It's funny, the things people respond to. Whenever I think 'people will like this story' I don't get much of a response on it, but whenever I think 'this won't be popular, but I've got an idea', readers seem to like it much more! Me deliberately not trying to make people happy seems to make them happy... Perhaps the world is just telling me to write what I want...


Remember to Breathe.

England was onto a winner with this one – those two were sure to enjoy going to the national gallery. Well, maybe the whiny one more than the loud one, but he honestly couldn't think of anything Romano liked, other than being obnoxious and pissing off Spain. Maybe he could work pissing off Spain in there somewhere...

He sighed, checking his watch as he waited for the two in the hotel lobby. These diplomatic meetings were such a pain in the arse, he could think of so many other things he could do with his time. At least the macaroni brothers seemed to be of the same opinion, so they could at least be professional about it. He kind of wished Germany was here to distract them – he didn't exactly enjoy watching people quake in fear of him all day. He wasn't even a scary person... was he? No way, those two were just ridiculous cowards. At least the Tate would distract them with pretty pictures. Ugh, where was he going to take them to eat today?

They appeared soon enough, dressed less formally than yesterday (but since their bosses weren't going to be around, who really cared?), Romano trying to pick a fight and Italy not rising to the bait. They both noticeably jolted when they saw him, as if they had forgotten for a moment that they were coming to meet him. They seemed to get over the shock quickly, however.

"Good Morning." Romano grumbled in his usual manner.

"Morning." England responded "Sleep well?"

"Not as good as Veneziano."

Romano grinned at Italy in the way only older brothers could, clearly teasing him over some inside joke. Had he had a dirty dream or what? It seemed he had, as poor Italy went very red indeed under their gaze. He looked at England a moment, very quickly looking away. Being the younger brother himself, England wasn't inclined to join in on the ribbing, especially so early in the morning.

"Do you two have any errands you need to run today?" he asked them "What I've got planned for us may take a while."

"Not me." Romano admitted.

"No." Italy agreed, shaking his head.

"Great. Get your walking shoes on."


As expected, Italy had much more fun than Romano, fluttering gleefully between the centuries old paintings, frescos and sculptures, examining every detail and breathlessly explaining how they were made. England was a little impressed – it was odd seeing Italy being so competent about something (although seeing him excited was fairly normal). Romano stomped around moodily, not at all interested in paintings, but not wanting to ruin what a good time his little brother was having. England just pottered about – it had been a while since he had been here himself, and they had changed things about a little.

Italy stopped at a large rubenesque nude, admiring the harsh red against the darker background.

"This painting is really charged." Italy said as England stood beside him "It really leaves me with the feeling of dread, like a nightmare."

"Well, yes." England agreed "The subject is the rape of Boadicea by the Romans, so it's pretty harrowing."

Italy's usual smile froze awkwardly, realising he was right.

"Ha, really?" he said "Yeah, the painter really captured the mood. Awkward."

He turned to Britain stiffly, still not looking him in the eye.

"Were you around back then?" he asked.

"Hardly." Britain answered "That was my mothers time. I might have been a baby, but I was too young to remember anything about it."

"Oh yeah? Probably for the best."

"Way before you were born, wasn't it?" England remembered.

"Yeah, that's when Grandpa was in his prime. Did you ever meet Grandpa?"

"Not that I remember – but I was very young at the time."

"Right. Of course, you just said..."

England looked away from the painting. Italy was kind of quiet today, when not talking about the art works, and seemed more awkward than scared. He wasn't pale or anything.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Italy startled. He looked at England like he grown a second head. A blush spread over his cheeks as he looked at him, then startled at his own thoughts and looked at his shoes.

"Yes, I'm fine!" he flustered "Just fine!"

"You seem out of sorts." England noted.

"It's because the food here sucks."

Italy clamped his hand over his mouth. He did it so quickly that it made a popping sound, and England burst out laughing. Italy gave him the same look again, not sure how to react. Moving on to check on Romano, England punched Italy playfully on the bonce.

