Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuuuuck.

Romano took a deep breath and shifted so he could cross his legs and place his notepad over his...growing problem. If he was squirming more than was to be expected, no one seemed to notice. In fact, everyone looked fidgety and uncomfortable today. This month's meeting was taking place in Spain, in the middle of the summer, and the AC was down.

It was the perfect recipe for disaster.

The walls were too functional at insulating, and with them all being clustered arm to arm at the table, it felt deceptively warmer indoors than outdoors. A fan was switched on, blowing hot air over each end of the room in turn. And worst of all, Veneziano had chosen to sit directly across from him with that bastard.

Compared to the others, Veneziano didn't seem bothered by the heat itself. He was leaning over the desk, head propped up on one arm. He pulled his other hand up for about the twentieth time that minute to stifle a yawn. Occasionally, his head would slip and fall against the broad shoulder beside him. And then the bastard attached to that broad shoulder would sigh and nudge Veneziano back into place.

It was Germany who really annoyed Romano. He was the only one sitting up straight and at least pretending to pay attention, but it was obvious the heat had even gotten to him. The blond hair he usually had slicked back was slowly coming undone, a light fringe framing his face. He'd removed his suit jacket twenty minutes ago, but now his thin shirt was clinging to his muscles, damp with sweat. And recently he'd rolled up the sleeves, exposing those thick forearms.

It was just unfair! Of everyone here, he wasn't supposed to come undone. It should be criminal to be so damn oblivious to what he was doing. Romano exhaled heavily, holding his notepad over his legs as he crossed them the other way. His cock begged for attention, and every movement he made drove him mad. But sitting still also drove him mad. It was a definite lose/lose.

It already sucked that he was attracted to his brother's best friend, since it was impossible to avoid him when they were constantly visiting one another, getting weirdly comfortable in each other's homes without exchanging more than a few words of strained pleasantries (or insults, in Romano's case).

And goddamn, his jawline looked hot when he turned his head like that, staring with full intensity at the speaker, nodding at all the appropriate times. Romano didn't know how much redder his face could get when it came his turn to present, and Germany fixed that same intense stare on him.

Wait, no—! He couldn't go up there, not with the obvious bulge sticking out of his pants! He'd somehow been distracted for long enough to forget his presentation was coming up in about ten minutes!

Romano shot a reproachful glare at Veneziano. If his brother had just sat beside him, like he usually did, he could have passed a quick note asking Veneziano to take over the presentation. And in that situation, Germany would have been sitting a seat away from him, rather than directly across on fucking display, so he'd have no reason to back out in the first place. Dammit, Veneziano! Everything wrong with today was his fault, somehow.

The pressure mounted, both in his throbbing member and the ticking of the clock, when Greece stepped down. He'd been either smart or lazy enough to show up in a thin, wrinkly T-shirt and baggy pants, and he curled back into his chair without taking notice of the collective sighs around him.

"Uh, and next is...um…" Spain flipped through the attendance papers before apparently picking a name at random. "Austria?"

"I spoke an hour ago. Were you not listening?" Even Austria seemed worn out by the temperature. His voice carried no bite, and he merely settled back in his seat with a displeased frown.

"Oh, right, haha! I misread. It's Germany, right?" Spain looked around hopefully.

"Yes, I may as well," Germany said, and stood up. He attempted to smooth back his hair, but a few strands fell back over his forehead, and Romano could clearly see every rise and fall of his chest.

Okay, fuck. Now Romano had to pay attention to him. Well, technically he didn't, because no one else seemed to be focusing on the presentations. So now he'd stand out as the one guy who couldn't take his eyes off the podium, and that'd be even weirder!

"I need to go to the bathroom," he announced, louder than he intended. What felt like a hundred pairs of bored eyes turned in his direction before flickering away.

"Oh, sure. Go ahead, Romano!" Spain said, just as loudly. "By the way, guys, I'm sorry about the weather conditions here. You'll all get a free churro in the cafeteria!"

Everyone cheered up slightly at that. With Spain's distraction, Romano was able to swiftly wrap his coat around his waist and rush out the door, and for that, he was grateful. He'd have to remember to be nicer to Spain from now on, or at least for the rest of the day.

