Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n1: Has anybody seen the hilarious April Fools-comic that Himaruya has made last week? The one with numerous countries running around in embarrassing costumes (like Russia – in a SKANKY MAID-COSTUME WITH HIS NAKED THIGH SHOWING OH MY SWEET GOD)? It's great! It has FrUk, Spamano, USUK and a lot of other ships-teases in it and, well, you should go look it up!~ It's around Livejournal.^^ Go ahead, try it out, you'll love it. Especially if you have the hots for Yandere!Spain. Like me. UNFFFFFFFF. *_*

A/n2: Some of you probably have already noticed the fact that whenever Lovino is driving to another country, he arrives at his destination ridiculously fast, without breaking a sweat and without having a lot of traffic-related problems on his way to the country-of-the-week. Of course, this isn't so in "real" life: although most countries are indeed lying very close to each other in Europe and although it is plausible to drive from the Netherlands to Spain within one day (yes, I speak out of personal experience), it's still a very tiresome thing to do and after traveling so damn far, for so many hours, you wouldn't be up for anything other than sleeping for a day or two. I'm just saying, since Lovi and Ivan seem to reach Russia pretty damn quickly, all the way from Italy!

Pfffrrt. What can I say? Yay for fiction!~ It makes everything possible!~

A/n3: Hmm, kinda short chapter, I know. I'm not feeling really good lately (and don't let those abovementioned A/n's, which I wrote earlier this week, give you a wrong impression about my current mood) since a lot of things have happened this week, so yeah… please bear with me.^^;;; O-okay?

** Bottoms-Up! **

Chapter XXIX:

My Mushy Tushy Baby
(The Fenwicks)

Well, here I was.

Sitting in the white Lada 112, with a bewildered expression on my face, a disturbingly peppy Russian next to me and a oddly calm-looking Lithuanian in the front of the car, behind the wheel, trying to drive and search for a nice radio station at the same time, 'cause apparently, Russia always got "a little frustrated" whenever there wasn't any soothing music playing for him while driving by car.

Said Lithuanian suddenly made a triumphant noise of happiness when the sound of singing children filled the air inside of the car.

'Oh! Mister Russia, I think I have a rather nice one now! This station seems to play childish, Italian nursery songs only! Am I right, mister Romano?'

I tensed when I was referred to, but still managed to nod, miraculously enough. Somewhat. Well, at least it looked like it.

'Y-yeah, those are nursery songs… I guess…' I murmured.

Russia chuckled, clapping his hands. 'Ha, that's great! I love the sound of singing children. Just leave it on this one, then!'

Okay, what the f

Yeah. I know.

I know, dammit. It was my own, fat fault. I should have run away when I had the chance to. I should have just done that. I should have flipped both Russia and Lithuania off and I should have run back to Antonio, hiding myself in his arms while screaming at him to protect me from the freaky Baltic/Slavic nations. I know he would've protected me. I know he would've probably successfully repelled them out of the garden and out of Italy itself. I fucking knew all of that, for fuck's sake!

And yet, I hadn't done all of that.

No, instead of doing something smart, I decided to do something that was criminally stupid and that would most-likely drastically reduce my lifespan: I stepped into the car and let Russia and Lithuania kidnap me – fucking kidnap me – out of my own country, without actively trying to stop them, without yelling at them and without informing Antonio and Feliciano of my whereabouts.

Fuck. And I didn't even have a cell-phone with me either – mine was still in Spain, and Antonio's was in my other pants.

Oh shit.

Oh damn.

Oh, really, way to fucking go, Lovino! Aren't you a goddamn genius for letting something so… so very unnecessary happen so frighteningly easily. Man, you should probably get a trophy for being such a sad, sad excuse for an "independent" nation! Surely your people must be very proud of you! Surely!

Maybe I should follow some self-defense lessons…

…or… you know, grow some fucking balls already.

That'd be nice.

xXx

'Ha, what's that, Italy Romano?'

Suddenly, after a couple of nerve-wrecking minutes (and some creepy nursery songs - in my own native language, which all of a sudden was freaking scary) had passed, Russia probably must have thought that it was time to torture me, since he plunged his fucking forefinger from Frozen Hell into my chest and… and…

…and poked me! Multiple times! GAH!

