Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Not perfect. I had to face up to the fact that this story is never going to be what I'd envisioned, and let it be what it is; so I decided to try and post something, because the longer I put this off and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite (I have no less than 60 different versions of this chapter, no kidding). I'm hoping it'll prime the pump, so to speak, and I'll stop being OCD about it and let the damn thing flow. It needs to be written.

The tense may be wonky, sorry about that.

"France knows."

It's early evening, and they're laying tangled on the floor of the closet still. America's head is pillowed both on an arm folded behind his head and a pile of their discarded clothes, and Romano's sprawled across his chest, lying half on the taller nation and half on the floor, curled against his side. America's free hand is drawing slow circles on the back of Romano's neck, and Romano, who was lazily tracing the outline of America's hipbone over and over with the hand not sandwiched between them, tenses at America's words.

"What?" He asked, hoping he'd heard wrong.

"Not about you, or anything like that." America clarified quickly, his hand a reassuring weight against the base of Romano's neck. "I didn't say anything to him. He just...knows I've had sex. He took one look at me and knew."

"Cheh, figures." Romano snorted, but relaxed, resuming his actions. "You didn't tell anyone, though?"

"Nope. It's nobody's business." America answered readily, stroking Romano's neck with the back of his fingers. "Why, did you?" He glanced down curiously.

Romano was unable to see him from where his head lay pressed against America's chest, but sensed the movement and lowered his head a little, focusing on his fingers moving against the other's skin. "I told Feliciano." He admitted.

"Oh, okay." America nodded, then asked, "Mind if I tell my brother, then? He deserves to know."

"Your brother? Will he tell anyone else, bastard?"

"Of course not. Mattie knows how to keep a secret." America stated definitely.

"Alright then. Sure. Knock yourself out."

"Great." Smiling, he squeezed the back of Romano's neck lightly in thanks.

Romano bit his lip for a moment, debating. "What are you going to tell him?" He winced as it slipped out, hating himself for asking. It wasn't like he cared what the idiot thought, dammit.

"Um," America considered. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

Romano frowned. He hadn't thought about it? At all? "What do you mean you haven't thought about it, bastard?"

"What?"

Pushing himself up on his hands to look America in the face, he demanded, "What do you mean you haven't thought about it, bastard? It was your first time, dammit. Isn't that important to you at all?"

"Uh." America blinked at him, taken aback, and slowly withdrew his hand. "...Yes?" He responded cautiously, unsure if that was the right answer.

"Don't- don't lie, jerk." Romano muttered, hunching slightly, looking anywhere but at the blond. "Y-you obviously haven't thought about it at all. Even...even in the meeting, dammit. You didn't- you didn't even look at me once, the whole time you were there."

America pursed his lips, giving him a dry look as he settled his hands on the Italian's hips. "Romano. France knows I've had sex. He's dying to know who I had sex with, and since I won't tell him, you can be sure he was watching me very closely. So I was very carefully not looking at you, because if I had I wouldn't have been able not to think about it, and he would have figured it out somehow, 'cause he's got some kind of crazy sex-radar. And if France knew I'd lost my virginity to an Italy, he'd be so thrilled he wouldn't be able to resist telling everyone. Probably right then and there."

He rolled his eyes. "I can see it now— he'd jump on the table, and go: 'Nations! Nations, your attention please, merci beaucoup!'" Raising his voice in a surprisingly accurate imitation of France, he spread his hands in the air as if addressing a room full of nations. "'I have a most important announcement~, s'il vous plaît! It has come to my attention that America, after over three centuries of celibacy, has finally lost his virginity to one of the three finest lovers in the world (myself included in that number, naturellement). And whom, may you ask, has deflowered my dear, innocent Amérique? Ohohon~! None other than South Italy, otherwise known as Romano! I am so proud! Take a bow, Romano Italy!' And then, of course, I'd have to kill him." He added conversationally in his normal voice, lowering his hands.

Romano, whose mouth had dropped open at the start of his mimicry, gaped at him, eyes wide. "That..." He shivered, and shook himself. "That was creepy as fuck, bastard. Never do that again."

America laughed. "Alright, I'll try not to."

Romano grunted, settling back down on the other's chest. As soon as he was comfortably curled up America began to pet him, running his fingers through the Italian's hair, down his neck and upper spine. Romano relaxed under the touch, closing his eyes. That felt...really nice, actually. It helped that, intentionally or not, America was avoiding his curl. He hated the loss of control, the way his body would react and feel things when it was stimulated, regardless of who was doing it, and whether he wanted to or not. Like his body wasn't his own. So it was...nice, that he didn't feel like he had to worry about it being taken advantage of, for once.

