Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, and after reading this aren't you grateful. :p
No sex in this bit, sorry.
Romano woke several hours later, hot and sticky and dry-mouthed. He groaned. He didn't want to get up, he was comfortable, dammit. But he was thirsty and damn he had to piss. Reluctantly, he lifted his head, blinking sandy eyes. He frowned. What the hell? Why was he curled around America? He never cuddled, dammit. Especially not one-night stands. He just never felt comfortable letting people get that close. For some reason it always irritated the hell out of him when anyone tried. Others' touch made him tense and unable to sleep. But here he'd been, wrapped around the blond and he'd slept like the dead. He must have been really fuckin' exhausted. He pushed himself up on his hands, and looked down when he seemed oddly heavier than usual- what the hell? He hadn't even noticed that America's arms were draped around his waist and shoulders, holding him close. He blinked in confusion, looking down further. America's soft inner thigh was pressed against his hip, and their legs were tangled together, and...and...he was still inside America.
He blinked slowly, several times, in slow realization- not only was he still inside the other nation, but he'd come inside America. He hadn't used a condom. He was fucking sleeping- actual sleep, not just sex- with America. Most of all- he was still here. He'd broken almost all of his one-night stand rules.
The wierdest part of it all was that he didn't really care. He should be freaking out right now- grabbing his clothes and running screaming down the street. But all he really wanted to do was lay back down and fall back asleep.
Well, that and piss like a racehorse, he realized as his bladder throbbed, reminding him why he'd woken in the first place. He sighed, shrugging off America's hold and pushing himself up on all fours, with a little shiver and a hiss as he pulled out of the sleeping nation. He rolled off the bed and staggered across the room, stopping halfway when it hit him that he had no idea where the restroom was.
" 'Mano?"
He turned to see America blinking sleepily at him from where he lay sprawled on the bed. "Bathroom, bastard?" he asked.
"Mh." America answered, understanding, and waved at a door next to the dresser that Romano had assumed led to a closet. Well, that was convenient. He grunted his thanks, and America nodded, eyes closing with a sigh.
When he exited a few minutes later, having relieved himself, cleaned up and had a long drink from the faucet, America was still half-awake, staring dazedly at nothing in particular, having pushed himself up on his elbows. Romano tossed him the moistened handtowel he'd grabbed from the bathroom. "Here, clean yourself up, bastard."
America blinked at it. "Oh, thanks." He picked it up, yawning, and began to towel himself off. "That's pretty considerate of you, Romano."
"Don't read anything into it, bastard." Romano grunted, and made his way over to the pile of clothes on the floor, rifling through it for his pants. Time for him to get on his way. As wierdly comfortable as all this had been, rules were rules for a reason, dammit.
America huffed a little in amusement. "I won't." he tossed the towel into the hamper in the still-open closet and tilted his head to watch Romano curiously. Romano made a little sound in the back of his throat, having found his pants. "So..." America started, a little anxiously, "Was it... okay?"
"What okay, bastard?" Romano asked, not really listening. He rubbed at a stain on the pocket of his slacks, frowning. Was that oil? Stupid Prussia and his ballistic fish and chips episode.
"The sex, duh." America answered, rolling his eyes. "Was it okay? Did I do it right?"
Romano glanced briefly at the other, quirking a brow. "Why are you asking me, idiot? You should know, it's not like you're a total virgin." He answered flippantly, returning his attention to his slacks. Seriously, if that was oil, he was going to kill Prussia. It would take forever to...get... ou...he stilled. Fuck.
Slowly, he turned. America was blushing, eyes averted, toying with the corner of the pillow above his head.
Fuckfuckfuck. Things started to click into place. America's reluctance to undress, his protests when Romano'd pushed him to the bed, the lack of lube, the blond's complete and utter cluelessness and obvious inexperience...shit.
His slacks dropped to the floor, forgotten, as he raised a trembling hand to point at America. "Bullshit. No way are you a virgin, dammit."
"Well." America bit his lip and looked down, smiling bashfully. "Not anymore, yeah."
Romano started to hyperventilate. Why didn't he realize it sooner? All the signs were there. Sure, he was drunk at first, but he was definitely sober after the headboard incident.
