101! 101 lovely unicorn tears. THIS STORY CANNOT BE TAMED! Thank you so much for all your wonderfully kind and thoughtful tears. I just...I don't even know what to say! You all are remarkably amazing. So I guess the next goal would be 111! Just because that number looks hella cool! Thank you so much. UNFUCKINGWORTHY I FEEL BY YOUR AWESOME!
Also, eventually the rating will be changed to M. Be warned! *pulls cloak over lower face and quirks an eyebrow repeatedly before hissing*
I don't own Hetalia and America was not written by me but by the lovely Jetsir.
Romano was kissing him. Romano was kissing him, he thought. Romano was kissing him, and now he was kissing Romano back. Had he just made that embarrassing whimpering sound? He certainly hoped not. A million voices cried out in his head as he leaned forward into Romano's lips, gently, hesitantly touching his hand to the Italian's cheek. Most were screeching at him to stop, but the fewer voices were the loudest, and they were telling him to go, go, go. Guilt. Affection. Shame. Desire. Sadness. Happiness. All these emotions were tearing at his heart and he still couldn't bring himself to pull away. He wanted to make this last for as long as he could.
Romano closed his eyes, feeling guilty and weak, but knew that he needed this if in a few days time he didn't plan to throw himself off the nearest overly tall building. Slowly, America was becoming like oxygen for him, because his America was so out of reach. A rough hand touched his cheek and he leaned into it, parting his lips. Everything about this was safe, familiar, and he loosely wrapped his arms around America's neck.
Shyly, America slipped his tongue into the shorter nation's mouth, exploring, tasting. The lingering taste of coffee mingled with his own, and he hummed pleasantly. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on the other's hip, all his touches gentle, shy and curious. The hand on Romano's cheek moved to the small of the other's back, gently easing him forward, closer.
Romano allowed himself to be pulled into America's lap. His America had done it so many times before, and just like with his America, he molded himself against the other nation, feeling their frantic heartbeats race against each other. America's tongue was warm in his mouth and let the tip of his flick against it, their lips fitting together like puzzle pieces. One hand drifted to America's cheek, his thumb tracing light patterns.
He'd only intended to pull the other closer, but he didn't complain when he found himself with a lap-full of the Italian. They seemed to fit so well together, as if they were made for each other. America smiled against Romano's lips, and wrapped the other up in his arms, sighing happily at Romano's soft touches. He kissed the other deeper, more passionately than before, hoping to communicate just what he was feeling in this moment.
When the kiss deepened, Romano returned it desperately. Just a little more, he told himself. Just a little more, but Romano found he couldn't stop. His arms pulled America closer, and he tilted his head for better access, brushing America's hair out of his face despite knowing it was going to fall back into place anyway.
America moaned, his hands going to run up and down Romano's sides and back. He pulled back to place small, butterfly kisses on the Italian's lips, cheeks and neck, "Romano…" he whispered, voice thick with emotion. His face tilted up, catching the other once more in a deep kiss.
Romano shuddered at the way America said his name, and his sides tingled when he felt the warmth of America's hands through the fabric of his shirt as they ran beneath the hooded jacket. Everything felt so right, and he returned the light kisses before they deepened once more. America tasted just like his America, and Romano felt another deep well of confusion and guilt mix with the relief he received earlier. His chest hurt and his eyes burned.
Something was wrong, America could feel it. He pulled back, looking into the other's face and saw it. Guilt and confusion. Oh God. His movements stilled, hands sliding away from Romano's body as he used one to cover his mouth in horror at what he'd been doing. He felt sick. Sick and ashamed. He looked down as he was consumed by his negative emotions towards himself. Romano was a taken man, alone in a strange world and obviously lonely, and America had just taken advantage of the fact that his alternate self was Romano's lover. For what? Some intimacy with a man who he'd probably never be able to attain himself in his own world? He was pathetic. "I'm sorry…" he choked out, finding it hard to breathe. "I'm sorry.." again, "I'm sorry…" and it kept repeating as he buried his face in his hands to hide from the other's eyes. It was impossible to escape with the other in his lap. His legs shook as much as the rest of him. "I'm sorry."
