A/N: This is a sort-of-songfic to the Vocaloid song Spice! by Kagamine Len. I thought it would make a cool Itacest songfic, and so this story was born. I don't think I did very good at keeping Romano in character, so tell me if you think I messed up too bad -_-' I used the translations from Anime Lyrics and ~Ironia-Vitae on dA, and tried to incorporate both into the story. I kind of veered off near the end though. Beware, it gets kind of angsty…

Warning: somewhat of an implied lemon with Romano and Spain, Romano uses some nasty language, one-sided Itacest.

My phone rang loudly, the song buzzing into my ear. I wondered hazily why it was so close to my ear before realizing something about the song.

It was Spain's ringtone.

He had stolen my phone a few weeks ago, changing the ringtone so that it played his favorite song whenever he called me. It never ceased to annoy me…or to wake me up. I took a look at the time before pressing the talk button, if for no reason other than to stop the music.

"What the hell do you want, bastard? What could possibly be so important that you have to wake me up at four in the fucking morning!" I screamed into the phone. I was answered with a moment of silence followed by Spain's voice.

"Ah, Lovi~ you must be hung over, you're so grumpy! I was just wondering where you are, and who you went home with last night." I had forgotten; my head was pounding, so I tried not to think about anything to keep my sure-to-be-massive hangover at bay. We had gone to some club last night-Spain said it was one of his favorites, and I'm not one to turn down a few beers and a good fuck.

I looked in the bed next to me-there was a boy, pretty young by the looks of his face. He had a smile on his lips, and his auburn hair shone even in the darkness. Somehow my screaming at Spain hadn't woken him up. I got up and walked out of the room, trying to feel my way to a bathroom and hopefully some Advil.

"What are you talking about? I didn't leave with anybody. But I did see you leading some kid out the door-"

"I was just getting him to his car;" I could practically hear the blush over the phone "nothing else went on." We did this every time. Both of us at some random house, neither ready to admit what had gone on. I actually found it fun sometimes; it was interesting to see how long we could keep this up.

"How are you getting home?"

"I'll call a taxi or something. Don't wait up for me." I hung up the phone, not bothering to wait for an answer. I'd found the bathroom. As I searched through the cabinets, one thought passed through my head:

Why do they all look so much like him?

"Míos Dio…Lovi, I love you so much…" Spain's words slipped through his parted lips, barely louder than a whisper.

"You're my only one…the only one I love…" My responses were automatic by now. I said them so often, I could laugh about it. He wasn't the only one I said that to, and he wasn't the one I loved. I knew they were all comforted by it, though. I'm just after the sex. Emotional connection…well, it wasn't so important anymore. Not when the object of your affections…

When the object of your affections…is so totally wrong for you.

I never thought I was gay. I mean, my brother knew for as long as I can remember, and he never hid it. But me…I was straight. Or at least, I thought I was. I've dated plenty of girls, and yeah, the sex is okay. It's just that, compared to a man…it's nothing. It's like going on the biggest rollercoaster at an amusement park and then going on a ride for little kids. It just isn't the same, and they're almost incomparable. And god, is Spain a good lover. He isn't called the country of passion for nothing.

I know Spain loves me. I can see it in his eyes, every time he looks at me. Sure, he'll go to the club and get laid, same as me. But I know as well as anyone else that it's just a cover up. After all, I am the master of that move. I'll tell Spain how much I love him. How I really want him and no one else will compare. And I'll fuck his oblivious brains out. I'll give him everything that I have.

As long as he wants me, I'm his. All his. As I meld our lips together, I feel his hardness against my thigh. I don't let him go first-he has to get me off. He knows the rules by now, sliding down my naked body-When the hell did that happen? - and taking me in his mouth. I know I'm wonderful-I've lived for so long, and had so much practice, how can I not be? I am a country of love, after all. I've been told by so many people how good I taste-they never forget it. I haven't had a single human (or country) forget me after they get a taste of my spice. But for now, it's all Spain's. Just for tonight.

Why does his smile-his laugh-invade my mind? Even when I'm fucking someone, he's all I can think about. Isn't this wrong? Why does something so wrong make me feel so good?

"Hey, bastard! Get over here-I want to talk to your face, not your cell phone!" I bark into the phone. I know it's Spain's weakness-and I always take the low blow. I know what I want, and I know exactly how to get it. I'm absolutely irresistible, practically a sex god. There's no way he can resist me.

"Hahaha! Of course~ I'll be there as soon as I can, Lovi." His lines are perfectly on cue. He doesn't miss a beat when we talk-does he even realize we're reading a script?

As long as we fall in love, things will be just fine, right?

