Romano is tired, head-achey, and incredibly bemused, but no matter how many times he rubs at his eyes Prussia and Spain won’t vanish from his bedside. He knows that he doesn’t want to see them, because he really doesn’t want to see anyone now. Romano feels like there’s a magic handle inside that drains him of all emotional well being and it’s been pounded on by an army of dwarfs.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t snap at them to leave. He just leans back against the headboard of the bed, his spine curving a little awkwardly, and stares at them.
Inside he knows he should be pissed at Prussia for walking away from him, for scolding, but he’s had time to let the other’s words simmer in the back of his mind and he’s starting to realize, though maybe still unwilling to acknowledge, that he is at least responsible for some of that argument.
“I don’t know if you heard France,” Prussia starts with a little huff, “but I’m not going to apologize for shit.”
Spain scowls, and Romano takes pleasure in the fact that Spain is on his side, but he himself doesn’t really care, so he shrugs.
“Okay. Well, I’m sorry.”
“What?” “What?”
He looked at their twin faces, both caught unawares and totally thrown off, and he chuckles a little.
“I’m not repeating it, so don’t get used to it” Romano adds sharply. “But maybe this time I’ll admit the potato bastard wasn’t doing anything untoward, except for still breathing.”
Prussia tries to look mildly offended, but Romano thinks he’s mostly amused. Spain still just looks surprised.
“Seriously?” Prussia asks. Romano looks at his toes, wiggling them so that he doesn’t have to look the bastard in the face. “W-well, fine, then. All right.”
Romano looks up. “I guess it is,” he says, then smirks and shakes his head again. “I mean--well, yeah, I personally may not like it, and I may not think it’s awesome--”
“Hey, you little--”
“--but that’s all, isn’t it?” Romano asks, and though he raises his voice he keeps his tone neutral. “I can’t make him change if he doesn’t want it. So even if it did upset me...yeah. There are other things about him that I’d...well, maybe I’d like to get to know better, so it’s okay.”
He doesn’t look up, just nudges a wrinkle in the comforter. He has no idea if he said the right thing at all, and he feels as though talking anymore will just lead him right into a hole. So he just lets the hotel room drop into silence.
Prussia pierces the silence with a sigh. “You know I never meant to upset you. I just forgot that you can be so... goddamn sensitive.”
Spain makes a noise like he wants to tell Prussia to stop, but Romano does his best to not take it too personally.
“Yeah, well.”
“So, does this mean that you guys are...?” Spain starts, looking between them, looking, to Romano’s surprise and almost pleasure, jealous.
“Don’t worry, Spain, we’re not gonna be fucking exclusive.” Prussia answers, catching the same not-so-subtle hints Romano had. “So,” he adds, turning to Romano himself, “we’re good?”
“Yeah,” Romano nods. “For now.”
“Fine, then.” Prussia stands, cracking his back and yawning. “Then I’m going to go prepare for the meeting, by which I mean I’m going to prepare to nap through it. Have fun, you two.”
Romano stares at his toes again as Prussia crosses the room and feels Spain’s eyes on him. He doesn’t look up and he doesn’t speak, even as the door clicks shut behind him. His fingers find and worry a loose thread on the comforter, the plush down giving a little beneath his pressing fingers.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4b/?]
“Romano?” Spain breaks the silence first, and his voice wavers--just a little, like a top losing its own balance. “Romano--what does this mean for us?”
And the question catches him off guard. He looks up at Spain, at green eyes, and pretends to ignore the tan fingers fisting themselves into the bed. His breath hitches as sensation ripples outward from his gut--outward from the places Spain touched when they moved together, two nights ago.
And then he left.
Just to get breakfast, he tells himself, his own fingers tightening. Just to get breakfast. Yes. He wasn’t going to leave forever, he just wanted to get some breakfast--
“Romano?”
Spain’s voice sends a thought flickering in the back of his mind, one that catches him entirely off-guard.
Spain left once and never came back. Left me alone, when I was a child, and never came back to tuck me in or kiss my forehead.
That’s right.
Romano’s stomach churns. Everything feels--tight, like his skin’s stretching thin and far and about to snap. He feels his body just to make sure it’s not rubber.
And even then, he crosses his arms across his chest, hugging himself as he stands, turns his back on Spain, and walks out of the room without another word. ___
Prussia’s asleep by the time Romano makes it back to his room, and he makes sure to close the door quietly behind him. The meeting was as uneventful as ever; true to his word, Prussia slept through most of it, only remaining awake only enough to play farting noises off his iPhone when it was Germany’s turn to speak and then getting kicked out of the room. Normally Romano would be pleased by the public humiliation of the stupid bastard who’s fucking his younger brother, but he was too distracted trying not to look at Spain, who was in turn trying to and failing miserably at not looking at him.
Perhaps because Spain was the last thing he wanted on his mind, the memory of their first time drug itself out of a dark crevice in his brain. He was physically more than ready, and had wanted the thing for so long. It was Spain who was reluctant, too worried about hurting his charge, his child. But Romano wasn’t a child, and he pushed for it, shyly and slowly.
The night Spain finally relented was long, because Romano wanted to take everything in, every sound and touch and smell. It felt so... good. Spain crooned in his ear, murmuring sweet nothings like they were going out of fashion, as he made Romano feel like a prince, a God. Even though Romano was headstrong and sloppy, Spain was patient and receptive and so tender with him. After Spain had fallen asleep holding him, Romano had cried.
What they had was special, always had been special even when Spain was trying to convince Austria to trade. Some nights they worked perfectly, and other nights they couldn’t be near each other without breaking down.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4c/?]
Romano sighs and collapses on his bed, burying his face in his pillow. He had seen the look on Spain’s face and it haunted him, but now he had something, someone, who had promised him something new, and precious, and was he really going to push it by trying to get that affection from two people? Fate was never so favorable to him, and Prussia got there first. Romano turns his head to gaze at his sleeping... partner, or boyfriend, or whatever.
He turns over, pulls his sheets over himself, and prays that he doesn’t mess this up.
Romano fidgets, and the mattress sinks beneath his weight. But he can’t quite sleep. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows, doing everything he can to relax. Eyes shut tight and shoulders tense, he huddles beneath his blankets, the comforter pulled up around his nose.
He works so hard at relaxing that he jumps and bites back a scream when Prussia eases into the bed next to him. “If you’re asleep, then I’m Old Fritz,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the back of Romano’s neck.
“Shuddup,” Romano mutters, and curls in on himself--and if he presses against Prussia a little more, well, fuck that. It’s not like he means to. “I’m trying to relax.”
Prussia chuckles. The air conditioning sighs, garnishing the room with a chill that makes body warmth very appealing. “Protip for you, buddy,” Prussia says, his arm coming around to hug Romano’s waist, “the point of relaxing isn’t really to try. It’s just to be.”
Romano tries to think of a biting comeback about sex and blowjobs and handjobs--and miracle of miracle, catches himself just as he opens his mouth. No sound comes out--no. There’s a better way to handle this.
So instead, he turns around on the bed, his hand comes down to take Prussia’s hand, unlatching the calloused, time-roughed fingers from a belt loop. “Maybe you could help me out, then,” Romano murmurs. And then he lifts Prussia’s hand and kisses it an Italian’s kiss--slow, sweltering, and melting, with just a simmer of brown eyes gazing up into red beneath his lashes.
Prussia’s expression is caught between surprised and pleasure, and Romano thinks it looks good on him. Well, as much as anything can look good on Prussia’s twisted features, the long sharp nose and too-narrow eyes. Romano stops dwelling on anything but Prussia’s lips, thin and pale pink, chapped beyond belief but also warm and satisfying when he kisses him again.
It’s Prussia who pulls away, chuckling from deep in his chest. “I like you better when you’re eager,” he comments, brushing his wide palm over Romano’s neck, sliding it down to cup his shoulder. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“I’m relaxing,” Romano murmurs softly, looking back up at Prussia, feeling the warmth from where his shoulder is being massaged.
“Good.”
Romano can hear Prussia’s smirk, as his second hand moves down the length of his torso and pushes his shirt up his chest. It just sits there stroking his abdominals, which is nothing to scoff at even after all the pizza he eats; Prussia’s calloused fingers circle over Romano’s nipples, and make him hiss.
Prussia’s smirk widens--how is that even possible?--and his fingers press into his stomach. “Well,” he murmurs, “not going to borrow them for laundry, but you get a B for effort.”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4d/?]
“Che. My abs are too good for your dirty clothes,” Romano scoffs, and if he’s a little breathless it’s because it’s hot in here, it’s because the air conditioning obviously doesn’t work. His hands reach up to scrabble and claw at Prussia’s shirt, at the mother-of-pearl buttons winking at him.
Pinch, and Romano yelps; his fingers become claws, his back stiffens. And fuck, fuck, he should have seen that coming, because Prussia’s leaning in and kissing him, full-on mouth with teasing tongue-tip and a hand sliding down to press into the small of his back. And when he shifts down, their hips meet and--
Oh.
Oh.
And this time it’s Romano’s turn to leer when they separate, a thin string of saliva hanging between them and sliding onto the pillow. “Well,” Romano purrs, and rubs his hips up against Prussia’s bulge.
“...Yeah?” Prussia asks, and the heat’s getting to him, too--they’ll have to complain about the air conditioning. It’s really not working, because Prussia’s just as breathless as he is, his eyes ruby-bright and gleaming in the sunlight.
Romano licks his lips. “...It doesn’t quite feel like five meters. But you get a B. For effort, I suppose.”
And every inch of him quivers in delight and a heady rush of power as Prussia snarls, gripping one shoulder and shoving Romano onto his back. Strong knees pin his hips to the bed, and Romano is completely at his mercy--if he struggles at all, Prussia’s arranged it so that he’ll rub their erections together and send sparks skittering all over Romano’s skin.
Prussia’s cheekbones are pink, but his smile is wide and his eyes bright as he bends down and attacks Romano’s buttons--not quite mother-of-pearl, but still soft and lovely to look at in the light. “You can rip it if you want,” Romano says, lazy, his hands curled soft above his head, not moving an inch as he watches Prussia work.
“Yeah, and then have you bitch at me later because I ruined your precious shirt?” Prussia snorts. “I’m not a fool, but I am the guy who whipped freezing, starving colonists into an army that took down England. Arms up, Romano.”
Romano complies without giving it a second thought, and Prussia eases him out of his shirt, tossing it over to the other bed. He moves back over Romano’s body like a man with a purpose, pressing his mouth over the bronzed skin, sliding his tongue in the dip of Romano’s collarbone and over his pectorals, nipping affectionately at his nipples and lapping at his abdominals. Romano can feel himself growing harder by the touch, but it’s not even entirely sexual. It’s all in Prussia’s tenderness, in his excitement and his eagerness, and also in the corners of his lips when he looks up at Romano.
“Ready to part with these?” He asks, tugging on the waistbands of Romano’s pants and boxers at once. Romano nods, not even willing to pretend to put up an argument. His hands grip onto the lean muscle of Prussia’s biceps. Prussia opened his mouth, as Romano knew he would; but their eyes clicked somewhere and Prussia shut his mouth again, smiling with his whole face as he shifted to undo Romano’s pants while still being held onto.
Romano lets go of him long enough to led Prussia strip him bare, but then his palms latch onto the other’s too-narrow hips and squeeze, just hold on tight.
“What about you?” Romano says, and if he pouts--well. It’s just on principle. And also the fact that he hasn’t had a chance to see Prussia’s dick, up-close and sober. “You--” he starts, and then just sits up with a huff, “--are wearing too much clothing.”
“Sorry,” Prussia says back, and his hands cover Romano’s own as his fingers tremble and skitter over the belt buckle. “Just didn’t want to blind you with the awesome of my abs. I--ow!” Prussia jumps back, glaring at Romano’s fingertip as he rubs his stomach.
“Abs of steel?” Romano asks, quirking his eyebrow. He doesn’t quite smile, but his smirk widens and he snorts when Prussia glares and shoves him down on the bed with one hand. Romano’s about to say something snide, about how he should win a prize--
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4e/?]
--And he doesn’t even need to, because Prussia just gives it to him with his mouth, all hard suction and plump lips and tongue. Prussia’s foul mouth and quick temper betray the heat of his mouth, the passion he starts sucking with, and all Romano can do is fist his fingers in that hair and ride it out.
“Nnnnghsi,” Romano slurs as Prussia gives him just a nick with his teeth, not enough to really hurt but enough to send jitters up his spine. Romano arches his back, eyes flying open.
And they land on the cracked hotel room door, the lock still jammed in to prop it open for Romano’s return. And Romano thinks he catches a sliver of green and long, dark lashes watching from the door. Romano’s hand flinch, his fingers spasming, and Prussia yelps and slides off of him. Romano pulls him up for a kiss, all blistering Italian earth and cloudless sky. He sears his lips across Prussia’s jawline, pausing only to nip his earlobe.
“Don’t look now,” he whispers in Prussia’s left ear, “but we’ve got company.”
Prussia turns to look at the door anyways, but Romano’s holding his face in its spot, with fingers threaded in his short ivory hair. He can’t help but wonder if Prussia can see their voyeur, and tries to keep the kisses coming hot and needy so that Prussia will lose interest. But then Prussia suddenly pulls away, moves down to Romano’s legs and unties the dress shoes he still has on. Romano only has a chance to be momentarily confused, because seconds later his shoe is hurling at the door, and pushes it shut.
They can hear a Spanish curse, and then some barreling down the hall. Prussia chuckles and then pushes Romano back down onto the mattress.
“Now, where were we?” He hums seductively, skimming a finger over Romano’s hot skin.
“Strip,” Romano hisses, patting his way down Prussia’s body until his hands clasp on the hem of his shirt. He tugs it up, hearing the fabric tear under his hands but he knows Prussia doesn’t care about his formal clothes, and he can replace it with something much nicer, anyways.
Prussia laughs right into his ear, cooperating as Romano moves his arms out of the sleeves. “Looks like someone’s eager.” He licks the shell of Romano’s ear and nips the lobe once more, then pulls himself up, now sans shirt.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking tease--”
And then Prussia ducks down, silencing him with a kiss--firm, but not violent, no teeth clacking and no tongues battling for dominance. It’s a kiss that reminds Romano of ripe melon on a hot summer’s day, with just the right amount of give
Romano leans back, taking Prussia with him, their mouths still locked in that cool-melon kiss. And then Prussia’s hips shift against Romano’s hipbone and--ah. Prussia’s quicker with his clothes than Romano gave him credit for, hard and hot pressing against his hip. “You’ve got a filthy mouth,” Prussia laughs when they part for breath.