He actually felt...kind of...safe. Between that and the steady beat of America's heart, he was slowly being lulled into a state of liquid relaxation on top of the other nation.

"Hey." America started. Too comfortable to respond verbally, Romano only grunted. "So... was that considered sex?"

Romano's eyes opened, and he blinked. What? "What?"

"All that stuff we just did. Is that sex, too? I mean, would you say we just had sex?"

Again, Romano pushed himself up to look at the other nation."What do you think, bastard?" He asked incredulously.

America's brows furrowed in thought. "Er, maybe? I don't know. I mean, we didn't...you didn't...do that thing. I mean, what we did was awesome. That stuff you did with your fingers was pretty amazing, but, you know, we didn't...go all the way, and stuff. So was it sex?"

"Unless you're trying to wriggle out of something, then yes, idiot- that was sex." He shifted so he was sitting across America's hips, and frowned. "Didn't France teach you anything?"

"I don't listen to France talk about sex." America snorted, dropping his hands to Romano's hips once more. "I might learn something I don't want to know. And I don't need the mental images, thanks." He chewed his lip for a moment, idly stroking Romano's hipbone with his thumb as he debated something, then asked, somewhat hesitantly, "So...why didn't we...you know, go all the way? Like last time. You didn't..."

"Fuck you, you mean?" Romano asked drily. America smiled, relieved.

"Yeah."

"You can say the word, asshole. It's not like I'm going to wash your mouth out, or something."

"It's not that, it's just...I don't know if what we did is considered fucking, too."

"You're thinking too hard about it, bastard."

"Yeah, probably." America conceded.

"Try 'definitely'. When it comes to sex, it's best to just feel and go with it." Romano settled down again, propping his elbow on America's chest, chin in hand.

America considered this for a moment. "So...you didn't 'feel' like fucking me?"

The Italian's eyebrows raised. "Why are you so hung up on whether I fucked you or not?"

"Well," America pouted, eyes averted, "I liked it. It was...nice. I thought we were going to do it again, but, well." He shrugged a shoulder, fiddling with a button on the jacket sleeve that lay next to his head. "I just, you know, kind of wondered. Why we didn't." He finished, embarrassed.

Romano sighed. "America. Last night was your first time."

"Yes, I know." America frowned in exasperation. "We've established that, thanks."

"Don't be a smartass." The other ordered, flicking the blond's forehead. "And let me finish, dammit. Look, it was your first time. You've got to be pretty sore."

"A little." America admitted.

"Right. If I'd fucked you, right now, so soon after your first time, you'd be so sore afterwards that you wouldn't be able to walk. And I'm sure as hell not carrying you out of this closet."

"Oh." America replied, disappointed.

"Yeah." Romano replied drily. "'Oh'."

There was silence for a minute, except for the sound of America flicking the button repeatedly. Romano was about to lay his head down again, when America spoke up.

"Y'know, it's not that bad. I bet could probably walk."

"I am not fucking you in this closet, bastard."

"But-"

"No."

"But-!"

"No."

America sighed. "Fine."

"Damn right." Romano laid back down, closing his eyes. Then they opened again, and he pushed himself up. "Wait a second, France knew you were a virgin?"

"Yeah, of course." America answered, quirking a brow. "Crazy sex-radar, remember?"

Romano opened his mouth, shut it again, his own brows furrowed. If France knew, how was it that no-one else had heard the news? It wasn't like France to keep information like that to himself. Which brought up another question that'd been on his mind for a while. "...Why were you still a virgin?"

"What?"

"You heard me, bastard. You hit puberty centuries ago. Over two centuries without losing your virginity? How does that happen, dammit?"

"That's easy." America explained slowly, smirking. "No sex. So, virgin."

Romano pinched America's hip, causing the other to yelp and jerk in surprise. "You know what I mean, smartass. You're obviously fully capable. And you've had to have had opportunities. Almost three centuries without losing your virginity? With France in the picture? How does that happen, dammit? Hasn't anyone ever tried to... to force you?"

"You'd be surprised what people don't try when you can swing a one-ton bison around before you're out of diapers. News like that gets around."

"Still. No-one's ever tried anything?"

America shrugged.

