I really need to write faster. My phone is going to die from all the text messages from this RP, and we've already done so many more.
If I start writing RusMano, please blame HipsterMustache. Actually, I know I'm going to write it. 20 one-shots to be precise. But not yet. That can wait.
Anyway, I put a lot of extra stuff that wasn't in the RP here. Because I love you all so much. :D But the plot still belongs to HipsterMustache. I'm just a slave to her plot bunny farm.
The morning sun poked through a hole in the curtains, landing directly on Spain's face. Even with the annoying light, the Spaniard would have been able to just sleep the day away, ignoring the warmth on his skin. What woke him up was a different kind of warmth entirely.
He sleepily opened his eyes, surprised to find Romano pressed up against him. A blush bloomed across his cheeks, but he didn't push the Italian away, just in case it woke him up, and then started yelling at Spain, calling him all kinds of horribly embarrassing names.
Anyway, he rather liked cuddling with his Lovi like this.
Romano groaned in his sleep, burying his face into the Spaniard's chest and breathing softly. Spain froze, afraid that he'd woken up the Italian. When Romano settled back against him, he relaxed.
But, ah, this proximity was killing him! He wanted to hug Romano so tightly to his chest that the Italian would be smothered by the force of the love Spain felt for him. Romano was extremely cute this morning, seeming to accept the cuddling in his sleep, and it was driving Spain nuts. What if Romano woke up? Would Romano hurt him if he found the Spaniard cuddling up to him like this? Spain was torn between waking Romano up, and cuddling with him. After a short mental battle, he happily chose the second option.
Spain sighed contentedly, happy that he was able to cuddle with Romano without getting beaten up or yelled at or ran away from. It reminded him of when Romano was younger, unable to sleep from some fear of the large, empty house, and would come into Spain's room and crawl into bed. It was obvious that Romano would always try to slip in quietly, but Spain was always awake, waiting for when he knew the Italian would try to sneak into bed with him.
"Ah, can't sleep, Roma~?" Spain asked softly, like he did every time Romano entered the room.
Even in the darkness, Spain could see the bright red flush tint Romano's cheeks, a beacon of embarrassment. "N—no! I can sleep perfectly well, bastard!" he said stubbornly.
"What are you doing in here then?"
Romano always knew that Spain was pulling his leg (metaphorically, of course, when he wasn't literally pulling his curl). "B—Bastard!" he muttered under his breath, before saying his normal excuse. "I just thought you were lonely, or something! So I decided to do something nice and keep you company! Yeah, I'm just that great, so you should thank me, pomodoro bastard!"
Spain laughed, as he always did. "Gracias, Lovi! I really was lonely~!" he said, humoring the little half-nation.
Then he'd scoop the tiny Italian into his arms, ignoring his protests, insisting that this was the only way he'd be able to sleep peacefully.
And then he sang to Romano. It was always some Spanish lullaby that Spain would softly sing. Sometimes, when Romano knew the words, the Italian would add his higher-pitched voice to the tune, humming when the lyrics escaped him. They would sit like that until Romano fell asleep, and Spain would cuddle up to him until he fell asleep as well.
Spain sighed fondly, remembering all the times they cuddled like this. He was tempted to sing as well, just to intensify the nostalgia, but decided against it. After all, the sound of his voice could wake the Italian, and then the spell would be broken. So he lay there silently, his arms securely wrapped around Romano, breathing softly in time with Romano's breath. He decided he should sleep over more often.
Romano blinked open his eyes, not removing his face from Spain's chest. It was so warm, and nostalgic. He breathed in deeply. No doubt, when Spain noticed he was awake, the idiot Spaniard would get flustered again, and shoot away from him, apologizing profusely about every little thing, from touching him to the color of wallpaper that Romano had chosen. It was ridiculous how oblivious Spain was to his obvious l—l—love for him.
He blushed at the thought. That was the first time he admitted to himself that the feelings he felt for Spain were more than platonic. Somehow, Romano had fallen for the idiot.
Merda. Just his luck.
So, while he was there and newly aware of his feelings for said idiot, Romano decided to pretend to be sleeping, just so he could prolong this wonderful feeling of being held by the one he loved. He sighed in his 'sleep' and cuddled closer, his wide, goofy smile hidden by Spain's chest.
And since Spain was an idiot (which was ok, because at least he was Romano's idiot), he didn't notice that Romano was awake (of course), thinking that the Italian was cuddling in his sleep. To be fair, he was positive that if Romano was awake, the Italian would attack him, and he'd have the mafia all over his ass in a matter of seconds. So he enjoyed the cuddle-time while he could.
"Oh, Lovi~," he sighed happily, still drowsy.
Romano blushed at the words, and suddenly realized just how close they were. It made him both excited and nervous at the same time. "Mhm," he murmured in acknowledgement that he'd heard Spain. That way the bastard wouldn't think he was still asleep.