Romano’s nostrils flare when he shuts his mouth and breathes through his nose, reaching down to wrap a fist around Prussia’s cock. “Lube,” he breathes through gritted teeth, focused on keeping himself in the moment even as Prussia strokes him with a devilish twist in his wrist. “Where--”
“Bedside--ngh--drawer. Same as before.”
Romano’s hand leaves Prussia’s cock, ignoring the curse Prussia bites out, and scrabbles for the drawer handle, tugging it with every muscle in his body not focused on not coming. He squeezes too much lube out into his open palm, and some might have dribbled onto the bed, but he can’t afford to care; Prussia’s driving him to the edge and back with so many little tricks Romano didn’t even know existed. He fists around Prussia’s cock again, wonders why he complained about its size earlier that evening when it feels perfect against his hand.
He strokes the flushed, pink cock in his hand, easing the lube into every crevice and wrinkle of skin he can manage. He traces the valleys made by the veins, and teases the head with his thumb until it’s weeping, and Prussia’s murmuring incoherent words.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4f/?]
Romano takes his hand off Prussia’s cock completely, and when demanding red eyes turn to him, he mets them head on, smouldering.
“I want you to fuck me,” he confesses, leaning in so their chests touch, his voice barely audible. But Prussia’s cock definitely heard, with the way it twitches against Romano’s thigh, and it fills him with a perverse sort of pleasure, being able to garner that reaction from someone as cold as Prussia.
“Come first,” comes the belated command, huffed out into his ear.
Romano wants to sputter, but he only has energy enough for a snort. “That’s--not the way this works,” he breathes, something between a chuckle and a choke. Because Prussia thumbs his slit and makes his shoulders tense and his body quiver. His hands scrabble for Prussia’s shoulders. “What makes you think--I’ll--”
Romano’s sentence gets mutilated into little more than a guttural groan as cold lube drips down his cockhead, coating his shaft. And then Prussia’s hand is there, stroking hard and fast and wet. He drives Romano’s body higher, higher, tighter and faster and--
And in a sudden rush--and a flick of Prussia’s wrist--Romano floods out of his own body, mouth open and wet and eyes wide with release. Prussia strokes him through his spasms, smearing his fingers over Romano’s come, touching him even as Romano floats down into his own body, eyes sliding shut for just a moment.
When he opens them again, he sees Prussia sitting back on his heels, licking his fingers and looking for all the world as though he’s a cat that got his way, and--
And Romano tilts his head back and just laughs, a few chuckles shoving their way past his throat. “Well,” he says. “What...now?” Prussia gets the dark, lusty glint in his eye again, or maybe it was always there and Romano just hadn’t noticed. He’s over Romano in a split second, pressing his erection to Romano’s near-flacid penis and grinding down.
Then they’re kissing hotly and Prussia is doing all sorts of things to Romano’s willing body; tugging on his hair, drinking in his taste, pinching and groping whatever bit of skin lies beneath his blunt fingers. Prussia’s hands move lower and lower, and they’re pushing Romano’s thighs out of the way. Romano cooperates and bends his knees, even going as far as to spread himself. Prussia makes an amused noise, and then he leans in close and hums next to Romano’s ear.
“I always knew you were a slut,” he murmurs affectionately, and Romano can hear the foil condom wrapper being torn, just over the thudding of his heart. Then a wet, cold finger presses to his asshole, and he shivers a little, biting his lip.
Prussia smiles down at him, just for a second, something genuine and not teasing, but it’s gone once his finger is wriggling around inside.
“Nngh,” Romano grunts, mouth opening wide as Prussia wriggles deeper, deeper. His throat closes up. There will be no more words now, not while Prussia touches him deep and like that and makes the world break out into shimmering flurries.
“You like that?” Prussia asks, bending his head again, teasing the edge of Romano’s ear with his tongue tip. Romano sucks air through his teeth and grinds down on Prussia’s fingers in response; he’s not hard right now, and his sex drive decreases with each pump of his heart. But even so...
Even so, it feels good when Prussia strikes that spot deep inside of him, not hard enough to hurt but enough to send flutters through his sweat-slicked, hypersensitive body. “More,” he mumbles, and Prussia obliges him with another finger and more lube. “More,” he says again, and his blood thrills a little when Prussia scissors him open, adds a third finger.
And he almost wants to say it one more time--almost wants to see if Prussia will give him his whole hand, will give him more than that even when he asks. But that is not for this moment, in the early afternoon sunlight. No.
This is a different time.
Romano turns his head, and his cheeks burn with pink as he kisses Prussia’s ear. “Fuck me,” he whispers. “You promised you would.”
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
Prussia freezes, and his shoulders tremble under Romano’s fingertips--not laughter, he’s too tight to be snickering. But a moment more, and Prussia chuckles, still tense, and reaches down to squeeze Romano’s limp dick. “Little problem there,” Prussia says, almost apologetic. “It looks like your libido isn’t as awesome as mine.”
And Romano smiles, hides that smile in the crook of Prussia’s neck as he laughs nervously. And then he says it:
“Fuck me anyway.”
Prussia nods, nipping at Romano’s throat just a bit, just to get him to groan, and then he slowly pushes in. Romano tries to ease his body, it’s not too hard when he’s coming off an orgasm, but there’s still a little gasp that comes out when Prussia fills him. His size and shape is different from anyone else that Romano let in, which isn’t really all that of a long list to begin with, but it feels so good he grinds down on it all the same.
It makes Prussia hiss a curse and buck his hips up, and it takes seconds for them to find a nice pace where Romano meets every thrust with a grind. Prussia’s a talker during sex, it seems, but none of it is words Romano can make out, though it all sounds vaguely like German. He’d always been certain hearing German would turn him off, take him out of the mood, but coming out of Prussia it sounds almost melodious, neither harsh nor grating.
Romano grips Prussia’s biceps, which are bulging out from how tightly he in turn is gripping Romano’s hips; there will be a mark, no doubt, and perhaps even bruising. The thought makes Romano moan, a little, and Prussia echoes it much more loudly, thrusting into him again. He’s becoming more frantic, and it is harder for Romano to keep up the pace; Romano knows that Prussia is close to finishing, and reaches for his balls. He gives them a long, slow tug, and then Prussia’s body goes stiff and he plunges deep into Romano to let everything go.
It’s fascinating, watching everything without arousal clouding his eyes, his mind, and every pore in his body. Everything feels clearer, sharper, the outlines of Prussia’s body solid and here and real as Prussia tenses, curls in, and bites his lip and comes, pulsing inside Romano’s body.
Romano gets to see his eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting his lower lip so hard that the skin turns white. He gets to watch every moment of Prussia’s orgasm--hisses become pants and squeezed-shut eyes relax. Prussia’s lips part, then, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose. His body, glazed with sweat, gleams in the sunbeams sprawled over their bed.
Beautiful, Romano thinks, and reaches up with his thumb to rub Prussia’s lip where his teeth dug in.
And then Prussia collapses on top of Romano, too-hot and heavy and if he starts snoring, Romano will fucking scream.
“H-hey!” Romano says, and he feels his cheeks puffing out as he prods Prussia’s side with his finger. “Y-your side of the bed is over there, you rude--”
And then Prussia snores right in his ear, wrapping his arms around Romano’s hip. Romano freezes, mid-poke, and in his startled silence gets to appreciate the situation. It’s a lovely afternoon in New York City; Prussia is snoring in his ear, arms glued to his waist. Romano’s come smears between their bodies.
Prussia is here. Sleeping, on him. Not in the shower, or yanking his socks on while muttering bitter German curses. Just--here.
...He did it on purpose, just to prove Romano wrong. And all Romano can do is throw his arm across his eyes and laugh.
Romano falls asleep to Prussia’s face playing across his eyelids; coming, teasing, smiling--
and staying.
END CHAPTER 4
--
a!note: I am really glad that you guys are continuing to enjoy this; we are getting so much pleasure out of writing it! I will be a bit busy this weekend, at AnimeNext, so the next installment may be a bit delayed. If you'll be at anext, look for me; I'm selling Hetalia bookmarks, buttons, and prints in the Artists Alley!
Again, you guys, thank you ^infinity.
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
This is so amazing. I do have a question. Is Romano kind of secretly in love with Spain? I think that's what I got from the whole bit about him remembering their past and the haunting looks.
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
At the beginning I thought 'poor Spain' :p But after a little while all I had in mind was...HOTHOTHOT!!! My air conditioning obviously doesn’t work too beacuse, honestly, it's way too hot in here too ^^ And Prussia sleeping and -staying- feels so...Conforting, I don't even. Thanks for another wonderful chapter! Have fun this week end ^^
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
The beginning was sad, poor Spain, and I'd comment more on it but
THE SEX SCENE
THE SEX SCENE
I swear, this is one of the hottest, sweetest, most realistic and yet still dreamy and sensual sex scenes I have ever read anywhere. It was so awesome and it made me so happy<3
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
WARNING: This chapter includes an implied relationship between a historical figure and France, as well as one of the a!anons Going There With Extreme Prejudice, while doing her best to be respectful. Concrit is encouraged.
Also, there’s a scene in here that may or may not be shamelessly based off of a moment from a Brave trailer. That should be it. Enjoy! ________
They do not touch at dinner, but they still stand too close for France’s comfort.
Well, he thinks to himself as he props his chin up in his palm, perhaps close isn’t quite the right term. He’s close to others in ways that don’t involve clothes or speech or all the nasty little complications that come with attachments.
No. They aren’t touching, perhaps, but there’s something in the way that they stick to one another’s side---even as one bites out Italian insults and the other blows a raspberry at his younger brother. It’s the way their shoulders brush, and neither of them start back like blushing virgins.
It’s the way they bump elbows as they sit down, and the way they talk--too far away for France to hear what they’re saying, across a room of crowded, pent-up nations just ready to go home soon.
They are close, yes. But the word he’s looking for is--
“Ah,” he murmurs to himself, and snaps his fingers
They are too intimate.
And the last time France found intimacy, it ended with--
“Ve, Big Brother France! Why are you sitting over here all alone?”
France lets out a little sigh, even as he turns to Veneziano with a smile. He needs the distraction.
“I am just thinking, Italy,” he lets his smile grow wide and warm, a skill perfected after centuries of social interaction. “Though I am glad you came to draw me from my thoughts.” Italy’s brow furrows a little, and France just lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tensed muscles. “Why are you not with Germany?”
Italy beams, all bright sunny days and a cloud’s silver lining. “He went to the men’s room, and then I was going to go say ‘Ciao’ to fratello, only he seems a little... distracted.”
He turns to look at Romano, and France follows his gaze. Prussia is poking him in the arm, whining about something, and Romano fails to look exasperated, in favor of looking amused instead.
Spain is sitting not too far away, doodling in his notes and chattering with Portugal, but his eyes are far too dim.
“He seems a lot happier today, though!” Veneziano adds when France doesn’t speak. “Yesterday he was so upset. I wish he would just tell me what’s going on. It’s not normal for him to be so moody.”
France bites the inside of his cheek, choosing not to correct Veneziano. “Don’t worry, Italia,” France murmurs softly, “I am doing all that I can to make sure he is going to be okay.”
Italy looks at France, his smile smaller and more humble than usual. “I know you are, big brother.”
Then Germany comes back into the dining room and Veneziano pecks France on the cheek swiftly before bounding back to him.
It’s true enough. For selfish as he might, be, and needy--France wants them to be happy.
His eyes wander about the room, to where America holds a fork to England’s pressed lips and deepening frown; to where Canada cradles an armful of tulips as he grins shyly at the Netherlands; to where Belarus crushes Lithuania’s hand in her grip, as though terrified he would run from her as her brother does.
He has known them all in bed, each and every one. And in spite of everything, he wants to see them happy with one another.
It is better than being in love with him--or even worse, falling in love with one of them.
Something catches him from the corner of his eye. He turns his head and finds himself staring straight into Romano’s eyes, all the way across the hotel dining room.
And then, for some reason that France cannot even begin to fathom, Romano smiles at him.
It is only for an instant; after that glimpse Romano is turned back to Prussia, slapping his hand as Prussia tries to steal from his plate. Though France knows he does not want to fall in love, it is too late not to fall in longing. He is not jealous of any of them, no, but he wishes that there could be a second chance for him. Sex is wonderful, but slipping away in the slightly-chilled sunrise is not.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5b/?]
France drinks the last of his wine, a tart red, and blots at his lips with the dinner napkin before rising from the table, all long limbs and a lack of grace. As he strides out of the room he does not look back to see if anyone has taken notice. He knows he’s being melancholy.
His shoulders start to sag as he steps out of the room, and he thinks back to Romano’s quirked lips. Those lips were embers, he thinks, glowing little fragments hungering to catch fire.
The last time he’d gotten a smile similiar was from a with great ideas of a world where poverty equaled sainthood, where terror equaled justice, and where swift, silent beheadings where the highest form of virtue.
Robspierre.
France suddenly feels very tired, as though he’s just swum across the English Channel. His body aches and yearns, and it feels like exhaustion.
He sticks his hands in his pockets and trudges down the hall, in the general direction of Greece’s room. Greece will not be completion, and he will not be Robespierre--but he will be gentle and kind, with soft, sweet fingers.
The very thought brings a wicked smile to his face.
--
France gives Greece a final kiss after he’s cleaned up in the small bathroom; by then Greece is already asleep, still naked, and he looks content. France can’t help but wonder if Greece ever wants something more than good sex and a warm body. It’s hard to imagine love on Greece, what with his carefree, easy going ways. And when France tries to imagine passion there, he has to suppress a chuckle until after he’s shut the door behind him.
He heads down the hall, going towards the elevator to take him back to his room. He can still feel the warm places beneath his clothes where Greece’s hands had held him tenderly, and he hopes to make it to bed while that warmth is still there, so he may trap in between the sheets and duvet and sleep enrobed in it. The realization is a little bit embarrassing, but he doubts Greece would mind, and there is no way anyone else would find out, either.
When in his room he undresses again, and slips beneath his covers. When he closes his eyes, a ghost from his past is the one keeping him warm.
“You can imagine it, can’t you?” That ghost whispers, and France opens his eyes--he is in majestic robes, a glass of wine in his hand, and they recline in their armchairs as firelight flickers in the sparse room.
