Warnings: graphic sex, small discussion of cuts/ blood, alcohol. And of course, Romano's swearing (it never ends)
The cut was about twenty centimeters long, and not too deep. However, the glass had been on the floor for at least three minutes, and any germs cut be transferring from it into the blood.
These were a few if the reasons the glass had to come out of Romano's left hand.
"Ah... dammit, bastard, do something!" Antonio thought fast: if he took the glass out, it would bleed more. But if he kept it in, his precious Romano was at risk of an infection.
"Shh, it's ok. I'm going to take the glass out, sì?" he muttered, brow furrowed in concern. He took Romano's limp hand in his, gentle fingers caressing the skin slightly more than they should.
"This... this is your fault." Romano muttered.
"I know. I am very, very, very sorry, Romano." Antonio leaned in closer. Ever so carefully, he began to pull out the glass-
"Oh Mio dio! OW!" Romano snatched his hand back, cursing loudly. "Bastard, no!"
"But Romano..." pleaded Antonio, "If I don't remove it you'll get an infection."
"But it hurts.' tears sparkled in Romano's eyes.
"I know... shh, it's going to be ok...I..."
An idea struck Antonio. An idea that he knew could potentially ruin his friendship with Romano forever. But surely, surely it was worth a try? This was what pirates did, right? Pirates always got what they wanted.
And Antonio wanted Romano more than anything.
Deep breath, Antonio.
"On three, I pull it out, ok?"
"Mm..."
"Uno."
I'm going to do it.
"Dos."
He's going to kill me. I can't... he hates me... I don't deserve him.
"Tres."
The air swished past Antonio, split second movement pulling him towards Romano, desires flying like the chocolate locks of the Spaniard's hair as he got closer, closer, closer.
A breath.
A gasp.
The collision of the two men's lips.
A kiss.
A kiss to ease the pain, to sing words that can't be spoken, to complete an unforgettable moment and engrave it into Romano's memory as the day his life changed.
All that mattered were those warm lips on his, the tongue that broke through every thing he ever knew.
This was terrible.
Terribly, awfully, horribly amazing.
Just as the kiss got more, how do you say, heated, Romano felt a small, stabbing pain in his hand, but he brushed over it quickly; he had other things to focus on. However, Antonio was suddenly retreating from him, smiling.
"Here we go." Romano watched in fascination as Antonio ripped off the sleeve of his shirt into a long thin strip of cotton and wrapped it gently around the open wound in his hand, tying it in a small knot at the end. The Spanish man pulled Romano's hand to his lips and kissed it gently, right on the cut, and giggled.
"See, it didn't hurt that much." he teased.
Suddenly, Romano remembered that he hated Antonio. A blush flooded onto his cheeks like waves crashing onto a beach, and his hand flew to touch his mouth lightly.
"Bastard... I..." he mumbled.
"Romano..?"
Crash.
The crashing if the waves on the beach was all to be heard.
"What does mi corazón mean?"
Crash.
Antonio swallowed, sighed, and expressed the truth.
"My love or my... heart." Romano stared into space, figuring this out, and Antonio felt a slight confidence boost. It wasn't a no... yet.
Crash.
"Because you are my heart, Romano. My heart, if you want it, belongs to you. I saved you from that Austrian because you looked so beautiful, so interesting. I knew instantly that I needed you, Romano. And... and if you're not ready, I'm prepared to wait. I'd wait for you as long as... the sea exists, and had existed."
Crash.
Romano sighed quietly, brown eyes shining like endless chestnut voids as he reached forward to gently touch Antonio's arm.
"You... you would wait that long? For me?" his voice was so quiet, it seemed to melt into the crashing of the waves like wine poured into the sea.
Crash.
"Sí, of couse, mi corazón." was all Antonio could breathlessly muster over the pounding of his heart. All he had was focused on Romano, on his smooth, tanned body, his wide, auburn eyes, his soft-looking chocolate hair. All rested on this beautiful, tense moment, anticipation loading the atmosphere for the words that would come out of Romano's pursed lips.
The waves crashed on the beach.
Crash.
"Ti- ti amo."
Antonio couldn't speak Italian; but, although he was too proud to admit it, the phrase that Romano said sounded very similar to a phrase he knew well in Spanish.
Te amo: I love you.
"Uno, dos, tres." Antonio counted quickly, sweeping in on three to capture Romano's lips once again. And this time, Romano kissed back.
Antonio liked to think of himself as a good kisser. After over a decade now of sailing the seas and meeting many foreign people, he felt like he had a lot of experience; There was that he pretty Hungarian girl who lived with Roderich, the Austrian. He had kissed her when Gilbert wasn't looking, but regretted it afterwards (she had hit him round the head with a frying pan). Then there was that Icelandic boy, from the ship owned by the crazy Danish pirate whom Antonio had encountered near Holland around the same time he'd picked up Abel and Bella. Unfortunately, the teenage Icelander was tougher than he looked, and Antonio had also received a beating up from his practically psychopathic older brother afterwards. There was also Francis, whom Antonio had kissed just as an experiment. But Francis slapped him, and he never tried again.
Come to think of it, this was the first time Antonio had ever kissed someone and not got beat up for it. And even better, it was Romano...
"Mmph." Romano broke away, blushing lightly. "My hands bleeding again, bastard."
Indeed, there were large red stains seeping through the thin makeshift bandage, as the cut underneath openly bled. Antonio removed his hands from under Romano's shirt quickly (his fingers had a tendency of roaming when kissing.)
"Ah, we should better get back to the ship, I guess." he looked around as if he'd only just noticed the rest of the world. "Oh! It's almost dark!"
