Sweat it Out

by KissMeDeadlyT-T

Romano's sick with a fever, and at his wit's end, Spain doesn't know what to do to help him. He's tried everything he can think of- antibiotics, cold baths, soup, but nothing will break the fever. France gives him a suggestion, but maybe all Romano really needs is just a good dose of Spanish lovin'. Rating may go up. Warning: Mild language, sexual themes, and yaoi. DISCONTINUED

3. Chapter 3

KissMeDeadlyT-T: Well those of you who were waiting for this, so sorry it took so long. Those of you who just find this, sorry if it sucks. D: It kind of seems like a filler chapter 'til the end. The end is important. IMPORTANT. SO IMPORTANT. MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU WILL EVER— *gets shot in face*

Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors, I wrote this on my phone then just emailed it to myself and uploaded it like that. My phone was really crappy autocorrect sooooo... yeah. Sorry.

Mostly there is just fluff and shit in this chapter. I don't own APH!

xxXXxxXXxx

Over the next few days, Spain alternated between going out to get groceries, cuddling with Romano, doing laundry, making soup, and doing everything he could to make Romano more comfortable. It had been three days since they'd started keeping him surrounded by blankets and pillows and making him sweat, and it was doing something. Spain wasn't sure what, but it seemed to be good. Romano was still grouchy, but that was normal, and his voice had a bit more life in it now. He was still very obviously tired and sick, but he hadn't thrown up for two whole days and while he did sleep a lot more than normal, he seemed to have a bit more energy. Spain couldn't possibly be happier; his Romano was getting better! He could kiss France for giving him this idea. Well, maybe not literally. He didn't know where France's lips had been recently.

Today, they were lying in bed, Spain reading a book and Romano occasionally dozing off or just nattering and mumbling random things to Spain. Sometime around noon Spain had left to take a shower and had come back in a loose pair of sweat pants and a gray muscle shirt that Romano firmly believed should not be so goddamned perfectly tight around his stupidly sexy body.

"Go change," Romano had said as soon as Spain had walked back into the bedroom. Spain had frozen, looking over at Romano with wide green eyes that made Romano feel more squirmy and fluttery than he'd like.

"Why?" Spain asked, looking down at himself. He stretched the shirt out, staring at it. "Do I have something on it?"

"No," Romano answered shortly. "Just change."

"Why?"

Because getting a fucking boner while I'm sick with a fever is not the most fucking fun thing I've done in my life, you asshole! Jesus motherfucking Christ why the fuck are you so hot. Stop being flawless.

"Because," Romano said. "That's a stupid shirt and you look ugly in it."

That is a fucking amazing shirt and you look gorgeous in it. Romano was silently thankful that Spain couldn't read his mind, because over the course of these last few days, he'd been realizing a lot about how he felt about him. For one, he'd realized that it was a bad idea to have Spain sleeping in the same room as him at night because of the weird dreams he'd started having. He'd found himself blushing (which he always had, he realized, but now it seemed like a bigger deal) and trying his hardest not to just ogle and creepily stare at Spain because he was the most fucking gorgeous thing to look at in the room.

Romano hated it. He had been semi-fine with just being attached to Spain because the tomato-bastard was the one who'd raised him, who treated him good, who kept loving him and smiling all the time even when all Romano did was yell at him, but this? Falling in love with him? Getting more than attached? Having these weird, sexual cravings for him? It was so wrong. He knew the church wouldn't approve. He would love to say that it was his fever causing him to think so weirdly, but he knew he was getting better, and he knew it wasn't that at all.

"I look ugly?" Spain's pouty voice drew his from his thoughts.

"Yeah, like..." Romano couldn't muster up the energy to make a comparison and just let it trail off.

Spain rolled his eyes. "I think the fever must be messing up your eyesight. I'm never ugly." Still, he walked to the dresser on the other side of the room and pulled out a white T-shirt. Romano tried not to stare at Spain's back as the brunet pulled the muscle shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. How could someone's back be so sexy? Romano made a growling sound of frustration, slipping a hand under the multiple blankets to press against his growing erection.