'W-what do you mean?' I stammered right away, gasping a bit and looking down to that… that large finger, sticking onto my shirt. Holy shit, that big-nosed serial killer was touching me again, and this time, he was even touching me in an area only Antonio was allowed to touch me – a-and only when no-one was around, and the lights were dimmed, and he had this "hurrrr~"-glint in his eyes, and my clothes hung a little loose…

Huh. Musing about myself about to do naughty stuff with Antonio while a touchy-feely Russian was brutally violating me by merely pushing the fabric of the shirt I wore…

Damn. I should've sexed some more with Antonio yesterday.

'Ohhh? There's something written there!'

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Russia's face all of a sudden got extremely close to my chest, as if he wanted to rub his face in it (OH GOD NO JUST NO), and he narrowed his focused eyes, his lips mumbling and moving a bit without saying anything out loud.

'M-mister Russia, I don't know what you're doing, but I'd like it if you fucking stopped doing that!' I hissed, voice sounding surprisingly determined, maybe even more determined than I actually was, really, and pressed my back further into the white leather (oh, classy) of the seats.

Russia snapped his head up, just like that, cracking his neck and staring at me in excited curiosity.

Oh brother. I instantly felt sick and wrinkled my nose. Then I noticed the tall asshole had his hands placed down on the seat and was now leaning closer to me, his eyes looking almost like Antonio's whenever that bastard felt happy – only a tad more, you know, psychopathic.

That never was a good thing.

'Italy Romano?' Russia persistently pushed his fat finger against me once again, '…hey, can you tell me what it says?'

'I-I-I don't know what you're talking abou—'

'That text on your shirt.'

I blinked my eyes, still looking down, and plucked the thin, white shirt. 'This text, you mean?'

The Russian nation's grin became brighter and he nodded giddily, as if he was a little schoolboy, about to learn a whole bunch of intellectual shit from his well-respected teacher - me.

Seconds before ripping my head off my rump with his pinky-finger.

Oh sweet Lord.

'Ha, that text… it seems to be some sort of secret message… but it's not in Russian, or any other language I'm able to read, so what is it? Do you know that language?' he asked, eyes wide open.

I frowned, trying to hide my embarrassed blush underneath my scowl.

'O-of course I know that language, it's… it's fucking Spanish, dammit…'

He tilted his head. 'Spanish?'

'Yes. Spanish.'

'From Spain?'

'That's what they say.'

'Ha?'

'Yeah.'

There was a short, uncomfortable silence between us.

During that silence, Lithuania drove over a very bad road ('Gee, I sure wonder where we are…') covered with loose pebbles and cracks. There were more people on the road, just some random Italian guys, driving around like madmen in cars without a roof while shouting flirty stuff to Italian girls, who were also driving around, but more like madwomen instead of -men,with giant hats on their heads, making them look like big, sunglass-wearing pancakes.

My people are so very special, it's a fucking crime.

I watched the typical scene for a bit, before nervously turning back to Russia. I saw Russia had been staring at my wonderful people as well, a incomprehensible expression on his face as he finally tore his gaze away and bore it in my hesitant eyes instead.

'Hey, do you know any Spanish, Italy Romano? Can you tell me what's on the shirt?'

'…"shut up".'

The Russian's face darkened noticeable – a-and very quickly, too, without him ever losing the calm, wicked smile.

'Ha, how rude, Italy Romano. I was only asking.'

His voice didn't sound good. Not good. Not good at all. No— OH SHIT, he probably thought I was cussing him out!

I swallowed. The oh so well-known blushes on my face faded away instantly to make room for a pair of very pale cheeks.

Quick, Lovino! Say something! Something useful!

'N-no, you don't understand… i-it really says"shut up"! B-but in Spanish!'

Russia didn't seem to buy it and narrowed his eyes.

'Really now?'

'Yes! I-I mean, come on, mister Russia, why the hell would I lie about that, dammit!' I insisted, nodding.

'Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you don't like me at all and would probably thankfully grab every opportunity to say something unkind – no, not just unkind, but downright mean – to me or something along those lines? Ha, I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, Italy Romano. I'm not stupid, you know.'

He shrugged quasi-nonchalantly, but actually looked a bit sad, maybe even disappointed. Which didn't make me feel bad at all, since I was way too badass and gangster to feel guilty about giving such a bad impression of myself to the Russian creep.

Still, it stung.

