Sparkling green eyes followed the swish, swish, swish of the lone curled hair sticking out from the younger's head as it moved about. Spain had always found this one particular hair so intriguing. He never knew something as small as that could make someone feel so good. Especially someone like his little Romano. It was his perfect chance to touch it.... the little Italian wasn't looking... but he would get mad...
Oh well. Spain craned his neck forward, opened his mouth and enclosed his lips around the hair and pulled at it gently. Just as he suspected, that little affectionate move earned him a little bit of hell.
Romano gasped noisily, a long shudder spiking up his spine that made his fingers clench into fists and his nails dig into the Spanish male's shoulders. That reaction could have happened all day long and Spain would never tire of it. Yet, life wasn't as generous as it should've been. The next thing he realized was a vibrant chorus of poorly strung together curses blaring against his eardrums, a pair of enraged fists banging against his chest, and a sharp set of white teeth digging into his left shoulder.
With a squeak, Spain only tugged on the hair more. This insignificant amount of pain would hardly make him lose this battle. Romano always put up a fight, a very violent fight, before he gave in to the pleasure they both knew he secretly wanted. It was like he put his last resort into effect before he threw in the towel, which amused the older man to no end. It was poor battle strategy, and actions like that could destroy an entire army.
Yet, poor battle tactics had never been so adorable to watch in Spain's opinion.
It was such a good feeling to see that he had been right. Romano had stopped fussing a few moments later and sagged into the inviting chest before him. A deep groan reverberated in his throat as he forced out a defeated, "Vaffanculo."
"You're so mean!" Spain chuckled to himself, letting the hair go from his lips and replacing the lost hold with his index finger. He wrapped the thin hair around the circumference of his finger, and a single, breathy, shallow cry reluctantly exited Romano. "So... You won't tell me why you were crying?"
Romano swallowed hard, never looking up in fear of having his pleasure-stricken expression seen by the bastard. "Vaffanculo."
Spain smirked, tightening his grip on the hair and tugging with slightly more force. "Me parece que no me estás contestando."
The Italian moaned lowly, panting quietly into the light-weight cloth of Spain's clothes. "Scopami ora."
There was nothing like a dirty little plea to make a man lose his train of thought.
In that moment, Romano was pressed against the wall parallel to the windows and he found a mouth hungrily attacking his own. For once in his life, he let Spain do as he pleased. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally after such a stressful day, and to sit back and do nothing was about the only thing he could manage at this point. He could also grudgingly admit it was exactly what he wanted to do, too. Their kissing was passionate, and every touch by each other's wandering hands set every inch of their flesh on fire. It was getting so hot... and their clothes were just getting in the way of everything.
For Him (4)
Oh well. Spain craned his neck forward, opened his mouth and enclosed his lips around the hair and pulled at it gently. Just as he suspected, that little affectionate move earned him a little bit of hell.
Romano gasped noisily, a long shudder spiking up his spine that made his fingers clench into fists and his nails dig into the Spanish male's shoulders. That reaction could have happened all day long and Spain would never tire of it. Yet, life wasn't as generous as it should've been. The next thing he realized was a vibrant chorus of poorly strung together curses blaring against his eardrums, a pair of enraged fists banging against his chest, and a sharp set of white teeth digging into his left shoulder.
With a squeak, Spain only tugged on the hair more. This insignificant amount of pain would hardly make him lose this battle. Romano always put up a fight, a very violent fight, before he gave in to the pleasure they both knew he secretly wanted. It was like he put his last resort into effect before he threw in the towel, which amused the older man to no end. It was poor battle strategy, and actions like that could destroy an entire army.
Yet, poor battle tactics had never been so adorable to watch in Spain's opinion.
It was such a good feeling to see that he had been right. Romano had stopped fussing a few moments later and sagged into the inviting chest before him. A deep groan reverberated in his throat as he forced out a defeated, "Vaffanculo."
"You're so mean!" Spain chuckled to himself, letting the hair go from his lips and replacing the lost hold with his index finger. He wrapped the thin hair around the circumference of his finger, and a single, breathy, shallow cry reluctantly exited Romano. "So... You won't tell me why you were crying?"
Romano swallowed hard, never looking up in fear of having his pleasure-stricken expression seen by the bastard. "Vaffanculo."
Spain smirked, tightening his grip on the hair and tugging with slightly more force. "Me parece que no me estás contestando."
The Italian moaned lowly, panting quietly into the light-weight cloth of Spain's clothes. "Scopami ora."
There was nothing like a dirty little plea to make a man lose his train of thought.
In that moment, Romano was pressed against the wall parallel to the windows and he found a mouth hungrily attacking his own. For once in his life, he let Spain do as he pleased. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally after such a stressful day, and to sit back and do nothing was about the only thing he could manage at this point. He could also grudgingly admit it was exactly what he wanted to do, too. Their kissing was passionate, and every touch by each other's wandering hands set every inch of their flesh on fire. It was getting so hot... and their clothes were just getting in the way of everything.