Romano glared at his chest, hunching slightly. "You are one lucky son of a bitch."

"I know." America preened, clasping his hands behind his head with a confident grin.

"Don't get cocky, asshole."

"Haha, I'm not. Not really. I know I've been... lucky, blessed, however you want to say it. Things could have been a lot worse, and weren't." He hesitated. "What about you? Have...has anyone ever-"

"We're not talking about me, bastard." Romano cut him off.

"Ah." America was silent for a moment. "Is that why you were so freaked out when you thought-"

"Not talking about it." Romano growled tersely, laying back down, shoulders tense.

"Alright." America said neutrally. He shifted and resumed petting the nation on his chest, again running his fingers soothingly through soft dark hair, down neck and shoulders, and the tension slowly left the nation curled up on his chest as he realized America wasn't going to press the issue.

After a few minutes, he spoke up again. "...You never answered the question, bastard."

"Mm." America agreed. "I dunno, actually." He traced the curve of Romano's ear, thinking. "When France asked me earlier, I told him I've been too busy with work and stuff to think of anything else, and that's part of it." He thought a moment, and shrugged a shoulder disinterestedly. "A lot of reasons, I guess."

"Yeah? Name one, bastard."

"Eh." America dropped his head back against the pile of clothes he's been using as a pillow, and pondered the ceiling as his fingers trailed Romano's skin. "Well, for one thing, no-one's ever really showed an interest."

Romano pulled back to stare at him incredulously. America can't honestly believe that. Is he blind or just fucking around? "You cannot be serious, bastard."

"No, really. Seriously, no-one's been that interested in me."

"Bull. Shit. England. He's been chasing your ass for centuries. You're not telling me you didn't notice."

America rolled his eyes. "England doesn't want me. He's just got a stick up his ass."

"Yeah, and he wishes it were yours. The brow-bastard's panting for it, bastard. Everyone knows that. Hell, the way he acts like he owns your ass, everyone thought you were sticking it to the bastard already."

"Oh, ew. That's disgusting." America slapped a hand over his eyes, grimacing, and complained, "Did you have to put it that way? Eugh." He shuddered. "Ewewew. And you're wrong." He added, pulling his hand away and frowning. "England doesn't want me. Not like that."

Romano scoffed.

"No, he doesn't." America insisted. "Really. He thinks he does, sure, but he doesn't really." He gestured vaguely, frustrated. "England...well, it's complicated." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed up tight, and sighed. "It's like this, okay? What England has always wanted, really wanted, is...a family. One that isn't as fucked up as his relationship with his brothers, right? Something, you know, good. 'Normal'."

"And then centuries ago he finds me, and hey- I'm his dream baby brother. Little and innocent, and completely dependant on him, right? Well, sort of." He amended, grinning. "I never really needed him to take care of me, but, we had the illusion. And, of course, I looked up to him. And most importantly, I chose him. Over France, and everybody. That, well, that meant a lot to him." He glanced at Romano. "Following so far?"

Romano maked a sound in his throat. He wasn't sure whether he believed all this or not, but he's listening.

America nodded. "Alright. So he's got me, this 'perfect little brother' to take care of and to depend on him, and then, one day, I grow up. Just, bam. Of course," he added, "it wasn't actually one day so much as a few years, but he tended to be gone for long periods of time, and I guess that's still pretty fast for a nation."

"No shit." Romano agreed. It'd taken him millennia, but that was a bit slow for a nation, too.

"And...well, that's where everything went wrong. England comes back to what should be his adorable baby brother, and here is this... adult male running around, happy to see him, wanting to sleep in the same bed and hug him and bathe together and listen to his stories and all the stuff we did when I was little, really; except now he can't justify it in his mind 'cause as far as he's concerned grown men don't do that sort of thing together unless...well, you know. But he doesn't want to hurt me either, 'cause he knows I don't know or understand that, so he goes along with it, but I'm not a kid anymore and he can't pretend that I am, so he gets...confused. It doesn't help that he can't lie to himself anymore that I need him, 'cause although I've always been stronger than him, at least before I looked little and vulnerable and cute, but now I'm taller and broader and it's harder for him to tell himself I can't get along without him, and, well...he wasn't ready not to be needed yet. He wasn't ready for me to grow up, which...I understand. Not that there's anything I could do about it, but still, it had to be hard for him, and I feel bad about that." He sighed again, deeply, staring at the ceiling with a tired expression.