I sighed, ran a hand through my hair and sighed again, trying to wonder why I was actively trying to think of something to cheer Russia up (had I lost my fucking mind?) while I was trying not to hit my head against the low ceiling of the crappy car at the same time, since Lithuania drove like a fucking skippyball on speed. And everybody knew that was a deadly combination, dammit.

Right… I should tell Russia exactly what I wanted to tell him. But with tact.

'I don't like you, no. Not at all. I think you're scary.'

…yeah, tact my ass. Look at me, all tactful like a total suicidal spazz! Shit! Seriously, I mean, damn, didn't my life have any value for me whatsoever, dammit?

God…

'B-but!' I stammered quickly, because I noticed the atmosphere around Russia swinging dangerously in-between very offended and impatiently patient faster than I had ever noticed Antonio getting undressed when he knew I was huffing and waiting in bed for him – man, and I tell you, that was fast

'…I'm not lying, my shirt… no, Antonio's shirt… says those exact words. I know Spanish good enough to assure you that. Just… just look it up later if you don't believe me, or something...'

Russia looked at me a bit longer. In fact, I think that strangely-staring stalker had been observing me all this freaking time already, but still, it caught my eye. And my eye wasn't amused. Hell no. My eye didn't like eyes that weren't like normal ones. I mean, hello, that dude had fucking purple eyes! Whoa! Sick!

'Ha, how weird, Italy Romano.' Russia beamed yet another creeper-smile at me. '…why are you wearing Spain's clothes?~'

I carefully lifted an eyebrow. 'W-why, you ask…'

'Yes!~ Why?~' he repeated squiggly.

Um.

I scratched the back of my head and cleared my throat, an (even more) uncomfortable expression appearing on my heated face.

'W-well… I sometimes wears his stuff, because… u-um… you… you are aware of my and Antonio's… r-relationship, r-right? You… y-you were invited on Austria's ball as well back then, s-so you must have seen us…'

'Haha. You're so funny, Italy Romano!' The large man glanced at me and shook his head, as if he was talking to a little kid instead of a very good-looking, yet slightly trembling Italian.

'I… am?' said Italian asked, surprised.

'Sure you are!~ Just what did I do to give you the impression that I actually remembered something as irrelevant as your and Spain's getting-together?~ Haha! Silly boy!~ As if you're of that much importance to me! Ha, no offense, but Italy Romano, you're not even a full nation!'

Hmmmmrrrn. Evil bastard. Ooooh, look at me, I'm Russia, I'm a mad, huge and important and very intimidating son of a bitch who scares the whole world and who makes China's civilians bring out their trash on the streets whenever I laugh, but I also wet my pants uncontrollably whenever my kooky little sister is running loose!~ Ohhh, fear me!~

Sadly enough, I still did.

Ugh.

Of course, I didn't say anything back at Russia's nasty comment and found myself staring at the sign flashing by just outside the stupid Lada 112, that said that we were leaving Italy and that Slovenia was welcome!~ing us wonderful tourists.

God, just where was I getting myself into, dammit…

xXx

Think the pain ended when Lithuania drove us through Slovenia?

Noooooo. No, no, of course not. Sheesh.

Just cue to a very unusual conversation with the broad Russian sitting next to me, unmovable.

'So, you and Spain are lovers, yes?'

I winced – it just happened, I couldn't stop myself.

'Y-yeah, pretty much?'

'You're in love with him and vice versa?'

'Yes, w-we are…'

'Ha…' His eyes grew a bit bigger, '…hey, does that mean you and Spain are fucking each other?'

Oh my fucking god. Fucking Russia said fuck. What the fuck. Now I knew for sure nothing in this world was sacred anymore.

Okay, just keep it cool. I-I guess… yeah, I guess I should just… just respond.

'…w-what kind of question is that, dammit…' I managed to sputter.

'Hmmm? It's a very easy question!~ Now answer me. Do you get any, Italy Romano?' I could hear he most-likely wouldn't tolerate a witty remark.

I only shuddered and complied, nodding.

'…well… y-yes, we do… you see… well, Antonio insists on calling it "making love", b-but—'

'Huh, "making love", you say…'

He said the words like he had never used them in this context before.

Which probably was exactly the case.

'Hey, how's that, Italy Romano?' the Russian man continued.

I gave him a weary look. '…how's what?'

