So, this time the fluff is somewhat angsty and somewhat crack-ish. Anyway, I made the Netherlands chapter a first-date-fluffy kind of chapter, but this one is more domestic fluffy. Thanks for any suggestions you've made, by the way! I'm really busy with school right now, but I guarantee at new stuff is coming down the pipeline at some point!

Romano panted in surprise, beads of sweat rolling down the curve of his flushed neck and down his back, and rolled over in the sand.

"Fuuuuuck."

Portugal grinned cockily and collapsed next to him, saltwater lapping at their feet. "Best sex on the beach you've ever had?"

Romano stirred lazily and answered half-heartedly. "Tch. It wasn't that great."

"I'd say that you're lying, considering how…" Portugal retorted smugly as he traced slow circles in the sand. "…overeager you were."

"I was not!"

"I was only…eeh…halfway?—before you finished. I'd say that's overeager."

Romano reached up to brush away the sand sticking to one side of his face. "Fine, you win, bastard. Best sex on the beach I've ever had. Happy?"

"I guess so." Portugal shifted to lean on one of his arms and hang over Romano, casting a light shadow over his face. He licked his lips, playing with a strand of Romano's mussed hair. "Could you go for another round?"

Romano's breathing turned shallow and quick. "I mean…if you want." He mumbled, turning his face away from Portugal's gaze. "I don't really care one way or the other."

"Okay." Portugal replied breezily, picking himself up. "I'll go order two more. Do want something to eat too? It's better to eat while you drink, so you don't get drunk as fast. You know, so you can drink more."

"Yeah, thanks." Romano answered as Portugal dusted the sand from his clothes and hair.

"Don't worry about it." Portugal chuckled good-naturedly as he sauntered away. Romano groaned and rubbed his face with both hands once Portugal was out of earshot.

"What's wrong?"

"Gah." Romano jolted upright and squinted in the harsh sunlight. "Pico? What the fuck?"

"No, it's me, Sealand! Who's Pico?"

"…"

"What's a sex on the beach?"

"Why are you even here?"

"I ran away from home and washed up in Portugal! Surprisingly, this time my desperate plea for attention has been noticed, and the whole of the UK is going insane trying to find me! As we speak, England is organizing a search party whilst relapsing back into alcoholism for the second time this week, Wales is stress-shagging a sheep, and Scotland…uh, Scotland is just trying to leave the UK again, like he usually is."

"What about Northern Ireland?"

"Oh, he ran away too."

"I guess I never realized how easy Veni and I had it," Romano paused thoughtfully. "Well, being orphaned at a young age and foisted off to other countries to act as cleaning staff and all. At least we weren't raised by England. I should keep a closer eye on Marcello."

Sealand shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever. What's a sex on the beach? As a typical twelve year old, I don't get this reference, and at this point, probably think that you have just had actual sex on this actual beach."

"Oh, right. So sex on the beach, aside from being actual sex on an actual beach, is alcoholic beverage. It's very popular, especially in the summer." Romano explained. "But don't drink it before you're of legal drinking age, or you will die and be hastily buried in an unmarked grave next to all the other underage drinkers."

Sealand paled, wobbling on his feet. "I'm going to die then?"

Romano coughed. "Uh. Yeeeaah. Soooooooorrrrrrry...?"

Sealand collapsed face-first on the sand.

"I don't mind. I mean, I guess it's not technically fair since I don't get as much date time, but it's not a big deal."

"Er—thanks. I just didn't really know what to do…"

"Well, I heard France and England really screwed up, so I figure my chances are pretty good." Portugal casually raked his fingers through his curly hair. "How was your date with Netherlands?"

Romano hesitated. "It—it was fine."

"Just fine?"

Romano sucked in a breath and answered cheekily. "Are you jealous?"

"Well, I wouldn't be so incredibly subtle if I wasn't, would I?"

Romano snorted. "I don't really understand why everyone in Europe is after my ass, I mean—"

At that moment, Sealand emerged noisily from the bathroom adjoining Portugal's living room, still clutching his stomach and looking green, tear tracks lining his cheeks.

"Oh, baixinho, are you still not feeling well?" Portugal rushed over to check Sealand's temperature as Romano hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sealand shook his head miserably and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "S'it…s'it the alcohol? Am I gonna die?" Portugal gasped and shook his head furiously, gathering the much smaller nation into his arms and carrying him to the couch. "No no no, little one! It's a case of heat exhaustion brought on from being in the sun so long, which itself is due to your running away, and that's a result of the rampant parental neglect in your household…" He slowed, calculating how to dig himself out of the hole he had created,"But you'll be just fine by tomorrow morning!"

"But I nicked three bottles of whiskey from England's happy cabinet…" Sealand croaked as Romano shoved a glass of water under his nose.

Portugal was quick to assuage his fears, smiling reassuringly. "It happens to all of us. You know, when Spain and I were about your age, we snuck into Rome's wine cellar and drank so much that we vomited for hours upon hours—" He broke off to chuckle fondly. "—and still have critical liver damage to this day!"

Romano wrinkled his nose and squinted. "Are there any of us in Europe that don't have some level of alcohol dependency?"

Portugal laughed with gusto before a growl from Sealand's stomach caught his attention and he sobered. "Hmmm…Switzerland maybe? He's always been a bit of the odd one out. Do you want something to eat, Sealand? Or do you want to go to sleep? I'll go make dinner, and then you can go to bed. How's that?"

Sealand nodded, detaching himself from Portugal and tumbling onto Romano's lap, the former whistling a cheerful tune as he waltzed into the kitchen prepare the meal. Romano sighed heavily as Sealand snuggled into his arms, sniffling. "I'm so sorry patatino…I forgot to tell you…uh… that...that…there's an exception to the death by underage drinking rule!"

