Chinese Cigarettes

A Convincing Argument

He's fucked, he's fucked, he's fucked, and he'd really rather not be.

In fact, Romano is so fed-up at this point that when the visit is finally over he declines China's offer that he stay an extra day or two. He doesn't lie and say Veneziano needs him back urgently, or make up a story about air-lines and cancellation fees, he just straight up tells China the truth.

"Yeah, this isn't going to work anymore."

"What?"

And then he leaves. There, it's fucking done: they and whatever they had going on is now over. This is a stupid thing for Romano to get so caught up in, but he mulls over it for the entire flight back to Rome, and when he gets back to the town house he and his brother share together in the middle of their capital, his shitty mood is no better.

Probably because Veneziano is in Venice when Romano gets home, meaning he's still fucking alone with himself when an e-mail lands squarely in his phone.

'What do you mean 'this isn't working'? I thought we settled that the other night.

-PRC'

Oh fuck no, they are not going to start sending stupid personal e-mails to each other!

'I told you not to send me e-mails about stupid shit like this.

-IR'

Hah, that'll show him.

A minute and a half later, his phone is assaulted by another message.

'Even I know how to not answer an e-mail, now stop deflecting and answer me. I couldn't very well ask you in front of my boss.

-PRC'

Oh for fuck's sake. No, Romano isn't going to answer that one. He'd much rather go around the house and realize that there's absolutely nothing to do to distract him from the glowing words on the screen. All the laundry is done and put away, the suit Romano had sent to the cleaners is back and hung up in his closet, his brother didn't leave anything perishable in the fridge for Romano to clean out, the fucking cat still has food and fresh water, and he's almost positive the floors were freshly swept and mopped by Veneziano before he left.

That asshole.

"I'm not doing it." So Romano finds himself sitting on the couch in his living room, arms folded and glaring down at the smart phone sitting on the coffee table in front of him. "We're not fucking doing this, China, I told you that."

Romano blames it on the jet-lag when somewhere between fixing himself something small to eat and climbing into bed for a mid-day nap, he fires off another e-mail that reads:

'It's not working means we're not doing that anymore. It was fun while it lasted, so thanks.

-IR.'

He sleeps soundly and even after he wakes up again, there's no response from China. That means it's over, they've cut the physical bond, now they can go back to everything being business as usual.

It's two days later when Romano finds the half-pack of Chinese cigarettes he forgot about at the bottom of his suitcase. He's not sure what to do with them, but before Veneziano arrives home he's quick to stash the package in his sock-drawer, just because.

"Ve~! How was the weather in Beijing?" That question is literally as far as Veneziano will go with regards to China. He wants nothing to do with the topic, and he barely puts up with hearing what minor progress Romano can report about the business troubles he actually goes over there trying to fix. His little brother has the most unapologetic way of hating on the arrangement, and just on principle Romano refuses this one time to correct him: fuck you, I can fuck who I want.

Life goes on and it's a month, almost two, before Romano finds himself back in a place where his path can understandably cross with China's.

Because all of them are in New York for a meeting, and Veneziano is too wrapped up talking to Austria and Hungary to notice when someone takes Romano by the arm and drags him away around a corner and through a locked door.

"What the hell are you-!?"

"Shut up." Oh, he knows who it is. Romano knows those lips that force their way over his and he knows the hands wrinkling his shirt where China has it bunched up between his hands so he can force South Italy against the door he just closed. The wrinkles piss him off, but not as much as the tremble that shoots through him when he tastes that musky sweetness on China's breath and clothes.

Romano hooks one arm up under China's shoulder and pushes the other against the man's chest. It's harder to move his legs and work an ankle behind China's, but he finally gets it right and with a shove and a hard twist, it's China with his back against the wall and Romano who's there to pin him like that. The eastern power still has a grip on him, but the life-sucking kiss ends and they both just stand there in the dark looking at each other, panting.

"I thought I told you we were done with this."

"What, no break-up fuck?" China shouldn't say it like that with his eyes half-lidded and his tight hold pulling Romano a little closer. "I told you: we settled all of that in Beijing. You made yourself perfectly clear, now stop trying to be nice."

"I'm not being nice."

"Try a little harder and maybe I'll believe you."

Romano is looking for words, any kind of words, but they have to be the right ones to explain something he can't explain, a complication that doesn't have a clear problem or solution. He's stalled trying to come up with anything to say when China's hands moves from his shirt to his jacket, and then with a hard yank he's pulled right back into his not-his-ex's convincing hold.