Romano removed himself from America's lap, the weight of what he'd done crashing down on him. What was he thinking? He suddenly felt sick to his stomach and looked around the room until he spotted America's phone. He snatched it from the coffee table and hurried into the guest room, his throat tight and his stomach cramping with horror. He toyed with the phone for a minute, his fingers shaking. It took him a second to figure it out, but he eventually managed to find Feliciano's number and hit the green phone button, relief filling him when he heard it ring.
Italy was busy making a pot of pasta for himself, Germany and Prussia when his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his apron pocket he saw that it was a call from America's phone. He brightened, that must be Romano! "Fratello~! I'm so glad you called~ How are you?" he said this all in rapid procession, then waited his brother to reply.
Romano still wasn't used to this Feliciano's cheer, but it was the same voice. That was all he needed. The same voice and he wouldn't slit his own throat. "Feli, I need you to do something for me."
Italy's face crumpled with worry as he heard the other's desperate tone come through his phone. "A-Anything, Lovi. Tell me what's wrong and your fratello will help you!"
The control was fading and hearing Feliciano say something so kind was enough to drive Romano over the edge. "I need you to yell at me. I need you to call me weak and pathetic, and that I deserve every ounce of pain I get."
Italy gasped in horror, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. "L-Lovi!" he cried, scandalized. "Don't ask me to say such horrible lies! You're a wonderful brother and a wonderful friend! Y-You're so strong and brave! You don't deserve anything bad to happen to you! Sure, you can get angry sometimes, b-but everyone has their bad days!"
Germany stood up from the table and placed a protective hand on Italy's shoulder. "Italy, what is he saying?"
"Please, Feli." Romano hated that he was begging. If he needed to convince himself of his weakness then there it was. He was begging for a punishment from the only person who could give it to him in a way he deserved. "Please. I need to hear it." His hand tightened around the phone and he trembled. "I did something….I did something horrible."
"Tell me!" pleaded Italy. "Tell me what happened! We can fix this. I-I promise! Wh-whatever you did, I'm sure it'll be okay!" Italy walked out of Germany's reach, flitting nervously around the kitchen, into the living room, and back, clutching onto his phone desperately as if it were actually his brother.
"I…I let myself be weak that's what," Romano said. "I…I kissed your America." Saying it out loud brought it all into focus and it made him feel sicker to his stomach. "Please, Feli. Just yell at me. I…I need to hear you yell at me again."
"Oh, Lovi," Italy said sadly. Even his curl drooped. "Having me yell at you won't make you feel better. You need to apologize to Alfredo~! If you know what you did was wrong and you say you're sorry, then everything will be alright! Alfredo is a nice person, even if he is really loud, but I'm sure he'll understand~!"
Feliciano refusing to yell at him was almost too much and Romano stared at the hole in the wall from where he stabbed it earlier. His chest felt as if a one thousand pound weight was on top of it. This was his brother's voice, the exact same one, but this kindness was making him dizzy. "Please," his voice cracked. "Please, I…I'm…Feli I just need you to be yourself for a second, just one second. Y-You can apologize to me afterwards. Please, fratello. Please yell at me."
"No, Lovi!" Italy did yell, but not in the way Romano wanted him to, drawing the surprised stares of Germany and Prussia. He stomped his foot childishly. "You need to go be the responsible fratello I know you are and go apologize to Alfredo right now o-or I'll never f-f-forgive you!" With that, he burst into tears.
The phone slipped out of Romano's hands as the last shreds of his self control snapped. This wasn't anywhere like home. Feliciano wasn't a monster here. There was nothing grounding him, and he felt himself spinning out of control. Everything he had been holding back escaped, and a sense of crushing utter hopelessness crashed down on him like a tsunami. Carefully he took a knife from his sleeve and stabbed it into the floor repeatedly. His eyes wide and glazed over as he stared at the hole in the wall. Vaguely he heard Feliciano's voice from the phone.
