Author's Note:
Hiya! First Unrequited...yeah, I'm having trouble making Writer's block my bitch...so, eh. "-_- I PROMISE I WILL FINISH IT NO MATTER HOW HARD IT IS!
I just wanted to make this one too...I totally have more ideas for 'Randomness' than Unrequited so...yeah that's why I'm having trouble with the first one, ideas keep on popping up for this more often than the other.
Honest question, should I fill my profile or something? Like adding stuff like project updates and my numerous crack pairings and stuff...
Please comment on something or PM any suggestions or somments.
GCJakey's Note:
This story is basically how Canada's the more temperamental twin compared to America. Italy's a lot more awesome and he's in a very cracktastic pairing, it is sooooo cracktastic that most of you might not sleep at all! I WARN YOU! I mean they interacted once...but eh, I think it is soooo not popular and so it's freaking crack.
Warning: Angry!Canada, Annoyed!America, Awesome!Italians...CRACK IN THE AIR!
HETALIA's Not OURS! XD
The Last Straw (feat. Another Crack-tastic pairing)
"What the Fuck, eh?" the voice of Canada was clear as day to the surprise of all. He barged in wearing a hockey shirt, three thick scarves wrapped around his muscular neck, a hockey helmet, and a lot of protectors. He swung his snapped hockey stick wildly.
Stares were directed towards him. He was finally being noticed, but this wasn't the type of situation he wanted to get noticed for.
"YOU!" he pointed at his brother with his rigid finger. His light strawberry-honey brother, whose jacket was zipped all way up, looked at him in surprised confusion.
"You caused all of it!" The enraged Canadian grabbed his shocked American brother by the jacket's collar and started to shake him threateningly.
"What do you mean, bro?" the arrows of innocence were directly pointing at the younger twin. But the older one remained adamant in his decision to prosecute him.
"Don't give me that shit! You forgot to pack my lucky shirt that's what!" he snarled pushing America back to his seat.
"So…they lost." America crossed his arms and pursed his lips, crossing his legs, with the left one's ankle resting on the right knee.
"Oui! You little fucker!" Amethysts were burning in rage. Everybody just decided to watch, even Germany who was having a damned case of the hangover.
"Why are you angry at me? You always told me not to touch your shirt." Alfred answered calmly.
"You could've reminded me!" Mattie kept on pacing in front of his younger twin, trying to keep the heat within him from reaching supernova.
"How the fuck was I suppose to know that you didn't bring it along? I keep on reminding you to double check your things." The American defended himself.
"I wouldn't have forgotten if you didn't keep on asking me to buy stuff at Costco! What is up with you and packing heavy?" his mittened hands tugged on his own champagne-gold crown.
"I-I just like to make sure of… s-stuff." America faltered, noticing the stares of the people he didn't trust, the people who weren't supposed to know any of that.
"What about you? You only bring one…ONE duffle bag. I mean you always…ALWAYS borrow my underwear. You should be the example, lazy ass! I mean, you are older than me by…b-by…" His sapphires contrasted his darkened face as he glanced at the others who were now in clusters, staring at them.
"Oh shut up, you pussy!" he pushed his younger brother violently, while he was in a state of falter.
"So this is the thanks I get for covering for you while you watched your precious hockey game?" From the way America stood, it looked like he was restraining himself from punching the now violent Canadian.
"What about my shirts? You freaking shrunk all of them! I asked you to do that one thing while I was crapping, but no, you actually placed a damned game before your own brother!" America snapped the headrest of an innocent chair minding its own business.
"Oh, just shut the fuck up! What the hell do you have to hide?"Canada pulled the zipper all the way down, before pulling America in front of him, in front of the whole world.
The room was now the sight of two-hundred burning rosy cheeks, counting the American representative as well, trying to get out of the tight grip of his brother, who had super strength much like him.
"Smile, brother!" Canada snickered mischievously; his free hand forcing his beloved brother's heated face to face their fellow nations.