It's that smell, it's something about that incense-laden industrial stink that clogs up Romano's thoughts as a raw, open-mouthed gasp for attention turns into more, so much more. Because then it's the two of them moving with each other, almost synchronized and taking turns, licks and laps and sucks and breaths. It's a kiss that won't break as Romano tilts his head one way and Yao's hands slip possessively through his hair, combing and stroking as South Italy puts his weight down on that other body, the one that feels so good wrapped around and against him, and it all feels too good to be bad.

His hands start wandering, he can feel them searching for the edges and seams of China's clothes. He knows the skin underneath silk and cotton so well that he can tell himself what that black down feels like against his fingertips and remember how little give there is in the tight body obviously screaming for his.

"Mm-" Oh, don't you dare try to speak now you piece of- "I have-" Oh God he is trying to say something, and Romano's as frustrated by that as he is with the hand that stops clutching his back and actually forces its way between their mouths.

Fuck Yao for grinning like that, Romano doesn't find this fucking funny.

"I have a Security Council meeting…"

"You couldn't have fucking thought of that…" he hates him, "…before dragging me in here?" Romano decides in that moment to take all the weird feelings and conflicting desires and dump them in the big box labelled 'hate' in his brain. The decision is all the easier to stick to when their faces are close enough to share breaths, and China's fingertips have moved so they're caressing his cheek and jaw tenderly.

"What can I say?" Sorry. Sorry would be a good god-damned place to- "I saw an opportunity and I took it, Italia, don't act so offended." He's offended by the words as much as he's offended by China's touch running over his top lip. However much he wants to chase that hand and the wafting smell of burnt tobacco to its source under China's clothes, he has to let him go.

"Fine." But as soon as his hands let go and Romano takes a step back, he gets a shock through his system as one of his wrists is grabbed, his arm twisted behind his back-

SLAM.

-and his body doubled over the table that was standing behind him in the dark.

"Fucking hell, Yao!" His arm isn't being bent hard enough to hurt, but Yao is holding him down with enough strength that it will hurt if he fights back too much. The sound of China's quiet laugh, however, does not come with the jangle of his belt coming undone, or a hand invading his-

N-nevermind that last point…

"Ah…" China has strong hands, rough and hardened by labour and chemical contamination, but they're warm and Romano can feel the fingers that cup down his ass and grope him through his pants. When that hand travels up it brings an unwelcome shiver, and that kind of violation pools like cold water in his gut as Yao's fingers invite themselves down under his belt and against his skin.

"You're enjoying this~" The sing-song way he murmurs the words makes Romano grit his teeth. He can't get both shoulders off the table, but he twists his way around just enough that he can see that smile in the dark and glares at it.

"At least undo the fucking belt."

"So insistent…" But Yao ignores him, and Romano ignores that too because when that thick hand comes around over his hip and slides aggressively down to take him, literally, by the balls it's all Romano can do to just bite his lip and close his eyes. He sucks a long, slow breath in through his teeth when China's touch moves to wrap around him instead, but then the fun ends when he feels the stronger nation lean against him and bend down to hiss in his ear.

"Are we done?" Romano's current condition is completely China's fault, so no, they're- "Because I distinctly remember you telling me that we weren't doing this anymore, so I guess I should stop."

"Don't pull this shit right n-aaahhh…" China doesn't pull so much as firmly, slowly, and with such a strong grip, drag his hand down and lets the shock of it weaken Romano's knees so he puts all of his weight on the table.

"Assault is a serious issue between two people, Lovino, nevermind two nations…" He really doesn't care right now, he just wants Yao to move his thumb where the pad of it is pressed right down on his tip, frustratingly still as he pins his eyes shut and tries rocking his hips to get the reward he wants. "If we're done with each other then I really shouldn't-"

"Give me your god-damned room number, Yao." He'll buy them dinner, he'll bring flowers, they'll go dancing, he doesn't care: "just move your fucking hand…"

"I know what you like," the rest of what Yao says is all a blur after that, at least he wishes it would be. Instead as his body is shaken and controlled he hears the full message: "And you know what I love, so unless you can come up with a real reason to end this, Italy, I have to disagree with your decision. But don't worry: I'll be more than happy to convince you that my way is better…"

By the time Yao leaves for his meeting, Romano is on his knees panting next to the table. He's shaking and somehow completely unfulfilled despite the mess inside his clothes. But as he rests his head against the table and just sits there, gathering himself together piece by fragile piece, he knows there's one thing he definitely wants:

A cigarette, and the Chinese kind if he can find them.