Romano scrambled down the hall and to the left, still holding his coat carefully around his junk. He didn't know if any humans would be around, but thankfully the hallway and bathroom appeared deserted. The minute he entered a stall he tossed his coat to the floor. (It was a shame, because it was a nice coat, and the floor didn't seem to have been cleaned in days). Now that he was finally alone, he was free to reflect on Germany. Everything about that stupid, perfect man. Everything from his borderline obsession with rules and discipline, to his gentle politeness when he was staying in Romano's house.

And also just how fucking hot he looked that day. He was hot, okay? Romano would begrudgingly admit it, since it was literally impossible for anyone to deny it. His body was incredibly toned. But he was also awkwardly affectionate, competent and composed, and then there were those times when he was… Romano gripped his cock and stroked it—panting and sighing and cursing Germany under his breath. T-There were those times when he was strict, domineering. Sometimes it was just a pain in the ass. The dishes had to be washed immediately after cooking or the stains would settle in.

But other times, it was...kind of hot. Like during training, and he barked at them to keep running even when their bodies were about to give way. These displays of authority were usually directed towards Veneziano. Maybe because Germany knew Veneziano would whine and make a show of being upset, but quickly bounce to normal back the instant they were done. Germany normally ranged from indifferent to uncertain around him. But there were those few instances when Germany had snapped at him, and Romano had spun around ready to bite back but was caught off guard by that cold, blue stare.

His breaths came out deeper and heavier, and he had to steady himself against the wall. Germany usually ended up doing the heavy lifting around their home when he visited, but how strong was he? Strong enough to pin Romano to this wall, even as he kicked and scratched at his back? Strong enough to hold him up by his thighs and thrust deep into him? Would Germany muffle his venomless curses and insults with a kiss? Or would he clamp his heavy palm over his mouth so that all Romano could do was make frantic grunts and whines?

He was getting close. Romano gritted his teeth, gripped his cock tighter, and stroked—faster and faster—until he finally finished into the mass of toilet paper he'd bundled up. He disposed of it into the toilet, and then leaned against the stall wall with an exhausted wheeze.

After a few minutes spent catching his breath, Romano exited the stall. He splashed some cool water on his face to wash off the sweat and dull the bright flush to his skin. He then carefully rearranged his hair and attire, looked himself over in the mirror to ensure nothing was out of place, and then headed back.

He didn't know how long he'd been gone, but when he sheepishly reentered the meeting room, Germany was still speaking.

Well, fuck...

He froze for a moment without intending to, but then quickly recomposed himself. Germany nodded at him as he took his seat, but otherwise didn't waver at all in his speech.

Romano looked around. There were no knowing looks shot his way, so he couldn't have been gone for that long. Spain was idly doodling on some paper, Greece had crumpled over his desk asleep, while Veneziano still had enough energy to sit hunched over and drowsily blink his eyes. France was staring at the window, a wistful (and possibly perverted) smile on his face, England and Austria were looking in the general direction of the podium, eyes glazed.

Romano tried to casually follow the direction of their gazes, but it felt weird and dirty, like Germany would somehow know after looking at him that he'd just jerked off to the thought of being fucked by him. So Romano tried to look elsewhere, like glare at Veneziano every time he sighed or looked bored, but it was impossible to pull away whenever Germany turned to look in his direction.

And Romano couldn't help but smirk as Germany compulsively tried to smooth back his hair, even though it was obviously futile. Or when he tried to casually brush the sheen of sweat from his forehead in the moments he paused to enunciate a point. But then Germany let out a deep chuckle—related to whatever he was talking about—and unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt, and...well...dammit.

Romano could have punched his dick. It wasn't like he previously had problems staying erect, but it usually knew when to lie dormant.

"And that will be all. I will take questions at the end of the day," Germany said, concluding his speech on whatever had been talking about, And then, unexpectedly, he turned to look directly at him. Romano nearly choked on his own spit. "I suppose Italy will be speaking next?" he suggested helpfully.

"Um...Yeah! That sounds right!" Spain said, pretending to look over his sheets.

Romano, on the other hand, remained frozen in his seat. Germany called him 'Italy'. As far as everyone else was concerned, that was Veneziano. Did Veneziano tell him he'd be speaking? Could he have somehow guessed? What else did he know?

Germany cleared his throat. "Er, would you like some additional time, Romano?"

And the spell was broken.

"No!" Romano blurted out before he could stop himself, because he was so used to disagreeing with Germany on everything. Well, actually, yes. He did need more time for his dick to chill out. "I mean, maybe Veneziano would like to speak this time?"

