T_T I give up on this part. I’ve edited and rewritten everything so many times, but it just doesn’t read the way I want it to. I’m sorry. I hope it’s not terrible and doesn’t put anyone to sleep. OTL Also… I feel like it’s necessary to say that Netherlands is not going to rape Romano or anything >_<;; He definitely plays a part in causing Romano to develop homophobia, but there’s no bad-touching. Not in this fic, at least.
Present
When Romano woke up he was momentarily confused as to where he was. Somehow he had gotten tucked into a bed, and—Romano pushed back the blankets to see what he was wearing—changed into pajamas, as well. Then the memory of the previous night crept into his mind, and Romano realized he was in the hotel that he had reserved a room with Spain in.
Spain… was sleeping soundly in the bed beside him apparently. He had probably been the one to get Romano under the covers. And in pajamas. Which meant, Romano realized with a strange flutter in his stomach, that Spain had undressed him last night in order to change his clothes. Romano grasped his pajama shirt in hand as embarrassment flooded through him. He didn’t think Spain would go so far as to change his boxers—Romano checked anyway, and no, thank God—but still, he had seen him mostly naked, and Romano felt very uncomfortable with that. Giving him baths and changing his clothes was one thing as a child, but Romano was an adult now, and his body wasn’t something to be put on display so easily.
Veneziano tended to be of the opinion that Romano was far too protective of his body. Romano tended to be of the opinion that he didn’t protect it enough. The world around him was becoming more and more sexually deviant. It was making it very difficult to stay virtuous. Not that Spain would have taken advantage of him or anything because Spain wasn’t like that, but Romano didn’t show his body to anybody. Not to people with bad intentions and not to people with good intentions. It was wrong.
Then there was, of course, the fact that Romano hated his body. After being compared to Veneziano so often as a child, Romano had ended up using his brother as the standard he needed to measure up to. But it was a standard he could never reach. Veneziano had softer, lighter skin, and Romano had yet to find a single freckle or odd mark. His figure was small and lean, and everything was in beautiful proportion. Romano’s skin was olive-colored and marred with quite a few light scars that he had managed to attain due to his clumsiness. His hands were calloused from working in tomato fields, and his nails were chewed on and uneven. He was taller than Veneziano, so the proportions of his body could never be matched, and no matter how hard Romano tried, he couldn’t get as thin as his brother. He hated seeing his reflection in the mirror, and he didn’t like others to see his body because he knew it was ugly.
Romano sunk back into his pillows and looked at Spain just a bedside table away. It was embarrassing to think that Spain had seen his body and all of its imperfections. It shouldn’t have mattered what another man thought, but Spain’s opinion of Romano had always mattered terribly to him, even if he never said so. The thought wouldn’t leave him alone, either. What did Spain think of him? Did he think Romano looked attractive? He had often said that Veneziano was very cute. Jealousy tugged at Romano’s heart. Was he cute, too? Did Spain think Romano was ugly, or did he think he had a nice body?
Romano imagined Spain removing his clothes and admiring his body. He then grew very, very hot.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Wondering what Spain thought of Romano was supposed to be a completely innocent thought, but somehow it had turned out to feel so… so gay. Somehow, somehow, Romano’s thoughts always ended up feeling gay. Damn it! He willed the image in his head to disappear. He was not a homo. He hated homosexuality. It was wrong and unnatural and a sin. Romano had learned that at a very young age.
Untitled 3a/?
Present
When Romano woke up he was momentarily confused as to where he was. Somehow he had gotten tucked into a bed, and—Romano pushed back the blankets to see what he was wearing—changed into pajamas, as well. Then the memory of the previous night crept into his mind, and Romano realized he was in the hotel that he had reserved a room with Spain in.
Spain… was sleeping soundly in the bed beside him apparently. He had probably been the one to get Romano under the covers. And in pajamas. Which meant, Romano realized with a strange flutter in his stomach, that Spain had undressed him last night in order to change his clothes. Romano grasped his pajama shirt in hand as embarrassment flooded through him. He didn’t think Spain would go so far as to change his boxers—Romano checked anyway, and no, thank God—but still, he had seen him mostly naked, and Romano felt very uncomfortable with that. Giving him baths and changing his clothes was one thing as a child, but Romano was an adult now, and his body wasn’t something to be put on display so easily.
Veneziano tended to be of the opinion that Romano was far too protective of his body. Romano tended to be of the opinion that he didn’t protect it enough. The world around him was becoming more and more sexually deviant. It was making it very difficult to stay virtuous. Not that Spain would have taken advantage of him or anything because Spain wasn’t like that, but Romano didn’t show his body to anybody. Not to people with bad intentions and not to people with good intentions. It was wrong.
Then there was, of course, the fact that Romano hated his body. After being compared to Veneziano so often as a child, Romano had ended up using his brother as the standard he needed to measure up to. But it was a standard he could never reach. Veneziano had softer, lighter skin, and Romano had yet to find a single freckle or odd mark. His figure was small and lean, and everything was in beautiful proportion. Romano’s skin was olive-colored and marred with quite a few light scars that he had managed to attain due to his clumsiness. His hands were calloused from working in tomato fields, and his nails were chewed on and uneven. He was taller than Veneziano, so the proportions of his body could never be matched, and no matter how hard Romano tried, he couldn’t get as thin as his brother. He hated seeing his reflection in the mirror, and he didn’t like others to see his body because he knew it was ugly.
Romano sunk back into his pillows and looked at Spain just a bedside table away. It was embarrassing to think that Spain had seen his body and all of its imperfections. It shouldn’t have mattered what another man thought, but Spain’s opinion of Romano had always mattered terribly to him, even if he never said so. The thought wouldn’t leave him alone, either. What did Spain think of him? Did he think Romano looked attractive? He had often said that Veneziano was very cute. Jealousy tugged at Romano’s heart. Was he cute, too? Did Spain think Romano was ugly, or did he think he had a nice body?
Romano imagined Spain removing his clothes and admiring his body. He then grew very, very hot.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Wondering what Spain thought of Romano was supposed to be a completely innocent thought, but somehow it had turned out to feel so… so gay. Somehow, somehow, Romano’s thoughts always ended up feeling gay. Damn it! He willed the image in his head to disappear. He was not a homo. He hated homosexuality. It was wrong and unnatural and a sin. Romano had learned that at a very young age.