sipping from his own.
"Shut the fuck up, smartass. I know how to fucking take care of myself, okay? Dumbfuck…"
The American merely smiled. "Says the guy who's been up since eight o'clock last night." It was currently noon.
Romano frowned aggressively, glaring at America. "Fuck off. I would be in a deep sleep by now I wasn't stuck with all this work that my Boss dumped on me last minute."
"Y'know, I'm pretty sure all this last minute work is actually work piled up from the past couple of weeks that you've been ignoring and now you have to finish it all before this vacation is over and your Boss kills you and moves Italy's capital to Venice," America chirped, dodging the back-handed slap Romano tried to hit him with.
"I fucking hate you so much," Romano responded, gulping down some coffee then placing the mug on the desk. He typed a few things into the computer, signed some papers, and groaned.
America grinned placidly, bending down and pressing a long kiss against the back of Romano's neck, feeling Romano shiver in response. "Whatever you say," he whispered against Romano's skin.
"…Fucker," Romano hissed, shivering again. He signed another paper, his hand shaking the entire time. "I wouldn't even be in this position if you didn't invite me on this vacation. I would probably be finished with all this shit by now because I could get Veneziano and Sebogra to help out, but no."
"Well, you could've said no when I offered," America defended, placing his hands on his hips in a very manly fashion, thank you very much.
Romano's shoulders scrunched up, wrinkling his shirt in a way that made him look smaller. "S-shut up! I only said yes because I wanted to avoid work, not because I like spending time with you!" The Italian harrumphed, crossing his arms defensively. The American and the Italian engaged in a battle of glaring for a good two minutes before America gave up and blinked, rubbing at his eyes then fixing Texas back into place. When the world cleared again, he discovered that Romano had turned his chair around so that he was facing his lover, an unsure frown on his face. The sad look in his eyes quickly merged into one of anger, though.
"You're a fucking bastard, you know that?"
America pulled on a giant smile. "Only for you, sweetie!"
Romano threw a lamp at him; America caught it.
The Italian turned his chair back around, typing some more things into the computer while absent-mindedly humming some song America had never heard before. By now, both of their coffees had gone cold, so he took the two mugs and offered to make some tea**. Romano ordered wine.
By four o'clock P.M., Romano had gone through a whole bottle of wine and two coffees and America had finished all of his own work, but Romano was still stuck with his. America could tell his lack of sleep was starting to get to him.
"Don'tcha think you should get some sleep, hon?" America asked, setting down the book he was reading on the nightstand. Romano's response was an unintelligible grunt that barely passed for anything intimidating. "You've been up for almost twenty-four hours," he supplied, hoping that tidbit of information would somehow convince his lover to leave his work. He doubted that it would work, but at least he tried.
Romano's response was a grumbled "Fuck off".
Putting his hands on Romano's shoulders, America began massaging. "C'mon. We've still got two weeks here—let yourself rest."
"But then I wouldn't be able to enjoy my time with you…I'd be worrying about work, bastard," Romano muttered, resting the back of his head against America's body. Apparently, he was so tired, he didn't even notice what he was saying.
(America made a mental note to make sure Romano was half-awake the next time he wanted his agreement on something.)
"At least let yourself rest," the blonde whispered, kissing the Italian's forehead. He rubbed small circles below Romano's earlobe with his thumbs, taking a risk and pecking Romano's lips. Romano didn't even warn him of any future and violent injury.
Oh, this was definitely going in the Guinness Book of World Records.
"…Fine," the brunette finally agreed, groggily standing up with America's hands on the back of his shoulder blades. He sat on the bed, his blonde lover taking a seat behind him and unbuttoning his shirt for him. "…'Ey…don't even think about sex. I'm too tired…"
America chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it." He pressed a kiss against the back of Romano's neck again, sliding his red shirt off his shoulders, then trailing his lips down to the base of his spine.
"And no raping me in my sleep…" Romano mumbled, unconsciously leaning into America's body as America wrapped his arms around his waist.
"Awww. And I was gonna have so much fun with you."
Romano lazily slapped him.
Cautiously, America laid Romano down onto the bed, tucking him under the covers and waiting to hear Romano's slight snoring, indicating that he was asleep. As silently as possible, he walked around the house, turning off all lights, locking all doors, and closing all the drapes before re-entering the bedroom. He took one look at his sleeping lover—who was grasping the sheets as though trying to grab something important—and walked over to the computer, saved his work for him, and turned it off. He checked his phone, pleasantly surprised to see he only had one missed call from "Andrés***".
He made a mental note to return the call, turned off his phone, and climbed into bed with his Italian.
Grace Raven: Oh dear God, this took too long to write ;A; (about 2 hours). Sorry if its crappy, I started it at about 10 P.M. and didn't finish until 12:28 A.M.
Yeah…
By the way, do y'all think I should continue this? Like, make a sequel where Canada finds where America and Romano are hiding out and walks in on them, or somethin' ;D
Notes:
*America is referring to the Vice President of the United States. And by the by, this story isn't placed in any specific year, so you can just imagine who he's referring to.
**Just to clear something out: America doesn't drink tea, he just knows how to make it.
***Andrés is Argentina. I, quite literally, looked up a popular Argentine boy's name and choose Andrés XD