A/N: Um… A spur-of-the-moment type of thing, I suppose. I've wanted to write something for Spamano for a while now, but haven't been able to pull out a one-shot yet (even though there's Spamano in "The Eleventh Hour"). And, then, the other day, I was eating corn-on-the-cob, and this just sort of came to me. Eh heh, my mind's a bit frightening at times…
Anyway, now that we're past the rambling…
This will have two parts. Human and country names both used. And, yes, the beginning part was blessed with more vocabulary, mostly because it hasn't been interfered with by any conflict. Enjoy and review~!
Ah, Spain. Known for its many edible delicacies, varying from the ever-common churro to the oddly-dubbed gooseneck barnacles, it is not often said that the Spanish are deprived of the cuisines of a unique realm. In fact, what with its vast crops of grains and tomatoes- the quantity of which only bows to Italy- it has been said that Spain would cultivate themselves into a prosperous, export-healthy country. Unfortunately, there has always been one crop in particular that the Spaniards have found themselves lacking in abundance, one in which they relish in when the chance arises to devour such a glorious vegetable.
Therefore, it is pretty safe to assume that Antonio wouldn't be wasting those precious ears of corn that had taken refuge upon his doorstep.
It had been a rather pleasant day, all in all; the sun had risen above the rolling emerald hills in just the right manner, casting a warm glow upon the land beyond its grasp. A gentle breeze, fervent but not overbearing, had blown itself across the open fields, whiplashing a few leaves and nature-oriented debris in every which way. Why, t'was the epitome of a genuine, scenic day upon the Iberian Peninsula, and would, hopefully, remain so for the rest of that day.
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had taken a single step outside his abode, a deep yawn erupting from within his lungs and carrying out from beyond his lips. A smile blessed upon those lips and a slightly overjoyed skip in his step, the Spaniard stretched his arms far above his head, inhaling the sweet scents wafting off of the tomato crops just beyond the gate, and advanced a single step further…
…Only to find himself stumbling forward rather clumsily and plummeting to the ground, toes having made a somewhat agonizing contact with a large wooden crate sitting upon the earth. A crate which, upon further inspection, contained an abundance of corn ears, all piled atop each other in perfect display. Upon the uppermost ear was a sticky note, labeled with "From America" and a bunch of peculiar, assumedly Japanese smiley faces. Such a sight only intensified the vivid beaming of the Spaniard, and without giving any further thoughts towards the corn, the tomatoes, or… well, anything else for that matter, Antonio proceeded to lift the colossal crate off of the ground and into the house.
Oh, it wasn't that Spain wasn't already full of corn crops- in all actuality, corn stalks could be found scattered across the entire nation. Unfortunately, corn borers had become a problem in recent years, and had eaten a decent hole through the wallets of many locals who made their living off of corn. The last thing anyone really wanted was to ingest pest-ridden ears of corn- not to mention the fact that the majority of the corn grown on Spanish soil was used for animal feed and whatnot. Besides, America was the world's greatest producer of corn, and often sent ears or even entire stalks around for the American Thanksgiving- not that anyone else celebrated it, but Alfred's naiveté couldn't be surpassed by many (well, except maybe Antonio's, but that was beside the point).
Grin everlasting as always, the Spaniard dropped the box atop the counter and maneuvered over to the kitchen sink, cleansing his hands thoroughly with lavender soap and tap water before once again approaching the vegetables.
"Hey, Antonio!" Ah, such an undeniably irked voice, agitated in both tone and pitch… could only be his former charge. Lovino burst through the front door, chest heaving up and down in a frantic pant as short breathes huffed from within his lungs. Well, the Italian had always been one to make an entrance, but this? For the state in which Lovino was presenting himself wasn't in the least bit attractive to most; he wore a somewhat casual outfit, yet it was clouded with half-wet splotches of mud and grime, and his deep brown locks of hair were disheveled and a bit scruffy. "Alright, you bastard, you'd better have a good explanation for what you did!"
Yes, most would find this young man completely unattractive, if not a bit repulsing. But not Antonio. "Ah, Lovi~! You look so cute!" he exclaimed cheerily, approaching the Italian and leaning in for a deathly-strong hug.
"A-Argh! Get off of me, damn it!" Lovino snapped back, shoving the lug off of him in distaste. "I'm covered in mud, and you won't even bother making up for what you've done?" What with the oblivious expression now worn upon the older man's face and the slight hurt-puppy gaze he had caught a glimpse of, the Italian narrowed his eyes and sighed in complete exasperation. "Oh, honestly! I come over here, and you can't even start a meal for me? I'm your guest, treat me like it!"
Antonio cocked his head to the side ever-so-slightly, lip jutting out a bit in a confused pout; what on earth was Lovino going on about? To the Spaniard, it sounded like complete gibberish, and his tone had angered considerably since his arrival. But, oh! That look plastered upon the younger nation's face, that genuinely pissed-off expression he wore so well… it was just too irresistible! "I was going to make some food soon, so just take a seat and I'll whip us up something nice, Lovi~!" He leaned in once more- for another murderous embrace?- but fell flat on his face for the second time that morning, as the Italian had already begun to storm off.