“Our country at peace, free. Mothers and children able to walk the streets without fearing attack from counter-revolutionaries still loyal to our late king.” The shadows flicker and quiver in the light. The ghost stands, elegance and flute-sweet voice, and from the corner of his eye France sees thick red seeping up beneath the floorboards.
“A world where freedom and humanity stand hand-in-hand, their scythes ready to swing down and quell the rising threats.”
The words made France shiver, his fingers tight around his wineglass as the ghost steps closer, closer. The shadows flash faster now, headless corpses made into puppets that he can’t quite see. So he ignores them and keeps his eyes on the ghost, eyes wide with reverent, awe-struck worship.
The ghost leans down, and their eyes meet. France doesn’t dare breathe as the ghost takes his hand, warm butterfly-breaths fanning over France’s lips just before the ghost bows his head and leaves a worshipping kiss on his knuckles, just above the ruby ring.
“Their lives are inconsequential, dearest France--necessary sacrifices for a world of humanity.”
France throws the covers off and clenches his teeth. His eyes need to squeeze in order to stay shut, and he cannot find comfort in the mattress that conforms to his very body.
So France opens his eyes instead and slips out of the bed. His linen button-up is wrinkled, his pants in a half-messy heap at the foot of his bed, but he pulls them on all the same. He’s learned over the years that hotels do not take kindly to beautiful men walking nude through the hallways. So for their sake--and because concrete and park benches are horrible beds--he clothes himself and leaves his hotel room, walking through the halls and into an elevator.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5c/?]
The instant it opens, France sets himself in a straight line for the nearest balcony, and his shoulders relax as New York sprawls out beneath him. His back curves, finally, and he lets the wind brush its fingers through his hair as he shuts his eyes and inhales. He lets his muscles go lax, lets himself breathe--
“What are you doing up here, wine bastard?”
Ah, France thinks, and his body tenses again at Romano’s voice, forcing a smile onto his face.
“Just thinking of home,” he answers, and turns to meet Romano’s eyes. “I could ask the same of you, of course. It appears as though you and Prussia have made up. Why are you not with him?”
France catches Romano’s eyeroll before it vanishes, but the smile lingers for a while. They must have had sex rather recently.
“I can’t spend too much time with potato-bastards or I’ll break out in hives.”
“Even if those alleged ‘potato-bastards’ are your boyfriends?”
France expects Romano to deny it, to raise his voice and stomp his feet and pout. What Romano actually does is shrug and look up at France.
“Are you jealous?”
“Excuse me?”
Romano sighs, “The way you were treating me before, two nights ago, I mean. I know you act like that with all the people you fuck, but you seemed especially concerned given that the other two assholes were there. You sort of did everything yourself.”
France wonders if Romano is just reading into things to boost his self-esteem, or if perhaps he’s just pointing out a simple fact. He reminds himself that he doesn’t have feelings for Romano, not like the worshipping, blood-drenched love that still stains his tongue with bile’s bitter taste.
In the end he just chuckles, shakes his head, and ruffles Romano’s hair affectionately.
“Hey,” Romano says without bite in his voice, lifting his head, glaring at France a little. “I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”
France takes a moment to look at Romano, who doesn’t look back. He just leans on the balcony, elbows propped up on the stone, and stares off into the distance. His hands are clasped in front of him, fingers loose and relaxed. He doesn’t scowl, but his face seems to be--Intense? Thoughtful? France isn’t sure of the word.
“Yes,” France says, shutting his eyes and smiling. “I think, just a little, you matured today.”
“Just a little? Give me more credit than that, you shithead.” France opens his eyes to find Romano has turned to look at him, elbows still resting on the balcony. Romano tilts his head, quirking an eyebrow. Waiting.
And France, for a moment, feels his smile falter, because he’s not sure what to say. So instead, he says the first thing that comes to mind:
“Why did you smile at me at lunch today?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“If you are going to do uncharacteristic things, then an explanation would be nice.”
Romano shrugs, trying to appear apathetic. “You looked like you could use it. Besides, I guess if you hadn’t forced Prussia to apologize...”
France perks a little when Romano trails off. “What would have happened, then?”
Now Romano definitely fails to look apathetic, and he sighs. “I’d be a shitton less... happy.”
He almost chokes around the word, and France is compelled to place a hand on his shoulder, hold him close. When he does, Romano flusters.
France only chuckles again, a wine-dark sound, and pulls him a little closer. “I am happy that you are happy,” France says, and he is, because his chest flitters with little butterflies and he doesn’t have to force himself to smile. “I am glad that I played some small part in that.”
Romano sputters, but he does not push France away. He wriggles out of his arms instead and turns his back, though he looks at France from the corner of his eye and his profile. “Y-yeah, well, you shouldn’t let it go to your head. You still smell like sex and--”
Romano’s eyes widen, and he cuts himself off before anything else can escape. But it’s too late. France’s smile hardens like a piece of petrified wood. His skin remembers all the fingers it’s ever touched in a sudden rush.
“Wait,” Romano says, turning around again and reaching out. “I didn’t--”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5d/?]
“I understand,” France says. And he does, because it’s all true. “No, no,” he says as Romano’s face starts to fall, “It’s not--you’re right. I like sex. I enjoy beautiful people and good wine and making love--ah, I’m sorry, I think you call it ‘fucking,’ yes? Such an inelegant word.”
Romano looks at him, and try as he might France just can’t read him. And that’s when he realizes this conversation has gone on too long. The air has cleared his head, after all.
“Good night, Romano,” France says, with a little flourish and bow. “I’m afraid I must retire.”
And without another word, France turns on his heel and leaves the balcony with not another word. ______________
“...and then he just left and I couldn’t stop him--well, I didn’t try, but I should have, and--” Romano finishes off with a groan, balling up his hand and hiding his face in his palm. “It’s like nothing’s fucking changed.”
America doesn’t speak through his mouthful of pancakes, but Romano can at least tell he’s doing his best to be encouraging and prove he’s listening by sitting and nodding his head. America’s not his best friend, but he at least tries to listen and occasionally says something that’s not completely moronic, and it’s served Romano well since his brief visit to America’s home in the 1920s.
“Mmmph,” America says in response, swallowing his mouthful of pancake. “Where’s Prussia, by the way?”
“I think he’s putting whoopee cushions on some of the chairs in the meeting room.”
America laughs. “I hope he doesn’t forget England. You’d think after a hundred years he’d learn to check his chair, but no.”
Romano knows he should find the situation amusing, because he suggested that Prussia place one on Germany’s seat as well, and because he and England aren’t exactly friends, but his mind is still on the balcony, and on how cold it felt sleeping in Prussia’s arms after that even though he was quite warm.
When Romano doesn’t laugh with him, America sighs and finally puts his fork down.
“Look, dude, I’ve gotta say, getting in on some orgy action with those three, maybe not the best idea. They’re all wrapped up in their issues, you know? Like, I know they’re always having sex all the time but their minds totally weren’t meant for one night stands.” He pauses, and then adds, “None of you Europeans are. You’re the neediest guys I know.”
Romano scowls, and doesn’t hesitate to whack America upside the head. But a voice in his mind points out that America is right. For as much as all three of the self title ‘Bad Touch Trio’ have casual sex, Prussia is bitter and conceals his emotions, Spain is an emotional open-book, and France always leaves before the sun comes up.
“Don’t call me needy, you... hamburger-bastard.”
America hums, his eyes smiling. “Who was it that went to who for help?”
Romano raised an eyebrow, “And who was it that gave who pizza and macaroni and cheese?”
“Point,” America agreed. “I’ll give you that. But seriously, though, you can’t blame yourself for whatever’s happening in France’s head. If it was something he felt secure in talking about, we’d all know by now. Maybe the man’s got secrets, he’s entitled to it.”
Romano rolls his eyes, and America is quick to add. “If you really want to cheer him up, take him out on one of those boat rides to Liberty Island. He likes to go visit the Statue of Liberty whenever he comes here, it always makes him feel better.”
And this is where Romano is glad that he made the effort to befriend America. He blinks, his lips parting in thought. “That’s...a good idea,” he says, the seeds of a thought planting themselves in his mind. “It’s the last day of the meetings, we’ll all be going home tomorrow--that’s a really good idea.”
But just as he steeples his fingers to think, a pinprick nudges its way through his brain and deflates the thought with a sharp pop. “I have no idea how to ask him, though,” Romano says. “...Not after last night.”
“Why not practice on me?”
Romano blinks at America, who is all wide eyes and big grin. “You’re joking, right?”
“Hey! I’ve got French in my culture, too! And I’ll have you know that my blood type is Hollywood-positive!”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5e/?]
Romano leans back in the chair, frowning and leaning back in his chair. After a moment he sighs, shaking his head and motioning to America. “Fine. You be France or what the fuck ever. Let’s practice.”
America shuts his eyes, taking several breaths as he wipes his face clean of all emotion. Romano crosses his arms, crooks an eyebrow, and just watches as America opens his eyes to half-mast, smearing an overdone leer on his lips.
“Hon hon hon, ‘ow arrre you, today, mon amour? Oh, my ‘eart, eet is fluttering in le chest like so many butterflies at ze sight of you!” America grabs a daisy from the vase in the center of the table and leans forward as he sticks it in his teeth, lifting his eyebrows, eyelids still at half-mast. “I know your pants, zhey must be on fire at ze thought of mah luscious long ‘air an’ chest ‘air an’ beeg-boned limbs tangling up in bed as I place mah fresh baguette in your oven!”
America’s eyes open wide, and he smiles, nodding and waiting for Romano to speak.
The only motion Romano makes is to lift his own hand and close his mouth. America spits out the daisy, cackles and leans back, picking up a link of sausage and taking a bite. “Amazing, huh?” America says through a mouthful of meat. “I’ve honed my acting skills through observation. I bet you’re learning things about France you didn’t even know!”
“Indeed,” France says, leaning down to place a hand on Romano’s shoulder. “I, for one, did not know my muscles were merely ‘big bones.’”
Romano turns to America to gauge his reaction, and is hardly surprised when the other doesn’t even look sheepish, a grin curling on his lips.
“You live on a diet of cheese and carbs, dude,” he replies, poking France in the stomach, “‘big boned’ is exactly what you are.”
France whacks America upside the head, but Romano can tell that it’s tender and affectionate. He doesn’t really know much about America and Canada’s relationships with the ‘Old World’, except for the obvious ones, given that he wasn’t really involved with either of them until his people began migrating. But looking at them like this, he realizes that they look like brothers, and wonders if big brother France managed to increase his sphere of influence over the Atlantic.
“Look who is talking, America,” France laughs, touching America’s own stomach and smirking. “Speaking of, I am not sure I can trust whatever it is the two of you would be talking about.”
“It’s top secret, buddy, can’t tell.”
“Che,” Romano says, crossing his arms. “It’s not like he was any help at all. He’s not acting anything like I need him to.”
France laughs, hearty and warm, and sits down next to America. “Then perhaps I can be of some help,” France says, and rests his chin in his palm. He smiles beneath his fingertips, but his eyes are thoughtful--not angry, just curious and all-seeing and way, way too blue for this time of morning. “Feel free to--ah, how do you Americans say it--’Totally lay it on me, bro.’”
“Um,” Romano says, and licks his lips. “So, um.” Fuck. “So I, uh, have someone I need to give a talking-to, to straighten out their heads. Because they’re an idiot and took something I said wrong. And I want to do it away from the other Nations because we’re all motherfucking drama whores, anyway, and I want to do it somewhere nice and quiet, like, um, Liberty Island. Just as an example.”
“I’m sure whoever you have in mind is more suited for a third-rate coffee shop.” And fuck France, fuck him for being so damn unreadable and making him glare as he grits his teeth.
“Well, maybe I want to do it on the motherfucking Liberty Island instead of a third-rate coffee shop because I’m the one doing the inviting. What are you going to do, suggest you go along with me first just to make sure I don’t screw this up?”
France brightens instantly. “I’d be delighted to, Romano!” France says, clapping his hands together and beaming bright enough to blot out the motherfucking sun. “I shall go ahead and get us tickets--don’t worry, you can pay me back. I shall meet you at lunch to work out the details, oui?”
France flounces off before Romano can say another word, and all America can do is shift his stare between them.
“...Ah,” Romano says. “I, uh. What just happened?”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5f/?]
And America’s smile, glowing but still bright, answers him.
“I think you got yourself a date, Romano.” _____
The sun is hanging low in the sky, not quite in danger of setting yet but nearly there, when France hands their ferry tickets to a man who is sweaty and obviously being underpaid. Romano gets hurried along after him, and France reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it as he keeps Romano close.
They managed to get a spot on deck. Romano looks out at the waters of New York harbor; they’re dirty and speak of years of boats coming in and out. He knows that many of his own people came on those boats, happened upon this view in their tough times, and it makes him feel a little warm.
“There’s a nice breeze,” France says softly, closing his eyes and smiling. “This is the perfect time of year for such a trip. I suggest that when you bring the person you wanted to ask, you do it in the late summer as now.”
Now Romano can see that France has that devious glint in his eyes, and it makes him scowl.
“So you think he would hold my hand like that?” Romano asks, and bites his tongue before he can say anything else. Already, perhaps, he’s gone too far, driving the light beneath France’s eyes farther away.
But instead, France just squeezes his hand one last time and leans on the railing to the boat, bracing his elbows as it gives a sudden lurch and groans its way out of the harbor. “Perhaps,” France says. “Perhaps not. I have no idea who you were planning to ask, but I imagine that he would stand very close to you.” He moves over a little, making Romano jump as he intrudes just so. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel his heat as though it’s his actual body.
Romano just snorts to himself, shaking his head, and leans down on the railing. They don’t say much, just looking out over the water and feeling the wind whip at his face. Around them, tourists chatter and take pictures, the lights flicking around them.
Romano? He doesn’t need a camera. Nor does France. They just stand on the boat, side by side, and Romano watches Lady Liberty grow ever closer. It’s like the images at the edges of his dreams are solidifying, coming together.
It never fails to be surreal, seeing for himself what he saw through his immigrant’s eyes.
“I never get bored of this,” France murmurs, and Romano slides his eyes over to look at France.
“I imagine you wouldn’t. Didn’t you make it for him? It’d be just like you to love every single minute of sailing up to it. Like...like fucking masturbation, or something.”
