Pairing: Spain x America
Rating: T
Warnings: rare!pairing, modern-AU, general silliness, kissing, swearing and abuse of fluff.
Author's Note: after listening to the lovely little band, Donora, I had an inexplicable urge to write for this pairing. I hope I did well. Feedback and con-crit is always loved~!
[ Lo que dicte el corazón ]
Spain is recoiling from the terribly harsh kick he receives from his former territory once he opens the door to him.
"O-ow, Lovi," he wheezes, clutching at his now throbbing shin that is undoubtedly going to become yellowed with a contusion. "what was that for?"
His air completely escapes him when his right shin is subsequently kicked, as well.
"For being such a dumb fucking bastardo, that's why!" the Southern Italian shouts, before stepping inside the Spaniard's home nonchalantly.
Spain, once he's sure his legs won't give out on him, manages to shut his front door before stiffly walking to his living room. He's a little annoyed, to be frank, but most of it leaves him when he notices the thick blush enveloping the Italian's cheeks.
"I swear, a guy could outright tell you he likes you and you would just laugh it off, cazzo." he fumes, plopping himself tersely into a nearby settee.
The brunette watches him for a moment, allows his brain to process what has been said, before coming to his conclusion- and he's promptly hugging the Italian because of it.
"Oh, Roma, why hadn't you told Boss you were interested before~?" he coos, forcing the redhead up and nuzzling him affectionately.
However, Romano is none pleased at the familiar action and defends himself the only way he knows how-
-he headbutts the Spaniard.
"I didn't mean me, dammit, Antonio!" he shrieks, plucking the dizzied brunette off him as he flees to the safety of his couch.
Clutching his undoubtedly bleeding nose, Spain is tearing up faster than Romano can explain what's going on.
"E-entonces, Roma, you don't love me..?" he questions sadly, lower lip quivering.
Flushing, the Italian yells at him to "Man up, I thought we'd gone over our relationship, bastard!" before he softens a little at the confused look Spain is sending him.
"T-then, who did you mean, Romano?" he is almost hesitant in his inquiry, but finds his stomach doing flip-flops before he can tell it to stop.
"America, you idiot! The United States, Alfred F. Jones, the fucking self-proclaimed Hero- that fucking colony once of England!" Romano is red-faced at the end, breaths heaving and a headache beginning to throb to life before the Spaniard's eyes light with recognition.
"A-America, Roma?" he truly hesitates then, his palms suddenly sweaty as he glances down at his hardwood floor. "America loves me?"
The Southern Italian scoffs, but Spain recognizes its meaning as he is tossed a note with only ten digits on it- America's telephone number, to be precise.
"Not if you don't get him to say it, idiot." the redhead presses, but the assuring implications are enough to encourage Spain to excite him for the following day's World Meeting.
"Gracias, Lovi." the Spaniard says suddenly, the words unacknowledged because the Italian has long left to pick at his tomato field. "Ah, America."
He's giddy with excitement and before he knows it is calling both Francis and Gilbert to babble and coo his ebullience.
America is staring at the hand gripping his jacket-sleeve the moment it happens.
His breath is held, for reasons he cannot concoct and is somehow blushing a soft pink when true-blue connect with sparkling emerald. He wants to ask, but his tongue is apparently tied in his throat- which, by the way, is most certainly not constricted in his current fluster -and a whine-like sound escapes him. He is utterly mortified when it does, and is desperate to pull himself away from the Spaniard who still hasn't let go of his sleeve and why hasn't he, dammit, it would help in calming down this sudden heat claiming his cheeks-
"Ah, America!" there is a lilt to his voice, chirpy and brilliant as ever- and the blond wonders why it's suddenly more pleasing to hear than before. "Your blush, it's just like Romano's~!"
The younger nation is frowning before he can sense he is, and the Spanish nation is grasping at his hands and pulling them towards his chest before the former can protest.
"W-wait, Spain, w-what are you- ?" America wants to kick himself for sounding so flustered, but he can literally feel his heart pounding in his ears now.
"Saldrías conmigo, Alfred?" he suddenly inquires in a whisper, his tone somewhat husky and the lisp of his vowels only furthering the depth of his blush.
America merely manages out another squeak once his mind is able to translate what's been said.
"Q-que- I, you don't mean- w-what-" the American is struggling for coherence but can't because his heart is doubling in its pace and it feels like lava was poured on his face when he realizes where exactly it is the two are.
"Por supuesto I mean it, Alfred." he chuckles, but the husk and pseudo sensuality in his expression and voice are soon gone before the American can recall it being there. "But, you do not have to answer me right now, amigo!"
He places a soft kiss, lingering yet chaste along each of his strong knuckles before he finally releases the American's hands.
"I would like to hear a 'yes', though."
Alfred is stuck gaping like a fish out of water when the Spaniard is soon floundering about with his Prussian and French companions, the attraction spared to him completely gone and without semblance of his previous tact. Furthermore, however, he is forced to deal with the haughty look England is giving him as he hurriedly shoves his papers into his briefcase and scurries out before the Englishman can make a witty remark or Japan and Elizabeta jump him for what that display was.
He is unaware, however, of when his hands subconsciously press against his quivering lips, exactly upon the areas those warm Spanish lips had brandished his skin with kisses.
