A/N: Okay, I gave in. Since I was bothering Lovi all day on facebook yesterday and I saw that lots of people wanted Spamano World Cup FIFA fics. And since I love writing that pairing...and I've been following the World Cup this year and was rooting for Spain... Well, I felt like I had to. Sooooo... Enjoy ;D

Los Campeones

He wasn't worried. Not at all. In no way, shape, or form was he even the slightest bit nervous...

"Ve~ you're hurting my arm, fratello..."

And cue Romano almost jumping right out of his skin, as a sudden voice from the seat beside him startled him from his thoughts—which were most definitely not worried at all. So what if they were deep in overtime and the game still looked as if it could go either way? He wasn't worried. Not at all.

After all, Spagna was very aware that if he didn't win, Romano was going to be forced to kick his ass from here to the fucking potato bastard's house.

"Ve~ fratello, your nails are really sharp..."

Which alerted him to the fact that his hand happened to be resting on the arm of his stupid brother. And his nails happened to be digging rather deeply into said arm... He immediately yanked the hand away.

That didn't mean he was nervous. Damn it.

Still, they had only five minutes left. Now four. Four minutes for Spagna to score or...

And suddenly they were going again; trying for another shot. If Fabregas passed now; Romano was vaguely aware that he was holding his breath. His nails were digging into his own legs now. And he watched as Iniesta drew his foot back...

And it was like the world stopped. As the football slammed into the back of the net...

And the world immediately exploded into a cacophony of sounds and colours and he suddenly found himself on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs, completely drowned out by the screams from the other Spanish fans.

"He scored! He scored!"

That could have been his own voice. Maybe Feli's. He had no idea at the moment. Nor did he care...

He didn't even realize that he was moving until his brother suddenly called out, "Ve~ fratello, where are you going? It isn't over yet!"

He ignored the statement, instead focusing on pushing through the crowds of humans to reach the pitch. Come on, get out of his way! He pushed between a pair of burly men dressed head to toe in orange, who flashed him one of the dirtiest looks he'd ever received in his life. He just responded with one of his own. He had more important things to worry about right now, like finding that idio—

Ah, there he was. Standing right beside the field. Just staring at his team. Mouth wide open in shock, hands fisted in the folds of his jersey...

Romano hesitated as he laid eyes on the dark-haired Spaniard, who was still watching the field. Watching as the players darted back and forth, blocking all attempts by Holland's players to score a goal and tie the score.

He could see England standing on the other side, eyes on his referee as he glanced down at his watch and then...

The shouts were even louder than previously—which was amazed was even possible. Spain had won. Spain had won the World Cup for the first time... After decades and decades of defeats...

And suddenly Romano was on the grass; a few people shouted toward him, not that it mattered. He ran forward, toward Spagna. Not really giving himself time to think about what exactly he was doing. Especially when Spain turned and flashed him the happiest smile that he'd ever ever seen.

"Lovi!" Romano hadn't really thought out exactly what he was going to do when he reached Spain, so it was probably for the best that the other nation was the one who reacted first. Suddenly running forward and throwing his arms around the Italian, crushing his face against his chest in his exuberance. "We won! We won! Dios mio..."

Romano immediately attempted to push backwards to give himself room to breathe. "Yeah, yeah, bastard. Now let go of me." He wasn't really pushing hard enough to escape though... Only because he was well-aware of the fact that there was no way that Spagna was going to actually release him right now and it wasn't worth exerting the energy if he knew he couldn't get away.

And, well, he supposed this could be repayment for winning. Just for today, though.

"I guess that el pulpo de Alemania was right," Spain laughed in his ear, the giggles breathless as if he wasn't really sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry out of relief.

"Yeah. Yeah." Romano sighed, resting his cheek against the taller nation's chest. Just because it was a more comfortable position... No other reason.

"I'm very happy that you were here to cheer me on, Lovi," Spain murmured. Romano distractedly noticed that it was rather interesting how he could feel the other nation's chest rising and falling when he was standing in this position. It was quite relaxing actually, surprising considering the fact that they were standing in the middle of a crowd of screaming fans.

"Yeah, well..."

"Congratulations, Spanje."

And Romano blinked in surprise at the voice that had suddenly interrupted him, turning to see Holland standing nearby, expression carefully blank as he waited for Spain to notice him. Spain also had glanced up and the two stared at each other for a moment, neither expression revealing anything.

Until Spain smiled slightly and held out a hand, the other arm still wrapped around the Italian, as if he expected him to try to run away if he let go of him. Which was a decent assumption to make. "Good game, Holanda. Your team played very well."

"Yes, well..." He hesitated for a moment and then took the offered hand, carefully shaking it once before clearing his throat and glancing back toward his team. "Sorry about that kick..."

Spain just grinned again; although Romano noticed that the slightest flicker of a grimace almost crossed over his lips beforehand. "Ah, don't worry about it. It was a very exciting game, sí?"

Holland nodded. "Ja... I'll see you at the party tomorrow..."

"Ah, about that." And suddenly Romano felt the grip around him tighten just the tiniest bit. "I probably won't be coming to the party."

The other nation almost looked surprised at this. "Rea—" And then he paused, and Romano saw his gaze flicker down to him... "...I see. All right. I'm rather sure that everyone will be so drunk that they won't even notice that you two aren't there."

And Spain grinned again, nodding once in agreement. "Sí! Have fun!"

There was another pause, as if he wanted to say something else. But then Holland nodded once, turned, and walked away. Leaving the two nations alone—if you could count standing in the middle of a stadium of thousands of cheering fans as being alone.

"What were you talking about, bastard?" Romano glared up at the Spaniard. "Why wouldn't you be going to your own party?"

And Spain completely ignored him; instead, he released Romano just long enough to shift his grip to the Italian's hand and began to pull him away from the field, ignoring his struggles to free himself. It was only after a few seconds of tugging him along, moving him away from the screaming crowd, that he glanced back. And flashed Romano a grin that definitely did not send a thrilling chill up the Italian nation's spine.

"Porque, Lovi. We're going to be much too tired after tonight to even think of going to a party..."

A/N: ...And we all know what that means xD

Hooray for Spain! And hooray for Paul the octopus! And hooray for the Authoress's inability to think of an original title for this! That's okay though. My zoo fic oneshot of ridiculous longness has a title original enough to make up for it... Once it's done... Which may take a few centuries...

And I know that in the Spanish, there technically should be a 'la' in front of Alemania, but... I prefer writing it like they're their proper names... Which is also why I called him Holland instead of the Netherlands, even though that's technically inaccurate... It just sounded awkward when I wrote it otherwise.