"There's an exception?" Sealand brightened, raising his head from Romano's shoulder to peer hopefully up at the older nation.

"Yeah! It…uh. It doesn't count if it's whiskey!"

"Oh…I…I snuck some wine at the party the day before yesterday too…so I—" Sealand began to tear up again. "I really am g-gonna die and be hastily buried in an unmarked g-grave!"

Romano sputtered for a moment before regaining his momentum. "B-but I forgot to tell you, wine doesn't count either! Like big brother baguette sucker says, 'drunk doesn't count if you're drunk on wine!'"

"B-but I also drank the bottle of rum Portugal had stashed in his medicine cabinet!"

"Jesus, kid! Is that why you were throwing up just now?"

"That and the heat exhaustion both."

"I-I really don't know what to say. England should bring you to an AA meeting or something…"

Sealand rubbed his nose and replied matter-of-factly. "Oh, England doesn't go to AA meetings, he just goes to Wales' house to cry on his shoulder while France cries on the couch at home to Prussia and Spain."

"Y-you should be in foster care or something…"

Sealand laughed cheerfully and burbled, "I know right! Alcoholism is tearing my family apart to the point where there is no solution other than legal recourse to divert an inevitable tragedy!"

At this point, the clattering and bubbling in the kitchen slowed. Portugal strode jauntily out of the kitchen, apron hanging loosely from his frame and a large wooden spoon in hand, and announced cheerfully, "Dinner's ready! Come and eat!"

Romano cleared his throat awkwardly and playfully slung Sealand over his shoulder. "Okay!" He called lightly. "We're both starving, so it better be good, bastard!"

Portugal and Romano leaned on opposite sides of the doorframe, light from the hallway seeping into the dark bedroom where Sealand was sound asleep. Portugal pinched the bridge of his nose. "Goddamn."

"Yeah."

"He probably needs to talk to a pediatrician."

"And a child psychiatrist."

"A priest too, maybe?"

"Noooooo. Him around the communion wine?"

Portugal hummed in assent. "Good point."

"Maybe he needs a hobby? What about arts and crafts?"

"What if he huffs the glue? I think that's a no-go."

Romano groaned and Portugal reached across the space between them to pull him into a hug. "Hey, we were all alcoholics as children, and didn't we all turn out…uh…somewhat functional?"

"To varying degrees, yes."

Portugal rested his cheek on the top of Romano's head and sighed. "We'll deal with it later. C'mon. Let's just get some sleep, yes?"

"Ugh, yeah. Let's go."

But alas, for dramatic purposes, when they trudged wearily into Portugal's bedroom, they were met with an unpleasant surprise.

"What the fucking fuck?" Romano whisper-yelled.

Unsurprisingly, the unpleasant surprise was a thoroughly inebriated Spain, who was weeping softly and sniveling quietly into a towel that Romano had used to dry his hair.

"Look at you two traitors, p-playing house. H-how—" He hiccoughed resentfully, looking tearfully up at Romano and Portugal. "How could you?"

"How could we…?"

Spain's grieving increased in volume as he buried his face in the towel. "How could you steal my fiancé?" He moaned, muffled by Towel-mano. "And how could you cheat on me with my brother?"

"Uh…" Portugal cocked his head. "I don't think—"

Romano yanked him out of the room and shut the door as softly as possible, so as not to wake Sealand sleeping just down the hall. "You should know by now not to negotiate with crazy. He'll just latch onto you and slobber all over your face." There was a long silence in the hallway outside the bedroom door, laid thickly over the muffled sobbing from inside the master bedroom.

"Portugal?"

"…"

Portugal seemed to be pondering something. "Did you sleep with Netherlands?"

"Wow. That was completely off topic."

Portugal shrugged. "I guess jealousy runs in the family? I mean, it wouldn't have mattered as much if I'd slept with you too, but we're both dead tired now, and the mood was basically ruined from the get go. Y'know. Vomiting kid five meters away and all."

"…"

"Romano?"

"…"

"Are you texting?"

Fratello i need advice

?

Portugal just asked if I had sex with Netherlands what do I tell him

The truth?

I dont know

What do you mean?

I mean, he said hed buy lube and everything

But whether or not we actually had sex never got written soooo…

Ve~ just distract Portugal with sex then

…

Okay im doing it so if it goes wrong you buy me food

He dragged Portugal back into the living room, shoved him onto the couch, and straddled him awkwardly.

"Mwah."

"…Uh. Thanks, but are you trying to avoid the question?"

Romano kissed him again, trying to infuse more of his natural Italian charm into the kiss this time.

"I don't unders—what are you doing?"

Romano shoved their faces together again, pressing him into the couch cushions. When he came up for air, Portugal grasped him by the shoulders, holding him in place.

"Could you hold on a second? What are you doing?"

"Um. Well I thought I wouldn't have to answer the question if I distracted you."

"You—" Portugal released one of Romano's shoulders to scratch his head. "You could've just said you didn't want to tell me. I wasn't going to interrogate you or anything. You didn't have to distract me."

"Oh, I didn't? Because Veni told me I should distract you...wiiiiiiiith seeeeeex...?" He questioningly reached for Portugal's crotch before Portugal shook his head, gently nudging Romano back.

"Roma, Veneziano has good intentions, but he doesn't really have a good problem-solving mentality."

"He doesn't?"

"No, he doesn't. Veneziano is a sex addict."

"He is?"

"How did he suggest you get rid of Spain?"

"...I see your point."

Romano and Portugal blinked at each other in the dim light. Portugal exhaled tiredly and pulled Romano against him as he collapsed on his side. "Let's just go to sleep now."

He pulled a thin blanket over both of them as Romano yawned into his chest and nodded sleepily.

"Boa noite, Lovino."

"Buona Notte, Paulo."