Veneziano dragged his head up and blinked slowly. "Hm? It's your turn to talk today, Romano."

"But...I think you're actually more informed on the topic?"

"No, I don't think so." Veneziano tilted his head to one side. "You specifically told me not to butt in on your big moment."

Romano gritted his teeth. "But maybe I had a change of heart…?"

"No, no! Go ahead. You'll do great!"

"Well, I'm feeling a bit under the weather!" Romano snapped, fully aware of all the heads lolling back and forth as they followed the brothers' argument.

"Oh no! That's terrible! You seemed perfectly fine this morning!"

"Romano, are you getting sick?" Spain interjected worriedly. "Do you need me to get anything for you? Some medicine? A cold drink? Do you want to go lie down outside?"

"No, I—" Forget what he said earlier. Spain definitely deserved a smack about now. "I'm not that sick. I just don't think I can stand up and talk."

"Can't you take your chair up with you?" Veneziano suggested.

"Yeah, but I don't want to—!"

This was normally the point where Germany would shout at everyone to shut up, fingers pressed to his temples. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, "Get some water, Romano. Take a break, if you need it. You two can discuss who will speak at the next break, which will be at…?"

"Our lunch break is at twelve-thirty," Spain said brightly. At least he was aware of something.

"Yes, at twelve-thirty. For now, I believe France has yet to speak. Does that work for everyone?"

Why was Germany looking at him ? Romano bit his tongue and nodded. "Yeah." When he looked away, Veneziano met his gaze, unsuccessfully stifling a smile.

Maybe the water helped, but the opportunity to rush back to the bathroom proved even more useful. And Romano knew his situation was bad when it was Germany who he should thank. Germany had never specified how long of a break he could take, so Romano decided he'd show up just before everyone left for lunch.

After a fruitless google search for How to make my dick stop reacting to heavily muscled German men, he sat slumped over the toilet scrolling through the comment sections of youtube prank videos. The sheer stupidity should be enough to kill his sex drive for the next week. But he couldn't drag thoughts of Germany out of his head. The stern but concerned stare. That he called him 'Italy'.

Romano shivered despite the heat.

He only had a few minutes before everyone was dismissed for lunch. He flushed the empty toilet and stepped out of the stall to fix himself up. He couldn't avoid the presentation for much longer. He dragged a hand through his hair, rearranging a few strands, and splashed more cold water over his face. He was drying his face with a paper towel when he heard the sound of the door opening.

There were a few heavy footsteps, and then, "Oh, Romano—are you feeling better?"

There was no mistaking that deep voice. Romano froze with the paper towel over his face, as if hiding behind it would cause Germany to forget he was there.

"Romano…?" Germany repeated.

So much for his plan. Romano peeked out from beyond his paper fortress. "Oh, hey," he mumbled.

Germany was squinting at him. Oh shit, he knew, he had to know—

"You do actually look ill," Germany said. He shook his head, a tight smile on his lips. "I don't blame you. The heat is getting to me too. Luckily, Spain let us out early for lunch"

He sighed deeply and adjusted the already unbuttoned collar of his shirt, allowing Romano a peek of his smooth, pale chest. Then, his arm jutted towards Romano (who jumped back) and past him to grab some paper towels. He doused them in cool water and dabbed at his forehead.

Noticing Romano was still staring at him, he cleared his throat. "Is something wrong, Romano?"

Why did Germany keep saying his name? How could he be so oblivious to what he was doing to him?

"I...uh" Romano glanced back at his stall, but now that Germany was here he couldn't go back and jerk himself off in peace. His one refuge was gone, nowhere was safe. "I need to go!" he yelled before darting out the door.

Where could he go? Not the cafeteria! All the other nations would see him with a bulge in his pants, and he'd end up taking France's title as Most Perverted Country. He could see everyone pouring from the meeting room into a rickety elevator. Romano turned and scurried in the opposite direction. There, he found an abandoned break room. The tables were layered with dust and in the corner there was a sad vending machine filled with expired snacks.

The fact that he was alone was enough. Romano kicked the door shut behind him, and stumbled to one of the dusty tables. Leaning back, he unzipped his pants and went through the motions, again.

Germany was just so...stupidly kind to him these days, and Romano used to think it was out of obligation because he was best friends with Veneziano and so he had to be cordial to Veneziano's brother. But now he was starting to get the crazy idea that Germany just generally liked him because he treated everyone with respect, even though Romano used to kick his shins or throw rotten tomatoes at him in the past.