"Uh, Romano? Are you okay? You look a little...pale."
Why hadn't he seen...? He'd just glossed over all the little signs, explaining them away in his head...shit. He'd just devirginized a world power. Wait, wait- America had been trying to stop him, hadn't he? Frantically he thought back. Oh shit. He'd forced himself on a world power.
"Romano...?" America pushed himself back up on his elbows, frowning in concern. The half-nation didn't seem to be listening.
Drunk or not, there was no excuse for that. Feliciano would be so disappointed in him. He was disappointed in himself. Grandpa Rome would- well, would have cheered him on, probably, but all of that didn't matter, because he was going to die. He shuddered, backing up 'til his back hit the wall, and slid to the floor, hands fisting his hair. He was in so much trouble.
"Romano?"
"Oh God, I'm going to die." he moaned, terrified. "England is going to kill me. You're going to kill me. Canada's going to kill me. Then England's going to to kill me again. He's going to grind me into peices and feed me to his invisible friends. He's going to tie me up and give me to France." he shuddered, eyes wide. "Oh shit, he's going to make me eat his food."
"Romano, what are you talking about? Nobody's going to kill anybody. I-" he cut off with a pained whine, frozen in the act of sitting up. "Ow, ow ow." he whimpered, wincing.
Romano was hit with a tidal wave of guilt. "Don't try to sit up, bastard."
"Ngh." America groaned, and shook his head to clear it. "I'm okay." he gasped through clenched teeth as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Really."
"No you're not, bastard, anyone can see that." Romano argued, standing up and hesitantly taking a step toward the other, further waves of guilt crashing over him.
"Yes I am." America argued back, wincing. "You're the one that's freaking out. What's the matter? Was it me? Did I do something wrong?" He asked, a little anxiously.
Romano gaped at him. "America." he stated, incredulously. "I just took your virginity."
America's brows furrowed in confusion. He didn't see the problem. "Yes, Romano." he answered, slowly. "I know- I was there."
"Doesn't that bother you, dammit?"
"Why should it?" This conversation was really confusing."It's not like you forced me."
Romano paused. "I...didn't?" he asked, cautiously.
America gave him a disbelieving look. "No. Is that what this is about?" He exhaled and rolled his eyes. "Romano, c'mere." He held out a hand.
Romano regarded it warily. "Why?"
America huffed, exasperated. "Just trust me, okay? I'm not going to hurt you." When the half-nation still hesitated, he added, "C'mon. I trusted you, remember? I think that worked out pretty well for me." He grinned, blushing a little, and wiggled his fingers encouragingly.
Romano blushed. "Alright bastard. But this better not be a trick." He grumbled, and approached the bed. As he drew closer, he noticed blood spotting the sheets where America had lain, and his stomach dropped, the waves of guilt back in full force.
"Romano?" America prompted, and sighed. The Italian had that deer-in-headlights look again, eyes focused on something behind him. He shook his head, reaching up to cup the side of the other's face, turning it to face him. "Romano, look at me." He urged.
The half-nation's eyes met his, then slid away, brimming with tears. Inhaling raggedly, closed his eyes, and they spilled down his flushed cheeks. His hand gripped America's wrist tightly. "God, bastard, I'm so sorry." he sobbed.
America couldn't help himself- he started to laugh. "What are you laughing about, bastard?" Romano demanded, voice rough with emotion. He sniffed, hard, and leaned forward to drop his head on America's shoulder, sobbing into his neck, and pounded on the blond's chest with his free hand. "It's not funny, dammit. I, I-"
"Shhh, shh." America soothed, chuckling as he wrapped an arm around Romano's waist, stroking the back of the distraught nation's head. "It's alright, alright? You didn't do anything wrong, okay?" He turned his head to press a kiss to the other's temple.
"What are you talking about, bastard?" the other argued,"I-"
"You didn't force me." America interrupted. Taking the other's shoulders, he pushed the half-nation back, taking his face in both hands, forcing him to look him straight in the eyes. "Romano, listen to me. You didn't force me."
