Mr. Hurricane, I'm Wide Awake, Right Here Waiting. I wrote this in half a week why do you think the songs are always the same?
I THOUGHT IT WAS DONE AND I'M NOT I AM SO SAD.
Black Cherry
Part 6: IT WAS A ONE-WORD PROMPT
Ow.
OW.
OW FUCKING OW WHAT THE FUCK.
"Shit!"
"What happened?"
"You broke my table!"
"I- Oh, I broke your table?"
"YES."
"QUIT BLAMING ME FOR SHIT."
"I'll stop blaming you WHEN IT STOPS BEING YOUR FUCKING FAULT."
He's given right the fuck up on guessing what's going to happen next. An hour ago Romano never would have believed someone telling him that he'd end up laying half-naked on top of Gilbert. Two minutes ago Romano never would have imagined that he'd go from being on top of Gilbert on top of his kitchen table to both of them trapped under the god-damned thing.
And they're not really trapped, I mean, trapped is a relative term. They flipped the damn thing by being too far on one end of it, but it's actually a chair they hit on the way down that's flipped over and covering them. The table is currently standing with two legs in the air, possibly going out the window, and the two of them are in a heap surrounded by broken plates and spilled wine.
Oh and hot water.
"Shit- the tap!"
Romano has never been cock-blocked by a house before, but he's pretty sure that's what's happening. The overflowing sink is spitting suds out over the counter before he gets the water to shut off, and of course it overflows even more when he reaches in to fish out the plug and let it drain. When he turns back around, Gilbert is sitting up and slowly discovering just how much of himself is stained with the remaining half-bottle of wine from their lunch. Thankfully, despite what it looks like on the floor, wine doesn't resemble blood when it's washed over skin. Romano's not quite sure how he's supposed to feel right now.
Aroused? He liked being aroused, that was fun. Arousal cut through all the fucking tension that's been bubbling up between them.
But on the other hand his house is vermin-infested and full of broken glass. A responsible nation would pick up after himself, take care of his guest, and make arrangements to have the feathery interlopers in his attic disposed of.
"Wanna go outside?" But it's the heat of the day.
"I'm covered in wine...?"
"There's the spring." And South Italy is not a responsible nation.
There's no wild wrestling in the water this time, in fact it's mostly just floating in the lazy current with barely any talking. This is understandable: Romano wants to talk but he also really doesn't. Suddenly making out with your best friend isn't what most people expect after a day of getting on each other's nerves and sending lots of mixed up messages. Romano's thought about it, he's wanted it, he's even had a couple unsatisfying dreams about it at this point, but he doesn't have a clue about Gilbert. In the heat of the moment he was convinced it must be the same thing, the same kind of feeling, and even this morning with the blanket and the warm grass he was almost certain.
But floating in the cool spring water watching Gilbert keep to the shade... neither one of them will say anything.
Romano decides to break the silence.
...
And then ten minutes and a lot of flustered glances later he actually breaks it.
"Did you sleep with me last night?" NO THAT'S NOT WHAT HE-
"Why would you even!-?"
Romano cuts through the water in a few firm strokes, because no, he's not putting up with this shit again right now. Gilbert is doing his stupid blushing thing, just not as brilliantly as before, and at least he doesn't over-react and try to get away before Romano's feet touch the stone bottom of the spring so he can stand with his shoulders just out of the water.
"I said sleep, not fuck, you idiot." It's crass but- "Will you just answer the stupid question?" He should be blushing and carrying on twice as hard as Gilbert, but it's just not in him right now He watches the platinum blonde hover in the cold water for several moments before he gets it together.
"Yes, fine, I did! I slept behind you, are you satisfied?" He is, so while Gilbert stands there looking flustered and stupid, Romano musters what little courage he naturally possesses and moves in. Gilbert can see him coming and doesn't stop him, so it's not entirely Romano's fault that when they're close enough to kiss, it happens.
Nothing bad happens, it's just a kiss. It's wet, slightly chilled lips pressed against ones that are a little bit warmer and dry, and under the water Romano's fingertips are touching Gilbert's arm just to keep himself steady in the current. He feels a hand brush against his shoulder and leave beads of water behind that trail down his back, but then the kiss is done and that's really all Romano wanted.
Gilbert's lips kind of follow his as he pulls back, but it's not exaggerated, and when Romano realizes he's waiting for him to say something, he scrambles for useless words.
"World didn't end, did it?" And as words go they are entirely useless, sort of like Gilbert's little smile but that's not as cheesy, and hey, Romano likes seeing it so whatever. He lifts his feet off the stone bottom and kicks himself away through the water, heading for the shallows so he can wade over to the grass where their clothes are sitting.
"Where are you going?" Is Gilbert asking him to stay?
"To sit in the shade, it's too cold in here." He hears the Prussian scoff behind him, but Romano really does find it too cold. As he sloshes to the dry grass he picks up his shirt and jeans but doesn't put either on, it's too hot for a towel and his shorts are too wet to try stuffing his legs into his pants. He stumbles and climbs a bit further until one of those wayward olive trees dotting his property invites him over with its umbrella-wide branches and sweet grass under the trunk.
