So, this is the last chapter. I never had any long-term stories in mind for this pair, but who knows - I may get inspired again some day. I'll never get used to writing the kind of things I wrote at the end of the chapter, though...

Fun to Tease.

Romano was upset – he really had wanted to see the coast, but he couldn't ignore the fact that Italy had fainted yesterday. He said he was fine, but it was best not to take chances. Far too hot under that ridiculously thick duvet, Romano got up early and went to make breakfast, leaving Italy sleeping. He had been behaving a little weird since they got here – had he picked something up? Or maybe things in the north had taken a sudden unexplained downturn, making him sick? Being a nation was so unnecessarily complicated.

As he walked down the stairs, he saw Britain march moodily from the other side of the hall, fiddling with his tie and scowling.

"Put your shirt and tie on." he grumbled "The bosses are coming."

"What the hell for?!" Romano groaned theatrically.

"They heard about Italy's fall, they're coming to check on him." Britain sighed "They still don't understand the connection between a nations body and a nations land, so they're freaking out."

"Just what I fucking needed." he mumbled, turning around and marching right back up the stairs.

"My boss is just overreacting." Italy assured "I really am fine."

"You don't sound fine." Germany noted on the other end of the phone "Are you eating well? I did tell you to dress warmly over there. Even if you don't like the food, you still have to eat."

Italy chuckled – Germany was such a worry wart.

"I have been eating." he assured "Romano made dinner last night, and I ate a lot! It is kinda cold, but Britains house is full of blankets and throws, so it's fine."

"I can't help but be concerned about the reason you fainted. It's not like you hit your head or held your breath again."

Italy pursed his lips: Germany knew him so well... On the other side of the phone, he heard him groan in exasperation.

"You held your breath." he knew.

"Well yes, but this time it was a total accident!"

"How do you accidentally hold your breath until you faint?!" Germany yelled at him "That's a whole new level of air-headed!"

"Haha, sorry."

"Don't laugh!"

Germany sighed, and Italy could hear the shuffling of papers on the other end of the phone. He felt guilty that this had interrupted his important work, but how like Germany to still call even though he was busy.

"So, what made you hold your breath?" he asked, clearly now more annoyed than worried "Did someone eat spaghetti bolognese in your presence? Was there a flying bug in the room?"

"No, nothing like that." Italy laughed again "Like I said, it was an accident: Britain was on the phone yelling at someone, and it was kind of scary."

"Please don't make trouble for him." Germany requested "He has trouble dealing with people as it is."

"He does?" he chuckled.

"Of course." he answered like it was obvious "He didn't have friends for hundreds of years. Islands typically end up a little socially stunted."

Thinking about it, all the islands he knew were a little like that – Japan, Iceland... it must be hard being an island nation. Lonely too. Was Britain lonely?

"When I think about it, you and he are kind of similar." Italy supposed.

Germany paused.

"Should I be insulted?"

"Not at all." Italy laughed "I'm just thinking that you're only really scary from a distance. Up close, you're both pretty nice."

"You already caused him trouble, didn't you?" he knew.

"Maybe a little."

"You're incorrigible." Germany sighed "Are you at least going to tell your brother why you fainted?"

"No way, I'll never hear the end of it."

"As well you shouldn't, idiot."

Italy was glad Germany didn't pry as to exactly how he had 'troubled' England: it would have been awkward for him to admit, and even more to explain. Embarrassing as it was, he was glad England had told him 'no' yesterday: he thought his fear of him wasn't that strong, he hadn't expected to start shaking and crying like that. He supposed it was more obvious to England than it was to him, which had turned out to be a good thing: if he hadn't stopped yesterday, he doubted the situation would have felt the way it did in his dream. England was a pretty good person.

The two bid each other goodbye, hanging up. England's house was nice, but it was always awkward being alone in an unfamiliar place. He hoped the two of them weren't going to be too much longer.

England closed the front door behind the retreating delegation. The second the door clicked closed, his professional smile disappeared, replaced by a grimace of barely concealed aggression.

"Tossers." he spat.

"They weren't even worried about Veneziano!" Romano agreed "They just wanted to snoop on us, those bastards!"

"I hate the current political climate with the passion of a thousand red hot suns." Britain complained, pulling off his tie "We're all friends, but don't you dare hang out outside of official engagements! The world is so much smaller, but don't you dare drop the formality with people you've known hundreds, even over a thousand years!"