His skin was not as pale as most; it wasn't near tanned or sun-kissed; it was warm though like his smiles, painted in a soft blush in some areas. His neck was strong and gracefully long, connected to the seductive dip formed by his profound collar bone. His traps were mounds of hard muscle. The seductive neck had two necklaces, one was a simple dog tag joined by a simple crucifix, while the other was a simple thread with an eagle feather and a stone was connected to the bulbous shoulder muscles that strained to be freed from the sleeves that imprisoned his huge arms. The top part rested its weight on the perfect pectoral mounds that had a deep valley between them, emphasizing built. It tapered down to the agonizingly defined stomach that was founded by long treks to the frontier and German-style military training and developed by numerous sports, pumping iron, and dancing. It was seductively slim, not even his pants and belt were snug around the form, and it bulked up just by the waistband of his blue boxer-briefs due to the obliques. The washboard had a trail of golden hair, but his skin made it almost impossible to see.
His warm skin had three bullet wounds in the right chest and small cuts and puncture wounds scattered along the abs, though they weren't many. His left side had a long and thin scar and the crook of his neck had a small but thick scar.
"STOP IT, MAPLE-WHORE!" Alfred shouted, writhing and wriggling. He hated his bare torso being revealed. He managed to kick the man behind him, causing the other to stumble back with a heated glare.
The American, with his back turned, panted heavily, rubbing his soring neck. His jacket slid down just a bit, giving the watchers a view of the tattoo he had on his right shoulder blade over a scar. It was a pair of tribal feathers that faded to smaller feathers.
Denmark sat at a corner in solitude as he tried to keep his nose bleed manageable with his sweaty hands. America was too fucking hot to handle…especially with ice cream dripping from his neck down…down…down…
Russia was seated in his chair rather too quiet, with sweat soaking his scarf and clothes. Angry Canada's fucking hot, especially the thought of him controlling such a beast in bed…was too…too…too awesome.
"Can't, porkchop!" Canada stood up.
"MOOSE HUGGER!" America came closer.
"OVERSENSITIVE BITCH!" Mattie kicked his brother causing him to topple over him.
"BIEBER-BITCH!" the younger tugged the Canadian by the collar.
"SHITTY-MUSICIAN-WORSHIPPER!" The older pushed the American off.
Alfred snorted; he had good taste in music…he isn't always fond of loud music.
America: "As if, ROBSTEN-ADDICT!"
Canada: "SUBSTANCE ADDICT!"
America: "TWO-FACE DOUCHE!"
Canada: "SLUT!"
America: "PACIFISTIC MORON!"
Canada: "WAR-FREAK!"
"At least, I'm not some hockey-obsessed fuck-face! It controls you're life, dude. Hockey season always makes you grumpy and sloppy…PLUS, DO I HEAR A FUCKING THANK YOU WHENEVER I DO YOUR WORK FOR YOU!?" the strawberry blonde hair was entangled with the crown of champagne, sparks flying everywhere.
… Everybody gasped in surprise.
"I NEVER TOLD YOU TO DO ANYTHING FOR ME!" the older one's face heated in embarrassment.
"I DO IT 'COZ I DON'T WANT YOU TO GET IN TROUBLE WITH YOUR BOSS!" In spite of the good intentions, the tone carried it as a violent complain.
"My boss is too awesome for that, eh?" He snarled. Everything made him angry, especially his twin brother. He knew everything about him, just as much as the other knew him.
"At least I'm not afraid of professional figure skaters!"
"…I-I just hate the way they dress i-is all!" Canada blushed before anger consumed him tenfold.
He could fucking finish the fight right fucking now.
He could get this over with and leave the guilty American speechless.
The other nations leaned closer, waiting for Canada to make his addition. Except for Denmark, who was now rushing to the bathroom to handle with some…America-related stuff. Russia was heading out the door too, rushing for the nearest broom closet with a locked briefcase in hand…he forgot to chop some 'wood' last morning which Canada thankfully reminded him. The suitcase was filled with equipment to handle that.
There was a crash that echoed across the room when the older brother pinned his younger twin to the wall. The latter was fidgeting and sweating, he was cornered.
"At least I'm not afraid of crappy horror movies"
"At least I'm not claustrophobic"
"At least I didn't get beat up by my…" Mattie covered his mouth before he could finish, regretting even planning to use it against his twin brother.
