A/n: Second Installment of Besame! This one is thankfully longer than the first. I'd like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, favourited, and followed this story. not as well as it did on wattpad, but of well. Also, sorry, but all the updates will be totally random, meaning who knows when I'll update again! Either way, let's see what trouble our favourite Spaniard will get into on this installment of:

Bésame?

Chapter Two

Kissin U Miranda Cosgrove

"I don't get it," Spain whined, his head falling against the hard material of the bar counter. He groaned, his emerald green eyes closing. He felt a hand clasp his shoulder, and he rolled his head over, opening his eyes to look at the grinning face of one personification of France.

"Ah, do not worry, mon ami! It is so hard to understand the mysterious ways of amor!" France chuckled, resting his chin on top of one of his hands. Spain blinked, sitting up. He had come to see his friend after having dealt with the rather odd experience of Lovino trying to ask if he could spend a few nights at the Spaniard's house. To say more or less, things had become interesting.

"You think this is love?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. France nodded, taking a sip of his wine, his smile smug on his face.

"But of course! What else could it be? Surely even you are not that oblivious to realize your feelings for that obnoxious little Italian of your's! Now, don't glare at me like that, you are much to handsome to do such an ugly thing! Now, the question is, how to get Romano to realize that you love him! Because words just won't do! Oh! What if you-" Spain sighed, downing his shot of tequila, while tuning out the French man and his scheming.

Well, if he really did love Romano, then why couldn't he just tell him? It might be tacky, and sure as hell was the most used way of expressing such feelings, but was it really that bad? Oh, it seemed all too much... What if Romano didn't love him back? What would he do? He wasn't sure how he would survive if he was rejected...

Spain would be the first to admit he had been in more relationships then he cared to admit. Most of them, like his marriage to Austria, had been for political reasons, but still. He had eventually come to love each and everyone of his spouses and lovers, and if he really did love Lovino... It was definitely not like any of his other relationships.

"-And then the two of you can take and slowly press it int-"

"I'll kiss him."

France paused in his talking, and looked at the suddenly serious Spaniard, noting how he hadn't seen that expression on his face since the 1700s when things turned bad for the Spanish nation.

"A kiss? Mon ami, do you really think that is the best way?" Spain nodded once, looking up at France, his bright green eyes showing no sign of their usual humour.

"Si, I am sure. Words are hollow things, that can easily be faked. But a meaningful, passionate kiss..." Spain smiled slightly, almost dreamily. "There's no way that can be faked... I think you are right... I do love him."

France smiled, and nodded. "Of course you do. It's been so painfully obvious for a few centuries now."

Spain deadpanned, looking at France in disbelief. "It... It has?"

"Oh, of course! Ohonhonhon! How do you think England got the idea to start the rumour you were a pedoph-"

"I'LL KILL THAT CATERPILLARED-EYEBROWED PIRATE!

Spain popped his head into his living room, looking at the Italian nation on his couch, watching some sitcom on T.V. The Spaniard took a deep breath, and stepped into the room, slowly making his way over to the unsuspecting Italian. He paused, his face flushing, when he heard that light laughter fill the room, like chimes in the summer breeze...

Was he really ready to do this? What if he messed up somehow? What if he went to kiss him... And missed? His heart pounded in his chest, and his palms felt sweaty. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and put on a large smile, and walked over to the couch, sitting down next to Romano.

"Hola Lovi!~ What are you watching?" he asked cheerfully, his inner conflict hidden from detection by his usual cheerfully dopey manner. Romano turned his gaze away from the T.V. and looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Some American show called "Friends". It's surprisingly funny," Romano said, turning his attention back to the T.V.. Spain let out a silent sigh of relief, having found it suddenly hard to think under Romano's gaze... Was it because he knew he was in love with Lovino now that made his gaze so mesmerizing? He blushed slightly, before moving the tiniest centimeter closer to Romano.

"Friends? What's it ab-"

"Sh! It's getting to the good part of the episode!" Spain blinked. Had Romano just interrupted him for speaking during some lame ass sitco-... Oh, well that was actually quite funny...

Spain chuckled slightly, getting comfortable as he watched the show, all thoughts of kissing Romano gone. It saddened the duo when the show ended, but they were soon happy again as they realized it was a marathon. An all day marathon.

It was around thirteen episodes later, and around supper time, when Spain received a very nasty punch to the side of the head.