"Quit venting on me, bushybrows." Romano retorted "But yeah, you're right – those bastards don't even want me to be friends with Spain any more, just because he's broke... not like we spent hundreds of years together, or anything..."

England looked back at Romano, ruffling the discomfort out of his freshly brushed hair. The younger nation looked upset, eyes far away. Things were pretty tough for England at the moment, but it must be tougher for nations on the continent, having to be both friend and enemy to their neighbours and even their family. Things were somehow simpler when they were at war...

"It's all history to them." he said, trying to be comforting "How about I make us some breakfast?"

"Absolutely not!" Romano shrieked, hair standing on end like a hissing cat "My brother's already picked up some kind of horrible disease, the last thing he needs is food poisoning too!"

"You really piss me off, you know that?"

Romano refused to let his brother help cook, still thinking some unknown illness had made him faint. He couldn't bear to admit the truth, or else he'd be taunted his whole life for being too stupid to breathe. With nothing else to do, he wandered around England's home, taking in the classic style and the hundreds of nicknack's and photographs and paintings on every wall and surface.

Actually, there were a whole lot of photographs for such a solitary person. With little investigation, he saw that most of them were of young nations, back when they still looked like children: more specifically, they were England's children, his ex-colonies that had since become nations. Britain was a nostalgic father? Italy had never expected that. It was really sweet. There were old needleworks, crude drawings and faded, hand written letters in frames. He had kept these things his kids had made for him.

The more Italy looked around his house, the less scary Britain seemed. They had never really been friends, so he had never spent time with him outside of an official capacity. If he had known back during the world wars that he had his kids baby booties all lined up on a shelf in his living room, he probably wouldn't have been so afraid of him... or maybe more afraid, it was hard to tell...

In the kitchen Romano was still putting together lunch, so Italy decided to find England. He had come to a decision overnight – if England didn't want him to be afraid of him, then he wasn't going to be. It may take a little practice, but he'd make it work. He'd hate it if someone was afraid of him. He found England in his study, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he spoke on the old fashioned landline phone.

"Australia, give your brother back his sheep." he ordered paternally "One of the perks of being a parent is that I honestly don't care who started it... That's because Wy is more mature than you... no, being a girl has nothing to do with it... no, I don't like New Zealand more than you... Stop trying to distract me and give your brother back his sheep!"

Cutie... Not having been spotted yet, Italy perched himself on the chair by the door, put his head in his hands, and listened.

Since today was their last day in the country, Romano went back to the hotel to pack up their things. He wasn't at all happy leaving his ailing (as far as he knew) brother with 'that scary bastard', but didn't want to drag him around London either. Since it meant he got some alone time with England, Italy didn't complain. Playing up to being sick, he sat with England on the big plushy sofa, wrapped up in a blanket as some film that he wasn't really paying attention to played on the television. Britain read the newspaper, completely focused on the printed words to the point that he didn't notice Italy staring at him. He wandered if that messy blond hair felt as coarse as it looked...

He was distracted as the living room doors were clumsily pushed open, an overweight cat sauntering in. It walked up to England's feet, meowing loudly, so he looked over his paper at it.

"It's not your dinner time." he told it "Go catch a mouse or something."

The cat just looked at him, as cats are wont to do, and flopped down on his feet, purring happily. Britain scowled at it.

"Useless animal." he sighed, going back to his paper without any attempt to move the cat off his slippers.

"I didn't know you had a cat." Italy pointed out.

"Hm? Oh yes, I found it abandoned as a kitten." he explained "I thought it'd be good to catch mice, but, well..."

He lowered his paper again, looking at his feet. The cat purred loudly, flicking its tail, but didn't move.

"How do they always end up like this?" Britain sighed.

'Always'? Britain always spoiled animals? That was so adorable, Italy felt his ears get hot, trying desperately to hide his smile. Italy was cute too, so... taking a cue from the cat, he plopped himself against Britain, wrapping his arms around his and nuzzling to get comfortable. He felt Britain go a little stiff.

"What are you doing?" he asked unsurely, brows knotted in confusion.

Italy looked at him, putting on his cutest smile.

"Meow."

Britain's head exploded, going red as a tomato, and Italy could practically see the steam coming from his ears. He was so fun to tease! No wonder France did it so much. Britain flustered, stuttering, before burying himself in his paper again.

"You're preposterous!" he huffed.

"Meow!" Italy said again, hardly able to stop himself giggling.

"Stop that!"

"Meow!"