"…A-alien in S-star Craft." the Canadian laughed nervously, making the spectators grunt in disappointment while his beloved brother stood still with his head hanging low.
…
"Al, I-I'm so-" before Mattie could even touch Al's shoulder, the latter stepped back.
His eyes were burning blue, with hints and specks of amber-yellow showing due to his anger. No one but Canada saw it. It had to stay that way.
"Of all the people…I never thought that you'd be the one to do this to me." the violet eyes became pale and wide as his heart broke into millions of pieces.
Everyone made way for the American to leave. His gait was brisk as his hands fumbled to zip his jacket up.
The nations looked at Canada who silently fell to his knees, wearing an unreadable face.
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Amazingly, the whole room quieted down, staring at the hockey-obsessed man for a full thirty minutes. Germany, in spite of his horrible hangover, managed to corral the others back to their seats and make most of the remaining time.
Most were sad for Canada, while some were surprised at America. There was stuff circling around like using the twin's argument to start better relations with the two and slowly crack their relationship from there or use the hate between them to destroy each other. They could start a war and benefit from it, their bosses' would've given plaques and laurels of gold. The murmurs went on for an hour or so…
"Are you even listening to yourselves, Ve?" Italy shouted sadly, gaining the attention of the murmuring plotters.
"You do not know how hard it is to fight with family! No matter how much you pretend (China) you understand family, you do not understand what Canada and America are going through!" even more nations gasped at the sudden change in the Italian's demeanor.
"We are people too. What difference does it make if we tell our bosses about them? Nothing. All we ever do is go to war and sign miscellaneous fees and documents. We don't really do anything anymore. So please be human enough to keep this between us!" Feliciano pleaded, gaining unconvinced scoffs from the rest of the world.
The world roared, disagreeing, while England, France, Japan, Prussia, the Philippines duo, Norway, Belarus, Sweden, Finland, Germany, and Spain were silent, agreeing with the pleading European, if only they could muster enough votes from the others.
"SHUT THE HELL UP BASTARDOS!" Romano joined in with amber eyes filled with murderous intent.
"I can end each fucking one of you right here, right now." He calmed down, shielding his younger brother.
"As if…aru, you are a cowards like your brother aru!" China snorted standing up from his chair some twenty feet away from the Italian.
"Oh...I can be much more dangerous than you think. You should be thankful that I'm the one threatening you and not Veneziano." Lovino waved the dinosaur off, gaining a barrel of laughs from the other nations.
*FLING*
*GASPS*
The laughs stopped completely, when a knife missed China's neck by half an inch.
"W-WHAT THE…A-aru?!" The Chinese man was nothing short of terrified.
"Ho perso da un centimetro…" The younger Italian pouted before pulling out another dagger with his face childishly innocent. "I know for sure that I'll get it this time…Ve."
*Feliciano=Ex-Professional, high-ranking mercenary, trained in hand-to-hand combat and knife-play.*
"…mio fratello might've missed but I sure won't." there was a click and a small spring snapping. Wang's eyes were staring at the gun pointed at him.
*Lovino= firearm specialist and deflection master*
"I repeat you will not do anything to fuck up the fucking twin's business…can somebody please wake-up the fucking Canadian moron." He waved his gun carelessly; gaining gasps and curses from the others.
*ONLY PROBLEM=INTIMIDATED BY OPEN AREAS*
Canada hadn't moved on inch, a fly actually resting on his nose. His eyes were dull unblinking violet.
"Are they that fucking close? Tell me." Romano asked.
"They're very…very close…Canada's just not visible to you people, so nobody really notices it, mi amigos!" Spain cooed in, answering his friend's question.
"And you have?" South Italy scowled sourly.
"Sí! It is very cute actually, like how they swat each other to pay attention…or how they just lean on each other…or when they pass on jokes about Inglaterra…or how they always bug each other to change clothes when their sweaty…*SIGH*…lindo." Toni's face was lax with his eyes drooping and squeals uncagable.
"…Igen!" Hungary joined in. "What's more is that they have this all awesome 'bro-with-benefits' thing going on! It's one of my profitable...er…n-nothing!" She immediately sat back, trying to hide from the raised-brow looks thrown at her.