He almost kicks himself when it slips out. But when France bows his head and starts laughing into his palms, shoulders shaking, he just wants to burrow down beneath the deck and die. He tightens his shoulders and glares when France looks up, eyes crinkled and moist at the edges. “Ah,” France says, “you can have a sense of humor.”
Romano has to resist the impulse to snort again. “Yeah, there are a lot of things about me you don’t know, big brother.”
France hums softly, his lithe fingers dancing up the length of Romano’s arm. “That is true. I know there is one thing about you I would like to know.”
“No--”
“Are you are Prussia exclusive?”
“--...shut up.”
Romano can tell that France is frowning because he’s rested his head on Romano’s shoulder, and the edges of his lips are brushing Romano’s ears. It makes him shiver, and he pushes France away.
“So you are unsure. Why don’t you tell me about it? It seems you care for him a lot, after all.”
“It’s not--” Romano starts, but he stops. France hovers near him, leaning down a little. His eyes are very blue, vibrant and bright against the ocean. Romano almost fears that if he reached up to touch that blue, he would break it, would feel the shards burrowing into his skin.
It gets worse when he realizes he can do this just with his words. Courting--well, whatever this is with France--it’s like chess. And he’ll have to play by those rules.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5g/?]
Romano’s nostrils flare, and he looks out over the ocean. He straightens his back, tucks his hands into his pockets. “Why are you asking?” he says instead, and even though his own voice sounds like a piece of gravel is stuck in his Adam’s apple, he’s at least acting more level-headed. “Aren’t you just here to help give me advice on this person that I’m supposed to be courting?”
And France--damn him, damn him and his hair and the way he throws his head back and just laughs, the sound flitting about the deck and turning a few heads. “Well said!” France says, throwing an arm around Romano’s shoulder and pulling him close. “You’re entirely right. Forgive me for forgetting.”
And just before pride replaces blood in Romano’s veins, as the ship harbors on Liberty Isle and people prepare to disembark, he’s one-upped again. France pulls him even closer and whispers in Romano’s ear as they walk off the boat.
“And if you are courting, it is always best to answer questions honestly, instead of answering with a question.”
Romano pretends that France’s whisper was lost in the hubbub around them, which he is aware is rather low of him, but he can’t bring himself to care. He walks out of France’s hold, and then turns around.
“You’ve been here before, so show me around,” he huffs. “That way when I bring my real date I’ll be able to give them the tour.”
France tuts and shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Yes, of course. Right this way, sir.”
France leads him up to the Statue of Liberty, and Romano can’t help but notice the warmth in his face as he looks up at the teal woman. He understands the feeling; he feels this way every time he looks at one of Italy’s masterpieces in a foreign gallery, but he can only imagine it must be ten-fold, given this was always meant as a gift.
“So you were the parent who bribed America with toys and ladies?”
France looks back at Romano, puzzled for a moment, and then he gets it and laughs.
“No, no, we both did our fair share of that. But, I was the one who wasn’t afraid to reward him.”
“Was this one of those rewards?” Romano asks, sticking his hands in his pockets and gazing skyward with France. There are no stars here in New York, he thinks--just steady, unblinking neon and glass tubing. He misses his sky, comforts himself in that he will be underneath it again tomorrow.
“Non. This was merely a gift,” France says, and Romano looks over at France--and in an instant, realizes that he can’t see the stars because they’re trapped on Francis’s eyes.
And fuck, even Feliciano would laugh at that.
“Did you know she was not always green?” France asks, and his voice has gotten even gentler, if at all possible, so that Romano has to move closer to hear. “When she came here, she was--well, not gold. But her skin was a sunset orange, and she shone with the sun’s fire in the day, glowed with her at twilight.”
Romano turns his head and squints--it’s hard to imagine this lady shining in the sunlight when she wears her green with such dignity. “What happened to her?” Romano asks, and France sighs in his ear, the sound bringing to mind drooping shoulders and fading smiles.
“Time, dear Romano,” France says. “Time happened to her. Acid rains, regular rains...It all collected on her skin, and she changed.”
And Romano wonders if France is talking about the Lady.
“But she still looks very beautiful,” he replies, just in case. France looks proud, and maybe even a little pleased, as he takes hold of Romano’s hand. There is the beginning of a long staircase before them, and off to the side the entrance to a museum.
Predictably, France pulls them towards the staircase. He climbs it with an elegant ease, and even though Nations aren’t prone to the same tire as normal humans, Romano is huffing by the time they get as high as they can go.
“What’s...what’s up here?” Romano pants, and his hand clings to France’s by the very tips of his fingers. France says nothing, merely looking down at him and grinning. They continue to climb, instead, up and up and--
And then Romano blinks as they stumble out into the sunlight, blinking, and he finds the whole of New York City and the ocean spread out beneath them.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5h/?]
“Oh,” Romano says instead, and it’s more breath than voice as he takes a small step forward, feeling as though he’s walking on a cloud.
“Mm. ‘Oh,’ indeed.”
Romano tears his eyes away from the ocean and the small tips of white overlapping one another to look at France, who just cradles his elbows in the palms of his hand and smiles. He turns his face away to look out over the ocean, and the breeze that blows in plays with a stray lock of his hair. “You know,” France says, almost smiling, “for this being something of a practice date, you certainly aren’t very eloquent.”
Romano’s peaceful mood crashes against his skull, breaking into foam. “W-well, that’s not my problem,” Romano mutters. “It’s not...well, it’s not like this guy is open or even particularly honest.”
France smiles again at this--a little sad, making Romano’s stomach churn with a little tug-at-your-gut guilt. “I think...that’s good,” France says. He walks to the railing and leans on it, his fingers curling in towards his palm. “I think that if you don’t know someone completely, you should be very guarded. Suspicious, even. I think you’re right in not getting involved with this someone.”
Romano waits.
And waits.
And doesn’t hear France say, at least not yet. He scowls, “I think I don’t care what you think. I’m several fucking hundred years old. I can handle myself.”
France looks up at him, quizzically, and his deep ocean eyes roam over Romano, lingering on his face. It goes on until Romano is thoroughly unnerved, and then France smiles.
“Whoever this person is, you seem to care for them very much.”
Romano can feel himself shrink underneath the critical gaze, and the cutting words. He turns back to the expanse of the ocean, something easier for him to handle, and shrugs.
“Maybe.”
“Hmm.”
Romano doesn’t turn around to look at Francis after that. He just braces himself on the railing and looks out over the ocean, silent and thoughtful. He wonders if maybe, he should say something else--give up this charade and actually talk, make his move, check and checkmate and chess metaphors in general be damned.
But just as he parts his lips, France speaks.
“I don’t think you should, just for your own good.” France looks out into the ocean. “I think, perhaps, this person you care so deeply about isn’t looking for anything more than casual coupling.”
And now France opens his mouth and says something completelyfucking stupid, and the only proper way to react to that is to turn and narrow his eyes, his lip curling in disgust. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” he says, and fights to keep the snarl from his voice. “You don’t even know who this person is. Maybe they’re really considerate in bed, maybe they take care of you and do annoying shit like trick you into going into dates with them, but they’re just trying to help and--” and fuck, fuck, what is he saying?
He stifles his enraged scream into his palms. Silence.
And then France speaks.
“Have you ever loved a mortal, Romano? Have you let them consume everything you are?”
Romano doesn’t move, but his shoulders tense. France goes on. His body heat drifts closer, a great cloud of rose cologne and summers in Paris.
“Have you loved a mortal and fell in love with his vision of the world so hard that you allowed a small child--a prince--to suffer unspeakable horrors, rotting away in a prison cell? Have you ever watched this mortal, this man you loved so very much, stain the ground red with the blood of innocent citizens--and applauded, because each severed head, each snuffed-out life, would lead to a grander, more moral France?”
France laughs, and the sound is the last note of a music box’s song, off-key and halting. “And when you came to yourself and looked at the aftermath, did you ever realize that you let that happen to the people you were supposed to nurture and protect? And that when you tried something deeper than sex, you froze, because you kept seeing their dead bodies piling up about the bed?”
Romano lets it sink in like an iron weight in the pit of his stomach, but his ire isn’t mellowing out; if anything, he’s only becoming more heated.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5i/?]
“No, I haven’t. Because I was never allowed to have any say in my own fucking politics. I never got to be Italy.”
There is a heavy silence, and then Romano starts again, quieter but still churning with anger.
“That was all in the fucking past, anyways. Humans complain about not being able to get over things and they only like what, eighty years? If you want to keep yourself miserable for the entire rest of eternity, then you can count me out.”
He steps away from the railing, too well aware of the challenge he issued, and the disaster he set up for himself. True enough, France doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look away from the waters of New York harbor. And then Romano starts towards the staircase again.
“Romano, come here.”
Romano freezes at the foot of the stairs, his fingertips touching the railing. It’s nothing, he thinks to himself, it’s nothing this was a bad idea, lesson learned, just walk down the stairs and--
No, his body says. And in that instant, Frances arms are around his shoulders, his lips pressed to the nape of Romano’s neck.
“I think,” France says, then stops. Romano’s hairs prickle at France’s sharp inhale. “I think--I think I am very much familiar with this person you wanted to invite here today. And I have some advice.”
France’s breaths are little butterfly wings, and they make Romano’s teeth itch. He presses his tongue against his front teeth, bracing his jaw. And waiting.
“I think...you must be very gentle,” France murmurs, his voice low, all wind chimes in the summer evening breeze. “I think you must understand that this person has loved before, and has vowed never to love again because of it.
“I think you love someone who has forgotten how to love back. And...I do not know if it can be taught, but I beg you--do not give up.”
France’s grip loosens. “...This is all just my advice, anyway. What you do with that...is up to you, cher.”
And without another word, France sweeps past Romano and down the stairs. He does not stop; he does not look back.
It takes all of a split second for Romano to bolt down the stairs behind him, a man on a mission. He reaches France, who moves with the grace befitting his ego, and pulls him gently to a stop, several landings down, in what he images is the top quarter of the building.
France has the advantage with regards to height, but Romano is definitely swifter, if years of running away from things is practice. So Romano doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give France a chance to get away again. He just throws himself up, and kisses France as only an Italian can. It’s hot, full, deep, gentle because of how he threads his fingers in France’s silky hair, the other hand cupping the skin above his pelvis, holding.
Then he pulls away, fully aware of the fact that France remained slack against him the entire time, and growls near his ear. “Nation of love my ass. I will show you how this is done.”
France blinks at him, once, twice, and Romano refuses to acknowledge that he is waiting on baited breath for the response.
And then the corner of France’s lip turns up, and he replies with too much ease.
“And I will be looking forward to it.”
France slips from his arms, like the ocean outside. His turned back as he descends the stairs is a challenge. Romano glares.
And deep in his gut, he accepts.
END CHAPTER 5 ________________
a!anon notes: 'sup, guys, this is one of the other a!a's. Just wanted to pop in and let you know that we really do appreciate all the support. ...Especially me. ...Thank you.
You updated! This was wonderful. OP feels awful for not commenting on the pervious chapter, I've been so busy planning everything because I leave in a few days, but I did read it. I love this fill more and more with every chapter posted. You both are doing such a wonderful job this is way more then I thought it would ever be.
I love how Romano and Prussia's relationship is progressing as well as their interactions. Them sleeping together last chapter was so cute. I was feeling so bad for Spain but then that amazing scene happened and I forgot about feeling bad (actually I think I forgot how to feel my brain was mush). I loved when Prussia threw the shoe at the door. One of my favourite chapters so far.
This chapter was wonderful as well. I think you did a good job at the past romance, I felt so bad for France. No wonder why he leaves before morning he doesn't want to get attached. Oh Romano we all know you're the nation of love not France, even if France doesn't know it yet. I am looking forward to that for sure. I enjoyed the bit about the statue of Liberty and their trip. This is fantastic I love how you're building the relationship between Romano and the BTT. Also the other character interaction is great.
I am looking forward to reading more of this as well as seeing where you two take this. Every chapter has been a joy to read! Keep up the wonderful chapters! Just know that I am reading and love every chapter! I love you both so much!
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5i/?]
My jaw just hit the floor. That's how amazing this chapter is. I really love how you write France, and every body else too, of course. And even if I'm a big Prumano fan, I wasn't disappointed at all if this chapter was all about France instead. I was literally glued to the screen. Oh and America doing France impression was priceless XD
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5i/?]
The American government tried once to repaint Lady Liberty, but people protested. They liked the green look better than the harsh copper. From wiki: 'The Army Corps of Engineers studied the patina for any ill effects to the statue and concluded that it protected the skin, "softened the outlines of the Statue and made it beautiful."'
And if we are comparing the Lady to her maker's country, I can't help but think the age makes him more beautiful too. X)
WOW LOOK WHO'S BACK ITS ENHTusiaTSTIC ANON GOMF im rly sorry about all the caps
JESUS CHRIST HWOW WHWY WHO OH MY GOD THIS IS PERFECT WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111
JUST FUCKING OMG DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR ROMANO OMGF PLEASE
AND ROMANO AND AMERICA ARE BFFS DNASKJEANSDKJ (EVEN IF ROMANO DOESNT SAY IT ITS TTALLY TRUE OK) I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS ROMANO AND AMERICA TOGETHER IS MY FUCKING FAVORITE THING AND IT DOESNT HAPPEN NEARLY ENOUGH THEY WERE PERFECT OMG THEY WERE EXCELLENT TOGETHER OK AMERICA WAS SASSY AND DESPITE NOT KNOWING HOW TO RESPOND TO SOME OF ROMANO'S EMOTIONAL RAMBLING THINGS HE WAS NOT DUMB AND HE WAS A REALLY GOOD FRIEND AND HE WAS ACTUALLY REALLY FUNNY OMG AND AMERICA WAS JUST GREAT OK AND ROMANO WAS SIMILARYL AMAINZG IN THAT SCENE I CAN'T JUST WOW THAT WAS ON E OF MY FAVE TIDBITS IN THIS CHAPTER PLEASE I BEG OF YOU IF YOU CAN CAN YOU WRITE MORE OF THEM OMG
aLSO I DIDNT MENTION THIS IN MY FIRST COMMENT BUT I REALLY LIKE HOW THE NATIONS ARE LIKE OPEN TO OTHER TYPES OF ROMANCE NOT JUST MONOGAMY BUT POLYGAMY AND IT SEEMS LIKE THATS A THING THAT HAPPENS OFTEN????? JUST IDK THE NATIONS SEEM RLY SEXUALLY OPEN YOU GET THE FEELING THAT THEYVE ALL SLEPT TOGETHER WITH EACH OTHER AT LEAST ONE POINT IN THEIR HISTORY WHICH MAKES TOTAL SENSE!!!!!!!!!!!!1 THIS HASNT EVER BEEN IN MANY OTHER FICS AND I THINK THAT YOU ADDRESSED THAT NATIONS OPERATE ON DIFF LEVELS OF RELATIONSHIPS SOMETIMES IS WAY RAD
AND FRANCE AND ROMANO OMG THAT WAS RLY GREAT EVERYTHING HAD LIKE LAYERS AND SHIT AND JUST WOW THEIR INTERACTIONS WERE REALLY GREAT?????? AND FRANCE ISNT JUST SOME SEX-CRAZED LUNATIC HE CARES ABOUT OTHER THINGS??????????? AND I CANNOT APPRECIATE THAT ASPECT OF YOUR FRance ENOUGH???? THANK YOU SO MUCH GOD BLESS YOU N PLEASE FRAMANO IS MY GUILTY OTP FOR ROMANO I'M RELALY GLAD YOU ARE DOING THAT PAIRING JUSTICE I CANNOT HANDLE THIS IMgoing to die good bye a rly good fill on the kink meme was the end of me cul8tr guys it was nice knowing u
also what happened to the prumano it seemed like that was all set aside for france wow i hOPE PRUSSIA DOESNT HAVE NEGATIVE FEELINGS ABOUT THIS WHOPPS
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And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 12:49 am (UTC)(link)Maybe that’s why he doesn’t snap at them to leave. He just leans back against the headboard of the bed, his spine curving a little awkwardly, and stares at them.