"Well noticed." grumbled the ever-sarcastic Romano, standing up. Antonio hauled himself off the floor drowsily.
"Mm, why does my head hurt so much, I wonder." he asked cluelessly.
"'Cause you're drunk, bastard." Romano started to walk off up the stairs without him.
"Hey, wait up!" called Antonio, stumbling up the steps after him. He took Romano's right hand, the uninjured one, in his own, and held it tight.
"I'll get Bella to clean you up, sí?" Romano nodded, but stopped as he caught Antonio's eye. "And Romano..?"
"What?"
"Te amo. I think that means the same thing as ti amo, am I right?"
"Yes."
Crash.
"There. All patched up." Bella finished tying the neat knot in the end of the bandage that covered most of Romano's left hand.
"Thank you..." mumbled Romano, blushing at being so close to such a pretty girl. But, well, Romano could only think of Antonio right now.
"You're lucky I bought some new bandages." nattered Bella. She turned to her brother. "I told you it wouldn't be a waste of money."
"Hm." the tall Abel shrugged, adjusting the double-coloured scarf that he always wore. Romano had always been wary of the Dutch man; he looked like he could, and would, beat someone up. And there was the smoking... he seemed to always be chewing on some manky old pipe or cigar, but only occasionally did he puff smoke from his mouth. Also, Romano could never figure out quite how he got his hair to stand up straight like that. Maybe that's what constantly being high does to your hair?
"Oh, yeah, Captain Antonio wanted to see you." Bella smiled at him suggestively, and Romano panicked. Did she know? How could she know?!
"Um, I'll go... see the bastard." muttered Romano as fast as he could before practically sprinting from the room. He covered his flushed face in his hands for a few seconds, before hurrying quickly away from the Belgian girl and her (apparently) all knowing smile.
Romano walked along the deck of the docked ship, eyes glistening in the creamy whitewash moonlight. There was light in the windows of the Captain's quarters, so he figured that Antonio would be there. He wondered what Antonio wanted; maybe to tell him that all that happened earlier was a joke? No one had ever kissed Romano before, or told him that they'd wait forever for him, apart from maybe Feliciano, but Romano's fluffy, joyful little brother didn't count.
Romano knocked twice on the solid oak door, and heard a slight shuffling from inside.
"Come in!" Antonio's voice finally called.
The door was heavy, and it took some struggling for Romano to open it. He slipped into the room quietly.
"Welcome, mi corazón." grinned Antonio, getting up out of his chair and pulling Romano into his arm. Flustered by thus sudden movement, Romano struggled slightly.
"Bas- what did you want?" Antonio chuckled slightly lowing hid head to take a Dee sniff of Romano's hair.
"You." he whispered, brushing his lips against Romano's neck. Romano blushed deep, blood red.
"You're still drunk, idiot." he told Antonio, although, for some reason, he made no attempt to escape his grasp.
"But you drank too..." muttered Antonio. Without warning, he trailed a small line down Romano's neck with his tongue, causing the Italian to shiver.
"B-bastard..." was all he could muster, as Antonio's mouth began to gently suck at his neck. His hands flew up, and he ran them through Antonio's surprising soft locks of hair. The Spanish man pressed his lips hungrily against Romano's collarbone, nose digging into his tanned neck. He began to wonder down the Italian's chest, leaving a small trail of saliva as he went, until his head was almost down Romano's shirt.
Then Antonio slowly slipped Romano's shirt up his stomach, over his head and off of his arms, emerald eyes glistening as he took in more and more of the Italian's body.
Romano felt like he was in a dream; time seemed to slip away abnormally, all he could see were pictures that flashed before him. The embroidered pattern on Antonio's bed sheets, the Spaniard's toned, muscular chest, the single candle that flickered before going out, leaving the warm room swathed in only moonlight.
The sounds; The gentle squeak of the bed, the forever present creaking of the old boat, the rustle of blankets, the long, deep, breaths from Antonio.
Antonio knew what to do. It was him that held Romano in the right places, that sent shivers down Romano's spine with his spell binding touches in all the right places.
He smelt like tomatoes, and perspiration, and wood, and he had the salty smell of the sea in his hair. His mouth still tasted of alcohol, his tongue soft and wet and slightly bumpy against Romano's. His skin was smooth, and Romano longed for more of it to touch him. His hair was soft. His eyes were green.
Antonio felt fantastic.
He was deep inside of Romano, and the movement was painful. Both Antonio and Romano yelled as they twisted, burning kisses placed on any part of each other they could find. The world deteriorated around them, so that all each knew was the sweating, writhing person in their arms. All that existed were them. Not anyone else, not themselves either. Just them, as one, together in the night.
And for a second, it was like they were the same person, and it was blissful and wonderful and beautiful.
Then reality came crashing down, and they lay, sweaty and tired, next to each other on the messed up covers of the bed, panting deeply. Antonio reached forward and pulled the blankets over them both, and Romano snuggled wearily into his arms; he was too tired to complain; he'd curse Antonio in,the morning, when he wasn't so drowsy... For now, he'd just lie, warm and safe, until he had thought up something to moan about.
Antonio stroked Romano's hair with his fingers, and Romano's eyelids flickered close. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.
"Buenos noches, mi corazón." whispered Antonio, kissing the sleeping Romano one last tine on the forehead before closing his eyes, and drifting to sleep himself.
A/N: Yay, I finally managed to finish this chapter! Here, have some beautiful Spamano. I was fangirling just writing this...
In the next chapter: New characters! (well new to this story, at least) and an actual, yes actual, story line developing *gasps*.
Thank you for reading (=ヮ=)೨