Yeah, so this fic is what happens when I don't want to do homework and there is not nearly enough of a certain pairing to satisfy me. -sigh- I really like the idea of Spain/Austria, even more than actually. Personally, I would love to see Austria at the mercy of the Bad Touch Trio but alas! It was not meant to be. But, anyways, this is my attempt at writing new characters and a new pairing. Fail? Success? We'll just have to see.

Warnings: Slash, potentially incorrect history (Wikipedia is my friend), hints of sex, OOCness

Pairing: Spain/Austria (YES HABSBURG SLASH FTW -shot-)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Antonio is not surprised when he is told of his new alliance with Austria.

He knows Juana, his dear infanta, has been prepared since childhood to marry for political gains, to forge a strong alliance through marriage, for the sake of the kingdom. He watched as she grew, studied diligently, and now, draped in jewels and delicate finery, a young bride awaiting her future.

It's necessary, in light of Francis's growing power. His childhood friend, a confidante from the time they both lived in Rome's imperial shadow, grows stronger and threatens the balance of power. And Antonio cannot allow that.

Neither can Austria.

So their kingdoms wed.

It is an illustrious union, a beneficial match.

There is no love.

But there is power.

Roderich glances at Spain once during the entire ceremony.

He does not feel guilty, however, because the union of the young royals is far more important. He approved of the wedding, finding the Spanish bride to be a good match for Phillip. This union signals the beginning of a new era, another shimmering epoch of Habsburg dominion.

The empire is spreading, growing in strength.

Let the others wage war. He would marry.

Marriage always guaranteed stronger bonds.

But, fleeting interest in his new 'husband', prompts him to glance over at the other nation. Spain—perhaps he ought now call the other man Antonio—watches the proceedings with interest, more concerned with the bride, though. The man is tan, no doubt from his long months at sea coupled with the residual darkening that resulted from the Moorish presence he so recently expelled. His hair, in Roderich's opinion, could use a trimming. The shaggy locks curl around the other man's ears and tumble into verdant eyes. A cheerful, vaguely dim-witted smile threatens to overtake his face, but he controls his self, allowing his lips to curve faintly upwards only.

Roderich, once completing his appraisal of the others, is unimpressed. The man looks like a fool, but he sees something sharp, something vaguely threatening, and frighteningly indefinable behind those bright eyes. It reminds him of a towering man from long ago, who came across as an utter buffoon but who commanded respect and fear with a mere glance.

Roderich, thankful for his mastery of manners and vice-like grasp of his expressions, manages to ignore the other when emerald orbs turn to him in curiosity.

For a man, Austria is fairly attractive. Antonio continues to think about the other, late into the night, even after the marriage has been consummated.

Skin as white as the frothy tips of cold ocean waves. Violet eyes, bright like gems, and neat locks that remind him of chocolate. The man is neither short nor tall, but thin with delicate wrists and slender fingers more suited for a woman or artist than a conqueror.

But Austria—Roderich? — is so distant and completely unflappable. Aristocratic, politely disinterested, and coolly civil. He carries himself with extreme self-assuredness and the grace of someone comfortable in their power. Confident, even steps. Not a single strand of hair or thread out of place. Absolute immaculate and tranquil.

Antonio smiles, a sharp flash of teeth cuts through the darkness of the room.

It's like tossing a pebble into a still pool. The ripples, the signs of disruption, are entertaining.

He can't help but want to disrupt Roderich. Just a bit.

Spain comes to stay with him for a while following the wedding. His monarchs requested that he not depart for the New World so soon.

Roderich is fairly certain that the other man was told to get to know him, just as he was ordered.

Though Roderich did not believe that the royals intended for their country to attempt to seduce him.

So the first time Spain comes to him, late at night where the only light comes from twinkling stars and a benevolent moon, Roderich curtly shuts the door in that smirking face.

He, truly, has no desire to become acquainted with Spain's vital regions.

He continues to spurn the other man who turns out to be quite perseverant.

But Roderich is not some weak-willed damsel easily won over by charming grins and softly whispered promises of passion.

So he continues to deny Spain carnal pleasures until the man finally returns to his ships and to a far more welcoming mistress, the ocean.

Before the darker man leaves, he corners Roderich (who happened to get lost in his own home) and, with a mischievous sea-green eyes, cheerfully announces, "I won't be back for at least a year. What shall I bring back for you, my lord?"

The title carries the stench of mocking and Roderich can't help but bristle with indignation. The fact that Spain's sharp eyes catch the brief collapse of his calm demeanor annoys him further.

"There is no need." He responds, violet eyes coolly meeting jade. Truth be told, he has no need of whatever trinket Spain will steal away from the New World. He knows their marriage is simply for the sake of politics. "Do not bother."

Friendship? Hardly. Lust? No. Love? Roderich laughed at the thought.

It is marriage. Nothing more.

But Spain merely smiles mysteriously and grabs Roderich by the hand, pulling it up and presses it to his lips, eyes never leaving his. Roderich feels heat rise in his cheeks and mentally curses his pale complexion that is no doubt turning rosy.

"But I want to." Spain murmurs. "Can't a husband spoil his wife?"

