For those who don't know, I'm currently without internet at my new house (and will be for like another 2-3 weeks or so...) so I can only update when I'm at uni :(
However, it also means I have lots of chapter done, so when I am at uni, I should always be posting something!
Here's the next chapter, thanks so much for reading, and sorry for the lateness! Enjoy!
Chapter Seven:
If there was one thing more boring than listening to Veneziano rambling on about the potato-bastard, it was listening to France rambling on about the eyebrow-bastard. After a good hour sitting pouting in the armchair, watching as France and Spain chattered and complained about various issues in love, Romano had given up and ventured back upstairs. He was about to go collapse on his own bed in the guest room, when he decided the memories of last night would perhaps make it a little uncomfortable. So he opted for Spain's bedroom.
Yeah, that was a stupid idea.
Not only did he quickly grow irritated by how messy the Spaniard kept his room, but the whole place stank of Spain. And, thanks to his smell being Romano's equivalent of catnip or whatever, that scent was very distracting.
That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy it, of course.
He fell onto Spain's bed, burying his face in the pillows and taking a deep breath before shutting his eyes. He contemplated the likelihood that France would be here all day and night; he'd probably talk Spain into starting drinking soon too; and that sort of made Romano tempted to head back home. He laughed at that thought when he remembered what was waiting for him back home.
"Love stinks!"
"I know!"
The shouts coming from downstairs were growing more worrying for the second. Romano rolled his eyes as the two started screaming about how much they 'loved love' despite its 'cruel tricks'. The Italian didn't know whether he was supposed to approve of Spain shouting all this after their… confessions this morning. He decided it earned Spain at least one curse later.
He lay there, waiting and praying that France would decide to leave and go tell that eyebrow-bastard all this, instead of taking up Spain's time. Sadly, France could talk for hours, and Spain showed no signs of trying to make him leave. In the end, Romano was half tempted to drift off.
Before he knew it, that's exactly what he'd done.
Hovering on the edge of fuzzy and unclear dreams, Romano only woke when the world started to sink. Grumbling as he felt the mattress beneath him moving against his will, he peered up at the blurry shape leaning towards him.
"Roma?"
Ah, Romano knew that soft and stupid voice anywhere. He didn't need to worry if it was just that idiot hovering over him. He buried his head deeper into the pillow and closed his eyes once more, ignoring the continued calls.
"Romano," Spain chuckled. "It's lunch time."
The Italian felt a hand touch his hair; fingers curled and stroked the strands, caressing his head like it was some fragile piece of glass. Figuring the action was supposed to rouse him, not comfort him, Romano reluctantly reopened his eyes again to glare up at Spain: the usual goofy grin plastered across the idiot's face.
"Is the drunk gone?" Romano asked.
Spain frowned. "He wasn't drunk."
"Fucking acted like it…"
Removing his hand from Romano's hair (which the Italian wasn't too happy about), Spain sighed – though there was a smile playing in his features. "I called Prussia; he picked him up just a minute ago."
"Why didn't you call him sooner?" Romano was still pretty grateful that Prussia had taken the weeping French-man off Spain's hands, but if he'd appeared a little earlier, Romano wouldn't be feeling so grotty after his nap.
"I called him as soon as you ran off up here," Spain pouted. "He just wasn't out of bed."
That certainly made Romano feel a little better about the situation – though he made a note to glare at Prussia more than usual next time he saw him. Still, it was hardly something he had to think about now.
Spain started to ramble on about France's troubles and England's 'tender feelings', or some crap. Romano spent them time staring up at the country's features; Spain looked a little more flushed than usual, and his shoulders were tenser. It was perhaps arrogant of the Italian to assume this was thanks to his presence, but that's probably exactly what it was; and that made Romano almost giddy with pride.
Deciding he'd let Spain talk for way too long, Romano snaked a hand up to the country's neck. Spain stopped mid-sentence, blinking down in confusion. He didn't have time to voice whatever question was running through his mind, as Romano tugged him down.
The brief contact of their lips was enough to jolt Romano fully awake. He refused to release his hold on Spain's neck, and when they pulled away – their faces remaining temptingly close – Spain stared down in surprise. That was… sort of irritating. Romano felt his mouth dip into a frown; what had the idiot expected? Hadn't they cleared all this up this morning before frog-breath interrupted?
Thankfully (since Romano damn-well refused to say anything until Spain stopped looking like he'd just announced his was fucking pregnant), Spain chuckled lightly, and all signs of confusion or surprise fell from his face.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," the Spaniard relaxed and fell onto Romano softly. His big arms wrapping around the Italian so tightly Romano thought he'd be strangled.
Spain took a few deep breaths, and lifted his head up to peer down at the still-glowering Romano. Trailing a hand over Romano's forehead to push back his fringe, Spain planted a soft kiss on his forehead.
"Sorry France butted in," Spain whispered; his voice lower than before. He ran a thumb over Romano's cheek, his eyes unbelievably soft as he smiled down. "I'll make it up to you, promise."
Suddenly feeling rather embarrassed under those eyes, Romano averted his eyes and snorted. "Yeah, you better."
Without another word, Spain brought their lips together once again. The sudden burst of confidence from the older country nearly knocked the breath out of Romano. The kiss was just as passionate as it'd been before that cursed doorbell rang, and it was positively drowning for the Italian. His lids grew heavy and he could do nothing but sink further into the bed as Spain held him.
Romano's fingers traced the lines and dips in Spain's back, pulling him closer every time it felt like the Spaniard was moving away, even slightly.
As they broke the kiss, Romano felt the need to grumble. "Why is your shirt off?"
Spain was nearly completely out of it, and continued to shower Romano with kisses and bites. "It's been off since last night."
"Why didn't you put it on when the frog was here?"
Still not fazed by the questions, Spain turned his attention to Romano's own shirt. This time pulling it up over the Italian's head before he could even protest, and disposing it on the ground somewhere over his shoulder.
"It's still in the guest bedroom."
"You could have grabbed it," Romano muttered – feeling himself growing hotter as Spain's lips trailed his chest. "Or put something else on."
"Why?" Spain's thumbs hooked Romano's waistband, his lips already at his stomach. "France as seen me without a shirt plenty of times."
Romano smacked the idiot on the head. Spain whimpered an "Ow!" and looked to Romano with that stupid puppy expression.
"Don't mention that when you're..." What was the right phrase? "Doing this with me!"
Finally seeming to understand his mistake, Spain grinned – a dark glint in his eyes. "Oh? Terribly sorry, Roma… I'll make sure to give you all my attention in the future."
"That wasn't what I–"
Spain began tugging down Romano's trousers yet again, his teeth nipping at the Italian's hip bone. It was torture; Romano couldn't do anything but lay there at close his eyes. He couldn't even use his hands. He made a mental note to keep a tighter hold on Spain next time this happened…
It was sort of thrilling that Romano could assume there would be a 'next time'.
Their breaths grew heavier, sharper, deeper; and Romano found himself holding his breath completely as Spain continued to tug his trousers lower painfully slowly.
Beep-beep.
The two froze.
Beep-beep.
Spain sat up. "Oh! That'll be the bread for lunch!"
"W-what?"
"Come on, Roma! I've got lots out!"
Jumping up, Spain grabbed a top from the wardrobe and hurried out – not even glancing back at Romano who continued to lie there in utter disbelief.
He waited just a moment longer, staring up at the ceiling, topless and trousers half pulled down.
"What…?" he repeated to no one.
Pushing himself up and staring at the empty doorway, Romano felt himself burning up with anger.
"I'm not that kind of hungry!"