A/N:
Hey~ ^3^ I know that I should be working on my other fic but I'm once again down with a case of writer's block (surprise, surprise /sarcasm) and with the help of my wonderful Romanito, somehow my brain spit this little drabble out.
Enjoy~
Disclaimer: Find me someone on this site that does own Hetalia and I'll eat my laptop
It was a normal, average, freakishly boring World Conference. Romano's face was practically glued to the conference table as he tried to sleep and avoid it but nope, the god damned potato freak wouldn't shut his damn mouth about who-gives-a-damn.
Across the table, France ignored the opportunity to throw an insult at England in favor of texting someone... Probably phone sex, Romano thought, disgusted.
Although the Frenchmen did bring his attention to the fact that he had yet to be harassed by a certain, tanned, and overly-smiley Spaniard yet...
Romano frowned and lifted his head. Where was he...
At that moment, the door swung open to reveal none other than the Kingdom of Spain, as if he had planned the whole thing.
Bastard probably did.
Of course, random interruptions weren't all that random anymore, so this should have been expected. What wasn't expected was Spain's new choice in clothes.
His legs and thighs (and Dat Ass) were covered by a pair of sinfully tight pants tucked into a pair of black, shin high boots. His jacket was partly unzipped to reveal a teasing amount of perfect bronze chest and a police cap sat on top of perfectly messy chocolate curls. A thick belt that held no other purpose than decoration hung low around his waist and held onto a pair of shiny metal handcuffs and a police badge.
The nations stared. A few coughed. Some gasped. France passed out from blood loss.
Spain walked to his chair next to Romano with a confident swagger, leaning back in his chair and giving Romano a perfect view of his crotch - and NO, Romano was NOT staring!
Of course not.
...Shut up.
"Um," Germany cleared his throat. "Spain, is three a reason for this... attire?"
Spain turned to Romano as he answered, giving him a toothy, sexy grin. "We can waste time questioning it, or you can all enjoy the view~"
Three seconds later, he lost his handcuffs. Ten seconds and he was cuffed to his chair and a few more found him and his chair locked in a supply closet courtesy of Romano.
The Italian would be back, though. He just had to find his devil costume.
A/N:
Short, no~?
And this little drabble has given me and Roma inspiration for another oneshot, so expect that up sometime soon~
But until then (or until I update my multichapter fic .)
Adios~