A/N I'm gonna go take a bath with this plugged in toaster!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I technically own the plot, but I doubt I'm the first one with the idea. I've never seen anything like this, but I'm sure it's been done.
WARNING: Weird pairing, Guyxguy nonsense, language, OOC-ness, and crack!
PAIRINGS: EnglandxRomano, AubinxEdmund, BeaganxSpain, mentions of AustriaxHungary, and various
SLANG/TRANSLATIONS: "Oye" – hey [Spanish]
"Soy Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. O Spain!" – I am Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Or Spain! [Spanish]
You Can't Spell Love Without Crazy Chapter: 8 We Interrupt This Broadcast
Tuesday, August 30, 2011 6:12 AM: England's House
Furious pounds resounded throughout England's glorious abode as a daft Spaniard knocked on the enormous front door with all his tanned might.
He was in a stupor. A drunken stupor. Prussia and France had somehow managed to flood his weak system with vodka, wine, and tequila, and his cloudy mind only had one objective: find and rescue Romano.
Honestly, it was all Gilbert's fault. He cajoled Francis in to becoming an accomplice in his master plan—to cause as much trouble as possible. Part one of that magical plot was to get their Spanish buddy drunk off his ass and then tell him that his beloved Lovino was kidnapped by an evil king. Specifically an English king.
Yes, the more troublesome thirds of the Bad Touch Trio figured out who Lovi, or 'Diana', was. It happened almost instantaneously, actually.
The awesome Prussia had been creeping under the table at the meeting and thought he recognized Romano's legs intertwined with England's. This was odd, of course, because the Italian was supposedly absent. The albino easily put two and two together and understood the basic situation utilizing his general knowledge of Arthur's Black Magic skills.
France had noticed after a few minutes of harmless flirting with Lovino. The way 'Diana' reacted was identical to one person and one person only; Lovi. Then there was that fact that the now-female South Italy was cuddling nonchalantly with Britain. There was only one possible explanation for that.
Both Gilbert and Francis are cleverer—and more devious as well—than they come off to be. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for Spain.
The pitiable and confused brunette beating up the Kirkland house tossed in a hearty kick for good measure, but only ended up nearly knocking himself off the wooden porch.
Beagan, the only resident of the house who was fully functioning at such an early time, strolled over to the slab of ancient wood and swung it open with ease. He raised a ginger eyebrow at the incredibly handsome man that was almost sparkling on the front porch.
But Spain had no time for chit-chat and roughly shoved past the Irishman in an almost delirious daze, spouting nonsense about a diabolical British King that had taken away his princess.
The butler, however, takes shit from no one.
He Chuck Norris-kicked the brunette square in the back, sending the Latino spiraling toward the hard ground. The nation made contact with a sickening 'THUMP' and a helpless whimper.
Pangs of guilt and regret ruthlessly stabbed at the redhead's conscience as a small pool of blood began to take shape around the unconscious nation's milk chocolate locks.
'Aw, fine. I'll bloody help 'im…'
:-:-:
Tuesday, August 30, 2011 9:48 AM: England's House; Beagan's Bedroom
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo whined childishly as the covers were wrenched off the bed he was in. He blindly groped around, in a weak attempt to locate the warm fabric, but ended up wrapping a sun-kissed hand around something of an entirely different sort.
Hazel eyes widened beyond any human belief as their owner sprung back a meter, recoiling from sudden limb-to-dick contact. Beagan's manhood is rarely, if ever, put to good use. He's… a tad rusty.
Spain, being the daft and still-intoxicated bastard he is, chuckled drunkenly at the handsome butler. "Aw, that was c-cute! You kick like Chuck Norris b-but you're…" A hiccup interrupted his nonsense if just for a moment. "Actually r-really girly~!"
With that, the fiery Irishman absolutely lost what tiny amount of temper he had. He lurched forward and thrust his clenched fist into a sun-kissed jaw.
The force of the impact sent the Spaniard across the bedroom at an alarming rate.
A silky auburn head made it to the incredibly solid wall with the second sickening sound of the day.
The redhead sighed and ambled over to the once again unconscious country. He hefted the brunette into his muscular arms—bridal style, if I may add—and trudged over to the light green bed. He gently laid the knocked-out nation on the plush comforter.
The country's nose was bleeding once again, so the butler rolled up more tissues to block the nostrils with.
Beagan dragged his desk chair with three stuck wheels over to the bedside and plopped down, his striking hazel irises focused intently on the man sprawled out on the sheets. He felt he had to be there for the idiot. He was the reason behind the other's injuries, after all.
When the woozy Spaniard groggily sat up in the foreign room, his head began to spin ruthlessly. His brain throbbed incessantly as the sunlight pouring in through the gargantuan window seared his sensitive eyes.