"Idiot."


Italy splashed the cold water on his face – he couldn't cool down. Every time he looked at England he had flashes of last nights dream, some more vivid than others, and felt his ears were permanently burning. He hoped it wasn't obvious, but knew that subtlety wasn't his strong point. The again, picking up on things wasn't exactly Englands. Towelling his face dry, he checked out his reflection in the mirror: he wasn't too red. He could still feel where England had bopped him on the head, and ran his fingers over the area.

Snapping back to his senses, he shook his head, smoothed out his hair, and after checking his reflection one more time, went back into the gallery. Romano was looking annoyed, leaning against the alabaster walls with his arms crossed. Italy knew that he didn't like places like this (he was still sore about that fact that he couldn't draw as well as his little brother), but he really loved galleries and museums, and it wasn't a bad thing to be selfish every now and again. It was kind of nice that Britain had put so much thought into where to take him today...

No, bad Italy! Stop thinking like that! Spotting Italy coming, Romano forced his face to look less annoyed, standing straight and putting his hands in his pockets.

"Having fun?" the older brother asked.

"Yeah, I haven't seen some of these paintings in centuries!" Italy admitted "And there are some Victorian and early 20th century paintings that I haven't seen before, so it's really exciting!"

Romano smiled, laughing through his nose.

"Okay." he sighed "Where next, Da Vinci?"

"There are three more rooms I want to see." Italy compromised "After that, how about we go do something you like? I'm sure England knows some good antique shops, or we could go for a drive in the countryside? We could go to the coast!"

"It's a little late for that." Romano figured, looking at his watch "I wouldn't mind going to Dorset, though. You think Britain would be up for that tomorrow?"

"It wouldn't hurt to ask. Hey, where is Britain?"

"Taking a phone call." Romano shrugged "He went back to the entranceway."

"I'll just let him know where we're going."

"Whatever."

Romano took out his phone and started fiddling. Italy dashed as fast as one could in such a labyrinthine gallery to the entranceway, spotting England's messy thatch of hair amongst the milling crowd. His back and shoulders were tense, like he was talking to someone he didn't like. France, maybe? If he was annoyed, then Italy wasn't going to hang around. He was just going to tell him which room they were going to and run away.

He didn't notice the people edging away from England, who started to tap his foot in frustration.

"England-"

"WELL, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I THINK ABOUT THAT, YOU MUPPET!" England roared, startling poor Italy so much he practically jumped out of his shoes "I THINK THAT'S THE MOST RETARDED THING I'VE HEARD ALL WEEK, AND I SPENT MONDAY WITH ACTUAL RETARDS! YOU'RE A SELF SERVING TOSSER AND I HOPE THE QUEENS CORGIS HUMP YOUR LEG!"

Holy shit! Italy's heart was racing. Sure, England yelled all the time at meetings, but everyone else was so loud that it didn't really stand out. On its own, his shouting voice was terrifying. He still had his back to Italy, but he could imagine his snarling expression, green eyes furious... fuck, there went memories of last nights dream again. He started to feel hot once more, tugging his shirt down self-consciously as his body reacted against his will.

"YOUR POLICIES ARE POISONOUS AND RIDICULOUS!" England went on, oblivious to everything else "YOU EVEN CONSIDER THIS BULLSHIT AND I'LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU NEVER WORK IN WESTMINSTER AGAIN!" he hung up the phone, pressing the button almost hard enough to break it "Wanker."

He finally turned around. Italy's imagination had been correct – those bright green eyes were shining with fury, brows knotted. Fuck, he was cute and fierce...

"Oh!" he startled, not having realised Italy was there "Sorry about that, just a bit of back-of-house stuff. Where did you want to go next?"

England pulled a concerned face, previous aggression disappearing. He reached up and put his hand on Italy's forehead.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked "You're bright red."

Italy squeaked. By the time he realised he wasn't breathing, he was already blacking out.