'That "making love"-thing you're speaking of. How's that working out for you? Is it different from fucking? In any case, it sounds so interesting!~'

I frowned. God, what a wacky, crazy bastard. I averted his questioning orbs for a short while, before giving in anyway (I didn't have a choice, fucked-up asshole just kept on watching me, d-dammit) and I shrugged.

'Actually, I-I don't know if making love is much… different from sex only, without strings attached, because… I've never just… just fucked before, mister Russia.'

He seemed to be confused.

'What do you mean?'

I didn't know why, but all of a sudden, I started to fanatically rub the folds in my pants with the palms of my hands – most-likely because I sweated like whoa. My hands were practically dripping, dammit.

'W-what I mean is… I-I've never… never… I don't… A-Antonio and I… um… I've always just… just… m-made love, mister Russia… Antonio was my f-first… you know… and my feelings for him haven't ever… faltered, actually, so…'

Russia became quiet. He started to fumble with his fingers and looked down to his lap, a bewildered aura emitting from him, like a… a flickering flashlight. Yes, read that right: a flickering flashlight. Shut up, it's an awesome metaphor and you know it.

'You've always had sex out of love, Italy Romano?' he then asked, carefully.

'I think so, yes…' I mumbled.

'You still have sex out of love?'

'Y-yes.'
In fact, just yesterday.

'With Spain?'

'That's right.'

'…ha, that's amazing…'

'Thanks, I guess…'

'Italy Romano? Maybe… um.'

Russia shuffled a bit closer to me, one of his hands clenched to a fist, the other one firmly grabbing the short sleeve of my shirt, making me feel like I was caught within the trap of some sort of clamp while my poor, startled heart skipped a few beats.

'W-w-w-w-w-w-what is it!' I shrieked and my god, that were his motherfucking nails pricking into my skin, gah!

'Since you're saying you're so very experienced at love, maybe you can help me figure out if those weird thingies I'm feeling lately is anything like that.' Russia said, slowly weakening his grip around my arm a bit.

Russia? Experiencing thingies?

Experiencing feelings?

I stopped doing whatever the hell I was doing to shamelessly gape at him.

The Russian didn't budge and looked right back at me, wearing the same scary, unreadable mug as always, but now with some cutesy, warm blushes on his normally cold cheeks.

Also, he smiled – and I had never seen him with a smile that vulnerable before.

'Can you help me out, Italy Romano?'

xXx

While violently crossing through Croatia, Hungary and Ukraine – damn, that lanky Lithuania-guy certainly knew how to step on the friggin' gas! – I slowly came to realize the meaning of my kidnapping…

…since Russia told me everything after my mindless staring at him had begun to annoy him.

Apparently, he had been wanting to ask me for some advise as well, and after waiting and waiting and waiting for so many weeks before he could be able to meet me, he had grown fed-up with it.

So yesterday, instead of waiting just one more mere week for me to come to Moscow, he decided to call me and give me an unreasonable short amount of time to tell him the "right" date of when we would meet – and if I didn't call him back before the clock would strike six, he'd automatically assume I'd meet him the very next day.

Naturally, it had turned out that the Russian creep had called me around 5.58 PM.

And to make things even worse, it was Antonio who had answered that call, completely unaware of what Russia was up to, and he was a-okay with whatever Russia was telling him, since he was a dense fucking bastard who was too caught up with thinking about all the sex he was planning to have with me later that evening to keep such a minor detail in mind.

Even though I was the one who made him forget it. With vanilla-flavored table-sex.

…o-oh, screw it, as if Antonio remembering Russia's call would have made any difference: I came back home around 7.00 – 7.30 PM, so yeah, no matter if Antonio had told me or not, I'd be in hell anyway.

But I digress. I always digress. Digressing is fucking wonderful.

Russia originally was planning to wait for me in Moscow, in the restaurant (called "Turandot" or something) in which we had made the appointment some weeks ago, but then he changed his mind and came to pick me up instead: this way, I could advise him on the way to Russia, and he'd advise me when we were having breakfast/lunch in Moscow.

Yeah, the bastard had thought it all out.

Too bad he didn't think about me and my priorities at all, dammit.

Well, nothing I could change about the situation now, could I?

Ugh.

xXx

'So, um… mister Russia.' I started, right after his explanation.

'Yes?' Russia said, shooting an eerie glance at Lithuania, who was wrestling with the damn radio again ('J-just give it some time, mister Russia!').

'You… said wanted my advice or something because you're experiencing some feelings… right?'