He slips his arms through the sleeves but keeps the shirt unbuttoned, because he's up for the whole modesty thing but not the dying of heatstroke part. Besides, the shirt keeps the grass from prickling him as he settles down on the green and lets his eyes slide shut. He can hear the drone of insects and the splashing water in the spring, but it's so quiet out here, the kind of peace you can't get in Rome or the proper city of Naples.
He lays on his side like that for several minutes, maybe longer with his arm curled under his head to cushion him. When he hears wet footsteps whispering over the grass, he argues with himself about whether to look up and figure out what Gilbert's doing, or staying comfortable where he is on the ground. When he hears a heavy thud and a huff he just has to assume it's him sitting down.
"...We almost fucked in your kitchen and you haven't said a word." Romano's sleepy, not asleep, so he takes a deep breath in through the nose so Gilbert knows he's going to say something, even when it takes him a few minutes to get it out.
"Not sure what you want me to say." He's on a roll with these useless words right now, but his eyes are open and gazing through the heat and across the curve of the hills. "Not sure I know what you want."
"Well then that makes two of us." So it's just a matter of them coming clean to each other then? Somebody's gotta confess something so they can figure out what's going on? Romano doesn't have to think too hard before answers start bubbling up in his mind:
'I want your stupid-ass humour when we go to boring meetings together, I want to watch those nasty pranks you pull on Austria and Germany when they aren't looking. I want those hours we spend cooking and to watch you screw up when you try bartering for food in the markets. I want you there so we can tease our idiot brothers for being so obvious it hurts, and I want you here because there's nothing in South Italy except me, so you came here to see me and for no other reason. And I want you here, and I want you to be here, and I want you to stay here, with me, for as long as I can have and keep you...'
"Don't fall asleep! Does this just not bug you?" God help him, he even wants Prussia's stupid fucking temper.
"It bothers me." It bothers him enough that his eyes kind of hurt, and it isn't from the summer glare.
"Bullshit." Romano picks his head up, but only a little bit. He won't let himself roll over so Gilbert can see his eyes.
"I fell asleep last night crying at a cherry tree. It's not bullshit." He just makes his comment and puts his head back down.
"It is when you'd rather sleep outside than look at me."
"I'd rather sleep outside than stay in an empty house!" He says the words and Romano feels himself getting worked up enough that he pushes against the ground until he's sitting up, his back towards Gilbert as he furiously spits out his next words. "It's empty! It's always been fucking empty! Nobody wants to stay way out in the middle of fucking Campania with me: they want to see Rome, or Milan, or Naples. The windows are broken because I'm not here when it rains, the plumbing's almost two hundred years old and the kitchen was paid for by the marshal plan. You think that after the first person in sixty years to stay in it left I wanted to be anywhere near those fucking walls?"
He covers his face with his hands because there are stupid hot tears in his eyes, not a lot, but enough, and his voice sounds more like a wail. He's so damn pissed with himself that he can't stand it. He wants to run away all over again, but before he can even reach for his composure he feels a set of legs flank him from behind, and then there's a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his body. He doesn't resist, just tries to make himself smaller until Gilbert's holding him so tight it ought to hurt, but it doesn't.
"I'm sorry..." There are lips on his throat and he doesn't know what to do with that intimate kind of touch right now.
"Shut up, at least you came back." He doesn't care about the house, he cares that Gilbert left. That's what's most important to him; he left and he came back and then whatever that was in the kitchen almost happened, and he's confused himself so badly trying to figure it out in this heat.
"I did..." Those lips touch his skin again and he drops his hands so they aren't in the way. It's a slick, open-mouthed affair lapping at the dip between his shoulder and neck, Gilbert turning it into a set of light kisses as it moves higher up. He can't help but tilt his head so it's easier to spread the caresses, where'd this change come from? "Is this okay?"
"Y-Yes." There are little shocks and bolts curving down his neck along his spine, and Romano's not sure when he closed his eyes but he really doesn't want to open them again. Gilbert's arms tighten and readjust their position around him, pulling until his back is flush with his chest and his hips are backed up on the Prussian's lap.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No..." The kissing goes on a bit longer but not much further. It's been a day of bad sleep and hard work and petty arguing and almost sex, so the two of them end up on their sides under the olive tree. They talk about little things, not in depth, and whenever one runs out of things to say the other nudges his head down and takes a kiss off his lips. They just get used to it like that, the touch, and Romano finds out that while he's been this way since Paris, Gilbert's been having problems since Vienna.
"How...? I know we go drinking, but..."
"Can I get another..?" Sure he can, Romano's barely awake enough right now to chase down answers anyways. It's so hot out, the sun is determined to burn through their little patch of shade. "What time is it?"
"Do you care?" He must not, because this time it's Gilbert's turn to lean over and brush his lips over Romano's. He smiles a little bit and, "do you think it's love?"
"I don't really care."
"Me neither."
So they close their eyes and take a nap, because that's what siestas are for.
There were another 800 words on the end of this chapter, and they made it a cliffhanger you guys would hate me for, so I lopped them off and now they're just the opening/set-up of next chapter, because I resent the fact that this has exceeded 15,000 words.
I'm going to go curl up in a ball and sleep.