A prompt for SpaMano week on Tumblr.
Day 1 : Historical
It was one of those unbearably hot summer days. Romano could see the heat shimmer off the stones of Spain's stupid villa. It was too hot to work in the field, too hot to walk anywhere, too hot to think. Romano groaned and pressed his forehead against the window.
Romano turned and continued his walk through the house, looking around for something to do. Hell, he would even settle for Spain at this point. The guy was…
Fighting.
Romano froze, ears pricked. Was someone attacking?
Romano inched through the house, heart beating so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. It was getting hard to breathe, and where the fuck was this intruder?
As he pasted another door, he froze again. Here the sound was loudest, and as fast as he dared, Romano pressed his ear against the door.
Steel on steel, swords sliding against one another. Romano's mouth felt like a desert.
Romano gently pulled on the door. Cold air hit him like a wave, and it made his thoughts a little clearer.
It was definitely Spain—Romano recognized the grunts and swears.
Slowly, slowly Romano crept down the stairs, one foot at a time. It was dark down here, and his eyes were still used to the glaring light. He was going in blind, but Spain was fighting someone, and Romano wasn't just about to let the idiot die.
When Romano reached the last stair, he was lost.
He peaked his head around the corner, praying a sword wasn't about to fly towards him and chop his head off.
"Romano?" Spain's voice.
"Are you okay!?" Romano yelled.
"What?" Spain laughed. He came forward, face red and covered in sweat. "Were you trying to find me? Sorry, I should—"
"I thought you were getting attacked," Romano muttered, feeling very stupid. "What the fuck are you fucking even doing the fuck down here?"
Spain laughed. "I didn't mean to worry you. I was just practicing."
Romano glared at the sword. "Why are you in the wine cellar?"
Spain looked around like he just realized where he was standing. "Oh, well, it's cool down here, no?" Spain smiled. "You look cooler, already. Would you like to watch?"
Romano frowned, but walked farther in to the cellar. It was cooler, and strangely comforting; the smell of alcohol, of damp earth, of lantern oil.
Romano pulled himself up a barrel of wine and spun round, feet kicking. Spain had been watching him, but as soon as he caught Romano staring back at him, he turned and marched towards his servant.
Spain whipped his sword up, swirling the tip through the air. "Shall we go again?"
The servant was looking worse for the wear, one long cut on his forehead, blood dripping into his eye. "Sir."
Spain grinned, darting forward, again and again bashing the servant's sword down, trying to lash out at his body.
Romano knew little of sword fighting—not this kind. He knew how to block and jab, but they looked like they were dancing, just out of reach of the other's sword.
They circled one another. Spain kept feigning forward, bashing up against the servant's sword, grinding the metal. Then, quickly, Spain shot forward, grabbing the servant's arm and bringing his sword up.
For a terrible second, Romano thought Spain was going to stab the servant.
"Gah," Spain spat, tossing the servant away. He glanced away, caught sight of Romano and blinked like he had forgotten he had been watching. "Would you like me to teach you?"
Romano crossed his arms. "I know how to fight."
Spain waved his hand. "No, you know how to brawl. Come, let me show you. Here, you can have my sword. It won't be as heavy as the—you can go," he said to the servant, taking the sword.
Romano hefted the sword, testing the weight. The grip felt strange in his hand, and it was still heavier than he was used to.
Spain faced him, grinning. "How does it feel?"
"Fine."
Spain raised his sword. "Show me how you would lunge."
Romano did so, stepping forward. Spain blocked it easily; it sent reverberations that made Romano's hand ache. Romano pulled back, waiting for the pain to subside.
Spain fell right back into the—Romano forgot what it was called—but his knees were bent, his sword out in front of him, hand on his hip. He made it look easy, and Romano tried to copy him.
"I'm going to lunge. Even if you can't block me, I won't hit you, okay?"
Romano gritted his teeth. "I can block you."
Spain nodded. "That's the spirit!"
He stepped forward, and suddenly the sword was flying toward Romano's face. He panicked, fear making his movements wild. He batted Spain's sword up. It did not gouge out his eyeball.
Romano panted, fear making his knees shake. "Told you I could block it."
Spain nodded. "That was good. But you want to block down. Never block a sword up, because it will be that much closer to your throat and eyes and face."
Romano frowned. "I'm short. Won't blocking down just make it hit my stomach?"
Spain laughed. "Well, yes. But when you get taller. Plus, the way I'm teaching is how you would duel someone for sport. So! Always block down. Try again."
Again, the sword was flying towards Romano's face. He swung his sword down with all his might, praying he wasn't about to be stabbed in the stomach. His hand ached again.
Spain grinned. "See? Good. Now…" He started to circle to Romano's right, forcing him to move. "We'll see how you do with some movement. Now, the goal is to be as close to you as possible, without letting you stab me."
Spain had very long arms compared to Romano's. Romano's eyes flicked over Spain's body, looking for any sign of movement. Spain smiled and wiggled his sword; Romano's heart pounded against his chest.
Spain's face was in shadow now, but his eyes and his smile were bright in the gloom.
Romano didn't even see the sword—just the glint of the lantern off the blade. Romano yelped and tried to bat the sword away from him, slammed his blade upwards into Spain's. His arm ached, but to his panic, the sword was coming back for him, swinging toward his head.
Romano scrambled backwards, but again, that blade.
"Spain—" Romano blocked down this time.
"Good!" Spain chirped, backing away.
Romano threw his sword down. "What the fuck?!"
The smile fell from Spain's face. "Huh?"
"What the fuck was that! You almost stabbed me! Why didn't you stop?!" Romano heard the tremble in his voice.
Spain's head jerked back in surprise. "I thought—"
Romano turned and stalked up the stairs. It was like walking into a fire, and already sweat dripped down the back of Romano's neck. He flexed his fingers and winced.
He slammed the door to his room and collapsed on to his bed, grabbed and hugged his pillow.
It didn't take long for the knock on the door.
"Romano?"
"Fuck off!" Romano yelled.
Spain opened the door anyways. "Hey, is your hand okay?"
Romano blinked. "My what?"
Spain pointed, walking over to the bed. "Here, let me see, okay?"
Romano glowered, but shoved his hand up towards Spain's face.
Spain gently took his hand and examined it. "I forgot how much fencing can hurt. I fight all the time, but you're mainly at my house, so… I'm sorry if I hurt your hand. I can wrap it, if it would make you not mad at me."
Romano kept his eyes downward, staring intently at his lap. "I guess, fucker."
"Okay, I brought the wrapping stuff with me, in case you said yes! It might hurt a little at first, but the pressure will feel better in a little bit. You might get blisters, but we only fenced a little, so maybe not."
With a practiced ease Romano wouldn't have expected, Spain weaved the gauze around Romano's hand and through his fingers. Romano watched him work, surprised it was already feeling better.
"There." Spain released his hand. "I hope you're not mad at me anymore. I don't know what I did, but I didn't mean to. We don't have to fence again, okay?"
Romano flexed his fingers. "I thought you were going to stab me. Don't fucking scare me like that again."
"Romano…"
Romano glanced up, but then he couldn't look away from Spain's face.
"Romano, I would never hurt you, not on purpose. I want you to know that forever, okay?" Spain smiled. "We're partners. I only hurt people who are assholes and do dick things, okay?"
"Okay."
Spain grinned. "I'm really sweaty."
"Fucking gross."