He woke up slowly. It was warm, and there was something heavy and cosy on top of him. There were wonderful smells here, like preserved flowers, warm tea and home cooking. It was nice, not at all like a hotel...

That realisation made him wake up fully – sure enough, this wasn't his hotel room, but definitely the bedroom of someone's home. A very comfortable, very lived in home. England's? Italy sat up, the back of his head suddenly aching from where it had smacked against the marble floor. He could hear the radio down the hall, so someone must be home.

Hang on... had he fainted? Oh dear lord, he had fainted! Romano was going to freak out! Germany was never going to let him hear the end of it! He tried to bury his head in the eiderdown out on shame, but the back of his head hurt so sharply and so suddenly that it made him gasp. The radio down the hall went off. Italy's heart skipped a little. After a second the bedroom door, left ajar, creaked open, Britain popping his head inside.

"Italy?" he called softly.

"Hi." he replied shakily, trying again to bury his head.

England opened the door fully, flicking on the light and coming over to sit on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Where's my brother?" Italy responded.

"He's gone shopping – he thinks the food here made you faint. I think he's an idiot, so no new opinions were formed today."

Italy snorted, but laughing made his head hurt. He flinched a little as England laid his hand on the back of his bare neck.

"You don't have a fever." he noted "Do you feel dizzy at all?"

"A little." Italy admitted.

"You feel like you need a doctor?"

"No, I'll be okay. This is probably my own fault."

England rubbed his back in a reassuring manner. He was actually pretty gentle. He had never let England get close enough to him to know before. It was nice.

"Regardless of the reason, you still fainted, so don't push yourself." England ordered "Romano and I can finish up the official stuff, so take it easy."

"Sure, thanks."

"I'll get you a drink."

England moved to get up, but Italy grabbed a pinch of his shirt. As embarrassed as he was, gentle England was something he had never experienced before, and was sure to disappear as soon as Romano got back. England picked up on the hint, sitting back down, and didn't complain when Italy leant against him. The younger nations heart skipped a beat when the other put his arms around him gently.

"Wow, you must be sick." he teased "You're not scared of me at all today."

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about – I really don't like that kind of thing, you know."

"What's that?"

"You two still being scared of me." England elaborated "I get that you're cowards, but this is peacetime. You have even less excuse than your brother, considering how close you are to Germany!"

Italy chuckled. England smelled good, and was warm: it was difficult not to snuggle into him.

"Germany can be scary when he yells." Italy conceded "But if you listen, what he's saying is always kind."

"Is that so?" Britain grumbled "Sorry I'm not always kind."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hm? Sure, I guess."

"What were you doing Monday?"

"Monday?"

"When you were on the phone before, you mentioned it."

"Oh, that." England recalled "You know my place has a comprehensive social health system – that includes developmental and learning conditions. With all the austerity measures and cost cutting going on, there's been some concern over the quality of our sheltered accommodation, so I went to some hospitals to check it out. I guess I shouldn't call them 'retards', though." he sighed "I remember when that word wasn't an insult."

Italy chuckled – people who had their shit together really impressed him. Knowing that Britain went to hospitals to make sure people were being treated properly definitely made him seem less scary. That being said, he didn't want to be whoever he was yelling at on the phone. That was kind of scary... 'scary' wasn't meaning the same thing to him these days, though. He bought his knees up to his chest, hoping it would hide the part of his body that didn't appreciate the 'time and place' rule.

England checked his temperature again.

"Is there anything you want?" he asked "Glass of water? Cup of tea? Your brother is insisting on making dinner, but if you want a sandwich-"

"There is something I want." Italy admitted.

He sat up straight, realising it was chilly now that England's arms weren't around him. Said England waited patiently while he found the courage.

"I want to... to improve our diplomatic relations."

Britain's face lit up like a mountain at Christmas, ears burning particularly bright. As euphemisms go it was a subtle one, but one the nations were well acquainted with. Britain flustered a moment, but composed himself by clearing his throat.