As his mind wandered—in a very pathetic attempt at recalling the events since Prussia handed him a tequila shot—he was severely startled by a sudden whimper. A pounding viridian gaze swiftly scanned the area and instantly locked on the culprit; the slumped over form in the rolling chair.
The dozing man was halfway on the bed with his torso across the Latino's legs and the remaining part was curled up on the plushy seat. No matter how muscular, badass, scarred, and powerful this black-clad person was, he still appeared an innocent cherub in sleep. An orange angel in any mind; hung-over or otherwise.
Antonio's emerald eyes absorbed the very essence of the Irishman splayed out before his greedy eyes. The butler was indeed a beautiful contradiction. Even in the hazy thoughts of a dense Spaniard.
England's most trustworthy employee was indeed very handsome. He has that kind of rugged charm that can woo even the straightest man and the most homosexual woman. He has curly, untamed locks of a blazing inferno for hair, hazel irises with specks of enticing gold, trunk-like muscles that ripple when put to work, and… well… horrible teeth.
The servant was also reliable. Much more reliable than any of the others. But, of course, there is a deadly catch when he is left in charge. His temper. Or, should I say, lack thereof.
No matter how responsible, a fuse that can be set off by breathing too loudly is a serious setback for a butler of such a high caliber.
Beagan is a complicated man. His violent badassness when facing obstacles is really impressive, but you put him in the same room with a puppy and you've got yourself a giant blubbering fluffball.
The only description Spain could fathom for this enigma on top of him was 'cute'.
:-:-:
Tuesday, August 30, 2011 2:43 PM: England's House; Ruins of the Once-Great Kitchen
Luckily, for the purposes of a blooming love, England and Romano were to be out and about the entirety of the 30th. The charming duo had a complete kitchen to refurbish. That would definitely occupy them for the day.
So, with a wonderful stroke of momentary genius, Began decided to put the gorgeous moron to good use. The brunette and the redhead had come to an agreement—if the tanned man assisted the other for the day, the butler was to refrain from any more physical beatings. It suited both of their situations. The Irishman required help with the removal of rubbish from the Kitchen Ruins and the Spaniard was bored out of his mind and still a bit hung-over.
Too much strong alcohol for such a pathetic system.
But Spain was definitely glad to be of help nonetheless.
"Oye! Where should I put all the rocks?" the brunette called out to the muscular butler as he pointed to a chunk of stone that was once part of the fireplace.
The servant glanced up at the other man with a hefty sigh, "O'er there." He nodded his head in the direction of a mountain of rubble. The assistance he acquired was proving to be more work than he's worth.
The nation just grinned and lugged the hunk of stone over to the pile and tossed it in with an impressive exhibition of strength.
The duo toiled in peaceful and easy conversation, chucking bits of various substances into the ever-growing hill of rubbish.
The sun ruthlessly beat down on the twosome as they continued piling the garbage.
When they finally finished the daunting task, the entire area that was once a glorious kitchen was just dirt. They cleared up the spread-out rocks, destroyed what was left of the walls, sledged-hammered the tiles until they cracked and could be removed, ripped apart the door frame, and set aside the appliances.
It was probably the most manual labor either of them had ever done. Ever.
Once Beagan rang up We Clear Junk and set up a pick-up time for the rubble and appliances, the brunette and the redhead deemed it relaxation time.
"So, uh, dumbass. Ya name 'is…?" Began inquired the other man thoughtfully, just now realizing that he had no clue what his name was.
The Spaniard laughed, "Soy Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. O Spain!" His hangover was long gone after the hours of aching work.
The Irishman's mind went blank when he heard the Latino's sexy purr. His incredulous hazel gaze analyzed the glistening nation, his mind recalling all England had described Spain to be.
"Spain, that wanker!" Arthur Kirkland growled as he slammed his scarred hand down on the wooden table in the kitchen. He had just returned from another World Meeting and the Latino had somehow managed to royally piss him off this time.
Beagan, the newest addition to the Master's home, was startled by this sudden outburst from the usually tranquil blonde. So he inquired what was ailing the nation, his obvious ignorance causing the other servants in the vicinity to facepalm.
When he was asked such an inquiry, the country was off.
"Well… Spain is one of my arch-enemies. He may not be my nemesis—that would be France—but he's been my biggest threat since the dawn of my long life. He is evil, conniving, cunning, daft, blood-thirsty, stubborn, malevolent, crude, heartless, cruel… And many other things that are currently escaping me.
He thinks he's almighty, but I've brought him down plenty of times. He's a cruel and terrible man, Beagan. Stay away from that dago at all costs. If he senses any kind of opening for assault, he will very well take advantage of any opportunity you give him!
He is a bad person. A bad nation. A bad being…."
No way. No way in hell was this stupid and beautiful creature in front of the butler the Spain that England had described.
The Irishman shook his head and introduced himself as well.