"Oh…mon petit Canada…we have maple syrup for you!" the French man came from behind the distraught nation, coaxing him out of his mental prison.
Canada was unresponsive.
"…um…R-robsten is back…" England tried his best to not fumble or cuss at the stupidity of the whole thing.
"He's over them, mon couer." France sighed while patting on Mattie's shoulder non-stop.
"H-how was I supposed to know, b-bloody frog!" Arthur stood up defiantly with a heated look intended to melt Francis's face.
"If you just spent more time with them you should've known that he went through consoling just to move on!" the taller man stood up practically gluing his forehead onto the shorter man's forehead in irritation.
"I blame you for making him go with you to that damned gay movie!" England shoved his lover away.
"I was supposed to be going with you but you decided to take a rain-check!" France marched back up puffing his toned chest.
"I hate false movies!" the bushy-browed nation knocked on the hard skull of the frog.
"And I hate it when my boyfriend doesn't go out on a date with me." The gloved hands made its way to the bushes on top of his emerald eyes.
"You suck at being a parent!" the opposite set of hands made their way on his beard.
"You suck worse. I mean, you thought that they were flabby and anorexic before you saw them naked! How the fuck do you miss hot bodies like they do? You do not appreciate them at all!" France struggled as a hand made its way to his mouth.
"You pamper them too much! You could've stopped Matthew's obsession." The other hand was tugging on the nourished-silk hair.
"…And you could've stopped Alfred's catnip problem!" France started banging their heads together.
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Make me, eyebrows!"
"…Halt den Mund!" Prussia shouted causing both blondes to stop strangling each other.
"…Oi..Canada…" The Albino kneeled in front of the blank man. He unwrapped a gigantic juicy burger, practically dripping. The smell made everybody in the room hungry, the greasy sloppy sandwich is their ultimate guilty pleasure.
Finally, there was small movement from the nose that inhaled the semi-visible air. His dry eyes closed for a few seconds, savoring the smell. He shook his head and rubbed the side of it.
"A…Al?" his eyes slowly opened. "AL!" his voice became a lot louder. "Where are you, Al?" he stood up running for the door. Germany and Netherlands blocked the door.
"You got to let me find him…y-you don't know what his about to do!" he begged on his knees, gripping on their clothes.
"I-I don't think that confronting him now would be a good decision." The German reasoned.
"I told you that YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW!" He marched towards the gigantic table before slamming his fist on it, unbolting it from the floor.
"MOVE."
The lovers dispersed trying hard to not shake in fear.
He rammed through the door, sprinting down the hall. He got his phone out, calling the only thing that could help him.
"T-tony?" he faltered, still running.
"Shit?"
"Yeah, it's Mattie…is Al there?"
"Fuck."
"Could you check t-the Atlantic?"
"Fuck you?" the alien asked curiously.
"We had a little fight."
"Mother fucker." There was a slight tinge of anger that coated the pitchy voice of Tony.
"It's n-not my-"
Tony sighed, he knew what the fight was all about."Dick."
"Yes, it was hockey-related."
"Fag."
"Yes, it was about my lucky shirt. Now, would you please help me…y-you know what happens when shit like this happens."
…
"You used the 'three', didn't you?" Tony spoke out in englsih.
"T-two and three-quarters…"
"Damn it, Mattie. You fucking moron. You know that the reason he takes catnip was because of that day. You know that that was the day that fucked him up much more than the time Good ol' Abe decided to punch him for messing with the civil war. You know that that day made him more suicidal than he was before. You know that that day changed him forever." The Alien started lecturing him, daunting like a mother.
… That date was just around the corner. They date when he got a call from Kiku that Alfred went all wild cat-bird on him and was now sedated and sleeping. He also reported about seeing a lot of bruises that didn't seem self-administered, Halloween masks, and a bloodied home-made sweater with Kiku's name knitted in Japanese.
The Japanese man started to croak, piecing more and more of the jigsaw puzzle together. According to him there was a bloody note warning Alfred to not push through with meeting Kiku without 'their' consent, that the damned oriental demon was nothing but a bastard until 'they' said so.
