"Roma's love is pure. Spain you lucky son of a gun. Sequel where Spain feels better and lavishs love on Romano for beating England?" - Dido's Carthage
minor implied unrequited usuk and amecan because i can
All's Fair in Love and Football
by luckylucyheartfilia
[ Omake ]
"Good game."
I hate you I hate you I hate y-o-u. Arthur pasted on an incredibly fake grin, holding a hand out for Lovino to shake. The Italian was disgustingly smug as he accepted it, not even flinching when Arthur squeezed with all his strength. Rot in hell, you festering, foul, putrid wankstain.
Feliciano was the worst of the two, actually, rubbing it in your face with a stupid, giant grin. And you couldn't get mad at the bloody prat because it was the blasted Northern half of Italy and Ludwig and Kiku were always leering over his shoulders, daring you to insult their precious baby. Stupid doting parent-boyfriend-best-friend-things.
Those factors taken into mind, Lovino seemed like the easier target to extract revenge on. But no, he just had to make a big show out of completely destroying Lars' car after the match between Spain and the Netherlands. Overprotective little bugger. Not only did he paint over the entire car (including the inside!), he removed the engine, stuffed a Spanish flag in it, and had it sent across the country and placed in a tree of all things. How he wasn't buried six feet under immediately after the discovery was a complete miracle. And apparently doing all of that just wasn't enough either, because then he turned around and took his anger out on England.
That's what Arthur was trying to convince himself of anyway, but Feliciano was the one to encourage the steamrolling of the opposing team so he could be praised by Ludwig. Italians are awful.
"Lovinitooooooo!" Spaniards too, Arthur thought bitterly, glowering at the brunet who launched himself at the match's victor. Maybe he could have won the game if he wasn't completely sleep deprived after having the misfortune of getting the hotel room directly underneath the lovey-dovey couple's. Italians were loud, but Spaniards who got you-fucked-up-but-I-love-you-anyway-and-I-want-you-to-feel-better sex were even louder. Needless to say Arthur was scarred for life, and nations lived for a very, very long time.
Antonio certainly seemed to be feeling better, babbling happily to his god-awful, stupid, stupid, stupid Italian boyfriend. Since the brunet was a little too heavy for Lovino to pick up— hah!— or maybe it was because Lovino was too weak— double hah!— the Spaniard had resorted to a tight hug, unlike the spinning ones they usually did with Antonio catching Lovino. They didn't pull away completely; Lovino's hands still rested on Antonio's waist, while the older man had his arms looped around his boyfriend's neck. Had it been any other pair of nations, Arthur might have allowed himself to think that it was a cute sight. Of course, Lovino had to glance over at him as soon as he considered that.
Haha, those ugly amber eyes were saying. Look who has a hot, happy-go-lucky boyfriend. The answer's not you. Alfred will never love you while he's busy pining after that brother of his. Sucker.
Arthur wondered if Antonio was still good at bullfighting. He better be for his boyfriend's sake, because the blond was starting to see red.
"Boss is so proud of youuuu!" Seemingly unable to sense the murderous air around him, Antonio started cooing and squishing Lovino's cheeks in his hands and rubbing their noses together. They were so in love with each other Arthur felt like barfing. It was amazing, really, how much PDA Lovino was allowing. On any other day, Antonio would have been headbutted halfway across the country. "My lovely Lovinito has avenged me." Maybe Antonio really was capable of reading the mood once in a blue moon, as he quickly cast a shit-eating grin at Arthur. It was gone the next second as he turned back to Lovino, that wretched dopey, lovesick smile of his returning so fast it was as if it had never left.
"Feli wants to celebrate at some restaurant Francis told him about." Lovino's hand moved to entwine fingers with Antonio. "We should probably catch up to them." Antonio raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk.
"Nah, we're going to celebrate on our own."
Bloody hell bloody hell bloody hell. Arthur had to give them credit; this had to be the fastest he's ever wanted to bury himself a hole to die in. The two were making bedroom eyes at each other as they walked away and the stadium was still packed. Good Lord, those two were daring. Was it too late to transfer rooms, or find a different hotel to stay in? Even sharing a room with the frog sounded more appealing than going back to his own room that night.
Somebody suddenly rammed into his back, nearly knocking him over. The weight was followed by two more bodies, and Arthur felt his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.
"Haha, Artie, you sucked! You got beaten by the Italy brothers!"
"Arthur... that was really embarrassing."
"Angleterre, what the hell was that?"
Scratch what I said about Italians and Spaniards, Arthur moaned as his back finally gave up under the weight of his family. The four nations crashed to the ground, Alfred crowing, Francis chuckling, and Matthew giggling quietly on top of the crushed Briton. I hate the whole world.
glorious
latte is weak willed and will write anything you ask her to if you make vague compliments in her general direction
spaniards really are daring, i guess. have you ever heard of the torre agbar in barcelona? ive heard people call it stuff like aphrodisiac, that thing, and "el supositori" (i.e. the suppository) (i.e. something that goes into butts). if you look up images of it on google, you can probably see why. if you cant see why, then trust me when i say thats a good thing. its actually really pretty when lit up, if not a little... um...