"...And then...well. We had some problems. He couldn't really resolve the whole thing in his head, and tried to keep me from growing up, growing more independant...wanted me to talk only to him, to trade only with him, to stay away from any and everyone else, and...well..." He trailed off, draping an arm over his eyes. After a few moments, he swallowed hard, and said, quietly, "After a while I couldn't... it was too much. I, I loved him and...I'd always looked up to him, but..." he swallowed again. "Well, everyone knows what happened after that." He lifted a shoulder in another shrug, feining indifference. Lowering the arm from his face to stroke Romano's upper arm with the backs of his fingers, his eyes lowered to watch the movement, and he continued, "After I won my independence, well...it's... it became... he... believes that the only way he can have any influence or control over me now is if we're in a relationship, and the only way we can be close, be family, is if he has control, so...he lies to himself that that's what he wants from me."

"He still wants you to fuck him, though." Romano pointed out after a moment. America wrinkled his nose.

"No he doesn't. Look, if England wanted me, he's had tons of opportunities to make a move. We've been alone together, alone in bed together, and alone and naked together; he's been drunk around me a million times, he's been drunk in bed together with me, alone and drunk and naked around me and the closest thing I've gotten to a show of interest is some lame, half-hearted hints."

"He's probably waiting for you to make a move, idiot. The bastard's pretty repressed."

"Please. England, holding back when he wants something? He wasn't a pirate for nothing, you know. Hello, British Fucking Empire."

Frowning, Romano shifted to rest his chin in his hand, reaching up with the other to idly finger America's collarbone, dipping his fingertips into the hollow.

"Besides," America continued offhandedly, lifting his chin a little to give him better access, "even if I was in any way interested —which I'm not— I wouldn't do that to France."

Frown deepening, Romano slowly ran his thumb up the crest of that throat, staring at his fingers moving on fine, smooth skin. "What does France have to do with anything?"

America's breath caught as the Italian's fingers splayed across the soft underside of his jaw, and his pulse quickened under questing fingertips. He swallowed, feeling the warm weight of Romano's palm cover his throat. "Not my story." He answered, feeling his eyelids lower when those fingers move to trace his jawline, lips parting when Romano's thumb brushed his lower lip, electrifying it. He took the digit between his teeth, nipping the soft pad gently, gazing at Romano, his eyes slits of vivid blue eyes under golden lashes, and Romano slid his hand up to curl in golden hair, shifting his body forward to take America's lips with his own.

For several long moments they kissed, lazily, a slow, chaste movement of lips and occasional brush of tongues; America's fingers slowly trailing Romano's spine, their lips sore, tender from earlier kisses, earlier activities, but neither cared, wrapped up in each other and the moment.

Eventually Romano drew back, slowly, brushing feather-light kisses against America's lips, the corner of his mouth, nuzzling his nose, and briefly pressed his forehead to America's before pulling away to gaze intently at him, hazel eyes hooded, thoughtful. His gaze dropped to America's mouth, and he drew his fingertips across the lower lip, brows furrowing.

"...Why me?" He murmured, eyes flickering briefly up to America's face and back down to the soft, swollen flesh under his fingertips, afraid to see the answer in America's face, afraid to hear it from his lips, but he had to know.

"Hm?" America hummed distractedly in response, not understanding the question.

"W..." Romano licked dry lips, throat working as he tried to get the words out, "w,why me? Why...did you...d-didn't..." (Why me? Why was I your first? Why did you let me? Why didn't you stop me, bastard? Why...why was I the one you gave your virginity to? Why?)

America looked at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then his eyes widened, face clearing in understanding. "Oh. Oh. Uh." He blinked rapidly, head clearing from the haze he'd been in, and answered unthinkingly. "When you touched me, it felt safe." (It had taken him by surprise, taken his breath away. How long had it been since he'd been touched by someone who didn't want something from him? To do something to him? Even as a child...)

"What do you mean 'safe'?" Romano asked, brows furrowing.

"I don't know how to explain it." America tilted his head in thought. "It just...felt safe." He covered Romano's hand on his chest with his own. "Your touch feels... clean."

Romano jerked his hand out from under America's, and hid it behind his back, shoulders hunching as he turned away, tasting bitterness. "...I haven't been clean for a long time, bastard."

"I wouldn't know." America said, sitting up and reaching behind him for his shirt, pulling it on. "I just know how it feels to me."