Irritated with the teasing and enraged by the insult to his masculinity, Roderich tugs away his hand and pushes past his infuriating husband. Propriety be damned. He refused to stand by and allow these insults to continue.

"I will bring back enough gold to make a piano! With keys made of gems! Its splendor and beauty will only be second to you!" The curly-haired man shouted enthusiastically but Roderich paid him no mind.

The man was an idiot. Such a piano would be impossible to play.

Talented. Shrewd. Disciplined. Intelligent. Beautiful.

Antonio found these appealing traits in Roderich.

Often caught unawares. Gets lost easily. Prone to waste hours playing the piano.

Antonio also found these weaknesses appealing. However, he knew Roderich, if he wasn't careful, could easily find himself taken advantage of.

And, though Roderich seemed to have no desire to delve further into their relationship, Antonio found that he wouldn't mind. He found himself thinking more about his distant husband, especially during long, cold nights.

They could form an intense emotional bond.

Or at least relieve their physical desires.

Roderich would never say it aloud, but, after months of Spain trailing him like a shadow, he was starting was starting to miss the absent man.

It is not that he is lonely. No, he has his young, endearing and insufferable charges and the servants and his music.

But his days feel less bright and pass far slower without Spain bursting into his music room or sneaking up behind him with a ready, exuberant smile.

Not to say that he misses the way Spain would glance at him with heated, wanting glances. Nor does he miss the way the other country would lightly trace the curve of his shoulders or waist or neck whenever he would pass, leaving Roderich warm and embarrassed.

But, in court, he hears whispers of what happens to heretics and innocents in Spain and rumors of what's happening across the ocean, and he shivers, wondering if the madness and cruelty he sees lurking in those green eyes will be unleashed on him one day.

Roderich is glad he kept Spain away from his bed and out of his heart.

He can't be so naïve to think their marriage will last forever and he hopes, when that day comes, his heart does not weigh him down.

One day Roderich enters his private chambers and finds Spain reclining on his bed. The other man is stretched out, cat-like, teetering on the edge of slumber and consciousness. He cracks open one eye and, seeing Roderich, sits up and smiles lazily at the other man.

Spain is dressed is fairly simple clothes, rumpled from travel. His skin is tinted with the kiss of an unforgiving sun and, for the briefest moment, the aristocrat can smell the vague allure of the sea-salt and open breezes.

Spain slips off the bed, elegant and confident, and makes his way over to Roderich, who simply watches his approach warily. The other man moves smoothly, like wildcat, a hunter stalking his prey (not out of necessity, but freedom). He stops just before Roderich and smiles oddly, head tilted at a slight angle.

"I hope you had a pleasant voyage." Roderich began in a polite tone.

Spain hums and replies, "I suppose it was pleasant—for an months long expedition on the sea and then surrounded by those savages." He sighed, whining. "My bed has been so cold."

Roderich chooses not to comment, so Spain continues, "Oh, but it was quite successful!"

Roderich nodded politely, "Perhaps you could go into greater detail over some tea?"

Spain's grin widens. "Perhaps. Or we could stay here and I could be even more detailed." He steps closer and Roderich can definitely smell salt and faint traces of blood and a musk that is purely Spain.

He swallowed roughly.

"I could also give you my gift." Spain whispers, hand rising to cup Roderich's face. The slightly shorter man can feel the other man's thumb brushing across his lower lip and he half wants to push the Spaniard away and scold him for violating his personal space. But he also thinks that it wouldn't be so bad to give in because, while he may be a country, he also has the needs of a man.

But, no, he cannot give in now, after evading the other for so long. Thus, Roderich places his hand against Spain's chest and starts to push the other away, but, with speed he was unprepared for, the other country's hand cups the back of Roderich's head, calloused and rough fingers treading in soft locks, and pushes him forward so that their lips meet.

Spain's free arm comes around his waist so that the violet-eyed nation is flush against his body.

A demanding tongue presses against his lips and Roderich grudgingly allows it entry, unable to help the pleasure that unfurls as it expertly explores and maps out his mouth. The kiss is passionate, burning and combative.

It leaves Roderich breathless and unsteady and he seeks support by grabbing the broad shoulders before him. He doesn't have to look up to know that Spain is wearing a pleased smile.

Despite what he said, Spain did not bring back enough gold and jewels to make that extravagant and useless piano.

But, when Roderich is lying, sated, with his head resting on Spain's chest, the other nation grasps his hand and kisses each pale digit before slipping a heavy gold band on one finger. Then, with a soft kiss to his palm and the fluttering pulse point of Roderich's wrist, Spain asks, "Do you like it?"

Roderich can only nod, amused but vaguely touched by the gesture. It may not mean anything, but it is another sweet, slightly useless act that defines the green-eyed man.

Spain then rolls over so he is looming over Roderich. With a smirk, he leans down and presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against his lips and laughs when the brunet frowns in distaste.

"Beautiful." Spain says, reverently, eyes gleaming in the weak moonlight.

Roderich, uncomfortable, looks away.

He couldn't keep the other man out of his bed.

Hopefully he could keep him out of his heart.

Please ignore any history!fail. Success? Fail? Like it? Hate it? Love it? Let me know what you all think. Thank you and good night!