If only they hadn't been on just his knuckles.
"Antonio."
The Spaniard starts at the tone his voice is spoken with, but turns nonetheless from his tomato plants to face the speaker. His lips are breaking into a bright smile and his eyes are alight when they figure out it's America, oh tierno y lindo America. He doesn't bother wondering how it is he's managed to find him in his back lot, considering he always remembers to lock at least the gate to it unlike his front door. He doesn't bother wondering why it is the blond is wearing overtly casual clothes- rolled-up jeans, worn sneakers and a simple flannel under his bomber jacket. He doesn't wonder if the American is fiddling with his hands as much as he is now because he still recalls how nice it had felt to have his lips shower his knuckles with affection.
Spain simply smiles up at him, finally standing up straight in order to level himself with the blond.
"Ah, Alfred." he chirps, emerald intent and as flourished and attentive as the meeting days before. "What brings you here, amigo?"
The American is blushing before he can stop it, a hand reaching to scratch at the back of his neck as he attempts to think of a good enough excuse.
"W-well, I was just wondering if, y'know..." he mutters the final part, making the brunette's ears perk and his face go curious.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't catch that." Spain chuckles, stepping a little closer.
His eyes widen when the American's hands stop exactly when he reaches out for them.
"A-America?" he's hesitant again, unsure of what he should do or if at all.
However, the blond placates his surging worry as he slurs together what he'd previously said.
"Would you like to go out with me?"
Spain is dumbfounded for a moment, his expression blank and betraying none of the rushing emotions suddenly taking over- but, once he realizes what has been said, he pulls the flustering American into a tight embrace. He doesn't worry about how maybe such a thing is causing both of their hearts to hammer into their rib-cages, or how he can distinctly detect his own flush; he simply begins swaying the both of them around for a moment.
"Of course, Alfred!" he chirps at the equally smiling blond. "Of course!"
In the distance, a very smug Romano rubs his fruition at the Prussian and Frenchman beside him.
"I told you, bastards." he smirks, elbowing the silverette when he grumbles back in his own tongue. "Now cough up the money."
"Ah, Alfred?"
The blond looks up, his face cradled in the Spaniard's hands as he leans up a little from his place on the brunette's lap.
"Hmm?"
There's a soft blush coating Spain's cheeks, which somehow prompts the American to begin blushing, too. He briefly scratches at the back of his neck, dark curls disturbed as he grins sheepishly down at the blond.
"D-do you mind, um..." he gulps heavily, and Alfred notes he's shifting a lot as he seems to fight for the right words. "Would it be okay for me to give you a kiss?"
His face immediately blooms a ripe red, choking on his own saliva as he tenses in his lap.
"Y-you don't have to, of course, if you don't want to-" Spain quickly assures, an embarrassed laugh beginning to form before the American is soon butting in.
"N-no, I do want to kiss you, Antonio!" he abruptly shouts, promptly sitting up-
-before he realizes that he's crushed their lips together, foreheads throbbing at the sudden collision and noses aching at the impact. Alfred swiftly pulls away, awkwardly holding himself up by his elbows on the couch as he stares into emerald eyes, flustered.
"Shit, Spain, I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to, um, oh jeez, I'm sorry!" he's nervously apologizing, but putters out when the brunette doesn't reply to him.
After a few moments, however, the Spaniard, is laughing, full of mirth and clutching the hushed American close to his chest. Alfred can only feel his ears go hot as those luscious Spanish lips press right up against them.
"No hay nada para disculparse, Alfred." he whispers, and Alfred desperately wonders if the older nation is aware of how sultry his voice is, and more so in that tongue that suits only him.
He gulps down a bundle of nerves, heaving out a nervous little laugh before he's suddenly asking, "What a terrible first kiss, huh? Can't imagine what our kids would say, haha."
Spain is thoroughly ravishing those plush pink lips with kisses before America can react, and is cooing happily over "Oh, I always wanted to raise little bebés, Alfred!" and kissing him again, a little more passionately that makes the American whine a little.
"We can name them Tomatino, ah, y Héroe y, oh, I'm so excited~!" he goes on, showering the speechless American with more kisses that steal his breath- and oh god his tongue is doing that "rrr" thing in his mouth Christ-
Pulling apart for much needed air, Antonio cups that blushing face in his warm tanned hands, a warm smile on his own flushed face.
"Por supuesto, this is all if you want, America." he assures.
Alfred is stunned, initially, at the amount of sincerity in the Spaniard's words- fact that they're both men, and nations at that negating the possibility of children aside -he is downright touched by the display and obvious reciprocation of his sentiments. Hence, he simply swings his legs over the brunette's, pulls him close for another passionate kiss.
"Es evidente que sí." he breathes his reply against his lips, before they both lean in for another.
The rapid melody in which their hearts beat help drown out the nerves that come with confessions.
And neither mind it now.
[ no es un dicho. ]
Translations:
1. Entonces: then, so
2. Saldrías conmigo: would you go out with me?
3. Por supuesto: of course
4. tierno y lindo: tender and sweet
5. No hay nada para disculparse: there's nothing to apologize for
6. bebés: babies
7. Héroe: Hero
8. Es evidente que sí: obviously, yes