AN: So I do Elizabethan history, and it gave me ideas - this is meant to be historically accurate, but please give me some leeway xD I think I stretched stuff a bit? but at the very least, this is historically based so apologies for any inaccuracies! Also it's super short...
PAIRINGS: SpUK, FrUK
WARNINGS: It's not all that sexy, but y'know a vague description of it all
DISCLAIMER: Hetalia isn't mine
Arthur had been seeing Antonio around the palace a lot recently, which wasn't surprising, really. With his King courting Mary, if Phillip couldn't make it, Antonio would. Mary herself seemed quite fond of the tanned man sent in place of Phillip, and so must Arthur. He couldn't help the flutter in his stomach or the skip of his heart, no matter how many times he told himself that none of these feelings were his.
When news of the wedding came out, Arthur was annoyed at how it made his smile, while Antonio stood, hands crossed behind his back, as cool as anything. Even as Mary's happiness filled him, Arthur was angry, offended even - Phillip did not love Mary. That was why Antonio was smirking across the room at him, and why Arthur was torn between ripping off the Spanish man's clothes and slapping him across the face.
Arthur left the hall at the end of the evening of the wedding, determined to go to bed alone, but alas... A marriage like this was not just a marriage of people, but of nations too. And every marriage must be consummated.
Pale fingers trembled as they hurried to untangle the layers of clothes that was curled under them, while pink lips searched hungrily along a tanned jawline. A low moan escaped the Spaniards mouth.
"Inglaterra..." Arthur's eyes glanced up at Antonio's, green on green for just a second, before he shoved him backwards, landing the two on the expensive bed behind them. Arthur leant up, breaking away so that he could throw his shirt across the room of the chamber.
"Shut up," he growled playfully as he launched another attack on Antonio's doublet, which was unfortunately still on. Arthur would remedy that, and so as he felt the Spanish nation's hands roam his backside, he unbuttoned the jacket and the shirt under it, glad to find that there were no underclothes on this man. Being Spain, Arthur mused, Antonio would radiate warmth more than him.
It explained too, why when Antonio finally got Arthur's many layers off, he shivered at every touch. He arched his back away from fingers that tickled down his spine, feather light, pushing the rest of himself closer to Antonio, as they melted into each other, two very different souls melting into one. Strong, tanned arms wrapped around a small, pale waist, and dark emerald eyes met bright green as the countries united for a moment.
Arthur was disgusted. So soon after Mary had gone, Phillip was back, and this time, it was Elizabeth he was after. She called for Arthur, asking his opinion. He forced himself to forget the nights he and Antonio had shared, the moments they had found together. The times it felt like Antonio actually loved him, as Mary had made him love too.
In any case, they avoided the subject for a while, as Spain had a problem, a problem in the Netherlands that caused bigger concern. Arthur, though not best pleased with the way Antonio was handling the situation, could do nothing as he watched Lars, held tight in Antonio's grip as they stood in the courtyards.
"What are you looking at, Inglaterra?" he spat, glaring at Arthur, who had his dagger in hand.
"You don't have to go about it like this, Antonio," he said, moving forward slowly, hands outstretched. Then a voice called from the corner.
"Angleterre, mon lapin, where have you gone?" Francis' voice floated towards them, and Antonio's eyes hardened.
"Oh, si, I understand now," he said, his grip on Lars slacking as he watched Francis slide an arm over Arthur's shoulders. Arthur growled, annoyed at the interruption, though it gave Lars a moment to disentangle himself from Antonio, and stumble backwards, rubbing at his bruised throat. As Antonio stepped closer to the two blondes, Lars took the time to slink back into the trees, nursing his wounds.
"You want me to do this, huh? Because then you get your precious Frenchman," he said, and Arthur's gaze never faltered. The Spanish nation pulled a face, determined not to let England escape his grasp, after his hold had been so strong. Francis laughed, a light noise unsuited to such a dark conversation.
"We are trying to settle our differences, non? Elizabeth is very fond of my Francis, and so are you, aren't you mon lapin," he said, sliding his hand lower down Arthur's back. He ignored the same warm feeling Elizabeth had, the fondness for the Duke of Anjou, that he had for Francis.
Antonio's face dropped, and then softened into the same smile Arthur had been gifted with before - the beautiful smile that looked just... perfect.
"Come on Inglaterra, we had something so good... come back to Spain," he said, and for a second, for a slight second, Arthur almost did. But then the anger returned, the way Phillip had treated Mary, the way Antonio had treated him. His voice rang through the gardens as he answered.
"No"
His resistance didn't last long though, but his defiance made a mark on history, one that showed how England refused to be anyone's subject.