"I'm using your shower, and I'm stealing your clothes for now. Have the food ready for me by the time I'm finished, you idiot. And don't call me that!" He was entirely unaware of his newfound brutality, but Lovino would have none of the Spaniard's crap-load today, considering how irrevocably horrid his day had already played out. And it was only ten in the morning!
As Lovino advanced into the back hallway, a contented sigh passed the lips of Antonio, who had proceeded to wrap an apron around his waist, one which once read "Kiss the Cook", until the second "o" had been singed off in a toaster accident, and now read "Kiss the Co#k". A bit suggestive, and Lovino had insisted on more than one occasion to get rid of it, mostly for Francis-related reasons, yet the Spaniard had refused, as it had been through more cuisines and full-course meals than any other item of his ever had. Gently, he lowered the crate into the sink and flipped the water back on, allowing it to pour its cleansing droplets over the vegetables before turning it off and cracking his knuckles skillfully. With a dexterous flick of the wrist and a bend of fingers, he ripped the jade green husks from their former residency upon the corn and tossed them effortlessly into the waste bin, soon to be followed by the greenery surrounding the rest of the vegetables.
Ah, I sure hope Lovi likes corn. But who couldn't love it- it's so perfect in every way! Almost as good as a tomato, though he'll never admit it. Maybe I should leave out some tomatoes, just in case… Me pregunto qué se tarda tanto? Indeed, after Antonio had sustained his corn-husking for a good fifteen minutes, he began to worry. Perhaps he should go back and check on his Italian charge, just in case…?
Of course, he had done something similar about a year prior, and had nearly gotten a face full of unused bath beads for it, as Lovino hadn't had anything nearer to his naked body than those. Of course, the Spaniard had protested afterwards, stating that he had merely been checking up on him; after all, if the water had gotten too hot, the Italian could have passed out! And, besides, Antonio had raised the grouchy nation, and though he may have developed more over the years, Lovino didn't have anything that Spain hadn't seen already, even if it had been as a child.
Weighing the two options between his hands, the Spaniard had chosen the dumber option of the two and took a single step forward to seek out his companion before Lovino entered the room, garbed in some of Spain's old clothes with his russet hair clinging to the silhouette of his scalp as it dripped with water. "Hey, bastard! You aren't done cooking yet? Get on with it!"
"Lovi?" Antonio mumbled softly, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "If something's bothering you, feel free to tell me."
"Hurry up and finish husking the corn! I'm hungry, damn it!" Alas, Lovino didn't look at all prepared to recite his true dilemma to his former guardian. "Do you need me to come help you or something?"
"Um…" Antonio gawked distraughtly around the pantry, tapping his fingers uneasily against the hard wood frame of the door. "Mind if we have an all-veggie meal? My pantry's almost completely empty, so we only really have food from the crops outside."
"You're kidding me… You only just noticed that your pantry is empty? There has to be something in there!"
"Only if you include the baking soda and the paprika…"
"Ungh…!" Lovino crossed his arms, scowling and pouting and whatnot like an overgrown child. "Great, another thing to worsen this day…" he mumbled under his breath, turning away from the Spaniard. First, he had woken up with splitting headache, almost rivaling with a hangover in intensity, though it hadn't made a whole lot of logical sense, considering he hadn't been drinking. Then he had made the mistake of answering the phone, even after seeing that the caller ID was his younger brother. Feliciano had only phoned up the Southern Italian to tell him how fantastically his date with that potato-bastard had been. Absolutely disgusted, Lovino had fled his own estate to visit that of Antonio, only to get stuck in horrid traffic. Eventually, he would approach his former guardian's house and promptly trip and fall into a puddle of mud, thus the reason why he had arrived in a filthy mess. And, typically, Antonio's idiotic optimism was enough to churn his stomach with a queasy disgust. "You know, just forget it. I'm not even that hungry."
"Oh, um… Okay!" Antonio shot him a wide smile, though within felt a bit unnerved at the Italian's lack of appetite. "I do have some tomates already picked, in the bowl over there…"
"I said I wasn't hungry, stupid Spagna…" he grumbled back, digging his face into the backrest of the couch.
The Spaniard shrugged his broad shoulders, snatching a single, newly-husked ear of corn from the box and raising it to his lips, a ravenous saliva rising in his mouth and giving his stomach an appropriately-famished gurgle. Lovino watched exhaustedly as the older nation brought his teeth forward, plunging them into the first bite of corn, and an expression of pure bliss graced the features of Antonio. The Italian grimaced, expecting this scene to unfold how it had before- Spain devouring the fruit or vegetable with the vigor of a hungry wolf. Never before could he recall seeing the Spaniard eat corn-on-the-cob, though, so he blessed his boredom with disgust rather than complete monotony.