"Perverted bastard! Don't put the moves on me while watching Friends!" The Passionate country blinked, looking up at a pissed off Romano. He couldn't see what he had done wrong. He had just been sitting there, with Romano leaning against him, one arm over his shoulder...

It clicked in Spain's head. Why had any of that been bad? He froze when he heard a sob escape Romano, before the younger rushed out of the room. Spain sat there on the couch, listening to the retreating sound of Romano's footsteps, before hearing a door slam. Had he done something else wrong?

He sighed, rubbing where his face had met Romano's fist, and reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table. It was an automatic reflex that he dialed in France's number. He really needed someone to talk this out with...

"Allo?"

"Hola France."

"Ah, Spain! So tell me, how are things going with Romano? Have you done it yet? Ohonhonhon!"

"Ah, sadly no. I was going to do it, but then Friends came on, and I forgot all about it."

"Oh, Spain, you must hurry, mon ami. We need to deal with this, so you can get this over with."

"I know, but everytime I think about doing it, I remember him as a kid, and I just can't..."

"Man up! It won't kill you! Just him!"

BAM!

Spain snapped his head up, his eyes going wide when he heard what suspiciously sounded like someone hanging up his land line. Well, hanging it up with the wrath only an Italian could summon up.

"Sounds like someone has a little explaining to do~ Now, tell me, how do you plan on doing this?"

"Maybe I'll just tell him upfront I want to kiss him?"

"Oh no! That will not do at all! You must have some tact! You must do it, and make him think that he is doing it!"

"Que? What are you talking about?"

Spain heard a heavy sigh on the other side of the phone, and he blinked. Mindlessly, he ran his fingers over the soft fabric of his couch. What would kissing Romano be like anyway? Was he a shy kisser, who slowly became more bold and passionate? Maybe, he was the type of person who took over, dominate and daring? What if he sucked at kissing?

"Don't make plans for tomorrow! I am coming over to help you! If you can, get Romano to go out of the house for several hours so we can get things sorted out!" Click! The dial tone ran through his ears, leaving the Spaniard wondering why his friends were so rude at times. He shrugged, setting the phone down on the table, and closing his eyes.

He hoped he would have better luck tomorrow.

Spain frowned, his brow furrowing as he focused on the sizzling omelet in the frying pan. The tip of his tongue managed to poke out from the corner of his mouth as he focused on preparing to flip the omelet, so it was folded in half. He felt Romano's gaze on him, awaiting for the true show of Spain's culinary talents.

"Uno dos tres!" Spain counted, flipping the omelet on tres. Both the nations watched as the combination of milk, eggs, salt, and pepper flew up into the air. Spain smiled, moving the pan to catch the perfectly folded omelet. His chest swelled out in pride, and he turned to look at Romano, grinning.

"What are you smiling about bastard?" Romano snapped at him, his own smile instantly turning into a scowl. Spain laughed cheerfully, taking the plate from Romano's hands, and sliding the omelet onto it.

"I don't think I'm a person who can answer that question. I'm always smiling, remember?" Spain handed the plate to Romano, who slide down off of the counter, making his way over to the table.

"Yeah, yeah, what ever you say," Romano grumbled, setting the plate down, and cutting into the omelet. Spain watched him for a moment, his smile softer than normal, before returning his attention to making his own breakfast. He poured the liquid into the pan, picking up the spatula, and scrambling up the mixture as it began to cook. He prefered to scramble his omelet when he didn't put any other ingredients in it.

The two went about their business in almost complete silence, except for Spain's quiet humming. Romano cleared his throat, almost giving Spain a heart attack at the sudden sound.

"It... It's good..." Romano said softly. Spain froze and looked down at the pan, his tanned skin slowly becoming darker as he blushed. It wasn't often that Romano complemented anyone, and while Spain would normally laugh at his bashfulness, the compliment... It made his heart swell.

"Ah! So cute Lovi!~" The Spaniard practically pounced on the unsuspecting Romano, sending them both sprawling to the floor. Spain hugged him, spouting out more random words about Romano's cuteness, while Romano struggled to get away.

"Ohonhonhon... So it seems I came just in time for the good part!" Both of the nations froze, and Spain looked at the doorway leading to the living room, spotting france standing there, a coy smile on his lips.