But of course, while Spain heard the response, he decided that he was just imagining it (idiot). There was no way that Romano would consent to being held like this, he assured himself. So, thinking Romano was still asleep (idiot, idiot, idiot), he pressed his lips to the top of Romano's head—a feather-light kiss.
When Romano felt the kiss, he blushed. He decided that now was as good a time as ever to confirm his awareness of every single thing that was going on.
"Good morning," he murmured into Spain's chest, feeling him stiffen slightly in surprise.
Spain quickly relaxed, but felt embarrassed that he was caught doing such a shameful thing of kissing Romano in his sleep. "Ah, good morning, Lovi. Did you sleep well?" he asked. He remained where he was, however, cuddling Romano. Since it was apparent that's what he was previously doing, he decided to just milk it out for as long as he could.
To Spain's utter surprise, Romano didn't kill him. Instead, he blushed (an action he couldn't see anyway) and muttered, "Lemme go…"
He only regretfully released Romano, but obstinately remained nearly pressed up against him, making no moves to put distance between them. That stubborn bastard, Romano thought. Spain could have done back-flips of joy when Romano didn't seem inclined to move either, continuing to breathe softly into Spain's chest. And he honestly would have done so, but unfortunately that would put distance between the two, and Spain wasn't really looking forward to that.
But alas, all good things have to come to the end. That day, they decided to come to the end in the form of Spain's stomach deciding to rumble loudly. Both nations jumped at the sudden noise. He sighed, mentally cursing his stomach. He would have glared at it as well, but Romano was still between him and his stomach, and Spain didn't want Romano to think he was the recipient of the glare. That would just ruin the remainder of the mood that his horrible-timed appetite shattered.
"Maybe we should start breakfast before Feli wakes up. And then we'd have to eat pasta again!" he sighed dramatically. That was the problem with Feliciano. Too. Much. Pasta. And Spain didn't even like pasta very much to begin with.
"Sure, bastard. You make it. Tomato omelets," Romano ordered, drawing another sigh from Spain. Now his Lovi's cute mood was gone, too, all because of his stomach!
Well, he was a nation, so maybe it'd be fine if he got it surgically removed.
Then he thought about all the tomatoes he wouldn't be able to eat without a stomach, and rejected the idea faster than Feliciano rejected non-gourmet food.
Oh well, he might as well be happy about doing something for his cute little Lovi, right?
"Sure thing, Lovi~! I'll use the fresh tomatoes you picked yesterday, si?" Spain chimed, getting up from the bed. He immediately decided that getting up had been a bad decision. He already missed the warmth of the bed and cute, cuddly Romano warming it.
Romano nodded, getting up as well, feeling the same as Spain had just two seconds before. "Si. I'll be in here changing, idiot. If you want to stay alive, you'll stay out!" and then he shoved the Spaniard out, slamming the door.
Speaking of changing… Looking down at his wrinkled clothes, he realized that he hadn't brought any clothes over, since he hadn't planned on spending the night. He knocked on the door. "Hey, Lovi~! Can I borrow some clothes?" he called. Even though Romano was shorter than him, whatever clothes he gave Spain would work for the time being. Until he could go home to get a change of his own.
Romano opened the door and poked his head out. It was obvious from his bare shoulders that the Italian was at least shirtless, a fact that Spain tried really hard not to think about.
"Maybe… But you better return them pomodoro bastardo," he said, as if he was suspicious of Spain's reliability.
Which Spain thought was completely ridiculous. After all, it was only that one time that Spain lost Romano's shirt. It wasn't his fault, either. He had borrowed the shirt to go to a party with France and Prussia, since he hadn't done laundry in a while. The next morning, Spain had woken up, still in the house where the party was held, and the shirt was missing. He didn't have any idea why it was gone, but he suspected it had something to do with France, who was fast asleep and using Spain's stomach as a pillow. Spain hadn't found the shirt anywhere, so went back to Romano's house with the promise that he would pay for a new one.
Romano definitely hadn't been happy with that alternative. He said it was a custom-made dress shirt, which Spain wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew it was definitely something to be upset about. If the bruises he received for losing it was any indication of that.
The next week, Spain had seen France wearing a shirt suspiciously similar to the one he lost. But he knew there was no way that it was Romano's. It had to be a coincidence. After all, he was sure that there was no way it was a one-of-a-kind shirt. Just custom-made was all, which he assumed meant 'very very expensive'. So he didn't mention it to Romano.
In any case, that one incident was no reason not to trust him!
"Ah, gracias, Lovi!" Spain said as Romano thrust a small pile of clothes through the door at him. "I promise I'll return them!"
"You better, bastard," Romano said, and slammed the door.
"Gracias~!" he said again, taking the clothes and beginning to walk down the hall.