He felt uncomfortably hot again. He had been starting to cool down, he thought, but now he was all flustered and bothered. "Toni," he found himself saying weakly.

Spain turned around in the midst of putting on his new shirt. He let his arms fall, stopping. "What?"

"Uhm... I want, I... uh... I feel really gross. Can I go shower?" Romano couldn't believe he was resorting to this, but he just needed a goddamn break.

"Oh, si. Of course." Spain moved to go and help him walk, but Romano quickly shook his head.

"I'm fine. Put on your damn clothes, I can make it to the bathroom on my own."

Spain shrugged. "Have it your way. But be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Be care—"

"Fuck, bastard, I'm not a child. I can shower without killing myself."

Spain muttered something that implied he doubted that, but Romano ignored him.

He got a strong dizzy spell as he stood up, but he refused to let Spain help him. He stood there wobbling for a moment, hoping Spain wouldn't notice, until his vision finally cleared up and the world stopped spinning off its axis. As quickly as he could without stumbling, he left the room, grabbed towel from the hall closet, and hurried into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut behind him and heard Spain yelp in fright in the next room. It helped ease his frustration, at least a little bit.

xxXXxxXXxx

Later that day, Romano was napping and Spain was downstairs in the living room, playing Angry Birds on his phone and half-watching the news. Right after Romano had come back into the room from his shower, he'd collapsed onto the bed and fallen asleep immediately. Spain had taken this as a cue to leave, and after bringing two of the many blankets up to Romano's shoulders, he had done just that.

He didn't have much to do around the house, but he didn't want to leave, in case Romano called for him. He wondered vaguely if he should be annoyed by Romano's neediness when the he was sick, but for some reason, he wasn't. It was strange how absolutely fine he was with staying in to take care of him.

He sighed. "What a pain," he mumbled to himself. Guess that's what happens when you fall in love...

He felt kind of stupid, actually. He'd always known he'd cared for Romano, as more than just the person who raised him and more than as a friend. He'd always wanted him, all of him. He couldn't deny that Romano was special to him, very special, despite being a huge pain in the ass. However, he'd only just realized during these past few days that it had very possible gone past I care about him, to something a lot more like I love him. He wasn't quite sure when these stronger feelings had developed, but after some thinking, he realized that they must have been there all along.

A sudden series of excited knocking at his front door made him jump and drop his phone. "One second!" he yelled, hastily standing up and smoothing his shirt, vaguely annoyed. He went over to the door. Through the blurred windows he could see a bouncing amber head and someone blond standing a little ways back and he smiled. He barely had time to open the door and get out an airy "Hola" before he was being tackled into a huge hug.

"Hola, Toni! How are you?"

Spain blinked a few times, then grinned widely. "Ah, Feli... and Germany, hey! What's up?"

Italy shot to his feet and smiled. "I came to see you and Romano! Is he feeling better? He must be, I am~"

"We just came by to say hello because Italy wouldn't shut up..." Germany murmured, shutting the door softly behind him. "We won't be long."

"It's fine," Spain said cheerfully. "You guys can stay as long as you want, but there's not really anything to do."

Germany nodded and looked like he wanted to say something in response, but Italy was talking again. "Is Romano okay? Where is he?" He peeked around Spain, as though he suspected the Spaniard was hiding Romano behind him or something.

"Um... yeah, I think he is feeling better." Spain smiled. "He's sleeping right now, but maybe—"

"Shut up, bastard," came a tired voice from the staircase. Italy and Spain looked up to see a sleepy looking Romano shuffling down the stairs, holding a fleece red blanket tight around his body. "I'm not sleeping. I couldn't with all you idiots making such a racket..."

"Fratello!" Italy cried, running up the stairs to tackle his older brother into a crushing hug. Romano yelped and cursed in Italian as they both fell to the ground in a graceless heap, somehow not tumbling down the stairs.

Both Germany and Spain hurried up the stairs. "Are you guys okay?" Spain demanded.