"Yeah, well, you're an idiot." Romano frowned, leaning forward to retrieve his own shirt.

America grinned as he buttoned his shirt. "Maybe." He conceded.

"No 'maybe', bastard. Try 'definitely." Romano pulled his own shirt on, face flushed and scowling. "I don't, I don't know what you were thinking. You, you should have waited." He paused to draw a hand across his eyes, and resumed buttoning his shirt, hands shaking. "Idiot. You're a fucking idiot, bastard. Your f-first time should have been special. You, you wasted it."

"What? No I didn't." America protested, looking up from buttoning his shirtcuffs. "It was special."

"No it wasn't." Romano dug the heel of his palm into his eye, wiping it roughly, fumbling with his buttons. "It, it—"

"Yes it was." America insisted, reaching out to wrap his hand around Romano's wrist, tugging on it so Romano looked up at him. "It was special, Romano."

"It was your first time, bastard." Romano argued, swiping at his cheek with his free hand, and sniffled. "I-it should have been with someone you l-loved, idiot. Not, not—"

"Hey, hey." America soothed, pulling him closer and rubbing his shoulder. "Romano, calm down. It's okay."

"No it's not!" Romano yanked his wrist from America's grasp, pressing his face into America's chest. "It was your virginity, bastard!"

America wrapped his arms around the distraught nation, rubbing his back. "Romano," he said seriously, "I consider myself lucky. I mean, think about it." He tipped Romano's chin up so he could look into his face. "How many nations have a good first time? How many people?" He frowned, wiping tears from Romano's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Not many. I mean, when my brother lost his, it was awkward and embarrassing and he still doesn't like to think about it. And that was with someone he actually loved." He sighed. "England's sucked, I know. France's was the stuff of nightmares. China and Russia don't even remember theirs." He cupped Romano's face, adding earnestly, "But mine was... amazing. It was incredible, Romano, and it's all because of you. You were patient, and considerate, and thoughtful, and you made me feel incredible, and I'll never regret it. You made it special, Romano. No-one else could have made me feel the way you did. It was special because it was with you. Okay?"

Romano sniffled, face still flushed. "Really?" He asked, voice rough.

"Really." America smiled. "No complaints here."

"Cheh." Romano pushed himself away, drying his eyes with his sleeve. "Of course not. I'm damn good at what I do."

"I remember." America agreed, smiling. He turned and scooped their pants off the floor, tossing Romano his, chuckling as he pulled on his slacks. "My brother's gotta be pissed. I asked him to take notes for me while I ran to the bathroom. He probably thinks I ran out on him to grab a burger or something."

Romano snorted in amusement, buckling his belt, and grabbed his jacket off the floor.

"So, uh..." America started as he slipped into his shoes, buttoning his jacket. "since we didn't find your key and all, do you, uh...would you like to stay with me? I mean," he added hastily, not looking at Romano, "not for sex or anything, but, just so you have a place to stay."

"Uh," Said Romano unsurely, staring at him. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket, a nervous gesture, encountering something very familiar in the silk lining of his right pocket. Something thin, and hard, that felt like it should have been in the back pocket of his pants, maybe, or the floor of a closet. He frowned, surreptitiously pulling it out of his pocket and glancing down to verify that yes, that was his hotel key card.

"It's not far from here," America continued, tying his shoes, "we could walk. You could, uh, have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." Shoes tied he stood, ruffling his hair, and smiled at Romano, trying not to look too hopeful.

Romano slipped the key back into his pocket, staring back at America, chewing his lip, thinking. He shouldn't, they shouldn't. It's risky, so risky. Someone they know might see them. But the allure of walking the streets of England, together, in public, like this, with America looking like glorious, satisfied sex, and covered in the scent of Romano, wearing his marks under those rumpled clothes, is too much to resist. "Alright." He said, trying not to let the way America beamed, glowing like a little boy at Christmastime at his answer effect him, because it wasn't sweet or endearing and it didn't mean anything, "Sounds good. Thanks."

"Cool." America grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets and bouncing on his toes a little. He jerked his head towards the door. "I, uh, guess we should get going then."

Romano nodded, heading for the door. "Don't read anything into this, bastard."

"I won't." America's grin turned amused, and he opened the door, gesturing for Romano to go first. "After you, Romano."

"This doesn't mean anything." Romano informed him as he exited.

America laughed as he followed him out, closing the closet door behind them. "I know, Romano. I know."

AN: He knows.