And now the fantasies changed, from the rough and angry Germany he visualized in the bathroom to a more gentle type of domination. Germany's thick fingers stroking his hair as he held Romano over his lap, spanking him again and again, but cautious to not actually hurt him. Whispering words of adoration in his guttural language as he fucked Romano into deliriousness. Untying Romano from his restraints, removing his blindfold, and kissing him tenderly on the lips.

He imagined it was Germany's rough hand around his member, warm and steady, never quite giving him enough to finish, dragging him further than he could handle, until his cries became sharper and he begged, please, please, please! This time, Romano wasn't prepared, and he came with a gasp over the dirty carpet. He glanced around for a rug, or anything, and then, when he was unsuccessful, used the toe of his shoe to smear the stain into the carpet.

Sorry, Spain. Guess Romano had to be nice to him today after all.

When Romano returned to the meeting room, Veneziano was glaring daggers at him. It would have been intimidating if Veneziano was capable of looking intimidating. Instead, he looked like a slightly betrayed puppy.

"Germany told me I had to present," he whined. "Which isn't fair because I didn't even prepare! Apparently you were being a big drama queen in the bathroom because he was really concerned, especially when he didn't see you eating with the rest of us in the cafeteria."

"Oh, really?" Romano said casually. He tried to picture Germany scanning through the cafeteria for him, brow furrowed in worry. No, that was stupid! He was reading too much into things! Germany was a huge anxious mess and he'd probably act that way if he thought anyone was ill.

Veneziano frowned. "Where were you anyways? I know you're not sick—I'd feel it too! But you're definitely acting weird!"

"What? No I'm not!" Romano stammered.

Veneziano grabbed his shoulders and leaned in until the tips of their nose nearly brushed. "Hmm...you have been blushing a lot today. And your eyes have been darting around a lot—like you're nervous!"

Romano lurched back, swatting Veneziano's hands off him. "What the fuck? What are you, a detective now?"

But Veneziano just pursed his lips, put one finger to his chin, and made an exaggerated hmmmm noise. "I know exactly what's going on!"

"What? No—No you don't!"

"I do!" Veneziano gloated. "You've been hiding something dirty! But don't worry, your secret is safe with me!"

"Vene, whatever you're thinking, you've got the wrong idea! I—"

They were interrupted by the last few nations returning to the room. The polite chatter of the room dimmed to silence, and everyone stared at the front of the room expectantly.

"Sorry, gotta go!" Veneziano blew him a kiss before dashing to the podium.

Romano looked around nervously. He didn't like the idea of Veneziano being the center of attention, especially when he knew why Romano had been in and out of the bathroom all day. Veneziano wasn't good with secrets, even when he triple pinky promised not to tell anyone.

And that led to point two, did Veneziano know? Veneziano was spectacularly terrible at picking up on subtlety. Normally things had to be screamed into his ear before he noticed them. But the way Veneziano looked at him, like he could peer past his eyes and see directly into his mind, and the knowing quirk of his lips before he ran off.

Romano shook his head. It was impossible to tell with his brother.

Veneziano was floundering at the stage, arms flailing as if they would distract from the fact that he was making no sense. He had been right. He really wasn't prepared. How did he go from talking about food shortages to a recipe he found on the internet?

Unfortunately, the sheer nonsense spewing out of Veneziano's mouth somehow had the other nations paying more attention than they normally did. They glanced down at their own notes, and then to Romano, as if he could explain what Veneziano was talking about. There were a few whispers and the sound of paper shuffling.

And then, it appeared Veneziano had forgotten what to say next, or maybe just ran out of random anecdotes to bullshit his way through. He smiled blankly and a strange whine that sounded like veeeee slipped out his mouth.

Without warning, Veneziano suddenly threw his hands down against the podium and burst into tears. "I can't do this! The truth is killing me! Romano has a very, very dark secret and I can't hold it any longer!"

Every eye in the room fell on him.

Romano wanted to sink into the floor.

He noticed a few glares being sent his way, as if it was his fault Veneziano was in tears. Romano raised his eyebrows at his brother to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, and that's when he saw—Veneziano's eyes were dry, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

That... conniving idiot.

"There is no secret!" Romano snapped. "He's just making up shit so he doesn't have to do his presentation!"

Poland leaned forward and clapped his hands dramatically. "Oooh, Romano totally has a secret! Tell us, Italy! Tell us, tell us!"