"Get the fuck off, dumbass!"

"But fratello, I missed you~!"

"I don't fucking care, I think you just broke my, like... cervix!"

"Men don't have a cervix, Romano."

"Yeah," Germany said under his breath, "they're fine."

Spain chuckled, hauling Italy to his feet then holding his hand out to help Romano up. The Italian glared at him for a moment, then sighed and grabbed it. Spain tugged Romano into an upright position, grinning when they ended up barely an inch apart. Romano flushed and yanked his hand away, storming down the stairs past Germany and Italy and muttering curses at Spain under his breath. The brunet shook his head, smiling, and led his guests to the kitchen.

"I'll make some churros, si?"

"Si!" Italy squealed excitedly. He waved his arms frantically at Germany. "Germany! Germany! Are you gonna have some?"

"Uhm," said the blond, who was standing uncertainly by the doorway, "sure. I guess."

"They're so good~" Italy skipped over to him. "Can I help?"

"Of course! You get the dry ingredients, okay? And Germany, you can come in, you know," Spain said, laughing. "I'm not going to bite."

"He's lying," Romano muttered, walking into the kitchen. He flopped gracelessly into a chair at the table, his head connecting with the table with a loud thunk. He groaned. "Toni, this isn't working. Sweating it out is just making me want to puke. All I want to do is eat a motherfucking tomato but I can't even look at one without wanting to die."

"It works, fratello!" Italy said, looking at his brother worriedly. "It worked for me."

"Your immune system is better," Romano snapped. "It always has been."

Germany cleared his throat. "When did you guys start?"

"A couple days ago," Romano grumbled.

"Four days ago," Spain clarified. "That day you came over, Germany."

"Ah... well, I don't know if this is relevant or important, but it took Feli a few days too. It sort of happened over the course of near a week." He shrugged. "If you're feeling a bit better, Romano, that's how it was with Italy. It just takes time."

Romano stared at him for a long moment, his eyes glittering unhealthily. Germany shifted uncomfortably. "What?" he said.

"Bastard," Romano mumbled before dropping his face back onto the table.

Spain couldn't help but let out a puff of air in amusement. "See, Romano? Just be patient. Your body needs time to heal."

"My body has had a couple weeks to heal. It should hurry the fuck up."

"Maybe all you need is some love, si?" Italy chirped. "That's how Germany cured me!"

Romano's head lifted off the table to glare daggers at his brother. "Excuse me?" he said darkly.

"Yeah! We—"

Germany loudly cleared his throat. "Uhm, Italy, Romano doesn't want to hear about that."

"Oh," Romano said. "I do."

"Ah... no."

"Ah, yes."

"I insist that you don't. It's terribly boring."

"What?" Italy cut in, his eyes watery. "You think it's boring?"

"No—that's not what I meant..."

"Please, do explain yourself."

"Yeah, Germany! Don't you love me?" Italy said, bottom lip trembling. "You told me you did..."

"I-I do, Feli, I just—I don't really think this is something we should discuss when Romano isn't feeling well—or ever, actually..."

"I think now is a perfect time," Romano said curtly, standing up. "Bastard, what the fuck did you do to my brother?"

Italy, who was smiling again after Germany begrudgingly admitted to loving him, exclaimed cheerfully, "We made love!"

There was a long silence. Romano stared with bulging eyes at Germany, Germany looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, Italy looked clueless and happy, and Spain was in the process of pouring flour into the mixture in the saucepan on the stove. He was watching the argument with pursed lips and a crease between his eyebrows.

Finally Romano said edgily, "You did what?"

"We—"

"I heard you!" Romano snapped.

"Then why—?"

"Motherfucker, you think you can touch my brother like that? I am going to fuck you up so bad! You fucking bastard—"

"Romano—" Italy tried to say, but Romano glared at him and he shut up immediately.

Germany looked extremely uncomfortable and was beginning to look slightly pissed off. "Mein Gott, Romano, it's not like I raped him!"

