Target Two: Messina (Southern Italy/Romano)


An hour's trek to the southern half of Italy gave them a disappointing outcome; Italy Romano was nowhere to be found. Three nations puzzled over this, as any other time the fiery Italian would have met them head on, demanding to know why they were in his house, but no… this did not happen, threatening to put a halt to the next planned conquest. An emergency huddle was held, until Spain cheerfully remembered that the Italian nation was quite possibly still lounging at his own house, having been there for the entirety of the whole last week.

Foreheads were slapped, but the Bad Touch Trio obligingly spent the next few hours tramping back across Italy, crossing through France's lower regions, and at last, entering the thankfully-sunny land of Spain's house.

Spain wasted no time in beginning the search.

"Romanoooooo!" he called loudly, and instantly his companions dragged him down, shushing furiously.

"Idiot! You want him to know we're here?" Prussia hissed, keeping his hand firmly clamped over the Spaniard's mouth.

"Mmmph?" Spain was confused.

"Listen to the man. Your little friend is not going to be as easy as his brother," France whispered furtively from the other side.

After a moment of thought, Spain nodded, stop midway, and then frowned under Prussia's hand, pulling it away a second later.

"…But… amigo, won't it be better if he knows I'm coming?" he said somewhat hesitantly, "Since after all… I don't think he'll really trust us if we all suddenly turn up, you know?"

The other crusaders blinked.

"…Huh. Maybe you're right," Prussia mused, "As soon as he sees France's ugly mug he'll know something's up right away!"

"Non! I protest, it would be you who would scare him off!" France spluttered, quite affronted by the comment, while Spain shrugged, assumed he had won his case, and set off again cheerfully.


As it turned out, they spied Romano working in the tomato fields outside of Spain's actual house. They quickly dodged into the bushes before he noticed.

"Ahh~ isn't he so cute?" the Spanish Nation swooned neatly into the dirt. Even his friends had to agree with that sentiment. The Southern half of Italy was hard at work under the hot sun, concentrating on picking ripe fruits from the vine and depositing them in the basket at his side. Sweat ran down tanned skin and under the white shirt he wore, pulled open at the collar.

"He's such a sweetie! I said I had to go through and harvest when I got back, and here he is getting started all on his own, without my help!" Spain gushed, the pride showing clearly in his voice. He made as if to dash from the bushes and hug his former protégé on the spot, but once again the others dragged him back.

"Easy, we need at least some sort of plan, don't we?" Prussia whispered urgently, but Spain only laughed.

"You two stay in the bushes. Just leave it to me," he sang, and before they could stop him for a third time, he simply stood up and made his way out of their hiding place, striding fearlessly towards the target.

"Hola, Lovi! ¿Cómo estás?"

At the sound of his voice floating through the air, Romano shot from his work, spinning around so quickly he nearly fell right back down again. Already his face was reddening in the trademark sign of his temper as Spain stopped, looked down at the basket at his feet, and grinned.

"Huh? Romano, you started picking the tomatoes? That's so sweet of you!" he gasped, eyes widening in the perfect picture of innocence.

"G-Goddammit Spain, I thought you weren't coming back until later!" the southern half of Italy was stuttering, mortified at being caught doing a good deed.

Meanwhile, Prussia and France were pushing twigs and leaves out of the way for France's camera.

"Man, he's better at this than I thought." The albino was watching with raised eyebrows, clearly impressed. France was impatient, tutting through his teeth and muttering for Spain to get on with it.

And get on with it was what Spain did. In the middle of Romano's angry tirade, he paused the nation with a cheerful and faintly apologetic, "Sorry about this, Lovi!" before reaching over and tugging on his curl.

Effects were instantaneous…

Romano's face flushed the bright red shade of the fruits around him.

"YEAAAH!" came the happy cry from the bushes as Prussia burst upwards cheering. France came right behind, madly clicking away on the camera. Romano's eyes widened just as they began to tear from the pressure of Spain's hand on his 'special spot,' only to lose himself in a whimpering stream of curses.

"Eheheheh! Romano, do you know how cute you are?" Spain's face was flushing suspiciously as well, the look in his eyes changing from adoration to something else.

"Y-Y-You what are y-you… Chigiiii!" The Italian nation's knees were wobbling dangerously, just as his brother's had a few short hours ago.

"Just like his brother, honhonhon!"

"Dangit! I really want to pull a curl now!"

"He really does look like a tomato, doesn't he? Ahahahaha~"

The Bad Touch Trio had converged, laughing at their second conquest, as Romano's face grew darker and darker. It was the last comment from Spain that unfortunately set him off.

"SPAIN YOU BASTAAAAAARD!" With a roar, a knee came sweeping up to nail the offending nation directly in the stomach. The breath left him in a whoosh of air. An elbow to the spine sent him tumbling to the ground, where an irate Romano promptly began to wale on him like never before.

"Idiota! I hate you! What the hell are you doing? Vaffanculo, and go die in a hole, you piece of—!"

"Ow! B-But Lovi—Owww, Lovi it huuuurts!"

This went on, each curse delivered with a swift kick or a punch to poor Spain, quite defenseless as his two friends stood back with blank faces.

"…Well." Prussia flinched, "That's gonna bruise in the morning."

"Ah, well, he knew what he was getting into," France said vaguely, and snapped a picture.

After the dust had settled, the nation was left crumpled on the ground as Romano panted, the color in his face red as ever, at last spinning on his heel and marching away.

"Don't you dare come back tonight, Spain! I don't want to see you around here ever again!" he shrieked over his shoulder, while Spain reached out a trembling hand in agony.

"L-Lovi… Y-You can't kick me out, this is my house!" he wailed, but all he received were more curses, and the very clear statement, "You're sleeping on the couch for the rest of your life!"

Finally, all that was left were the three members of the Bad Touch Trio, two of which were snickering as they helped the third to his feet.

"Hoo boy, he's got you whipped, man!"

"That was… quite a performance your little lover boy put on, hmmm? Now I'm glad that you were the one to offer, mon ami~"

Spain only mumbled something in despair, thoroughly depressed as he was dragged off, the three of them departing eastwards for their third target. Two down... So many more to go.


Meanwhile, a vehement Southern Italy was dashing through the kitchen for the phone, madder than a wet hen and swearing that he had just heard the perverts mention his northern half in passing. Rapidly dialing the phone, he sword by god there would be hell to pay if they had dared mess with his fratello!


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The Delicious Tomato Song… heheheheh… -loops- anyway, you guys spoil me too much! Fifty reviews for two chapters, wut? Thank you to all who read/reviewed/alerted! Muchos Gracias~ -throws kisses-

Messina is a town in Sicily, Italy, and thus the name I chose for his curl.