This started a chant around the room, which was really just Poland and Spain chanting. Spain clearly didn't know what was going on but joined in anyways.

"That's enough," Germany barked, immediately silencing the whole room. "Unless this secret is relevant to the subject of food shortages, or is something we all need to know, I suggest we move on."

Romano felt his face go hot. Germany couldn't give him a fucking break, could he? Why did he always have to say the perfect thing? Why was he so perfect? Shouldn't that be illegal? Shouldn't everyone have a legally required minimum number of flaws?

"The North Italy was clearly in tears," Russia unhelpfully pointed out. "Certainly this implies this is something serious?"

"Yes, what if this 'dark secret' of his is something that affects us all?" Austria added.

Germany gave a long sigh. "Veneziano? Is this secret something important?"

"Uhhhhhh." Veneziano giggled nervously. "Never mind! There was no secret!"

Turkey snorted. "C'mon, we know yer' lying!"

"Oui, there's clearly something he's hiding," France added. "Just look at his face, he's clearly torn with anguish."

England nodded. "I'm sure this is a foolish waste of time, but now I want to know the secret!"

Prussia (wait, what was he even doing here?) rubbed his hands together, sneering. "He finally snapped. I bet he killed someone. Didn't I say this day would come?"

"Weeeell," Veneziano said, looking anywhere but at him. "Promise you won't tell anyone else, because Romano would be so embarrassed."

"What the hell, Vene! I'm right here!"

"Pinky swear!" Poland squealed. Everyone else vaguely nodded or shrugged.

"Okay, so I guess you've all noticed Romano has been in and out of the meetings, or that he wasn't in the cafeteria during lunch."

There was a chorus of no and not really with one oh yeah.

Romano didn't know whether to march to the podium and shut his brother up, or run out of the room while there was still time. His eyes shot around the room and landed at Germany, who was actually listening to Veneziano with restrained curiosity WHAT THE FUCK. And Romano thought Germany was on his side!

"So I found out why he's been acting so weird this whole day. And it's because…" Veneziano paused for dramatic tension.

Everyone leaned forward in their seats.

Romano buried his head in his arms.

"Well?" England snapped, when nearly a minute had gone by.

"...he packed his own lunch, but didn't want Spain to know because then Spain might think Romano doesn't like his cooking, but Romano does, even if he won't admit it!"

Everyone fell back in their seats, disappointed. Poland rolled his eyes. "Ugh! Get your shit together, Romano."

Romano felt like all the tension he had built up over the day melted away. He didn't know whether to laugh like a lunatic or punch Veneziano.

"Awww, Romano! You were worried you would hurt my feelings?" Spain gushed. "Come here, give me a hug!"

"Godammit, Spain, leave me alone!" Romano groaned. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"So cuuuute, so cuuuuuuuuute!"

Romano looked away from Spain, who was making the grossest face of adoration he had ever seen on him. His eyes were drawn toward Germany, who was shaking his head, but...was that a faint quirk of his lips or was it just his imagination? Germany massaged his temples, and whatever amusement that may have flickered over his face was quickly masked by his usual sternness.

"If you're finished with your unnecessary tangent, Veneziano, could you please continue with the presentation? We're behind schedule as it is."

Veneziano rested his chin on his hand, smiling sweetly. "You know what? I don't want to cut into the next presenter's time, so I'll just stop right here."

Germany took a deep breath, but didn't argue as Veneziano skipped back to his seat beside him. "Alright, Spain, who will be our next…" He faltered as he realized Spain was occupied with muttering under his breath something that sounded like cuuuute so cuuuuute. "Actually, never mind. England, would you like to speak now?"

England cleared his throat and rose to his feet. "May as well."

Romano waited until Veneziano was looking at him, then flipped him off under the table. Veneziano smiled vacantly in response.

Romano wasn't able to pay attention to any of the remaining presentations, but on the other hand, it seemed Veneziano had literally terrified his dick into behaving. The whole situation was still his fault, but Romano was at least grateful for that. He didn't have another embarrassing boner for the rest of the day, even when everyone was packing up to leave and Germany came up directly to him to ask how he was feeling! (And Romano gave a squeak and ran away, but that detail wasn't important).

He breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as he got to his hotel room, he was going to get straight into the shower, and jerk off to the image of Germany until he was so sick of him he'd never want to think of him again.