"…C-canada-san…h-his boss…did this…" the terrified voice of Japan rang his ears painfully.
"T-tony…I am really …s-sorry…" he stopped right by the door, his hand frozen, clutching the doorknob.
"Don't say it to me, fag. Tell it to your suicidal brother." His grey friend practically shouted before hanging up.
'…but he could be anywhere by now…wings and all…he could be in any street or alley, with all the catnip in him, he could be in America by now or even in Asia or the arctic.'
His pained expression was met with a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder. His dull amethysts looked outside the window by the door. The clouds were circling around the tower where their apartment was.
The lighting flashed white-blue and slight orange and the thunder sounded like wings beating hard. There was only one nation who could do that.
"…Al…"
America didn't mean to whip up a localized thunder storm around the building, he was just pissed. It wasn't today's confrontation; no, it was just the breaking point.
He just had about enough of everybody; he's been tolerant of his older twin's obsession for decades. He always kept his mouth shut when Arthur was being an utter bitch when Francis gets late for their numerous dates. Or how Francis should keep his hands off others since he already has a boyfriend, who has been his for a century and a half. Or how Wang keeps on forcing that Ivan likes him. Or how Ludwig keeps on shouting, trying to pretend that Lars wasn't pleasuring him under the table.
His tolerance was pushed even further with his heads. Nowadays, he always lets his bosses do all the serious shit, since they didn't give a damn about his opinion anymore, keeping the urge to correct their mistakes in equations, demographics, grammar, and basic logic inside him.
He's always been tolerant, always accepting new people and new cultures. But actually confronting him while he was keeping himself calm was the last straw.
Sure, he might be prone to hurting himself, but he doesn't hate himself so much that he would let his heart stop and die… well, the thought crossed his mind the first time but the succeeding incidents weren't as serious.
Should people call him thick-skinned? Sometimes he wonders, he has never voiced out his real opinions about anything during the meetings, he just raises issues that his boss want him to bring up and other that that he'd just speak up about random thoughts that he knew wouldn't be welcomed.
He learned that lesson the hard way more than once. Arthur disciplined him, way back then. Abe punched him during the civil war. Somebody else beat the crap out of him for hanging out with Denmark instead of reporting to him when the First World War's over. And then there was the time when he was ambushed by men in Halloween masks during thanksgiving when he invited Kiku to spend it with him, since they haven't been able to talk each other for months after the Second World War.
America could beat the crap out of all of them, but they had the power to hurt others, his people and his friends. He would rather deal with the pain than actually letting them hurt others.
His mind swam for a few more moments. His jacket zipped all the way down, sagging down the couch, as he lied on his back. His forearms served of the pillow for his raspberry-honey head. His feet were kicked up, letting the left one's heel rest on the bent right's knee, in turn resting on the arm rest of the sofa.
He heard the oven timer ring; he flipped to his bare feet, with his unbelted pants sagging even more. He rolled up his right sleeve showing his wrist tattoo, a simple thorny bracelet under a very old woven bracelet, browned after an eon, some red beads here and there. Let's just say it really means a lot to him.
He got his oven mitt and opened the oven; the room immediately smelled like crispy roast turkey with spiced meat, caramelized onions, garlic, pumpkin and carrots all tossed in generously with herbs.
He stood up, placing it on the counter top to cool for a bit, he wiped the slight sweat from his forehead. He looked down his awesome abs, smiled, and patted it.
"I'm gonna eat 'til yer gone fer the night!" he spoke in his soft Texan accent. It just came natural to him, not at all forced like his more popular accent.
He heard the door open. He sighed.
'He's here.'
"…A-Al…AL!?" his twin's voice was louder than usual; even he didn't appreciate things that were too loud (except Denmark).
"AL!" his older twin came in, in all his hockey-fan glory, still wearing his heavy hockey shirt, and the mask and the three scarves and he was seating all over. America sighed again. He sat by the meager table for two by the wall.
There was a ball of alpaca wool and knitting needles on the table. He didn't dare look at his brother and decided to continue on making the sweater.
So how the fuck does he know how to make a sweater?
Because he's awesome.