Inside he knows he should be pissed at Prussia for walking away from him, for scolding, but he’s had time to let the other’s words simmer in the back of his mind and he’s starting to realize, though maybe still unwilling to acknowledge, that he is at least responsible for some of that argument.
“I don’t know if you heard France,” Prussia starts with a little huff, “but I’m not going to apologize for shit.”
Spain scowls, and Romano takes pleasure in the fact that Spain is on his side, but he himself doesn’t really care, so he shrugs.
“Okay. Well, I’m sorry.”
“What?” “What?”
He looked at their twin faces, both caught unawares and totally thrown off, and he chuckles a little.
“I’m not repeating it, so don’t get used to it” Romano adds sharply. “But maybe this time I’ll admit the potato bastard wasn’t doing anything untoward, except for still breathing.”
Prussia tries to look mildly offended, but Romano thinks he’s mostly amused. Spain still just looks surprised.
“Seriously?” Prussia asks. Romano looks at his toes, wiggling them so that he doesn’t have to look the bastard in the face. “W-well, fine, then. All right.”
Romano looks up. “I guess it is,” he says, then smirks and shakes his head again. “I mean--well, yeah, I personally may not like it, and I may not think it’s awesome--”
“Hey, you little--”
“--but that’s all, isn’t it?” Romano asks, and though he raises his voice he keeps his tone neutral. “I can’t make him change if he doesn’t want it. So even if it did upset me...yeah. There are other things about him that I’d...well, maybe I’d like to get to know better, so it’s okay.”
He doesn’t look up, just nudges a wrinkle in the comforter. He has no idea if he said the right thing at all, and he feels as though talking anymore will just lead him right into a hole. So he just lets the hotel room drop into silence.
Prussia pierces the silence with a sigh. “You know I never meant to upset you. I just forgot that you can be so... goddamn sensitive.”
Spain makes a noise like he wants to tell Prussia to stop, but Romano does his best to not take it too personally.
“Yeah, well.”
“So, does this mean that you guys are...?” Spain starts, looking between them, looking, to Romano’s surprise and almost pleasure, jealous.
“Don’t worry, Spain, we’re not gonna be fucking exclusive.” Prussia answers, catching the same not-so-subtle hints Romano had. “So,” he adds, turning to Romano himself, “we’re good?”
“Yeah,” Romano nods. “For now.”
“Fine, then.” Prussia stands, cracking his back and yawning. “Then I’m going to go prepare for the meeting, by which I mean I’m going to prepare to nap through it. Have fun, you two.”
Romano stares at his toes again as Prussia crosses the room and feels Spain’s eyes on him. He doesn’t look up and he doesn’t speak, even as the door clicks shut behind him. His fingers find and worry a loose thread on the comforter, the plush down giving a little beneath his pressing fingers.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 12:50 am (UTC)(link)And the question catches him off guard. He looks up at Spain, at green eyes, and pretends to ignore the tan fingers fisting themselves into the bed. His breath hitches as sensation ripples outward from his gut--outward from the places Spain touched when they moved together, two nights ago.
And then he left.
Just to get breakfast, he tells himself, his own fingers tightening. Just to get breakfast. Yes. He wasn’t going to leave forever, he just wanted to get some breakfast--
“Romano?”
Spain’s voice sends a thought flickering in the back of his mind, one that catches him entirely off-guard.
Spain left once and never came back. Left me alone, when I was a child, and never came back to tuck me in or kiss my forehead.
That’s right.
Romano’s stomach churns. Everything feels--tight, like his skin’s stretching thin and far and about to snap. He feels his body just to make sure it’s not rubber.
And even then, he crosses his arms across his chest, hugging himself as he stands, turns his back on Spain, and walks out of the room without another word.
___
Prussia’s asleep by the time Romano makes it back to his room, and he makes sure to close the door quietly behind him. The meeting was as uneventful as ever; true to his word, Prussia slept through most of it, only remaining awake only enough to play farting noises off his iPhone when it was Germany’s turn to speak and then getting kicked out of the room. Normally Romano would be pleased by the public humiliation of the stupid bastard who’s fucking his younger brother, but he was too distracted trying not to look at Spain, who was in turn trying to and failing miserably at not looking at him.
Perhaps because Spain was the last thing he wanted on his mind, the memory of their first time drug itself out of a dark crevice in his brain. He was physically more than ready, and had wanted the thing for so long. It was Spain who was reluctant, too worried about hurting his charge, his child. But Romano wasn’t a child, and he pushed for it, shyly and slowly.
The night Spain finally relented was long, because Romano wanted to take everything in, every sound and touch and smell. It felt so... good. Spain crooned in his ear, murmuring sweet nothings like they were going out of fashion, as he made Romano feel like a prince, a God. Even though Romano was headstrong and sloppy, Spain was patient and receptive and so tender with him. After Spain had fallen asleep holding him, Romano had cried.
What they had was special, always had been special even when Spain was trying to convince Austria to trade. Some nights they worked perfectly, and other nights they couldn’t be near each other without breaking down.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 12:51 am (UTC)(link)He turns over, pulls his sheets over himself, and prays that he doesn’t mess this up.
Romano fidgets, and the mattress sinks beneath his weight. But he can’t quite sleep. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows, doing everything he can to relax. Eyes shut tight and shoulders tense, he huddles beneath his blankets, the comforter pulled up around his nose.
He works so hard at relaxing that he jumps and bites back a scream when Prussia eases into the bed next to him. “If you’re asleep, then I’m Old Fritz,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the back of Romano’s neck.
“Shuddup,” Romano mutters, and curls in on himself--and if he presses against Prussia a little more, well, fuck that. It’s not like he means to. “I’m trying to relax.”
Prussia chuckles. The air conditioning sighs, garnishing the room with a chill that makes body warmth very appealing. “Protip for you, buddy,” Prussia says, his arm coming around to hug Romano’s waist, “the point of relaxing isn’t really to try. It’s just to be.”
Romano tries to think of a biting comeback about sex and blowjobs and handjobs--and miracle of miracle, catches himself just as he opens his mouth. No sound comes out--no. There’s a better way to handle this.
So instead, he turns around on the bed, his hand comes down to take Prussia’s hand, unlatching the calloused, time-roughed fingers from a belt loop. “Maybe you could help me out, then,” Romano murmurs. And then he lifts Prussia’s hand and kisses it an Italian’s kiss--slow, sweltering, and melting, with just a simmer of brown eyes gazing up into red beneath his lashes.
Prussia’s expression is caught between surprised and pleasure, and Romano thinks it looks good on him. Well, as much as anything can look good on Prussia’s twisted features, the long sharp nose and too-narrow eyes. Romano stops dwelling on anything but Prussia’s lips, thin and pale pink, chapped beyond belief but also warm and satisfying when he kisses him again.
It’s Prussia who pulls away, chuckling from deep in his chest. “I like you better when you’re eager,” he comments, brushing his wide palm over Romano’s neck, sliding it down to cup his shoulder. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“I’m relaxing,” Romano murmurs softly, looking back up at Prussia, feeling the warmth from where his shoulder is being massaged.
“Good.”
Romano can hear Prussia’s smirk, as his second hand moves down the length of his torso and pushes his shirt up his chest. It just sits there stroking his abdominals, which is nothing to scoff at even after all the pizza he eats; Prussia’s calloused fingers circle over Romano’s nipples, and make him hiss.
Prussia’s smirk widens--how is that even possible?--and his fingers press into his stomach. “Well,” he murmurs, “not going to borrow them for laundry, but you get a B for effort.”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 12:52 am (UTC)(link)Pinch, and Romano yelps; his fingers become claws, his back stiffens. And fuck, fuck, he should have seen that coming, because Prussia’s leaning in and kissing him, full-on mouth with teasing tongue-tip and a hand sliding down to press into the small of his back. And when he shifts down, their hips meet and--
Oh.
Oh.
And this time it’s Romano’s turn to leer when they separate, a thin string of saliva hanging between them and sliding onto the pillow. “Well,” Romano purrs, and rubs his hips up against Prussia’s bulge.
“...Yeah?” Prussia asks, and the heat’s getting to him, too--they’ll have to complain about the air conditioning. It’s really not working, because Prussia’s just as breathless as he is, his eyes ruby-bright and gleaming in the sunlight.
Romano licks his lips. “...It doesn’t quite feel like five meters. But you get a B. For effort, I suppose.”
And every inch of him quivers in delight and a heady rush of power as Prussia snarls, gripping one shoulder and shoving Romano onto his back. Strong knees pin his hips to the bed, and Romano is completely at his mercy--if he struggles at all, Prussia’s arranged it so that he’ll rub their erections together and send sparks skittering all over Romano’s skin.
Prussia’s cheekbones are pink, but his smile is wide and his eyes bright as he bends down and attacks Romano’s buttons--not quite mother-of-pearl, but still soft and lovely to look at in the light. “You can rip it if you want,” Romano says, lazy, his hands curled soft above his head, not moving an inch as he watches Prussia work.
“Yeah, and then have you bitch at me later because I ruined your precious shirt?” Prussia snorts. “I’m not a fool, but I am the guy who whipped freezing, starving colonists into an army that took down England. Arms up, Romano.”
Romano complies without giving it a second thought, and Prussia eases him out of his shirt, tossing it over to the other bed. He moves back over Romano’s body like a man with a purpose, pressing his mouth over the bronzed skin, sliding his tongue in the dip of Romano’s collarbone and over his pectorals, nipping affectionately at his nipples and lapping at his abdominals. Romano can feel himself growing harder by the touch, but it’s not even entirely sexual. It’s all in Prussia’s tenderness, in his excitement and his eagerness, and also in the corners of his lips when he looks up at Romano.
“Ready to part with these?” He asks, tugging on the waistbands of Romano’s pants and boxers at once. Romano nods, not even willing to pretend to put up an argument. His hands grip onto the lean muscle of Prussia’s biceps. Prussia opened his mouth, as Romano knew he would; but their eyes clicked somewhere and Prussia shut his mouth again, smiling with his whole face as he shifted to undo Romano’s pants while still being held onto.
Romano lets go of him long enough to led Prussia strip him bare, but then his palms latch onto the other’s too-narrow hips and squeeze, just hold on tight.
“What about you?” Romano says, and if he pouts--well. It’s just on principle. And also the fact that he hasn’t had a chance to see Prussia’s dick, up-close and sober. “You--” he starts, and then just sits up with a huff, “--are wearing too much clothing.”
“Sorry,” Prussia says back, and his hands cover Romano’s own as his fingers tremble and skitter over the belt buckle. “Just didn’t want to blind you with the awesome of my abs. I--ow!” Prussia jumps back, glaring at Romano’s fingertip as he rubs his stomach.
“Abs of steel?” Romano asks, quirking his eyebrow. He doesn’t quite smile, but his smirk widens and he snorts when Prussia glares and shoves him down on the bed with one hand. Romano’s about to say something snide, about how he should win a prize--
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 12:53 am (UTC)(link)“Nnnnghsi,” Romano slurs as Prussia gives him just a nick with his teeth, not enough to really hurt but enough to send jitters up his spine. Romano arches his back, eyes flying open.
And they land on the cracked hotel room door, the lock still jammed in to prop it open for Romano’s return. And Romano thinks he catches a sliver of green and long, dark lashes watching from the door.
Romano’s hand flinch, his fingers spasming, and Prussia yelps and slides off of him. Romano pulls him up for a kiss, all blistering Italian earth and cloudless sky. He sears his lips across Prussia’s jawline, pausing only to nip his earlobe.
“Don’t look now,” he whispers in Prussia’s left ear, “but we’ve got company.”
Prussia turns to look at the door anyways, but Romano’s holding his face in its spot, with fingers threaded in his short ivory hair. He can’t help but wonder if Prussia can see their voyeur, and tries to keep the kisses coming hot and needy so that Prussia will lose interest. But then Prussia suddenly pulls away, moves down to Romano’s legs and unties the dress shoes he still has on. Romano only has a chance to be momentarily confused, because seconds later his shoe is hurling at the door, and pushes it shut.
They can hear a Spanish curse, and then some barreling down the hall. Prussia chuckles and then pushes Romano back down onto the mattress.
“Now, where were we?” He hums seductively, skimming a finger over Romano’s hot skin.
“Strip,” Romano hisses, patting his way down Prussia’s body until his hands clasp on the hem of his shirt. He tugs it up, hearing the fabric tear under his hands but he knows Prussia doesn’t care about his formal clothes, and he can replace it with something much nicer, anyways.