He instantly forgot about the radio and grinned happily. 'Ha, indeed, Italy Romano!'

I sighed deeply, almost desperately.

'…w-why would you want to ask me about stuff like that? Why didn't you… I don't know, bother other countries with that? I mean… I'm not good at feelings myself! I think it would have been better if you had asked… well, France, or maybe even Antonio, 'cause they are—'

'They are no good.' Russia firmly said, snorting. 'I need to have advice from someone who's quite innocent and pretty new in the world of that silly thing called love, since… since I think I might be a new person in that world, as well.'

…what?

'Are… are you in love with somebody, mister Russia?' I asked, my voice (amazingly enough) sounding more curious than scared.

'Ha, I don't know. You should tell me if I am or not.' He smiled, and for a second, I think I saw something like honest bashfulness flashing over his face.

I gave him a small, halfhearted nod. 'Um. Okay. Well… tell me about your feelings, then. What do you feel whenever you… are with the person who makes you feel this way?'

Russia sat upright some more and tapped his forefinger to his chin, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

'I feel odd. Not in a bad way, but not in a good way, either. I can't think about anything else anymore and I'm constantly confronted with everything that makes me think about this nation.'

Aha. Nation. So it was a nation he was in love with.

'Ha, it's a very stressful feeling, Italy Romano. I really don't know if it means I genuinely like this nation, or that I'd just like to play around with it for a bit.'

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Lithuania, flinching.

'Is it… is it a male or a female you're talking about, mister Russia?' I quietly asked.

The Russian chuckled teasingly and rested a finger on his lower lip.

'Ha, I wish I could tell you, but I really don't want to. It's my secret!~'

'Oh.' I was at a loss of words.

'But you know him/her.' Russia calmly said, intertwining all of his fingers.

'I… I do? Do know him/her well?'

'Yes. At least, I think so. But that's not important right now. More important is, what do you think these feelings mean, Italy Romano? Do you think it's something that can be described as feelings of love? I'd really want to know that.'

He looked at me in silent anxiety – yes, anxiety!

Oh great, so now he expected me to cut the knot. Fucking fantastic, dammit. I licked my dry lips and thought about his words for a while, before answering.

'…from what you've told me, yeah, I think there are certainly some elements of… being in love with somebody in it… like the stress, and those weird feelings that aren't bad or good to feel, and the frustration and confusion… but… well, I'd like to know, mister Russia…just what would you feel when this nation you're in love with told you he/she was in love with you, as well?'

Russia's eyes widened and his cheeks seemed to flush – just a little bit, but still, they became a lot less grayish.

'Ha, that would be wonderful, Italy Romano. That would be a dream come true. I don't know why, it's very strange, but it is. And it would make me very happy.'

'Then… then I think you're indeed in love, mister Russia.' I concluded.

'Ha? I am, yes?'

'That's what I think, mister Russia.'

'So I'm not mad at this person?'

'No.'

He heaved a relieved sigh and slouched somewhat.

'Phew. Glad I asked you first, before storming over to his/her House with a nice big water faucet pipe. Beating this nation up instead of realizing I actually love him/her could have caused some weird misunderstandings.'

'Yeah. Right. I think that could have caused more than just some weird misunderstandings, mister Russia.' I muttered under my breath, and grimaced.

'Did you say something, Italy Romano?' Russia asked.

Crap on a stick.

'Oh… um… I… just wanted to know…'

I instinctively jammed my finger against the dirty window of the even dirtier car, thank god just when (yet another) sign was passed by.

'What… what did that sign say?'

Russia made a happy, freakishly fucked up noise of rejoice and giggled.

Fucking giggled.

'Haha! Oh, Italy Romano, what nation do you think comes after my big sister's?~'

I shivered inwardly. '…i-it's yours, isn't it…'

'Yes, it is!'

Russia slapped himself on the knees, before maniacally twisting and turning on a weird-looking device on the door of his side of the car, that made the old window of the door open up – bit by bit, the window slowly sinking away in the door itself while squeaking and screeching.

'Here!~ Just look for yourself, Italy Romano!'

He yanked me to his side of the car and almost threw me out of the car in his hurry to show me the – actually kind of plain – view outside.

'Holy shit!' I gasped, grabbing the sides of the window.

'Ha, I know! It's breathtaking!'

The white-haired nation laughed, flattered.

'Welcome, Italy Romano! Welcome to Russia!'