"Al…please…please *sniff**sniff*…m-my…f-fau-*sob*" he ran to hug his twin, who didn't reciprocate it or even acknowledge him. He whined and sobbed like a baby, trying to get his brother's attention.
He tugged on his strong arm and tickled his ticklish abs, but nothing. He didn't stop knitting. Canada sat on the chair opposite to the one America was seating on.
"AL! P-PLEASE!" his voice croaked pathetically, actually it was even funny. He kept on pulling on Alfred's hands that didn't move.
The younger North American sighed once more and held out the ball of yarn to be held by the older. The latter looked stunned but proceeded crying once he got a hold of the soft yarn.
Then another sigh, he made him stand up. Again, there were tears.
Then another sight, he made him raise his arms all up. Again, there were tears.
Then another sigh, he pulled his shirt off. Again there were tears running down his pale muscled body almost identical to his twin, only having a tuft of hair in the middle of his chest, a tribal maple leaf tattoo on his left shoulder blade, and a wider waist-line due to the cold climate. His arms were still up, the musky smell was strong.
"Al! Al! Al! m'sorry." He stomped his feet wildly, with arms still up. The only time he stopped was one he felt something soft cover him, something warm.
"I don't want you to catch a cold." America had a scowl on his face; guiding his brother's arms down, rubbing it with the soft wool sweater he's been making for a few weeks or so.
"I-I won't do that to you ev-ever again." He hugged his younger brother tightly. "I'm s-sorry…I'll never let…let my obsession get the best of me…you're the most important thing to me right now. You don't deserve to be r-reminde-"
"I don't care if you do it again." America smiled, running his fingers through the nest of soft buttery blonde.
"W-what?" Canada sniffled his runny nose.
"I don't care…" he smiled warmly, caressing the red cheek "…'coz I'll butcher you the next time you do it."
There was an uneasy silence broken by a hearty laugh.
"Stop talking like that. I'm not your boyfriend, bro. I know we do it from time to time, but we both do it just to get frustration out, right?" Alfred laughed loudly, hugging his brother who was resting his head on the strong crook of his twin's neck.
"I know." Canada laughed happily through the tears. "S-so, can we eat the turkey now?"
"Not yet. We still have to watch a scary claustrophobic movie" America answered with a bit of fear.
"Oh no, I won't let you watch it." He stopped crying, staring at his twin's hypnotic, pleading orbs.
"Fine."
"I knew you were gonna see it my way." Alfred grinned as he led his brother to the sofa outside the kitchen.
EXTRA STORY TIME: Another Crack-tastic Story!
Italy just finished his thirty-minute run on the treadmill. Even if the elite Mercenary firm that included him, his brother, and the North American twins was disbanded for half a century already, it was no reason not to keep himself trim. In spite of the heart break on their part every time they were ordered to kill, their silent friendship kept them strong and now they were free from their shackles. Actually the secret brotherhood was the main reason he defended the North Americans when the world wanted to drive the wedge between them further.
With his mind replaying the events that transpired, he hadn't noticed that he was already past one-hundred push-ups. Germany would be so proud of him, he mused. He didn't always work out like this, he was more into dancing and other aerobic workouts, but of course he didn't want to be just light built. He didn't want his body to be seen as girly, even though he usually wore baggy shirts.
He stood up, lifting his tight green tank top. His lightly tanned body drenched in sweat. His was slim, but masculinely slim. Probably, in between serious dancer and swimmer in built. His amber eyes flashed for a second, before closing. His nose started to sniff the air…registering a strong scent.
He sniffed his wet arm pits and was sure it wasn't him. He swiped his delicate yet callused fingers through the small wet brunette bush, smelling it…no, it definitely wasn't him.
Just then, a thick arm came from behind wrapping his narrow waist. The taut back was pressed on a very large chest. He could smell the intoxicating scent. He always felt giggly and happy when he felt his presence.
He looked down the arm that was holding his waist, lightly groping his tight six-pack. It was beautifully tanned and covered in dark hair. He felt the soft yet masculine lips that came in contact with his extended shoulder blade. He closed his eyes, feeling the hairy and hard body behind him that has formed a small gut, but still had flat in profile, and with six decently defined bumps that Feliciano loved to tickle.