Prussia laughs right into his ear, cooperating as Romano moves his arms out of the sleeves. “Looks like someone’s eager.” He licks the shell of Romano’s ear and nips the lobe once more, then pulls himself up, now sans shirt.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking tease--”
And then Prussia ducks down, silencing him with a kiss--firm, but not violent, no teeth clacking and no tongues battling for dominance. It’s a kiss that reminds Romano of ripe melon on a hot summer’s day, with just the right amount of give
Romano leans back, taking Prussia with him, their mouths still locked in that cool-melon kiss. And then Prussia’s hips shift against Romano’s hipbone and--ah. Prussia’s quicker with his clothes than Romano gave him credit for, hard and hot pressing against his hip. “You’ve got a filthy mouth,” Prussia laughs when they part for breath.
Romano’s nostrils flare when he shuts his mouth and breathes through his nose, reaching down to wrap a fist around Prussia’s cock. “Lube,” he breathes through gritted teeth, focused on keeping himself in the moment even as Prussia strokes him with a devilish twist in his wrist. “Where--”
“Bedside--ngh--drawer. Same as before.”
Romano’s hand leaves Prussia’s cock, ignoring the curse Prussia bites out, and scrabbles for the drawer handle, tugging it with every muscle in his body not focused on not coming. He squeezes too much lube out into his open palm, and some might have dribbled onto the bed, but he can’t afford to care; Prussia’s driving him to the edge and back with so many little tricks Romano didn’t even know existed. He fists around Prussia’s cock again, wonders why he complained about its size earlier that evening when it feels perfect against his hand.
He strokes the flushed, pink cock in his hand, easing the lube into every crevice and wrinkle of skin he can manage. He traces the valleys made by the veins, and teases the head with his thumb until it’s weeping, and Prussia’s murmuring incoherent words.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4f/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 12:54 am (UTC)(link)“I want you to fuck me,” he confesses, leaning in so their chests touch, his voice barely audible. But Prussia’s cock definitely heard, with the way it twitches against Romano’s thigh, and it fills him with a perverse sort of pleasure, being able to garner that reaction from someone as cold as Prussia.
“Come first,” comes the belated command, huffed out into his ear.
Romano wants to sputter, but he only has energy enough for a snort. “That’s--not the way this works,” he breathes, something between a chuckle and a choke. Because Prussia thumbs his slit and makes his shoulders tense and his body quiver. His hands scrabble for Prussia’s shoulders. “What makes you think--I’ll--”
Romano’s sentence gets mutilated into little more than a guttural groan as cold lube drips down his cockhead, coating his shaft. And then Prussia’s hand is there, stroking hard and fast and wet. He drives Romano’s body higher, higher, tighter and faster and--
And in a sudden rush--and a flick of Prussia’s wrist--Romano floods out of his own body, mouth open and wet and eyes wide with release. Prussia strokes him through his spasms, smearing his fingers over Romano’s come, touching him even as Romano floats down into his own body, eyes sliding shut for just a moment.
When he opens them again, he sees Prussia sitting back on his heels, licking his fingers and looking for all the world as though he’s a cat that got his way, and--
And Romano tilts his head back and just laughs, a few chuckles shoving their way past his throat. “Well,” he says. “What...now?”
Prussia gets the dark, lusty glint in his eye again, or maybe it was always there and Romano just hadn’t noticed. He’s over Romano in a split second, pressing his erection to Romano’s near-flacid penis and grinding down.
Then they’re kissing hotly and Prussia is doing all sorts of things to Romano’s willing body; tugging on his hair, drinking in his taste, pinching and groping whatever bit of skin lies beneath his blunt fingers. Prussia’s hands move lower and lower, and they’re pushing Romano’s thighs out of the way. Romano cooperates and bends his knees, even going as far as to spread himself. Prussia makes an amused noise, and then he leans in close and hums next to Romano’s ear.
“I always knew you were a slut,” he murmurs affectionately, and Romano can hear the foil condom wrapper being torn, just over the thudding of his heart. Then a wet, cold finger presses to his asshole, and he shivers a little, biting his lip.
Prussia smiles down at him, just for a second, something genuine and not teasing, but it’s gone once his finger is wriggling around inside.
“Nngh,” Romano grunts, mouth opening wide as Prussia wriggles deeper, deeper. His throat closes up. There will be no more words now, not while Prussia touches him deep and like that and makes the world break out into shimmering flurries.
“You like that?” Prussia asks, bending his head again, teasing the edge of Romano’s ear with his tongue tip. Romano sucks air through his teeth and grinds down on Prussia’s fingers in response; he’s not hard right now, and his sex drive decreases with each pump of his heart. But even so...
Even so, it feels good when Prussia strikes that spot deep inside of him, not hard enough to hurt but enough to send flutters through his sweat-slicked, hypersensitive body. “More,” he mumbles, and Prussia obliges him with another finger and more lube. “More,” he says again, and his blood thrills a little when Prussia scissors him open, adds a third finger.
And he almost wants to say it one more time--almost wants to see if Prussia will give him his whole hand, will give him more than that even when he asks. But that is not for this moment, in the early afternoon sunlight. No.
This is a different time.
Romano turns his head, and his cheeks burn with pink as he kisses Prussia’s ear. “Fuck me,” he whispers. “You promised you would.”
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 12:57 am (UTC)(link)And Romano smiles, hides that smile in the crook of Prussia’s neck as he laughs nervously. And then he says it:
“Fuck me anyway.”
Prussia nods, nipping at Romano’s throat just a bit, just to get him to groan, and then he slowly pushes in. Romano tries to ease his body, it’s not too hard when he’s coming off an orgasm, but there’s still a little gasp that comes out when Prussia fills him. His size and shape is different from anyone else that Romano let in, which isn’t really all that of a long list to begin with, but it feels so good he grinds down on it all the same.
It makes Prussia hiss a curse and buck his hips up, and it takes seconds for them to find a nice pace where Romano meets every thrust with a grind. Prussia’s a talker during sex, it seems, but none of it is words Romano can make out, though it all sounds vaguely like German. He’d always been certain hearing German would turn him off, take him out of the mood, but coming out of Prussia it sounds almost melodious, neither harsh nor grating.
Romano grips Prussia’s biceps, which are bulging out from how tightly he in turn is gripping Romano’s hips; there will be a mark, no doubt, and perhaps even bruising. The thought makes Romano moan, a little, and Prussia echoes it much more loudly, thrusting into him again. He’s becoming more frantic, and it is harder for Romano to keep up the pace; Romano knows that Prussia is close to finishing, and reaches for his balls. He gives them a long, slow tug, and then Prussia’s body goes stiff and he plunges deep into Romano to let everything go.
It’s fascinating, watching everything without arousal clouding his eyes, his mind, and every pore in his body. Everything feels clearer, sharper, the outlines of Prussia’s body solid and here and real as Prussia tenses, curls in, and bites his lip and comes, pulsing inside Romano’s body.
Romano gets to see his eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting his lower lip so hard that the skin turns white. He gets to watch every moment of Prussia’s orgasm--hisses become pants and squeezed-shut eyes relax. Prussia’s lips part, then, sweat dripping off the tip of his nose. His body, glazed with sweat, gleams in the sunbeams sprawled over their bed.
Beautiful, Romano thinks, and reaches up with his thumb to rub Prussia’s lip where his teeth dug in.
And then Prussia collapses on top of Romano, too-hot and heavy and if he starts snoring, Romano will fucking scream.
“H-hey!” Romano says, and he feels his cheeks puffing out as he prods Prussia’s side with his finger. “Y-your side of the bed is over there, you rude--”
And then Prussia snores right in his ear, wrapping his arms around Romano’s hip. Romano freezes, mid-poke, and in his startled silence gets to appreciate the situation. It’s a lovely afternoon in New York City; Prussia is snoring in his ear, arms glued to his waist. Romano’s come smears between their bodies.
Prussia is here. Sleeping, on him. Not in the shower, or yanking his socks on while muttering bitter German curses. Just--here.
...He did it on purpose, just to prove Romano wrong. And all Romano can do is throw his arm across his eyes and laugh.
Romano falls asleep to Prussia’s face playing across his eyelids; coming, teasing, smiling--
and staying.
END CHAPTER 4
--
a!note: I am really glad that you guys are continuing to enjoy this; we are getting so much pleasure out of writing it! I will be a bit busy this weekend, at AnimeNext, so the next installment may be a bit delayed. If you'll be at anext, look for me; I'm selling Hetalia bookmarks, buttons, and prints in the Artists Alley!
Again, you guys, thank you ^infinity.
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 09:50 am (UTC)(link)This is so amazing. I do have a question. Is Romano kind of secretly in love with Spain? I think that's what I got from the whole bit about him remembering their past and the haunting looks.
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 10:37 am (UTC)(link)Thanks for another wonderful chapter! Have fun this week end ^^
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-08 11:54 am (UTC)(link)THE SEX SCENE
THE SEX SCENE
I swear, this is one of the hottest, sweetest, most realistic and yet still dreamy and sensual sex scenes I have ever read anywhere. It was so awesome and it made me so happy<3
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-09 12:16 am (UTC)(link)romano you heart breaker
fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkk
I think I have a cheating kink now somehow
captcha says "otigne Spaniards" and I am inclined to agree
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [4g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-10 12:16 am (UTC)(link)*fans self*
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5a/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:00 am (UTC)(link)Also, there’s a scene in here that may or may not be shamelessly based off of a moment from a Brave trailer. That should be it. Enjoy!
________
They do not touch at dinner, but they still stand too close for France’s comfort.
Well, he thinks to himself as he props his chin up in his palm, perhaps close isn’t quite the right term. He’s close to others in ways that don’t involve clothes or speech or all the nasty little complications that come with attachments.
No. They aren’t touching, perhaps, but there’s something in the way that they stick to one another’s side---even as one bites out Italian insults and the other blows a raspberry at his younger brother. It’s the way their shoulders brush, and neither of them start back like blushing virgins.
It’s the way they bump elbows as they sit down, and the way they talk--too far away for France to hear what they’re saying, across a room of crowded, pent-up nations just ready to go home soon.
They are close, yes. But the word he’s looking for is--
“Ah,” he murmurs to himself, and snaps his fingers
They are too intimate.
And the last time France found intimacy, it ended with--
“Ve, Big Brother France! Why are you sitting over here all alone?”
France lets out a little sigh, even as he turns to Veneziano with a smile. He needs the distraction.
“I am just thinking, Italy,” he lets his smile grow wide and warm, a skill perfected after centuries of social interaction. “Though I am glad you came to draw me from my thoughts.” Italy’s brow furrows a little, and France just lays a hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tensed muscles. “Why are you not with Germany?”
Italy beams, all bright sunny days and a cloud’s silver lining. “He went to the men’s room, and then I was going to go say ‘Ciao’ to fratello, only he seems a little... distracted.”
He turns to look at Romano, and France follows his gaze. Prussia is poking him in the arm, whining about something, and Romano fails to look exasperated, in favor of looking amused instead.
Spain is sitting not too far away, doodling in his notes and chattering with Portugal, but his eyes are far too dim.
“He seems a lot happier today, though!” Veneziano adds when France doesn’t speak. “Yesterday he was so upset. I wish he would just tell me what’s going on. It’s not normal for him to be so moody.”
France bites the inside of his cheek, choosing not to correct Veneziano. “Don’t worry, Italia,” France murmurs softly, “I am doing all that I can to make sure he is going to be okay.”
Italy looks at France, his smile smaller and more humble than usual. “I know you are, big brother.”
Then Germany comes back into the dining room and Veneziano pecks France on the cheek swiftly before bounding back to him.
It’s true enough. For selfish as he might, be, and needy--France wants them to be happy.
His eyes wander about the room, to where America holds a fork to England’s pressed lips and deepening frown; to where Canada cradles an armful of tulips as he grins shyly at the Netherlands; to where Belarus crushes Lithuania’s hand in her grip, as though terrified he would run from her as her brother does.
He has known them all in bed, each and every one. And in spite of everything, he wants to see them happy with one another.
It is better than being in love with him--or even worse, falling in love with one of them.
Something catches him from the corner of his eye. He turns his head and finds himself staring straight into Romano’s eyes, all the way across the hotel dining room.
And then, for some reason that France cannot even begin to fathom, Romano smiles at him.
It is only for an instant; after that glimpse Romano is turned back to Prussia, slapping his hand as Prussia tries to steal from his plate. Though France knows he does not want to fall in love, it is too late not to fall in longing. He is not jealous of any of them, no, but he wishes that there could be a second chance for him. Sex is wonderful, but slipping away in the slightly-chilled sunrise is not.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5b/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:02 am (UTC)(link)His shoulders start to sag as he steps out of the room, and he thinks back to Romano’s quirked lips. Those lips were embers, he thinks, glowing little fragments hungering to catch fire.
The last time he’d gotten a smile similiar was from a with great ideas of a world where poverty equaled sainthood, where terror equaled justice, and where swift, silent beheadings where the highest form of virtue.
Robspierre.
France suddenly feels very tired, as though he’s just swum across the English Channel. His body aches and yearns, and it feels like exhaustion.
He sticks his hands in his pockets and trudges down the hall, in the general direction of Greece’s room. Greece will not be completion, and he will not be Robespierre--but he will be gentle and kind, with soft, sweet fingers.
The very thought brings a wicked smile to his face.
--
France gives Greece a final kiss after he’s cleaned up in the small bathroom; by then Greece is already asleep, still naked, and he looks content. France can’t help but wonder if Greece ever wants something more than good sex and a warm body. It’s hard to imagine love on Greece, what with his carefree, easy going ways. And when France tries to imagine passion there, he has to suppress a chuckle until after he’s shut the door behind him.
He heads down the hall, going towards the elevator to take him back to his room. He can still feel the warm places beneath his clothes where Greece’s hands had held him tenderly, and he hopes to make it to bed while that warmth is still there, so he may trap in between the sheets and duvet and sleep enrobed in it. The realization is a little bit embarrassing, but he doubts Greece would mind, and there is no way anyone else would find out, either.
When in his room he undresses again, and slips beneath his covers. When he closes his eyes, a ghost from his past is the one keeping him warm.
“You can imagine it, can’t you?” That ghost whispers, and France opens his eyes--he is in majestic robes, a glass of wine in his hand, and they recline in their armchairs as firelight flickers in the sparse room.
“Our country at peace, free. Mothers and children able to walk the streets without fearing attack from counter-revolutionaries still loyal to our late king.” The shadows flicker and quiver in the light. The ghost stands, elegance and flute-sweet voice, and from the corner of his eye France sees thick red seeping up beneath the floorboards.
“A world where freedom and humanity stand hand-in-hand, their scythes ready to swing down and quell the rising threats.”
