AN/ Hey guys, long time no post! Hahaha... so, yeah, about that "gee I hope 2012 will be better than 2011" thing. Has not been the case so far. BUT! I'm still alive. And that's what matters. Or so I keep telling myself. ANYWAY, this came to me while I was watching SNL this past Saturday- or more specifically, the musical guest. I have no idea who he was, but there was one point when the main singer went back to sing at the same mic as his back-up singer, and the idea just popped into my head. I am honestly thrilled with how this turned out- and, as I seem to always do, a mini-universe has developed because there's so much other stuff that is going on in the background. So, you may or may not see more from this AU- but it won't be for a while. I'm still trying to work through the 2nd chapter for Absence, which is not cooperating with me even though I know what I want to do, and I have a few other ideas floating around in my head. Hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things and write more, even though I just started a new job at Hallmark. Hahaha... Please read and review! Enjoy!

I do not own Hetalia or its characters (as so many others have said, if I did, there would be a lot more Spamano. Even though it's totally already canon. Hello.)

Moment

I lose myself in this moment every time. In the dangerous light in his impossibly green eyes, in the way that we are both so close to the microphone between us that our noses nearly touch, in the way that his rich, sultry voice entwines with my rougher one during the chorus. I break away to return to my own mic, my eyes snagging briefly on his slender fingers stroking artfully over his guitar, producing harshly melodious sounds that inspire our songs. Images rise, uninvited, of those same hands creating music with-on-in my body, but the roar of the crowd as the song closes reminds me that I have to focus- now is not the time for such thoughts, only half-way through our Friday night set. So I shake my self internally, shoot our audience my trademark smirk and slam into our next song.

-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-LineBreak-

I'm half-blind in the darkness of the wings as we stumble off the brightly-lit stage, the crowd still screaming after our encore, and let the sound of our crew applauding and cheering loudly guide my steps, my guitar held close to my body to avoid collisions. I hear our drummer cackling somewhere off to my left, most likely having just tackled his petite, blond boyfriend; although I can't immediately hear our bassist, I'm sure he's already off seducing a few of our groupies into his room; and our main guitarist...

"Great show, eh amigo?" Our main guitarist is no more than three inches from my ear, his breath hot as it brushes my throat and his Spanish accent sending my mind south very quickly. I jump out of my skin, nearly dropping my guitar, and spin around to give him a furious glare, all the while trying to ignore the things his warm laughter does to my body.

"Bloody git, how many times do I have to tell you to not sneak up behind me? And yes, I feel that the show went excellently. Although Gilbert needs to learn that he can't suddenly up the tempo in the middle of a song, no matter how well we recover from it..." The drummer in question groans from beside us, and my eyes have adjusted enough by this point to see him roll his bright ruby eyes, his arms looped, as expected, around his quiet Canadian-boyfriend-who's-name-I-never-remember's waist.

"Oh piss off, ya damn Brit- I've been doing that one for weeks during rehearsal, which you would know if you had actually been paying attention." His words are far too pointed to be comfortable; I glare daggers at him for a moment before turning and pulling the slightly distracted Spaniard with me toward the dressing rooms.

"Anyway, I have a few things I want to discuss with you about tomorrow's show, and-" The rest of my sentence is drowned out by a loud, accented slew of cursing. The guitarist -who had been trailing after me obediently until that point- perks immediately, jerking to a stop and spinning around.

"Lovino! You made it!" I watch helplessly as he skips away from me and over to the Italian, scooping him up in spite of his protests and swinging him around gleefully.

"Gah! Antonio, you bastardo, put me down before I kick you in the balls!" Antonio obeys quickly, but not without landing a brief, deep kiss that I can see leaves both of them breathless. Even in the semi-darkness of the backstage, Lovino's cheeks are glowing a bright red and a tiny smile is visible on his face in response to the wide beam on his lover's. "Of course I came, you damn idiota. As if I would miss one of your concerts when you're in town... Er, I-I mean, Matt was going to drag me anyways, so I figured I'd save him the trouble..."

I turn away before I can see the Spaniard lean down again, but I can hear the soft, pleased gasp as I walk away unnoticed, their affectionate murmurs haunting me as I slam the door to the dressing room behind me. "God dammit..." I slide down the door slowly, one leg splaying out in front of me while I rest my forehead against the other, racking my fingers through my sweat-drenched hair in frustration.

"You need to get over him, mon ami." I jump again, my head jerking up in surprise to stare at our French bassist where he's sprawled across the settee, his pants riding low on his hips, his shirt mostly undone, and a cigarette dangling delicately from his fingers. He arches an elegant blond eyebrow at me, cool blue eyes looking me over before waving a small, familiar box at me. "You look like you need a smoke. Come, sit with Francis and tell him what happened this time, Artie." He pats the small area on the couch in the space where his body bends to fit, a small smirk playing on his lips. I roll my eyes, but stand up and shuffle over anyway. Sitting on the edge of the cushion, I steal his lit cigarette out of his hand and take a deep drag.

"What I need is a stiff drink and a couple sleeping pills." Francis murmurs sympathetically, his hands sneaking along my sides. I rub the bridge of my nose as a headache begins to set in, not having the energy to fight as he slides his arms around my stomach and shoulders to pull me back into his chest.

"I could do you one better, if you'd like, Arthur~" His voice, while more sultry than I've ever heard from Antonio, is dull and colorless compared to the one I hear every night in my dreams. I lean further into him anyway, my head rolling back onto the tall back of the couch as he begins working at my neck with teeth and tongue, his fingers skillfully ridding me of my shirt.

"Just make me forget, you damn frog. That's all I want." He's silent for a moment, all movement stilling, before he lets out a breath, nodding slowly.

"As you wish, mon cheri. Just relax..." And I let myself get lost in a different moment entirely, Antonio's name bitter on the back of my tongue.

AN/ Wow, I think this is going to be my first non-happy-ending story I've ever posted. I'm so proud of myself~! Lol... Please let me know what you think!

As always, with love,

~Spain