Chapter 3:

My Fair Tomato

"A week, France; it's been one week since he ran out…I checked his house and all of the obvious places he'd go…but he wasn't in any of them!!" The brunette said, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his breathing increased.

The blonde beside him swished the wine around in its glass as he listened on with saddened eyes. "….What if something terrible happened to him, France? I'd never forgive myself!!" "Did you check with his brother, ma Cherie?" France asked. "I've heard from Austria that he went on a trip to Russia with Germany…he won't be back until the festival at Japan's starts…" "Which is next week, no?" "Mmhmm…. But that'll be too much time to wait!!"

France took a quick sip from his glass before straightening himself up on the sofa. "We will go door to door, then. Ask them…..he couldn't have gone very far, could he?" He said. Spain nodded, trying to regain his normal breathing speed.

Romano lay on the bed, naked, hidden beneath the soft quilt that had been given to him after Russia was done 'enjoying' himself. He was shivering, but not because it was cold….no, it was very warm; in fact he was shivering because of what he'd been through. He felt awkwardly dead and lifeless; not wanting to move one inch. Everything hurt so badly…..his body was littered with bruises, many dark spots resided over his ribcage, and tufts of the Italian's hair stuck out wildly in places where the abusive Russian had pulled and tugged at. His lip wasn't bleeding anymore, but he could still taste the dried blood on his lips.

S. Italy shifted once uncomfortably- twice- three times---he shot up in bed, back arching as he threw his head back, screaming. His hands gripped at the sheets, knuckles turning white—what exactly was happening to him?

He heard a dark chuckle. He tried to open his blurred eyes, searching for the source of the noise. He saw a large figure….'Oh no…' He thought….it couldn't be Russia, right? H-He couldn't be back…..right? Romano shivered at the thought, tightly closing his eyes before reopening them once more. It did nothing to help with his vision—in fact, he could've sworn the figure got close….was it…..hunching over? ". . . . . . " Romano took a shaky breath. He felt way too…..hot inside. It felt as if his groin were on fire; cheeks flushed a light rosy color, blurred eyes narrowed, and mouth opened just a bit as he lightly panted.

"Ah it finally took effect, da?" The childish voice asked, giggling. It was him—Russia was back for a round two. "Wh-what did you do to me!?" The Italian tried to yell, instead coming out as a moan of sorts. Ivan giggled again, sitting down on the bed as he watched the other twist and writhe. He pulled the covers away from Romano, revealing his aroused member as it stood in alert. "Oh . . . you're getting so ripe!!" Russia mused, fiddling the head with a gloved finger. Italy moaned, legs trying to close in embarrassment and to stop the other from advancing a second time.

But everybody knew how futile stopping Russia was, right?

Minutes had passed, and Romano found himself being straddled by the Russian who had nothing on besides his boxers, and that annoying scarf.

That damned idiot had the scarf grafted onto his neck, Italy swore.

Russia had grabbed a tuft of Italy's hair and pulled it back to give himself free access of his neck as he kissed it and nipped it lightly—his way of toying with the other, for he could certainly do much worse than so. Lovino arched his back, legs clamped tightly together, as tears flowed down his red cheeks once more. He was moaning—he enjoyed it. 'Wh-what am I . . . some dirty slut?!' He thought to himself, trying to suppress the noises that he kept on emitting.

Russia abruptly stopped. Knock knock. Somebody was looking for something. Like a rabbit, searching for the haunting hawk, Ivan lifted his head—but his expression was nowhere near the expression of an innocent rabbit, no; eyes narrowed to nothing but the thinnest paper strips, lips pulled into a large frown of disgust. He looked awfully . . . scary, in the Italian's opinion.

". . ." The Russian said nothing, as he stared angrily at the door. Knock knock knock. The unknown character knocked again. Surely it couldn't be any of the three Baltic countries, right? (And surely it would not be; they knew better than to mess with Ivan when the Russian was enjoying himself.)

"Mr. Russia; Mr. Russia are you in there~?" A cheerful voice asked, as a hand knocked once more. Ivan smiled. Why did that voice sound so familiar? It was then he noticed. Romano choked ". . . .Venezi . . . . Ano . ." His voice trailed off. More tears. He was crying again; a bad habit he gained from staying at the yandere's house he bet. Russia turned his head back towards the naked Italian, smiling with a fake, mocking sweetness before getting off of the bed, quickly putting his trench coat-like outfit back on, and walking over to the door. He twisted the knob and opened it, although slightly, just to show a couple slivers of his tall frame—even though he was quite large, and there was no way in hell Italy could see Romano from his position outside the room anyways.