The words made France shiver, his fingers tight around his wineglass as the ghost steps closer, closer. The shadows flash faster now, headless corpses made into puppets that he can’t quite see. So he ignores them and keeps his eyes on the ghost, eyes wide with reverent, awe-struck worship.
The ghost leans down, and their eyes meet. France doesn’t dare breathe as the ghost takes his hand, warm butterfly-breaths fanning over France’s lips just before the ghost bows his head and leaves a worshipping kiss on his knuckles, just above the ruby ring.
“Their lives are inconsequential, dearest France--necessary sacrifices for a world of humanity.”
France throws the covers off and clenches his teeth. His eyes need to squeeze in order to stay shut, and he cannot find comfort in the mattress that conforms to his very body.
So France opens his eyes instead and slips out of the bed. His linen button-up is wrinkled, his pants in a half-messy heap at the foot of his bed, but he pulls them on all the same. He’s learned over the years that hotels do not take kindly to beautiful men walking nude through the hallways. So for their sake--and because concrete and park benches are horrible beds--he clothes himself and leaves his hotel room, walking through the halls and into an elevator.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5c/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:03 am (UTC)(link)“What are you doing up here, wine bastard?”
Ah, France thinks, and his body tenses again at Romano’s voice, forcing a smile onto his face.
“Just thinking of home,” he answers, and turns to meet Romano’s eyes. “I could ask the same of you, of course. It appears as though you and Prussia have made up. Why are you not with him?”
France catches Romano’s eyeroll before it vanishes, but the smile lingers for a while. They must have had sex rather recently.
“I can’t spend too much time with potato-bastards or I’ll break out in hives.”
“Even if those alleged ‘potato-bastards’ are your boyfriends?”
France expects Romano to deny it, to raise his voice and stomp his feet and pout. What Romano actually does is shrug and look up at France.
“Are you jealous?”
“Excuse me?”
Romano sighs, “The way you were treating me before, two nights ago, I mean. I know you act like that with all the people you fuck, but you seemed especially concerned given that the other two assholes were there. You sort of did everything yourself.”
France wonders if Romano is just reading into things to boost his self-esteem, or if perhaps he’s just pointing out a simple fact. He reminds himself that he doesn’t have feelings for Romano, not like the worshipping, blood-drenched love that still stains his tongue with bile’s bitter taste.
In the end he just chuckles, shakes his head, and ruffles Romano’s hair affectionately.
“Hey,” Romano says without bite in his voice, lifting his head, glaring at France a little. “I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”
France takes a moment to look at Romano, who doesn’t look back. He just leans on the balcony, elbows propped up on the stone, and stares off into the distance. His hands are clasped in front of him, fingers loose and relaxed. He doesn’t scowl, but his face seems to be--Intense? Thoughtful? France isn’t sure of the word.
“Yes,” France says, shutting his eyes and smiling. “I think, just a little, you matured today.”
“Just a little? Give me more credit than that, you shithead.” France opens his eyes to find Romano has turned to look at him, elbows still resting on the balcony. Romano tilts his head, quirking an eyebrow. Waiting.
And France, for a moment, feels his smile falter, because he’s not sure what to say. So instead, he says the first thing that comes to mind:
“Why did you smile at me at lunch today?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“If you are going to do uncharacteristic things, then an explanation would be nice.”
Romano shrugs, trying to appear apathetic. “You looked like you could use it. Besides, I guess if you hadn’t forced Prussia to apologize...”
France perks a little when Romano trails off. “What would have happened, then?”
Now Romano definitely fails to look apathetic, and he sighs. “I’d be a shitton less... happy.”
He almost chokes around the word, and France is compelled to place a hand on his shoulder, hold him close. When he does, Romano flusters.
France only chuckles again, a wine-dark sound, and pulls him a little closer. “I am happy that you are happy,” France says, and he is, because his chest flitters with little butterflies and he doesn’t have to force himself to smile. “I am glad that I played some small part in that.”
Romano sputters, but he does not push France away. He wriggles out of his arms instead and turns his back, though he looks at France from the corner of his eye and his profile. “Y-yeah, well, you shouldn’t let it go to your head. You still smell like sex and--”
Romano’s eyes widen, and he cuts himself off before anything else can escape. But it’s too late. France’s smile hardens like a piece of petrified wood. His skin remembers all the fingers it’s ever touched in a sudden rush.
“Wait,” Romano says, turning around again and reaching out. “I didn’t--”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5d/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:05 am (UTC)(link)Romano looks at him, and try as he might France just can’t read him. And that’s when he realizes this conversation has gone on too long. The air has cleared his head, after all.
“Good night, Romano,” France says, with a little flourish and bow. “I’m afraid I must retire.”
And without another word, France turns on his heel and leaves the balcony with not another word.
______________
“...and then he just left and I couldn’t stop him--well, I didn’t try, but I should have, and--” Romano finishes off with a groan, balling up his hand and hiding his face in his palm. “It’s like nothing’s fucking changed.”
America doesn’t speak through his mouthful of pancakes, but Romano can at least tell he’s doing his best to be encouraging and prove he’s listening by sitting and nodding his head. America’s not his best friend, but he at least tries to listen and occasionally says something that’s not completely moronic, and it’s served Romano well since his brief visit to America’s home in the 1920s.
“Mmmph,” America says in response, swallowing his mouthful of pancake. “Where’s Prussia, by the way?”
“I think he’s putting whoopee cushions on some of the chairs in the meeting room.”
America laughs. “I hope he doesn’t forget England. You’d think after a hundred years he’d learn to check his chair, but no.”
Romano knows he should find the situation amusing, because he suggested that Prussia place one on Germany’s seat as well, and because he and England aren’t exactly friends, but his mind is still on the balcony, and on how cold it felt sleeping in Prussia’s arms after that even though he was quite warm.
When Romano doesn’t laugh with him, America sighs and finally puts his fork down.
“Look, dude, I’ve gotta say, getting in on some orgy action with those three, maybe not the best idea. They’re all wrapped up in their issues, you know? Like, I know they’re always having sex all the time but their minds totally weren’t meant for one night stands.” He pauses, and then adds, “None of you Europeans are. You’re the neediest guys I know.”
Romano scowls, and doesn’t hesitate to whack America upside the head. But a voice in his mind points out that America is right. For as much as all three of the self title ‘Bad Touch Trio’ have casual sex, Prussia is bitter and conceals his emotions, Spain is an emotional open-book, and France always leaves before the sun comes up.
“Don’t call me needy, you... hamburger-bastard.”
America hums, his eyes smiling. “Who was it that went to who for help?”
Romano raised an eyebrow, “And who was it that gave who pizza and macaroni and cheese?”
“Point,” America agreed. “I’ll give you that. But seriously, though, you can’t blame yourself for whatever’s happening in France’s head. If it was something he felt secure in talking about, we’d all know by now. Maybe the man’s got secrets, he’s entitled to it.”
Romano rolls his eyes, and America is quick to add. “If you really want to cheer him up, take him out on one of those boat rides to Liberty Island. He likes to go visit the Statue of Liberty whenever he comes here, it always makes him feel better.”
And this is where Romano is glad that he made the effort to befriend America. He blinks, his lips parting in thought. “That’s...a good idea,” he says, the seeds of a thought planting themselves in his mind. “It’s the last day of the meetings, we’ll all be going home tomorrow--that’s a really good idea.”
But just as he steeples his fingers to think, a pinprick nudges its way through his brain and deflates the thought with a sharp pop. “I have no idea how to ask him, though,” Romano says. “...Not after last night.”
“Why not practice on me?”
Romano blinks at America, who is all wide eyes and big grin. “You’re joking, right?”
“Hey! I’ve got French in my culture, too! And I’ll have you know that my blood type is Hollywood-positive!”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5e/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:06 am (UTC)(link)America shuts his eyes, taking several breaths as he wipes his face clean of all emotion. Romano crosses his arms, crooks an eyebrow, and just watches as America opens his eyes to half-mast, smearing an overdone leer on his lips.
“Hon hon hon, ‘ow arrre you, today, mon amour? Oh, my ‘eart, eet is fluttering in le chest like so many butterflies at ze sight of you!” America grabs a daisy from the vase in the center of the table and leans forward as he sticks it in his teeth, lifting his eyebrows, eyelids still at half-mast. “I know your pants, zhey must be on fire at ze thought of mah luscious long ‘air an’ chest ‘air an’ beeg-boned limbs tangling up in bed as I place mah fresh baguette in your oven!”
America’s eyes open wide, and he smiles, nodding and waiting for Romano to speak.
The only motion Romano makes is to lift his own hand and close his mouth. America spits out the daisy, cackles and leans back, picking up a link of sausage and taking a bite. “Amazing, huh?” America says through a mouthful of meat. “I’ve honed my acting skills through observation. I bet you’re learning things about France you didn’t even know!”
“Indeed,” France says, leaning down to place a hand on Romano’s shoulder. “I, for one, did not know my muscles were merely ‘big bones.’”
Romano turns to America to gauge his reaction, and is hardly surprised when the other doesn’t even look sheepish, a grin curling on his lips.
“You live on a diet of cheese and carbs, dude,” he replies, poking France in the stomach, “‘big boned’ is exactly what you are.”
France whacks America upside the head, but Romano can tell that it’s tender and affectionate. He doesn’t really know much about America and Canada’s relationships with the ‘Old World’, except for the obvious ones, given that he wasn’t really involved with either of them until his people began migrating. But looking at them like this, he realizes that they look like brothers, and wonders if big brother France managed to increase his sphere of influence over the Atlantic.
“Look who is talking, America,” France laughs, touching America’s own stomach and smirking. “Speaking of, I am not sure I can trust whatever it is the two of you would be talking about.”
“It’s top secret, buddy, can’t tell.”
“Che,” Romano says, crossing his arms. “It’s not like he was any help at all. He’s not acting anything like I need him to.”
France laughs, hearty and warm, and sits down next to America. “Then perhaps I can be of some help,” France says, and rests his chin in his palm. He smiles beneath his fingertips, but his eyes are thoughtful--not angry, just curious and all-seeing and way, way too blue for this time of morning. “Feel free to--ah, how do you Americans say it--’Totally lay it on me, bro.’”
“Um,” Romano says, and licks his lips. “So, um.” Fuck. “So I, uh, have someone I need to give a talking-to, to straighten out their heads. Because they’re an idiot and took something I said wrong. And I want to do it away from the other Nations because we’re all motherfucking drama whores, anyway, and I want to do it somewhere nice and quiet, like, um, Liberty Island. Just as an example.”
“I’m sure whoever you have in mind is more suited for a third-rate coffee shop.” And fuck France, fuck him for being so damn unreadable and making him glare as he grits his teeth.
“Well, maybe I want to do it on the motherfucking Liberty Island instead of a third-rate coffee shop because I’m the one doing the inviting. What are you going to do, suggest you go along with me first just to make sure I don’t screw this up?”
France brightens instantly. “I’d be delighted to, Romano!” France says, clapping his hands together and beaming bright enough to blot out the motherfucking sun. “I shall go ahead and get us tickets--don’t worry, you can pay me back. I shall meet you at lunch to work out the details, oui?”
France flounces off before Romano can say another word, and all America can do is shift his stare between them.
“...Ah,” Romano says. “I, uh. What just happened?”
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5f/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:08 am (UTC)(link)“I think you got yourself a date, Romano.”
_____
The sun is hanging low in the sky, not quite in danger of setting yet but nearly there, when France hands their ferry tickets to a man who is sweaty and obviously being underpaid. Romano gets hurried along after him, and France reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it as he keeps Romano close.
They managed to get a spot on deck. Romano looks out at the waters of New York harbor; they’re dirty and speak of years of boats coming in and out. He knows that many of his own people came on those boats, happened upon this view in their tough times, and it makes him feel a little warm.
“There’s a nice breeze,” France says softly, closing his eyes and smiling. “This is the perfect time of year for such a trip. I suggest that when you bring the person you wanted to ask, you do it in the late summer as now.”
Now Romano can see that France has that devious glint in his eyes, and it makes him scowl.
“So you think he would hold my hand like that?” Romano asks, and bites his tongue before he can say anything else. Already, perhaps, he’s gone too far, driving the light beneath France’s eyes farther away.
But instead, France just squeezes his hand one last time and leans on the railing to the boat, bracing his elbows as it gives a sudden lurch and groans its way out of the harbor. “Perhaps,” France says. “Perhaps not. I have no idea who you were planning to ask, but I imagine that he would stand very close to you.” He moves over a little, making Romano jump as he intrudes just so. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel his heat as though it’s his actual body.
Romano just snorts to himself, shaking his head, and leans down on the railing. They don’t say much, just looking out over the water and feeling the wind whip at his face. Around them, tourists chatter and take pictures, the lights flicking around them.
Romano? He doesn’t need a camera. Nor does France. They just stand on the boat, side by side, and Romano watches Lady Liberty grow ever closer. It’s like the images at the edges of his dreams are solidifying, coming together.
It never fails to be surreal, seeing for himself what he saw through his immigrant’s eyes.
“I never get bored of this,” France murmurs, and Romano slides his eyes over to look at France.
“I imagine you wouldn’t. Didn’t you make it for him? It’d be just like you to love every single minute of sailing up to it. Like...like fucking masturbation, or something.”
He almost kicks himself when it slips out. But when France bows his head and starts laughing into his palms, shoulders shaking, he just wants to burrow down beneath the deck and die. He tightens his shoulders and glares when France looks up, eyes crinkled and moist at the edges. “Ah,” France says, “you can have a sense of humor.”
Romano has to resist the impulse to snort again. “Yeah, there are a lot of things about me you don’t know, big brother.”
France hums softly, his lithe fingers dancing up the length of Romano’s arm. “That is true. I know there is one thing about you I would like to know.”
“No--”
“Are you are Prussia exclusive?”
“--...shut up.”
Romano can tell that France is frowning because he’s rested his head on Romano’s shoulder, and the edges of his lips are brushing Romano’s ears. It makes him shiver, and he pushes France away.
“So you are unsure. Why don’t you tell me about it? It seems you care for him a lot, after all.”
“It’s not--” Romano starts, but he stops. France hovers near him, leaning down a little. His eyes are very blue, vibrant and bright against the ocean. Romano almost fears that if he reached up to touch that blue, he would break it, would feel the shards burrowing into his skin.