"Hola Francis!" Spain said, in his normal cheerful way. Romano scoffed, muttering something about a "fuckface", not sharing Spain's joy in seeing the blonde nation. With Spain distracted, Romano roughly pushed Spain off of him, and stormed off, shooting a soul piercing glare at France as he passed him.

Spain watched Romano go, his smile fading slightly. He got up from off of the floor, before heading back to the stove, and attending to the now slightly burned scrambled eggs.

"I wonder what got into him," Spain said, more to himself than to France. He quickly put the eggs on a plate, sighing.

"Oh, merely jealous that I came to see you, I bet," France said, moving to sit at the table. Spain chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

"You could have chosen a better time to interrupt though," Spain said, taking his breakfast over to the table as well, sitting across from France. The duo heard a door slam, and Spain sighed, his forehead meeting the table. 'Hola table.' 'Hola forehead.'

"Ah, well at least he is gone now! Time to start planning. Spain, that egg died a long time ago, stop trying to murder it again. Now! You know what Mouth-to-mouth is, right?" Spain nodded, putting his fork down, and blinking.

"Si, the kiss of life. What about it?" Now, he was curious. He still didn't understand what France had meant on the phone last night, and was really starting to get into things.

"Well, isn't it obvious, mon ami? Ohonhonhon! We drown you!" France said, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. Spain stared blankly at his so called friend, blinking slightly. The Spaniard said nothing, slowly standing up, placing his hands on the table. He lifted on up, slowly, dramatically, and pointed at the door.

"Out. Now," he said, his voice monotone, and hollow. France laughed again, putting one of his own hands over Spain's.

"Now, Antonio! Let me explain! You won't really drown! You'll just pretend to! Then, Romano will give you some mouth-to-mouth, and you will be "revived" but he won't know until you snake your tongue into his mouth, inviting him into a loving, and passionate kiss! Nothing can go wrong!"

Spain smiled, his eyes lighting up. "You are a genius Francis! I would have never thought about that!" It was perfect! The Spaniard thought so anyway. France smiled smugly, waving a hand about dramatically.

"But of course. It worked for me on Ar-er, a friend. Oui, a friend..." Spain didn't catch the slip up, to caught up in his excitement. How could this possibly go wrong? He ran over to the counter, picking up his phone, his fingers quickly hitting in Romano's cell phone number.

Five rings later, and finally the Italian answered, much to Spain's delight.

"Ciao. You got Lovi."

"Lovi~ I just had a genius idea! Let's go to the beach today! I can pack a picnic basket, and we can get some of our friends to come along! Sounds good, right?~"

"Uh, yeah, I guess it sounds good bastard... I should be back in an hour or so... Who all are you thinking about inviting?"

"Well, Francis, Gilbert, Feli, Austria, Hungary, and Greece!"

"Oh... Well, yeah, I'll be back in an hour or so. Arrivederci."

"Adios! Ah, Francis! Help me call everyone! We have to make sure they can all come!" Spain said, as soon as he hung up. He hadn't actually thought Romano would say yes, but he had!

"Oui, Oui, I'm already on it!" Francis said. Spain grinned, already dialing the number for Hungary's house.

An hour or so later, Romano had arrived back at Spain's house to find the Spaniard zipping around the kitchen on a war path. He narrowly avoided the pounce hug that the man threw at him, and glanced at France, who had oddly enough, saved him.

"Bonjour Romano! So nice of you to join us!~ Antonio! Finish your packing! Come along Romano!" Spain watched in heart break as France dragged the object of his affection away. Sighing, he pulled himself up off of the floor, rubbing his forehead which he had hit pretty hard. He shuffled his way over to the basket, pouting as he put the tomatoes into the basket.

"Man, Fran sure has become bossy about this... Oh well, it will all pay off in the end! Ah! I should go get my bathing suit on!" Spain finished putting the tomatoes into the basket, checking that they weren't squishing the churros or sandwiches he had made, before rushing through his large mansion, his legs automatically leading him to his bedroom.

"Need something good to wear... I don't think Lovi's Italianness would be too happy if we kissed while I wore something ugly..." The man rummaged through his closet, searching through all his bathing suits for something that wasn't a florescent colour, or decorated in tomatoes. He sighed, as he found the only thing that was even close to fashionable was a black speedo... He grabbed the bright blue bathing suit, decorated in fluffy white tomato shaped clouds, and hurried to change.

Everything had to be perfect!