Romano hiccuped, hands coming up to grip America's wrists tightly. "You promise, bastard?" He asked, urgently.
"You didn't force me." America repeated, brushing away a lingering tear with the pad of his thumb. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he glanced at the nightstand.
"Here, give me your hand." He said, releasing Romano's face and taking the half-nation's right hand in his, turning it palm up. He leaned over, wincing slightly, to grab something from his nightstand, and turned back to Romano. "Watch." he ordered, and opened his hand to reveal a solid glass sphere, about the size of a golf ball, in his palm. "You see this?" he asked, and Romano nodded. America rolled his eyes. "Another present from England. Oh well." He closed his hand, clenching his fist briefly. "Paying attention?" he asked. Again Romano nodded hesitantly, not sure where this was going. America brought his closed fist over the Italian's upturned hand, and slowly opened it, pouring a stream of glass dust into the Italian's palm. Romano's eyes widened in shock. Holy shit. "You see?" America asked, smiling triumphantly.
Romano stared at the pile of dust in his hand. "You're...going to grind me to powder?"
"What? No!" America pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "No. My point is that if I had wanted to stop you, I could have at any time. You can't force me to do anything. Okay? And anyway," he added, "you gave me plenty of opportunities to say no. You were very considerate, okay? I went along with it because I wanted to. Not because I was forced or coerced or whatever. Got it?"
Romano looked at the powder he still held, and at America, and tried not to look at the blood on the sheets. "Really?" he asked.
"Really." America insisted, and smiled, a little embarrassed. "Not exactly how I expected to lose my virginity, but I've got no complaints."
"Heh." Romano huffed, closing his hand around the dust. "Of course not, bastard. I'm damn good at what I do."
America grinned, amused. "Taking the virginity of unsuspecting nations is what you do? I thought that was France's job."
Romano blushed. "S-shut up, bastard!"
The blond laughed. "Now that that's settled, can we go back to bed? I don't know about you, but I'm wiped out. And kind of sore." he added, wincing.
"Actually, I should get going." Romano answered reluctantly, looking around the floor for his dropped pants. "I've already been here too long."
"Why? You got somewhere you need to be?" America asked curiously.
"No, I just never stick around after one-ni-" he stopped as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a second, if you didn't bring me here for sex, then what were you going to do with me?"
America shrugged, idly crossing his ankles. "I wasn't going to do anything with you. I just didn't think it was safe for you alone and drunk out there, so I was going to let you crash here. I thought I'd be sleeping on the couch, though."
Romano facepalmed, the guilt creeping back in. Dammit, he was too tired for this shit. Giving up, he turned around. "Move over, asshole. I'm coming back to bed."
"'Kay!" America scooted back, and Romano tried hard not to notice his pained hiss as he settled back down. "'M kinda glad you're staying. I was not looking forward to walking you home." The blond said sleepily, yawning.
"What-" Romano started, and stopped with a sigh. Too tired, dammit, he was too tired. He crawled in next to the American, reaching over to pull the covers up around them both.
"Thanks." America sighed, draping an arm around Romano's waist (Romano didn't protest, because he was really tired, dammit. It wasn't that it felt kind of nice, or anything).
"This doesn't mean anything, bastard." Romano muttered, as he curled back up in America's arms.
"'M'kay." The blond agreed, already half asleep.
When America awoke later that morning, he was not entirely surprised to find Romano long gone. He was, however, grateful to find a glass of water and painkillers sitting on the nightstand, and pleasantly surprised to find coffee already made in the kitchen and breakfast wrapped and waiting on the kitchen table. There was a note stuck to the wrapping, which he read as he ate.
Bastard;
Thanks.
Don't read anything into this, alright? It doesn't mean anything.
Don't tell anyone about last night, either. Or else.
P.S. You need to get some better coffee. The stuff you have is shit.
America shrugged, finishing off the last of his omelette. It'd always been good enough for him. Coffee was coffee, wasn't it? And it wasn't like he'd planned on telling anyone anyway. His sex life was no-one else's business. Dropping the dirty dishes in the sink, he glanced at the clock, and went to shower and get ready for the day's meeting.
AN: Romano's right about America's coffee. :/