"That's what you want us to think, you fucker—"

"Lovino," Spain said quietly. "That's enough."

Romano turned to him in disbelief. "You're taking his side?"

"No, I'm not taking anyone's side. This is a ridiculous argument. You already knew Veneziano and Germany are going out, why are you making such a big deal about it now?"

"Because—the bastard slept with my brother!"

Germany put his hand to his forehead and sighed. "Romano, listen. As hard as it is for you to grasp this, I really do love your brother. Feli means everything to me. I can honestly swear on my life that I've never done anything he doesn't want to."

"Si, that's true!" Italy put in, seeming relieved that the argument was dissipating. "Germany is really nice to me, Romano. You don't have to worry."

Romano looked at them for a long moment, and then his glare faded. He fell onto the chair in defeat. "Fine. Sorry," he mumbled. "But just so you know, potato bastard, if you ever do anything to hurt my brother..." He slid his finger across his throat. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"I know."

Spain sighed in relief. "Wow, now that that is dealt with... Italy, do you still want to help make churros?"

Just like that, the tense mood was gone. Italy skipped over to Spain and they began excitedly chattering at each other as Germany and Romano awkwardly sat off to the side. Germany began fiddling with his cell phone and Romano suddenly felt very exhausted, as if the spat earlier had drained him. He got up and started to slink away towards the stairs, hoping no one would notice.

"Lovi, where are you going?"

Romano looked back to see Spain's worried eyes looking at him from across the kitchen. For some reason, his throat suddenly became thick and he wanted to cry. He just didn't understand why Spain cared so much. Usually nothing could deter him from making churros when he was in the process of doing so, but for some reason without any provocation he was turning to make sure Romano was okay. Romano swallowed hard. I will never understand this guy.

"I'm not feeling all that great..." he said. "I'm just gonna go back upstairs."

"Oh, okay." Spain wiped his hands on a towel. "I'll walk you upstairs."

"No," Romano said, too quickly. Spain looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Why not?"

"I just, um, you have guests, bastard. I can walk up the stairs and crawl into a bed by myself."

"If you say so... I'll come up and check on you in a bit, okay?"

"I'm not a child," Romano grumbled.

"I know," Spain said seriously. Behind him, Italy was dancing around and poking Germany and generally being noisy, but Spain didn't even blink. "I know you're not a baby anymore, Romano, trust me. I've been here your whole life. The only reason I'm being so annoying is because I care."

Romano didn't know what to say. He didn't trust himself not to cry, so he just nodded mutely and turned on his heel, leaving the kitchen as quickly as he could.

xxXXxxXXxx

A while later, as Romano was huddled under blankets and reading one of the random books he'd found on Spain's dresser, Spain walked in, a glass bowl in his hands. Romano barely looked up as the brunet approached the bed.

"The churros are done, do you want some?" Spain asked, gesturing to the bowl.

"Sure," Romano mumbled, grabbing one. He took a bite and his taste buds practically sang in delight at the familiar crunchy sweetness. Mostly he was just relieved his taste had come back enough to actually be able to taste the churros. After a moment of chewing, he asked, "Shouldn't you be downstairs with Veneziano and potato bastard?"

Spain shook his head, setting the bowl down on the night table before walking over to his side of the bed. "No," he said. "They left a few minutes ago, and I wanted to come check in on you. How are you feeling?"

Romano shrugged. "Better, I guess." He didn't want to admit it, but he did feel better now that Spain was here. This is stupid. I shouldn't be this attached. He cleared his throat. "So are you going anywhere, or are you staying?"

"Want me to stay?"

"I don't care," Romano lied, feigning indifference.

"I'll stay, then." Spain settled himself down, reaching over to grab his latest book from the night table on his side of the bed. Romano said nothing, not wanting to admit that that made him happy, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

Romano tried to keep reading, but couldn't keep his eyes from wandering over to Spain. The brunet looked calm and at peace as his green eyes flicked through sentence after sentence, and for some reason Romano couldn't look away. He bit his lip. What was it about this guy that made him so... happy? His eyes felt teary again, for a reason he couldn't understand. God, he hated being sick. It was like being on an emotional rollercoaster and since he couldn't do anything, he was stuck with his own thoughts in his head. Most of the time, that wasn't somewhere he wanted to be.