The sight which unraveled before him, however, wasn't in the least what he expected to witness. The moment those glistening white teeth- Er, no, have they always been so white…?- came into contact with the sweet kernels of corn, and that brilliant grin spread from ear to ear, Lovino could feel his stomach churn-not in repulsion, as previously expected, but in slight hormonal discomfort. No, that's completely ridiculous! he denied, nibbling his bottom lip and trying in vain to avert his eyes. I'm not some teenage girl, damn it! There's no way I'm-
Antonio, oblivious to both the world and his guests' unease, proceeded to take another bite, nibbling just right of the prior mouthful, and gnawed off the kernels from that area as well. His former charge, however, was not enjoying this in the slightest… or, rather, he was enjoying it in all the wrong ways. My God! What the hell is that bastard doing to that ear of corn?! A single droplet of juice from the corn plunged from the now-empty spot on the cob and plummeted down Antonio's flesh, descending gradually and mockingly down his lips, his chin, his neck, and disappearing behind his clothes… an act which promptly sent a jolt down the Italian's body to his- er, vital areas. "D-Damn it all!" he cursed, entirely unaware of his swear being uttered aloud until the older nation raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
Antonio cocked his head to the side, almost resembling a baffled puppy, before continuing his near lovemaking to the corn, tearing off a few more kernels much too slowly, and lashing out his tongue to claim another trickle of juice which had oozed from the corn's rightmost end to the Spaniard's lower lip. Lovino, on the other hand, was squirming uncontrollably by this point, willing himself with enough fervency to tear his hazel eyes from the tempting scene, trying desperately to calm himself down. This was Spain, for crying out loud! Why in hell would he get so riled up from the idiot downing an ear of corn? The Italian was revolting himself, considering his reaction to such a casual, innocent act. Perhaps it was just the result of his turmoil earlier in the day- yes, that was surely it. The madness of that morning had driven him to near insanity, and-
"Lovi~? Are you alright over there?" the bastard called, pure innocence and ignorance lacing his pleasan- er, agitating voice. "You're making some pretty funny noises, you know."
Wait, he was making noises? Out loud? Oh, divine heaven above, take him now! The Italian gripped the armrest of the sofa tighter, nails embedded in the thick cloth, teeth gritted. A rather obnoxious crunching noise sounded from the corn-on-the-cob as Antonio took yet another bite- really, how long was that ear of corn?- and Lovino gave a timely inhale, sharp and forced, at the sweat continued to pour down his neck, tingling all the way down. "Quit being so loud!" he shouted ardently, shutting his eyes tighter. "It's damned disgusting!"
"Are you sure everything's alright?" Antonio hollered back, mild concern coating his voice. Slightly apprehensive, the Spaniard brought his corn away from his lips to settle in his palm.
This isn't happening! This is absolutely ridiculous! Damn it, fuck this! Damn it, damn it, da-
And Antonio's face was at his in a split-second, foreheads touching. "Hm, you don't have a fever… I don't think, anyway. You are awfully red though; actually, ¡te ves como un tomate! Ah hah hah!" He inched away briefly, chortling into his free hand while the godforsaken ear of corn nestled teasingly in the other. "Maybe it's just because you haven't eaten anything. Want some corn?" His other hand crept forward, corn nearing the Italian's face.
"I-I don't want any corn!" Oh, to hell with it! Now his voice was stuttering? He had to get out… fast.
"Hm? Lovino? You're sweating again! Quick, Lovi~! We have to get you to the hospital!" Antonio's smile fell exceedingly quickly as he latched his hand around his former charge's wrist and urged him to follow.
"L-L-Let go of me, you bas-" Another hormonal spasm jolted down his spine, traveling further down, and Lovino promptly slapped the other man away, fists clenched. To the older nation, it appeared as though his guest was over the edge in a fury or frustration of some sort; if only he knew that the Italian was trying desperately to hold back both his hormones and an unsightly moan. "I said let me go!"
Spain's eyes saddened, if only for the briefest of moments, before his smile returned somewhat crookedly. "Oh, Lovi, you're so cute when you're aggravated!" But he obeyed nonetheless as Lovino gave one last weak attempt to tug himself away from the other's grasp. The Italian, without any inkling of delay, spun on his heel and raced out the door, panting heavily as he hurriedly slammed the door behind him.
"Wonder what that was all about…" The Spaniard rubbed the back of his head, utterly dumbfounded, when his gaze fell upon the armrest of the couch, the crescent shape of Lovino's nail imprints still embedded in the fabric.
Hmm? Looking closer, Antonio caught a glimpse of something- his former charge's wallet had managed to fall out of his pocket in his frenzied panic. The Spanish nation smirked ever-so-slightly, nibbling absentmindedly on the corn-on-the-cob. Oh, Lovi could be so adorably forgetful at times!
He'd be back. Eventually.
A/N: Yes ? No? Maybe? Let me know how I'm doing so far. Any major typos will be fixed by the time the second part is up.
¡te ves como un tomate!- You look like a tomato!
¡Ay de la vida de una mazorca de maíz!- Woe is the Life of a Corncob!
R&R!