The Italian had always asked him to stop shaving his body all over that's why he stopped. He hated the pointy sprouts that grew after a day, yes it takes only a day. These small needles always made it hard for him to hug him or kiss him. But what he hated more was the way it made his lover itchy and irritated until it all grew back thicker than ever. He hated seeing him sad or annoyed.
The man behind him lost the title as biggest (body) country to Russia, who was just an inch taller than he was, then to Denmark, who was two inches shorter, and was tied with Sweden, who was as tall as Russia.
Actually, Germany, even though he was already with Lars, didn't seem comfortable seeing Feli date him. He was worried that he was too old. The comment made them both laugh; they were all eons old, so what if they aged differently? It's not like he chose to like him, he just allowed his feelings to flourish.
Germany should've seen the look on Italy's face when he realized he fell for the old man he beat all those years ago.
"…Sadiq… you're starting to smell again, ve?" he teased his lover of a decade.
"Later…you look too sexy…Aşkım" he went on kissing up the back of his raised arm.
Turkey laughed loudly causing Italy to giggle softly. "So, you want pasta tonight, il mio amore."
The Turk smiled, flashing his clear green eyes down the smaller man. His stare was soft and happy, nodding simply. "I love whatever you'll cook." He hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go.
"…you are really starting to smell, ve!" the Italian laughed and kissed the hairy cheek. "Hit the showers please." He captured the other's lips in a passionate kiss.
"Fine. Fine. But, tonight's Oil wrestling night." He pushed away, in a small sulking pout. He headed for the bathroom but not before slapping the tight small ass of his young lover.
"I'm pretty sure that I'll be getting that ass of yours again, Feli." Sadiq snickered.
Italy looked at the beautiful hairy body that had a very large and intricate vine pattern tattoo that engulfed his left side spreading down his front thigh. It's always a hot scene to see, especially when he teases about picking the flowers off of the tattoo.
Feliciano, recovering from his yelp, glanced at him with an innocent smile. "I'll try my best to beat you this time." He laughed. Sadiq returned it with his very dominating smug grin.
"I-I never get to top anymore…makes me feel less like a man…" The Italian pouted, rubbing his left arm comfortingly.
The Turk was overcome by concern and guilt…he could plow him any time of day…but he never let Feli do him unless it was his birthday or on their anniversary or Christmas and that one time on Halloween. Maybe, he could bottom for him tonight. He does enjoy the way his beloved Italian enters him, heck…he's a lot louder than the younger European actually.
"Win or lose tonight, you'll be plowing me." He said briskly before running for the bathroom door, slamming it in embarrassment.
"…He can be so cute at times…" Feliciano sighed, before heading towards the kitchen, readying their dinner.
EXTRA EXTRA: the aftermath
Russia came out of the main building with his briefcase ruined and tattered. But that wasn't what was most peculiar; it was the fact that he had a bag of ice in front of his pants and on his ass. If you thought that that was all, he shoved frozen peas down his boxer briefs hours ago. Yes, hours ago. His legs were so numb that he couldn't even move to get outside of the closet. He was too ashamed to call for help and since he was too numb to even pull his trousers up.
He started walking towards his building, when he saw a very peculiar sight as well.
Denmark, a country whom he respected deeply but wasn't really that close to personally, had an ice pack on the small of his back and in front of his pants, and he seemed to be having a hard time walking, though not as bad as him.
The mesmerizing icy-blues clashed with the violet stones.
"I-I got my awesome dick kicked by a r-random girl. I accidentally touched her boobs." The Dane lied rather miserably. Ivan was not at all impressed, but he didn't give a fuck and he needed an excuse himself.
"…me too…" he said before heading their way, wishing that no one else saw them like this.
YES, TurkIta... IT IS THE ESSENCE OF CRACK!
Anyway, I think that Turkey's more nurturing side can be brought out by the childish Italy and Italy matured a bit 'coz the Turk doesn't pamper him and gives him a truck load of things to do until he learned to be responsible and mature enough. Well something like that, I don't know if I' phrasing it write, my head hurts a bit.
. .LOL!