He wished it didn't have to be like this. He didn't want to love the bastard and have to live with the fact that he would never love him back, would only see him as that annoying yet bearable child he'd sacrificed a couple centuries of his life to raise. Nothing more than a brother, or maybe a friend. He didn't want to love someone that liked his brother better. He didn't want to love someone he could never have. He didn't want to love Spain, dammit.

Spain looked up then and caught Romano staring. The redhead quickly looked away, flushing at being caught.

"What?" Spain asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh?"

Romano couldn't think of a way to explain, so he blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "So... you looked happy about seeing Veneziano."

"Hmm? Oh, I guess," Spain said distractedly, not noticing the resentful look in Romano's eyes. "Haven't seen him in a while. It was nice, he's still cute as ever."

"Hn."

Spain looked over upon hearing the monotone response. "What's wrong?" he asked. Romano's bottom lip was trembling and he swallowed heavily, looking like he was about to burst into tears. Spain sat up straighter, alarmed. "Lovino?"

"Nothing's wrong, bastard!" Romano snapped, but his voice was shaky. Oh god, no, not right now, I don't want to lose it in front of him! "Leave me alone, dammit. I'm fine."

"No you're not, you look ready to start crying!" Spain set his book down on the table next to his bed. "What's wrong? Tell me, please, I don't want to see you upset." His heart felt heavy. He hated when Romano cried; it made him want to cry, and often did. Romano was shaking his head furiously, hazel eyes glittery. "Please?"

You bastard, stop being so nice! Stop treating me like you love me! "No," Romano ground out. Drop it, Toni. Just drop .

"Come on, Lovi, it breaks my heart to—"

"Breaks your heart my ass!" Some sort of dam seemed to break, and suddenly Romano was blurting out words like a waterfall. "I don't know why you even let me come here. I'm such a fucking pain in the ass and I know you hate sitting here with me and doing everything for me and I know you wish I was Feliciano, don't you? Don't even deny it! I know I'm a pain in the ass! I know you can't wait for me to get better already so you can just fucking kick me out of your house and get rid of me. I made a huge scene over something stupid earlier because of a stupid grudge. All I do is complain about everything and insult you and say I hate you even though I don't, I love you so much, but I know you just hate me. And I get it, okay? I know he's better than me and I know I'm annoying and mean and bitter. You probably wish I was him, he's not hard to like. Not hard to love. Fuck." His voice broke on the last word, and he choked on a sob, covering his mouth with his hand.

Spain was shocked. He heard Romano say he loved him, and as much as that made his heart pound, that wasn't what he was concerned about right now. He sat there gaping at Romano for a minute or two, unable to form any words.

Romano was shaking, trying desperately to not start crying. That went downhill fast, he thought bitterly to himself.

Finally, Spain managed to get out, "Romano... we've been over this before..."

"I know," Romano hissed, trying to sound angry but failing. A tear fell down his cheek and he wiped at it angrily. "You can stop lying now."

"I'm not... I'm not lying, Romano." Spain finally got over the shock of Romano's sudden rant and frowned deeply. "I don't want Veneziano instead of you, I don't know where you got that idea."

"You."

"Me? Look... I know... when I first got you, I was like that, okay? But don't you think if I still felt that way I would have left you long ago?"

"You did," Romano accused, glaring at him. "You kicked me out, asshole."

Spain flinched. "I didn't... Romano, you are a country, of course you had to go out and live on your own. Be independent. That doesn't mean I wanted you gone, I..." Spain swallowed and flushed slightly. "I actually really didn't want you to go. I argued with Her Majesty and all those higher ups to let you become... Become part of Spain, but still be your own country and have your own rules, but no one let me. I didn't have a choice but to let you go."