"So, that's what got you flustered." he said diplomatically "Our official relationship isn't so bad that you need to do something like that. You shouldn't let your boss bully you into doing those kinds of things, especially to the point that it makes you faint."

Italy was disheartened, but he could understand why England would think that – it wasn't unheard of, and if it had been the case then Italy would have been relieved to be rebuffed.

"What makes you think I'm being bullied into it?" he asked.

England looked pissed off, looking down his nose at him.

"Because, why would you want to sleep with someone that terrifies you?" he pointed out.

Down the long hall, they heard the door slam open and closed again, Romano swearing about the weather and the traffic and the cost of the ingredients. After thundering into the kitchen, he ran up the stairs to the bedroom.

"Veneziano!" he called, still wearing his coat "You're awake! How are you feeling? Are you sick? What happened?!"

Britain stood suddenly, startling them both.

"I'll leave you alone." he offered "Get some rest, okay?"

The brothers watched him leave, not saying anything until he closed the door behind him. Romano was on him immediately, checking his temperature, measuring his pulse, looking at his pupils.

"What the hell happened back there?!" he demanded "One minute you're fine, the next you're out like a light and it took us ten minutes to find a damn black cab to get you home! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"

"Romano..." Italy growled.

He grabbed his brother by the ear, giving it a tug.

"Cock block me again and I'll cut off Spain's tackle with a rusty knife." he swore.

Romano just picked up the pillow beside him, pushing it into his brothers face like he was smothering him.

"Don't act like you have a cock to block, little brother!" he retorted immediately.

They stayed like that a few seconds, struggling against each other, but Italy was the first to give in, releasing his brothers ear and being pushed back onto the mattress, laughing while still having a pillow over his face.

"You must be feeling better if you're well enough to joke around." Romano snickered, finally taking the pillow away "You had me worried, idiot."

"Sorry." Italy said again "I guess I had a weird turn."

"You're weird enough without having turns." the older brother teased "Do you want to go home? I'm sure the potato man wouldn't mind taking care of you if you're really sick."

"I'll be okay."

"You sure? I can take care of things here."

Italy sat up, straightening out his hair. He didn't want to admit to his brother that he had fainted because he had accidentally held his breath too long.

"It's fine." he assured "Besides, we're going to Dorset tomorrow, right?"

"To hell with Dorset!" Romano swore "You cracked your head on a marble floor today, you moron! You're staying in bed until I'm sure you don't have a concussion! Not that I'm entirely sure that there's anything in that empty head to bruise."

"Meanie."

"We'll go to Dorset another time." he promised "Some time when we're not working. We came here because I wanted to use England's kitchen – his cooking may be wretched, but he's got all the gear, and I didn't think the hotel would let me use theirs. If you want, we can go back to the hotel after dinner."

"That's okay, it's kind of nice here. It's very homely."

Romano shot his brother a look that was hard to read. After making sure the younger brother was comfortable, he went back to the kitchen to finish making dinner.


Britain wasn't overly thrilled that the macaroni brothers were staying in his house tonight, but you couldn't be too careful with a head injury. And since the two of them slept in the same bed, he would only have to launder one set of sheets, so he had to look on the bright side. He didn't think badly of Italy for his unexpected request earlier – he knew how unreasonable nations bosses could be, just expecting them to have sex with no regard for their personal feelings – but it did make dinner a little awkward.

It felt good to finally have some quiet time – those two were so loud, it was unreal. Freshly bathed, England sat in his comfy chair in his bedroom, distracted from finishing putting on his pyjamas by the evening paper. Other than the reassuring steady sound of the ticking clock, everything was silent. Those macaroni brothers better not snore. Without so much as a knock, the door to his bedroom creaked open, immediately irking him.

Italy poked his head into the room. Seeing England glaring at him, he backed away a little.

"Sorry to disturb you." he said quietly.

"Saying goodnight?" Britain asked, more of a suggestion than a question.