Oh well. I've led him into the labyrinth, and he'll take us further and further in until we get lost. Exactly like I want.

He's got such a thick head-he doesn't even realize, does he? With every smile-every word from his lips-I fall for him a little harder? And every time he goes off with that damned potato bastard-every time he looks at me, almost scared of what I'll do to him-my heart breaks a little more?

"I don't know why, you bastard, but I love you. You'd better fucking appreciate it." I'm doing it again, saying this shit. It's so cliché-oh, I love you so much, you gorgeous hunk of man-it almost makes me want to gag on my own words.

But it works-it works oh, so well. Spain is so dense and oblivious, that he believes everything I say. He never questions me. My words, my spell, weaved a web-and Spain flew right into my trap. He's happily sitting there, waiting for me to devour him. But I won't-not yet. I have to win.

Love is war. War is a game. A game I have to win. In the game, the one who falls first is the loser, right?

So I win…

…Right?

I've always wanted what I can't have. I wanted more attention from Grandpa Rome, I wanted to look more like him and be loved like my brother. I wanted to be useful; to be able to do chores and help Spain around the house so he'd pay attention to me, and not my perfect little brother. I guess it's only fitting that I'd fall in love with the one my life was built around-the one who was, and is, perfect-the one I can't have.

Veneziano.

I know Spain wants me to love him. It's what he desires with every fiber of his being. So I give it to him. At night, in the secret space in his room; I give him all of me. And I know that he's already given me all of himself, even if I only pretended to take it.

I watch his eyes burning with passion. He wants this so badly; he always does. His eyes are burning so hot; the room's temperature increased a thousand degrees. Our naked bodies fit together; not perfectly, but almost. It's…amazing, and beautiful, and hot, and it still isn't enough.

I take him into my mouth; our roles are switched for tonight, this time it's my job. His taste is sweet, so sweet that it leaves a bitter aftertaste. For now, it satisfies me. For tonight, his spice is all I want, all I need.

What I feel is so wrong in so many ways. I'm a Catholic nation, and I'm standing against everything I previously stood for. Falling in love, not only with a man, but with my brother-it must be a sin. I know this, but…

…Somehow, I just don't care anymore.

I don't really know anything about love.

Lust? Sure, I've had more than my share of passionate nights. But love is another story. I was always perfectly happy without it. I never wanted to deal with messy feelings and stuff. It's happened before, someone getting feelings for me. I've seen-caused-so many broken hearts, I figured it out.

I'm better off without love.

What does love even do except hurt you? In the end, nothing lasts forever. Not even nations. Then, it's over and you're left with a sloppy mess of what used to be a nation, power surrendered to emotion. Love is completely unnecessary.

Passion, lust, sex…it's so much easier, isn't it?

I went against my own rules-the rules of the church of my nation, and the rules I have for myself-and I fell in love anyway. Nothing even feels the same anymore. Everything else lacks the shine, the luster, the pure emotion that surrounds him. I know he's wrong for me. I'd be better off without him, anyway-even if I told him my feelings, he'd just see me as a freak. He'd run off to his precious potato bastard and leave me alone. Shouldn't I believe that I deserve someone who isn't going to break my heart?

Why don't I?

I woke up from my siesta early, a scowl crossing my face. I had dreamt about Veneziano again…about him underneath me, writhing and moaning and ohholygodhe'ssofuckingsexy and now I'm all hot and bothered and it won't go away. So I find Spain in his office; he's always willing to take a break from his work to fuck me.

I slam the door open. I want this badly, and Spain can see it in my eyes; I know he does, because he's already across the room and was he shirtless before? And I want to give everything I have to him, give him my spice, it's all his, and I moan loudly, oh god Veneziano, and Spain pretends not to hear again. He doesn't know why I do it, but he doesn't care. He just figures it has something to do with us being the same country.

I never bother to correct him.

I would give up everything for you, Veneziano. All the faceless men and women I fuck in dingy alleyways behind bars, the alcohol, Spain, my life…

…and yet you wouldn't give up anything for me.

I know that. I know better than this. I know better than to put my heart on my sleeve, bare to the elements. Especially with a hurricane looming in the future.

And I still don't care. I want to give YOU everything, not Spain, not some guy at the bar who reminded me of you. I want to be YOURS, and I want you to be MINE, and nobody else matters. I really don't give a fuck what they would say about us. But I know you do.

You would never do that for me, you wouldn't do anything for me. You wouldn't endure stares and whispers, you wouldn't turn your back on your precious potato bastards, you wouldn't leave your friends for your cranky older brother. But none of that matters to me anymore. Because I still love you no matter what you do to me, no matter how many times you turn your back on me, no matter how many times you leave me.

I'll always belong to you.