It gets worse when he realizes he can do this just with his words. Courting--well, whatever this is with France--it’s like chess. And he’ll have to play by those rules.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5g/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:09 am (UTC)(link)And France--damn him, damn him and his hair and the way he throws his head back and just laughs, the sound flitting about the deck and turning a few heads. “Well said!” France says, throwing an arm around Romano’s shoulder and pulling him close. “You’re entirely right. Forgive me for forgetting.”
And just before pride replaces blood in Romano’s veins, as the ship harbors on Liberty Isle and people prepare to disembark, he’s one-upped again. France pulls him even closer and whispers in Romano’s ear as they walk off the boat.
“And if you are courting, it is always best to answer questions honestly, instead of answering with a question.”
Romano pretends that France’s whisper was lost in the hubbub around them, which he is aware is rather low of him, but he can’t bring himself to care. He walks out of France’s hold, and then turns around.
“You’ve been here before, so show me around,” he huffs. “That way when I bring my real date I’ll be able to give them the tour.”
France tuts and shakes his head, but he’s still smiling. “Yes, of course. Right this way, sir.”
France leads him up to the Statue of Liberty, and Romano can’t help but notice the warmth in his face as he looks up at the teal woman. He understands the feeling; he feels this way every time he looks at one of Italy’s masterpieces in a foreign gallery, but he can only imagine it must be ten-fold, given this was always meant as a gift.
“So you were the parent who bribed America with toys and ladies?”
France looks back at Romano, puzzled for a moment, and then he gets it and laughs.
“No, no, we both did our fair share of that. But, I was the one who wasn’t afraid to reward him.”
“Was this one of those rewards?” Romano asks, sticking his hands in his pockets and gazing skyward with France. There are no stars here in New York, he thinks--just steady, unblinking neon and glass tubing. He misses his sky, comforts himself in that he will be underneath it again tomorrow.
“Non. This was merely a gift,” France says, and Romano looks over at France--and in an instant, realizes that he can’t see the stars because they’re trapped on Francis’s eyes.
And fuck, even Feliciano would laugh at that.
“Did you know she was not always green?” France asks, and his voice has gotten even gentler, if at all possible, so that Romano has to move closer to hear. “When she came here, she was--well, not gold. But her skin was a sunset orange, and she shone with the sun’s fire in the day, glowed with her at twilight.”
Romano turns his head and squints--it’s hard to imagine this lady shining in the sunlight when she wears her green with such dignity. “What happened to her?” Romano asks, and France sighs in his ear, the sound bringing to mind drooping shoulders and fading smiles.
“Time, dear Romano,” France says. “Time happened to her. Acid rains, regular rains...It all collected on her skin, and she changed.”
And Romano wonders if France is talking about the Lady.
“But she still looks very beautiful,” he replies, just in case. France looks proud, and maybe even a little pleased, as he takes hold of Romano’s hand. There is the beginning of a long staircase
before them, and off to the side the entrance to a museum.
Predictably, France pulls them towards the staircase. He climbs it with an elegant ease, and even though Nations aren’t prone to the same tire as normal humans, Romano is huffing by the time they get as high as they can go.
“What’s...what’s up here?” Romano pants, and his hand clings to France’s by the very tips of his fingers. France says nothing, merely looking down at him and grinning. They continue to climb, instead, up and up and--
And then Romano blinks as they stumble out into the sunlight, blinking, and he finds the whole of New York City and the ocean spread out beneath them.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5h/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:10 am (UTC)(link)“Mm. ‘Oh,’ indeed.”
Romano tears his eyes away from the ocean and the small tips of white overlapping one another to look at France, who just cradles his elbows in the palms of his hand and smiles. He turns his face away to look out over the ocean, and the breeze that blows in plays with a stray lock of his hair. “You know,” France says, almost smiling, “for this being something of a practice date, you certainly aren’t very eloquent.”
Romano’s peaceful mood crashes against his skull, breaking into foam. “W-well, that’s not my problem,” Romano mutters. “It’s not...well, it’s not like this guy is open or even particularly honest.”
France smiles again at this--a little sad, making Romano’s stomach churn with a little tug-at-your-gut guilt. “I think...that’s good,” France says. He walks to the railing and leans on it, his fingers curling in towards his palm. “I think that if you don’t know someone completely, you should be very guarded. Suspicious, even. I think you’re right in not getting involved with this someone.”
Romano waits.
And waits.
And doesn’t hear France say, at least not yet. He scowls, “I think I don’t care what you think. I’m several fucking hundred years old. I can handle myself.”
France looks up at him, quizzically, and his deep ocean eyes roam over Romano, lingering on his face. It goes on until Romano is thoroughly unnerved, and then France smiles.
“Whoever this person is, you seem to care for them very much.”
Romano can feel himself shrink underneath the critical gaze, and the cutting words. He turns back to the expanse of the ocean, something easier for him to handle, and shrugs.
“Maybe.”
“Hmm.”
Romano doesn’t turn around to look at Francis after that. He just braces himself on the railing and looks out over the ocean, silent and thoughtful. He wonders if maybe, he should say something else--give up this charade and actually talk, make his move, check and checkmate and chess metaphors in general be damned.
But just as he parts his lips, France speaks.
“I don’t think you should, just for your own good.” France looks out into the ocean. “I think, perhaps, this person you care so deeply about isn’t looking for anything more than casual coupling.”
And now France opens his mouth and says something completelyfucking stupid, and the only proper way to react to that is to turn and narrow his eyes, his lip curling in disgust. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” he says, and fights to keep the snarl from his voice. “You don’t even know who this person is. Maybe they’re really considerate in bed, maybe they take care of you and do annoying shit like trick you into going into dates with them, but they’re just trying to help and--” and fuck, fuck, what is he saying?
He stifles his enraged scream into his palms. Silence.
And then France speaks.
“Have you ever loved a mortal, Romano? Have you let them consume everything you are?”
Romano doesn’t move, but his shoulders tense. France goes on. His body heat drifts closer, a great cloud of rose cologne and summers in Paris.
“Have you loved a mortal and fell in love with his vision of the world so hard that you allowed a small child--a prince--to suffer unspeakable horrors, rotting away in a prison cell? Have you ever watched this mortal, this man you loved so very much, stain the ground red with the blood of innocent citizens--and applauded, because each severed head, each snuffed-out life, would lead to a grander, more moral France?”
France laughs, and the sound is the last note of a music box’s song, off-key and halting. “And when you came to yourself and looked at the aftermath, did you ever realize that you let that happen to the people you were supposed to nurture and protect? And that when you tried something deeper than sex, you froze, because you kept seeing their dead bodies piling up about the bed?”
Romano lets it sink in like an iron weight in the pit of his stomach, but his ire isn’t mellowing out; if anything, he’s only becoming more heated.
And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5i/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 02:12 am (UTC)(link)There is a heavy silence, and then Romano starts again, quieter but still churning with anger.
“That was all in the fucking past, anyways. Humans complain about not being able to get over things and they only like what, eighty years? If you want to keep yourself miserable for the entire rest of eternity, then you can count me out.”
He steps away from the railing, too well aware of the challenge he issued, and the disaster he set up for himself. True enough, France doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look away from the waters of New York harbor. And then Romano starts towards the staircase again.
“Romano, come here.”
Romano freezes at the foot of the stairs, his fingertips touching the railing. It’s nothing, he thinks to himself, it’s nothing this was a bad idea, lesson learned, just walk down the stairs and--
No, his body says. And in that instant, Frances arms are around his shoulders, his lips pressed to the nape of Romano’s neck.
“I think,” France says, then stops. Romano’s hairs prickle at France’s sharp inhale. “I think--I think I am very much familiar with this person you wanted to invite here today. And I have some advice.”
France’s breaths are little butterfly wings, and they make Romano’s teeth itch. He presses his tongue against his front teeth, bracing his jaw. And waiting.
“I think...you must be very gentle,” France murmurs, his voice low, all wind chimes in the summer evening breeze. “I think you must understand that this person has loved before, and has vowed never to love again because of it.
“I think you love someone who has forgotten how to love back. And...I do not know if it can be taught, but I beg you--do not give up.”
France’s grip loosens. “...This is all just my advice, anyway. What you do with that...is up to you, cher.”
And without another word, France sweeps past Romano and down the stairs. He does not stop; he does not look back.
It takes all of a split second for Romano to bolt down the stairs behind him, a man on a mission. He reaches France, who moves with the grace befitting his ego, and pulls him gently to a stop, several landings down, in what he images is the top quarter of the building.
France has the advantage with regards to height, but Romano is definitely swifter, if years of running away from things is practice. So Romano doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t give France a chance to get away again. He just throws himself up, and kisses France as only an Italian can. It’s hot, full, deep, gentle because of how he threads his fingers in France’s silky hair, the other hand cupping the skin above his pelvis, holding.
Then he pulls away, fully aware of the fact that France remained slack against him the entire time, and growls near his ear. “Nation of love my ass. I will show you how this is done.”
France blinks at him, once, twice, and Romano refuses to acknowledge that he is waiting on baited breath for the response.
And then the corner of France’s lip turns up, and he replies with too much ease.
“And I will be looking forward to it.”
France slips from his arms, like the ocean outside. His turned back as he descends the stairs is a challenge. Romano glares.
And deep in his gut, he accepts.
END CHAPTER 5
________________
a!anon notes: 'sup, guys, this is one of the other a!a's. Just wanted to pop in and let you know that we really do appreciate all the support. ...Especially me. ...Thank you.
OP decided to appear and spread love again
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 03:06 am (UTC)(link)I love how Romano and Prussia's relationship is progressing as well as their interactions. Them sleeping together last chapter was so cute. I was feeling so bad for Spain but then that amazing scene happened and I forgot about feeling bad (actually I think I forgot how to feel my brain was mush). I loved when Prussia threw the shoe at the door. One of my favourite chapters so far.
This chapter was wonderful as well. I think you did a good job at the past romance, I felt so bad for France. No wonder why he leaves before morning he doesn't want to get attached. Oh Romano we all know you're the nation of love not France, even if France doesn't know it yet. I am looking forward to that for sure. I enjoyed the bit about the statue of Liberty and their trip. This is fantastic I love how you're building the relationship between Romano and the BTT. Also the other character interaction is great.
I am looking forward to reading more of this as well as seeing where you two take this. Every chapter has been a joy to read! Keep up the wonderful chapters! Just know that I am reading and love every chapter! I love you both so much!
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5i/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-16 10:41 am (UTC)(link)I really love how you write France, and every body else too, of course. And even if I'm a big Prumano fan, I wasn't disappointed at all if this chapter was all about France instead. I was literally glued to the screen.
Oh and America doing France impression was priceless XD
Re: And Then They All Fucked, And Made Everything Worse: The Fanfic [5i/?]
(Anonymous) 2012-06-17 01:27 am (UTC)(link)The American government tried once to repaint Lady Liberty, but people protested. They liked the green look better than the harsh copper. From wiki: 'The Army Corps of Engineers studied the patina for any ill effects to the statue and concluded that it protected the skin, "softened the outlines of the Statue and made it beautiful."'
And if we are comparing the Lady to her maker's country, I can't help but think the age makes him more beautiful too. X)
WOW LOOK WHO'S BACK ITS ENHTusiaTSTIC ANON GOMF im rly sorry about all the caps
(Anonymous) 2012-06-17 10:32 pm (UTC)(link)JUST FUCKING OMG DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH
I LOVE
YOUR ROMANO OMGF PLEASE
AND
ROMANO AND AMERICA ARE BFFS DNASKJEANSDKJ (EVEN IF ROMANO DOESNT SAY IT ITS TTALLY TRUE OK) I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS
ROMANO AND AMERICA TOGETHER IS MY FUCKING FAVORITE THING AND IT DOESNT HAPPEN NEARLY ENOUGH THEY WERE PERFECT OMG THEY WERE EXCELLENT TOGETHER OK
AMERICA WAS SASSY AND DESPITE NOT KNOWING HOW TO RESPOND TO SOME OF ROMANO'S EMOTIONAL RAMBLING THINGS HE WAS NOT DUMB AND HE WAS A REALLY GOOD FRIEND AND HE WAS ACTUALLY REALLY FUNNY OMG AND AMERICA WAS JUST GREAT OK AND ROMANO WAS SIMILARYL AMAINZG IN THAT SCENE I CAN'T
JUST WOW THAT WAS ON E OF MY FAVE TIDBITS IN THIS CHAPTER PLEASE I BEG OF YOU IF YOU CAN CAN YOU WRITE MORE OF THEM OMG
aLSO I DIDNT MENTION THIS IN MY FIRST COMMENT BUT I REALLY LIKE HOW THE NATIONS ARE LIKE OPEN TO OTHER TYPES OF ROMANCE NOT JUST MONOGAMY BUT POLYGAMY AND IT SEEMS LIKE THATS A THING THAT HAPPENS OFTEN????? JUST IDK THE NATIONS SEEM RLY SEXUALLY OPEN YOU GET THE FEELING THAT THEYVE ALL SLEPT TOGETHER WITH EACH OTHER AT LEAST ONE POINT IN THEIR HISTORY WHICH MAKES TOTAL SENSE!!!!!!!!!!!!1 THIS HASNT EVER BEEN IN MANY OTHER FICS AND I THINK THAT YOU ADDRESSED THAT NATIONS OPERATE ON DIFF LEVELS OF RELATIONSHIPS SOMETIMES IS WAY RAD
AND
FRANCE AND ROMANO OMG THAT WAS RLY GREAT EVERYTHING HAD LIKE LAYERS AND SHIT AND JUST WOW THEIR INTERACTIONS WERE REALLY GREAT?????? AND FRANCE ISNT JUST SOME SEX-CRAZED LUNATIC HE CARES ABOUT OTHER THINGS??????????? AND I CANNOT APPRECIATE THAT ASPECT OF YOUR FRance ENOUGH???? THANK YOU SO MUCH GOD BLESS YOU
N PLEASE FRAMANO IS MY GUILTY OTP FOR ROMANO I'M RELALY GLAD YOU ARE DOING THAT PAIRING JUSTICE I CANNOT HANDLE THIS IMgoing to die good bye a rly good fill on the kink meme was the end of me cul8tr guys it was nice knowing u
also what happened to the prumano it seemed like that was all set aside for france wow i hOPE PRUSSIA DOESNT HAVE NEGATIVE FEELINGS ABOUT THIS WHOPPS
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(Anonymous) - 2012-06-17 22:44 (UTC) - ExpandAUTHOR!ANON HERE
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