Taking a quick glance back down the hall to the room where his brother was sleeping, Italy slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Fuck, he wasn't going to just go to bed, was he? It was especially concerning that he appeared to be naked, one of the house blankets draped over his body to protect his modesty. It took him a moment to remember that Mediterranean's usually slept naked – it wasn't something he would recommend here, though.

"I wanted to talk to you." Italy told him, skipping over lightly and sitting on his bed "I figured that since you don't want me to be scared of you, you're probably not all that scary, right?"

"Nice theory."

Britains eyes went back to his paper, intentionally trying to be rude so he could be left alone for a while. He didn't notice Italy tilt his head to the side, checking out his bare torso.

"Hey, Britain?"

"Hm?"

"About earlier: I meant what I said."

"It's not going to happen, Italy." he promised coldly "Go to bed."

This actually seemed to annoy the young nation, as he stood up, took the paper from England and sat in his lap, much to his surprise.

"Why not?" he asked "I promise you, no-one's making me do this. I really do want you. It's not like it's love or anything, but I can't get you out of my head lately. Do you not like me? Can you not do it unless you're in love with your lover?"

"Neither of those is the problem." Britain sighed.

"Then what is?"

Britain ground his teeth. Was this kid really that stupid? How nice it must be to be so oblivious! He knew from experience that Italy was dense, so he probably wouldn't understand from words alone. There was no way around it...

Britain grabbed the body on his lap, forcing a rough kiss on him. Italy flinched a moment, but quickly got into it. It didn't take long before Britain go the reaction he expected – his whole slim body started to shiver and quake, drowning as he couldn't keep up with Britains experience. The blond lifted him, throwing him onto the bed and tossing the blanket aside. It wasn't quite enough yet. He grabbed the shivering nations knees, forcing them apart, and placed himself between them, leaning over him.

Italy was breathing was very hard, eyes wide, hands clutching the duvet desperately. Britain started kissing his neck, biting it gently as he ran a hand down Italy's chest. A sudden sob escaped Italy's throat, and Britain stopped, sitting back up.

Tears were streaming down Italy's face. He was shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and terrified. Britain just wiped the tears from his face.

"You say no-one's forcing you, and that may be the truth," he said "But do you honestly think I can make love to someone to shakes in fear a the sight of me? You think I can hold you when just this much leaves you like this? I don't know what kind of man you think I am, but this isn't it."

Britain got back to his feet, gently taking Italy's knees and pushing them back together.

"Go to bed, Italy." he said "You should feel better in the morning."

He turned around, picking his paper up off the floor and putting it neatly on the table. Not hearing any movement behind him, he looked around: Italy sat at the head of the bed, arms around his knees, looking like he wanted to cry. It was hard being young, wasn't it? He sniffed, wiping the emergent tears from his eyes.

"The Britain in my dream was much more forceful." he muttered.

"Well, I'm not him." Britain pointed out.

"You're right." Italy admitted, looking at him a little "In my dream I wasn't scared, even when it hurt. In my dream it was exciting and made my heart race. Now I can't stop shaking."

Ah, shit... Britain wanted to comfort him, but he was sure anything he said or did would make it worse. At a loss, he handed him back the blanket. Italy looked at him warily a moment, then took it, finally getting off the bed. He wrapped it back around himself as he walked to the door, the host showing him out. He stopped at the open door.

"Britain?"

"Hm?"

Italy turned around quickly, kissing England lightly on the lips. The Brit was so shocked that he didn't move, letting Italy end it in his own time.

"I like you more than that dream England." he told him "The England that stopped because I was scared."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Britain snapped "Idiot."

Italy smiled, bid him goodnight, and went to bed. Britain locked the door behind him.


Has anyone else ever used 'improving diplomatic relations' as a euphemism before? I can't imagine it working in real life, but it suits Hetalia quite nicely!

And Italy, get your act together! So impulsive... Britain may be the erotic ambassador, but he's not the type to take advantage.

So there's only one chapter left - will Italy get over his fear of England and get some of the British booty? Find out next chapter! All reviews welcome as always!