"Lovi? L-Lovi?" Italy asked softly. The line hadn't disconnected, but Romano wasn't answering him. He then heard some sort of violent sound in the background and began to panic, crying harder. He turned to Germany, latching onto him, "L-Ludwig! Something's wrong with my fratello!" Holding on to Italy as he soaked his shirt in tears, Germany turned to his brother, who had risen from the table in concern.
"Grab our things and call Spain," he ordered. "We're going to America's. Now."
nnnn
As soon as Romano had left the room, America dissolved into tears. The guilt was too much, and he felt terrible, even more-so since he knew he probably would have kept going if he hadn't looked into Romano's eyes. After a while he calmed down and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He needed to apologize to Romano. Not like he had before, but calmly and with a clear mind. He stood. It had been a good ten or so minutes since the Italian had fled the room. Now was probably a good time as ever to go and talk to him. He went to his bedroom first, and upon seeing that the other nation wasn't there he went into the guest bedroom, and froze. Romano on the floor, eyes wild and a knife clutched in his hand. America's cell phone on the floor, Italy's panicked sobs coming from it and filling the eerily silent room. America's first priority was the knife, he didn't know whether Romano intended to hurt him, the furniture or himself, but he wasn't about to find out. He rushed forward, quickly snatching the knife out of the other's hand and tossing it to the side. He seized Romano by the wrists, staring at him in frenzied concern.
"Get off!" Romano jerked in America's grip and panicked. It was like being caught in a steel trap and he twisted wildly, his eyes wide and frenzied as he tried to pull away. "Let go!"
"No!" America cried, just as panicked as Romano. It wasn't that it was all that hard to keep a hold on him with how incredibly strong he was, but the Italian could seriously injure himself with how much he was twisting. In a swift movement, America lunged forward, wrapped his arms around Romano so that his arms were pinned to his sides, and laid himself out on top of the Italian, effectively immobilizing him under his much stronger body. "P-please calm down!" he pleaded, "I-I'm really sorry I took advantage of you back there. It was wrong, more than wrong, b-but I promise I won't do it again. Just please, don't do this to yourself!" He couldn't help it, a couple of his tears fell onto the face below him as he looked down into Romano's eyes, his guilt and shame as clear as day.
"Get off of me!" Romano tried to squirm his way out from beneath America, and let out a screeching growl of frustration. He turned his head wildly, catching sight of the holes in the carpet from his repeated stabs, and turned to face America again. Humiliation burned in his chest like wildfire and he hated himself more than anything he had ever hated in his life, more than Spain, Hungary or even Austria. He looked into America's eyes, saw the other nation's emotions wreak havoc within him, and felt the warmth of his tears trickle down the sides of his face. "Why are you doing this to me?" The question came out as a pained hiss.
America felt some sort of damn break inside him and all the fear, anger, guilt, shame, everything came out. "Why am I doing what? Huh?" he shouted as his tears fell more rapidly. Whether it was in anger or sadness or something else, it was unclear. "Why am I trying to keep you from hurting yourself? Why am I trying to apologize to you when it's obvious you're too fucking lost in your own self loathing to hear it! Huh! Maybe I think you're worth my concern, my effort, my feelings! Did you ever stop to think about that? Maybe I just really care about you and I want to help! Maybe I'm just feeling so fucking scared and worthless and sad about losing one of you without being able to do anything about it that I really don't wanna lose the other one! And here you are with that goddamn knife in your hands, scaring the shit outta me and wonderin' why I wanna stop you…" He had more to say, but it was drowned in his sobs.
Romano stared at America's face, for once in his life, truly scared. Scared because he had no idea what he was supposed to say or do. He hadn't planned on hurting himself. He had needed to take his emotions out on something, so the floor became his target. Feliciano had refused to ground him, to give him a piece of home, and the punishment he needed for betraying his America. Now here was this America, sobbing. He felt sick to his stomach. Too much had happened. "I…" his voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat, turning his head away. "I started it….it wasn't your fault…I started it…"
Oh, Romano. You poor babu. I have a question for you reviewers. Please answer because I really want to know. When you picture 2p!Romano, how do you imagine him? I left his description vague because there are so many different fan designs for him and I felt it was better to let the reader choose which one they wanted to imagine. So, what do you think he looks like?