A/N: This is supposed to take place in the late 1960's, early 1970's. I know, in Hetalia canon, this was no when Lithuania was working with America. But... Whatever.
Spain and America are doing cocaine, if you couldn't tell. Why? Because my first thought was "whose cracked out idea was it to let Spain into NATO while they were still under a dictatorship?" Of course, this was not the case. Spain was a Constitutional Monarchy when it was entered into NATO. Research was needed, but whatever. I really like the Spain/America pairing, so... shut up.
Also... I do not apologize for any OOC that happens here. So don't tell me they're OOC. I know. That's the point. It's a dark crack fic. Ever heard of it? Enjoy. On an unrelated note... First ever Hetalia Multi-Chapter Solo Fic.
"Get down! Get down!" America tore at a break neck pace down the stairs and grabbed Lithuania's arm, pulling him to the floor. The coffee cup in Lithuania's hand bounced off the carpet floor as Lithuania hit the ground under the windowsill, gasping for breath.
"What is it, Mr. America?" Lithuania asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
America fixed Lithuania with a sideways glance and replied, coldly, "The communists."
"What do you mean communists?"
"The fuck do you think I mean?"
"I… sir…"
"Shush!" America snapped, putting his hand over Lithuania's mouth and holding him close, pressed up under the window. "They'll hear us!"
They sat silent for what felt like forever until they heard footsteps on the stairs. Lithuania looked up. Spain, with wild hair and a crazed expression, shirtless, moved towards them, stumbling slightly. "¿Qué? ¿Qué están haciendo?"
"Speak English! The communists will hear you!"
"Yo no soy un comunista. Yo soy un fascista."
"Yes, yes," America said quickly, letting go of Lithuania and standing up, grabbing Spain's hand and shaking it furiously. "And that's why you're going to be in NATO."
"What?" Lithuania picked the coffee mug off the floor. "Since when?"
"Since he's not a communist is since when!" America snapped, grabbing Lithuania's shirt collar and shaking him. "Are you with or without me? No. Not want I meant. Against. With or against me?"
"With! With!" Lithuania pleaded, afraid to pry America's hands off him. "With, completely!"
"Good," America said, dropping Lithuania and clinging to Spain. "You promise they won't find us?"
"Yes," Spain replied, "Pero… Necisito mi camisa. Necesito salir."
"What the fuck are you saying?" America whined. Lithuania could only stare in horror as America's hand traveled down Spain's torso to the buttons on his slacks. "Do I need to gag you again?"
Spain laughed and looked at Lithuania, only really seeing him for the first time. "You. Get my shirt from the bedroom. Ahora."
Lithuania obeyed quickly, fleeing up the stairs and darting into the master bedroom. It was hellishly warm, with the windows shut and the heat lights in the bathroom glowing dark red. It reeked of cigarette smoke and sex. 'No blood' Lithuania reminded himself, 'Just be thankful there's no blood.' Spain's shirt was lying over the bed post, an empty sandwich bag by the pillows. Hesitantly, Lithuania picked the shirt up. The edges of the sleeves and collar were sticky. Sick to his stomach, he headed down the stairs.
"Ah, thank you," Spain said cheerfully, pulling his shirt on once Lithuania had given it to him. "And for making coffee."
"Isn't he cool?" America blabbered, popping his knuckles and pointing at Lithuania. "I got him from Russia. Stole him. Fucking communist doesn't deserve to have such a cool fucking servant."
"I remember my servants. They were useful. I haven't had servants for ages. I suppose that's what comes of beating them and killing their natives," Spain laughed a cold hyena cackle before throwing his empty coffee cup at Lithuania, who barely managed to catch it. "This has been great. But I really must go. Good luck, friends." He stumbled to the door; his shoes untied, and slammed it behind him.
"That guy," America said, opening the fridge and beginning to gnaw on cold leftovers. "Is too fucking nifty. At first he was all, like, 'oh, god, I'm with Germany, but secretly neutral.' And then we bombed the shit out of Germany. And Spain was like, 'sure! Build your bases in my country!' He's an opportunist to the max!"
Lithuania nodded weakly, "Do you, um… want me to warm your breakfast up?" What he had wanted to say was: 'do you mind not speaking in such a terrible fake accent,' but he hadn't found the nerve.
"No. You know what I want? An Easter egg."
"How about just a hardboiled egg?"
"Sure! You would do that for me?" America beamed, his bright blue eyes with their unnaturally large pupils seeming to shine. "You're too awesome, you know that? I love you. I just love you so much. Kiss me."
Lithuania didn't move as America wrapped his arms around him and forced his tongue into his mouth. He tasted like cigarettes, antiseptic, and a dash of cooking grease. Lithuania waited out the kiss the same way he had waited out a torture from Russia. It was as though he was watching the whole thing from outside himself, a curious inspector from the other side of the kitchen. "Why don't you go take a bath?" Lithuania said quietly when the ordeal was over, "And I'll make you some eggs."
"Sure thing!" America ran off, charging up the stairs, leaving his servant alone.
The kitchen had always been Lithuania's favorite part of the house. It represented both hard work and reward, a challenge and a place of solace. Somewhere where even Russia respected him. At home, the kitchen had always been clean, orderly; the one thing he had always had control over. But here, at America's house, even the kitchen seemed jumbled beyond repair.
"I'll protect you from him."
"Are you sure you aren't doing this just-"
"To piss him off? That's only a part of it." America is smirking. His glasses gleam in the fluorescent light. "Besides. Come home with me now and there's nothing he can do about it."
"Except attack." Lithuania crosses his arms, afraid, but tempted. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Russia and China arguing again. A house with an unhappy Russia is not really a house he wants to return to.
America laughs and finishes his burger. "Toris. This ain't the 50's. We're in a whole new ballgame now. What's he going to do?"
Lithuania thinks quickly, and then heads to the door. "Nothing. Let's just go."
"So you know what I've been thinking?" America rambled, peeling the egg. He had managed to find his glasses and calm down a bit from the earlier morning's antics. He was sitting on the couch, with his feet on the coffee table. A similar habit with Russia had driven Lithuania crazy, but he hadn't ever said anything. And he wouldn't say anything now.
Lithuania shook his head, "No"
"Course you don't. You're not a fucking mind reader."
"So..?"
"What?"
"So what are you thinking, sir?"
"Huh? Oh! Yeah. I was thinking about Easter eggs and eggs and cracking them open and you know… People can be cracked open, too. So you know who we need to crack?"
With his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach, Lithuania asked quietly, "Who?"
"China."