And then he remembered that the hallway bathroom was locked. He frowned, trying to think of a solution to his problem. Using Romano's bathroom was obviously not going to happen…
"Oh, maybe Feli will let me use his!" he said, proud of his quick problem-solving skills. He turned and started walking in the direction of Feliciano's room, humming an old Spanish tune.
Feliciano was walking (well, skipping was a more accurate term to describe the bouncy stride of the Italian) down the hall. He smiled brightly when he saw Spain. "Ve~! Hi, Spain~!" he greeted.
Spain smiled at the cheerful little Italian. "Hola, Feli~!" he greeted. "The hallway bathroom is locked, so could I use yours?"
Feliciano nodded happily, grabbing the Spaniard's hand and tugging him to his room. "Of course! Right over here!"
"Gracias, Feli~! I'm going to make some delicious tomato omelets for breakfast. Do you want some?" he asked as Feliciano led him to the room.
"Hm… I'd rather have pasta, but that sounds okay!" Feliciano admitted, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"Ahaha, is that so?" Spain had no idea how someone could live solely off of pasta like Feliciano did.
Taking the response as a serious question, Feliciano nodded. "Si~!" he replied, opening the door to his bathroom. "Well, here you go! Ve~."
The younger Italian definitely was airheaded. Spain was glad that Romano wasn't like that. "Gracias again!" he said, going inside and locking the door behind him.
Once inside, he examined the clothes that Romano had given him. The shirt had probably been a loose-fitting t-shirt on Romano, but on Spain it was just a little too tight, with some strange Italian logo on it. The pants were worn, casual slacks (almost Capri's on him, Spain realized with a blush). Examining the boxers, Spain discovered a large tomato sewn on right over the crotch.
He blinked at the boxers. How very… strange. Not that he minded it was a tomato though…
Oh wait, he had to make breakfast, he remembered. He hurried to change, finished with his inspection of the clothes, and burst through the bathroom door.
"Ah, Spain! I'm going to go visit Germany, so don't make breakfast, ok?" Feliciano said as Spain rushed by him to get out of the room and downstairs.
"Sure thing, Feli!" Spain called without looking back, nearly tripping over the stairs.
He made it down safely. Romano was already downstairs, sitting on the couch and playing some game on his phone. He must've lost because immediately a string of colorful curses sprung from him.
Spain made it downstairs just in time to hear Romano's… expressive language. "Ah, did you lose the game, Lovi?" he asked, quite innocently.
Romano looked up, eyes narrowed, muttering something about the mafia. It must have been a very important game. He wasn't sure why Romano was suddenly so mad. After all, nothing he said could have possibly made him lose the game. The thought was completely ridiculous.
Still, he figured he should still apologize.
"Ahaha, sorry, I thought you were done. Sorry if I broke your concentration," he apologized with a nervous laugh.
Romano returned to the game as Spain retreated into the kitchen, but gave up moments later, concentration lost. "I'm hungry! Che palle…" he called into the kitchen.
"Be patient, I'll be done really fast~!" Spain promised, quickly getting started on the omelets. Delicious tomatoes for his cute little tomato~! He thought, imagining how adorable his Lovi looked when his face got red like a tomato.
As if on cue, Romano walked in, blushing a deep red.
"Aww, Lovi, you look like a tomato~!" he exclaimed, momentarily distracted from cooking. The thought that why Romano was blushing never even crossed his mind.
Romano walked over and yawned. "I'm going out after breakfast, bastard. I'll be gone all day," he said.
Spain frowned. "Where are you going?" he asked, feeling disappointed that hi visit had to end so soon.
The Italian regarded him in silence for a few moments. "… out," he said finally. "You can stay the night again if you want. I guess…" He looked away, blushing.
Spain smiled and returned to his cooking. "Ok, I'll wait for you to come back home, si?" He was still curious where Romano was going that he didn't wasn't the Spaniard to find out, but he figured that it was no big deal. If it was important, he was sure Romano would say something.
Romano nodded. "I'll be back for dinner," he promised.
"Ok~! I'll make a special paella for your return~!"
After breakfast, Romano went out, with Spain eagerly awaiting his return. He went back to his house to get a change of clothes, since he was spending the night again. On his way back, he stopped at various markets to get the right ingredients for the paella. When he got back, he picked more fresh tomatoes from Romano's garden, since the basket from the previous day was running low by now.
Finally, the paella made, he waited patiently for Romano's return.
And waited, and waited.
Soon, he began to worry.
Especially when it was nearly midnight and Romano still hadn't returned as promised.
OMG A CLIFFHANGER! Sorry about that... It needed to happen.
Yes, Romano really did lose the game in our RP. I felt like a genius for it! Please don't hate me for making you guys lose it, too. *shot*
But, yeah, next chapter the rating it going to go up. Because... Well, you'll see.