Title: Not Ever

Hello readers! Hope you guys enjoy my newest Hetalia fic!

This isn't necessarily a multi-chapter story, there will only be two chapters and then it'll be complete. And to clear any confusions, this first chapter deals with Spamano and the second chapter will have GerIta.

Read and enjoy guys!

Romano wondered why he put up with Spain at all.

It was like the forever smiling Nation was immune to the cursing and whatever other shit Romano threw at him. If anything it was like the bastard actually liked how he was treated and he seemed encouraged every time Romano protested against the hugs (Spain held on tighter the more he squirmed) and kind, teasing words.

He hated it. He hated Spain for never leaving and smiling all the damn time like he had no better place to be. He hated how he himself couldn't bring himself to be angry because the Spanish bastard never left his side. He hated how his heart would (as cheesy and stupid as it sounded) skip a beat whenever Antonio (Spain, he reminded himself) snaked his arms around him and squeeze the hell out of him because he thought the verbal abuse was cute.

It was during those sappy moments where Romano needed to push the cheery bastard away and make it damn clear to stay the hell away from him. It was those moments were he needed to be his cruelest and remind himself that it was for his own good and he wanted the bastard away from him anyway!

He never did. Never told Spain to go away and stay away. The few times he did drive the Spaniard away, Antonio always came back with a bigger smile and warmer hugs. And he felt relived every time he saw the older Nation come back, only to later curse and despair over his failure to keep Spain at a distance.

He tried to remind himself of the warnings Rome had given him and his brother before he passed on. Romano tried to convince himself that Spain didn't give a damm about him, the affection in his words and actions were just an elaborate ruse to lower his guard so that Spain could take his inheritance away. Spain was only using him and would throw him aside once he no longer needed him around.

It never worked. He knew Spain would never do that to him, no matter the circumstances and the knowledge made him happy.

Some days, the closeness made him want to break down and cry. He wasn't stupid. He knew the signs and what he felt meant and knew what the Spanish idiot was always trying to convey to him. And dammit, Romano couldn't afford to love Spain; Lovino couldn't afford to love Antonio.

A ruse, that's all it was. Everything that Antonio (Spain, dammit) was doing was a lie, a lie meant to get Romano to trust him so that he could have a go at his inheritance. And besides, there was nothing to love about him anyway! Lovino was lazy and mean and a coward and his brother was better than him-

"Ahh Lovi~ Your face looks like a tomato~!" said Spaniard gushed happily, rich green eyes twinkling in amusement as the Italian's face reddened in angry embarrassment.

"Bastard! Who's fault-!" His screech was cut off as he felt a pair of soft, chapped lips gently pressed against his own.

'Nonononono! He needed to push the older nation off! He could already feel his half-assed defenses crumbling the longer their lips pressed together. And god dammit, he felt warm and fuzzy and he liked the searing heat that Antonio's body gave off when he wrapped his arms around his waist-

And before he knew it, he shyly pressed back against the other. Only for the other Nation to lean in closer and Romano couldn't help but feel a hopeless fluttering in his chest of contentment and for once he didn't mind that the Spaniard was so close that the casual outsider would know right away what they were doing.

"Te quiero mi pequeno tomate. Te amo tanto Lovino~" Antonio whispered sweetly against the Italian's soft lips, pressing a small butterfly kiss on the corner of Romano's mouth. The Spaniard pulling him closer when the younger Nation's face flushed beautifully from the tender words.

And really, Romano stood no damn chance once the sweet, loving words were said. And he was just so…happy being surrounded by the older Nation's arms and his heart did back flips the longer he stayed close to Spain. And he loved every second of it. Has loved every second of it since he was young but in denial.

"Ti amo anch'io." He uttered with just as softly and he poured as much love he could into the three words. This time the Italian was the one to lean in and press his lips against the Spaniard.

It wouldn't be the first or the last time the two Nations did this. But after hundreds of years of avoidance and attempted distance between the two and violent shoving of emotions away-Romano couldn't go back.

He wouldn't go back to the days that he spent in inner turmoil and denial. What he wanted was to spend his days, months, years with the stupidly happy Spaniard who never abandoned him for the last few centuries. Who put up with no matter how nasty or violent he got, who would never stay with him so long for a stupid inheritance or give up on him in preference for Veneziano.

Unlike before where the idea made him sick, he now felt a soft hum in his chest that was warm and pleasant (not that he would ever admit it) and he would never give it up for anything.

So...any good? I've never written Romano or Spain before and hopefully I didn't mess up too badly.

Any feedback on the characterization would be helpful in the future in case I decide to write more on this pair.

Review please!