Romano was silent. Spain thought that maybe Romano was mad, really mad this time, and was about to leave to avoid a fight. Just as he was turning away, swallowing hard, he felt a burning hot hand wrap around his wrist. He looked back to see Romano's angry yet somehow vulnerable and uncertain eyes glaring at him, his mouth opening then closing and then opening again uncertainly.

Finally, he managed to get some words out in a weak voice. "You're lying."

"I'm not," Spain shot back, growing frustrated. He sat back down on his side of the bed—which he could swear had his ass indented onto it from these last few days—and grabbed Romano's arms. He looked into his eyes and tried to make the Italian believe him. "Listen to me. I... I love you, okay? I don't want Veneziano."

"Why not? He's better than me. He's cuter, he's nicer, he's more talented—"

"He's not you."

Romano's breath left him in a shallow exhale. The conflict in his eyes was very visible. Spain could clearly see the disbelief mixed with the want to trust and accept, and he understood. Romano had every right to feel so shocked, he thought angrily. Everyone always went on about Veneziano and Romano was always in his younger brother's shadow. He waited until Romano finally swallowed hard and whispered, "I d-don't—I don't know how to... how do I know you're not lying?"

Spain was honestly tired of trying to use words to convince Romano he was speaking the truth. Without speaking, he raised a hand and placed it on Romano's cheek, rubbing his thumb over the flushed, tear-soaked skin. Alarmed, Romano's hand automatically shot up to grab Spain's arm. Before he could get out a stuttered "B-bastard, what—?" Spain pressed their lips softly together. Romano panicked, his fingers tightening on Spain's arm almost painfully and a gasp leaving his mouth, but not a moment later, he seemed to melt. Almost hesitantly, he responded, uncertainly moving his lips back against Spain's. After a long moment, the brunet drew back, a small smile on his face.

"I love you," he said again, pressing his forehead to Romano's. The Italian was flushed and looked teary-eyed again.

"Stupid," he ground out in a choked up voice. He wrapped his arms around Spain's neck and buried his face in his chest, heart hammering. "I love you too."

Spain never thought that four words could make him so happy. He squeezed Romano, maybe a bit more than necessary, and planted a kiss on his head. Romano twitched and pulled away slightly to glare up at Spain.

"Bastard, don't touch that curl!"

Spain chuckled. "Lo siento, my bad."

"You did it on purpose," Romano muttered.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Kiss."

"What?"

Romano squeaked in surprise when Spain suddenly pressed their mouths together again, grinning hugely. Flushing, he kissed back for a moment, before growling and trying half-heartedly to push him away. Spain grinned, their lips barely an inch apart. "I can't kiss you again?"

"N-no, it's not that—it's j-just—Aren't you scared of getting sick?"

"I told you before I don't care if I do." Spain's smile was making Romano's insides feel warm and tingly. Up close, he could notice little specks of turquoise in Spain's bright green eyes and for some reason, it gave him butterflies. He wondered vaguely if inside, Spain was thinking anything similar about him.

"All I care about is you."

"God, you're such a freak," Romano breathed, fighting a goofy smile.

"But you love me," Spain said softly as he brushed their lips together. Something fluttered in Romano's belly. He turned bright red and swallowed in an attempt to calm his heartbeat.

"Yeah," he whispered, not quite trusting his voice. He smiled softly and hesitantly raised a hand, running his fingers through Spain's curly brown hair. "I guess I do."

xxXXxxXXxx

KissMeDeadlyT-T: Rushed ending!? O.o I suck! Writer's block was like NOT TODAY BITCH and so I was like *sigh* and wrote the ending as well as I could. Hopefully it wasn't too disappointing...? This is like the end, sort of. But like not really. 'Cause it just isn't a good end for this fic. Well, it's the end of the rated T part of this fic, so if that's all you're into, this may be goodbye. *waves handkerchief and sobs*

At some point I will get around to writing the actual end. With um... well, sex. Maybe. If I can still write smut. :DDDD I don't know how I did with this chapter. Ah, well. Thanks for reading and lease let me know what you think!