"Ah, comrade, what brings you here?" Russia asked; the smile plastered to his face growing wider. Veneziano smiled, rocking back on the heels of his feet, hands behind his back. "Germany sent me here to talk about the treaties with you, although I don't actually know how to talk about these kinds of things!" North Italy cheerily blurted out, the odd curl at the side of his head bouncing casually with the owner's movements. Russia blinked, thinking a bit. A gloved index finger reaches to fiddle his bottom lip, as he clicked his tongue in thought. 'There had to be some way to get this idiot away. . .' Russia parted his lips to speak after the awkward silence, Veneziano smiling curiously up to listen to what the larger nation had to say. Just the slightest bit of air left Russia's mouth, when a painstakingly loud scream ringed the two nation's eardrums.

It was Romano, and he had screamed Veneziano's name.

The called for nation tensed up, and froze, eyes going wide as he stopped his rocking movements. Russia stayed calm, thinking Italy was too much of an idiot to actually pay close attention to who's voice that was. ". . . . .Mr. Russia. . ." The brunette started, ears picking up the sounds of somebody bawling. "Wh-who was that…? And…..how do they know m-my name?" The small nation's pupils seemed to have grown smaller, shaking all around the sclera. Ivan tensed up, as the hand that clutched the doorknob squeezed it with unbelievable force, causing the polished brass to dent and groan slightly.

"Comrade….are you sure you aren't hallucinating?" The smile grew bit faint, as the corners of the snowy nation's lips twitched.

Italy took a step forward, but already being close to Russia, ended up bumping into the taller nation's chest. He looked up at Ivan, lovely chocolate eyes showing a mixture of emotions as he parted his lips to speak: "S-somebody's crying….somebody's crying and they're calling for me-"I think you should get some rest, comrade." Russia cut him off, dark voice echoing down the stretching halls. With that, Italy backed up slightly.

Just enough room.

Russia slammed the door on the other nation, leaving him outside. He turned around to glare poison-tipped daggers at Romano, whose eyes were closed; body curled up as tightly as possible as he lay on his side. Ivan stride toward the bed, hand lashing out and immediately grabbing onto something thin-very thin, long, and indeed, curly.

Romano's curl.

Said Italian screamed loudly in pain, hands quickly moving to grab and scratch at Russia's offending hand as the bigger continued his assault. "You couldn't just be good, couldn't you?!" Russia hissed, pulling even harder at the curl as Romano screamed even more. "Stop it, stop it!!" South Italy screamed, although it could barely be heard—his voice had long since been hoarse, and it hurt to even whisper.

On the other side, Italy had stood in front of the taunting door a few minutes more; taking deep breathes, and rocking on his heels, he was trying his best to keep his cool. But it was hard, considering exactly what the hell just happened.

Somebody screamed for him. They called his name, and they were crying. And the worse thing was the fact that he would never know who it was.

Within a heartbeat, Veneziano had swiveled on his heel, and was now heading to find Germany; wherever the wurst-loving nation was within these Russian walls.

And so, the search begins.

Antonio raised his hand, knocking on the door with a tanned fist.

He waited for a moment or two, before the silverette opened the door. Red eyes met with emerald, questionably.

A/N: TH-THIS CAN BE EXPLAINED YOU GUYS. THIS CAN REALLY, REALLY BE EXPLAINED. PL-PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.

A/N2: Okay so the thing IS: About a month or two back I broke my laptop; had to get it fixed and I don't actually save my documents on my USB, so ch'yeah. THEN WHEN IT CAME BACK, I had lots and lots of tests to study for/work to make up cause I'm a faggot student. And THEN I DECIDED TO MAKE A TIMELINE FOR THE STORY, SO I WOULDN'T SLACK AND BE ABLE TO TYPE THE CHAPTERS QUICKER. Which is quite ironic because, if I hadn't typed the timeline, this chapter, and maaaaybe another one, might've already been uploaded |D;;

. . . . . I am so sorry I'm such a faggot, you guys ; A ;

I'll make it up to all of my readers, I swear~! SEE, I'VE ALREADY STARTED TYPING CHAPTERS FOUR AND FIVE HNNNGH. So, I hope you're ready for France seducing Ukraine on a couch c:

. . . . . .P.S.: Words cannot describe how happy I get when I see that the readers have favorite my story, and even reviewed it ;u; 3 So, I'm asking to please give some feedback—I'm actually thinking about putting some of the commenter's ideas into the story. It would be nice, ne?