Britain turned to yell at him, but Italy monopolized, quickly planting a kiss on him. The Brit just stared at him a moment, speechless, before an uncomfortable blush spread over his face.

"I... you really are determined, aren't you?"

"Yup!" Italy confirmed.

"...I don't understand you."

"That's okay." he assured "Because I'm starting to understand you."

Italy just smiled at his confused expression. With a gentle laugh, he sat back, nuzzling Britain's shoulder to get comfortable, and read the paper with him.

Britain sighed, shuffling his bag from one arm to the other as he walked. To his left, America talked non-stop about this and that and the other thing, and to his right France preened and laughed and declared his superiority. (He also has a vague sense of someone else being there, but couldn't put his finger on who). He tried not to lose his temper at them, but it was increasingly difficult. These conferences were so annoying, and he was always trapped between people who pissed him off! Just as his well of patience finally ran dry and he opened his mouth to give them his two pence worth, he was slammed into by a sleight, but determined form.

"Britain!" Italy greeted, practically singing as he threw his arms around him "You're finally here! I'm so glad to see you!"

England was suddenly very aware that everyone was staring at him, and he could understand why. He patted Italy's back self consciously.

"I only spoke to you yesterday." he pointed out.

"Eh?" Italy asked, releasing him from the hug but keeping his arms around him "Was it only yesterday?"

"Eeeh?" France teased "When did you and my little Italy get so close, England?"

"Dude, I didn't know you guys were friends!" America agreed.

"It feels like forever ago!" Italy ignored them "Kiss me!"

"Absolutely not."

Everyone around them burst out laughing as Italy tried to solicit a kiss from England, who tried desperately to push him away. Germany looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to stop Italy from making a fool of himself, but somehow managed to contain himself.

"Dude, don't be cold!" America laughed "It's just how they say hello! Even I know that!"

"England is so prudish!" France knew "Anything more than a brief handshake is too much for him!"

Seeing the opportunity for hijinks, France grabbed Britain's hands, hoisting them behind his back so he couldn't fight Italy off. He seemed to think it was hilarious until Italy kissed him not on the cheek as was customary, but full on the mouth, arms around his neck. No-one was laughing then. The only one not surprised (other than the two involved) was Germany, who just sighed in embarrassment. Italy finally released Britain's lips, but not his neck.

"I missed you!" he sung "Did you miss me?"

"How can I miss you if you never go away?!" Britain snapped "Five phone calls a day, presents and letters every other day! I've heard more of your voice lately than my own!"

"Somebody's grumpy." Italy teased "Did you not have your tea yet?"

Italy finally released his neck, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from France and America, humming happily. The few nations gathered just stared in disbelief as Britain only slightly pulled against him.

"Now see here, release me at once!" he protested anyway "We're here for official business, I don't have time for your shenanigans!"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Germany!" Italy declared, waving goodbye to his friend.

"Don't make England late for the meeting." he ordered in response.

"Italy!" England continued to scold as he was pulled away from the crowd, through the doors of the hotel and towards the lifts "This kind of carry on in a public arena is simply unacceptable!"

The doors to the lift opened, Italy pulling him inside. Realising they were alone in the lift, Italy pinned England to the wall.

"Shut up." he ordered, planting another kiss on him.

He only stopped when the lift did, again pulling England out by the hand. The blond stumbled after him uncertainly.

"Did you really have to kiss me in front of everyone?" he asked.

"Yes." Italy answered as if it was obvious, stopping briefly to look back at him "How else will I mark my territory?"

"Y-you! Terri... me... I... well I never!"

Italy chuckled, pulling a key from his pocket.

"Romano and I aren't sharing a room this time." he informed England, winking just in case his hint was too subtle.

"After what happened last time, you're sure that's a good idea?" Britain challenged, feeling himself get hot.

Coming to the door, Italy let go of Britain's hand long enough to unlock it, bizarrely silently. Just as England was starting to get worried about it, Italy turned back to him. His face was red from ear to ear, eyes shining.

"It's not a case of 'good idea' or not." he said "I think I might actually explode if we don't."

Not giving Britain any time to argue, Italy grabbed him by the tie, pulled him into the room and slammed the door shut.

Italy was in heaven: England wasn't the 'erotic ambassador' for nothing. What little Italy could remember of the dream of months ago disappeared entirely under the reality of England's touch, both hot and sweet, gentle and forceful when necessary. Italy still shook, but not a single quiver was in fear, none of his cries in terror. Not a single part of him was scared anymore – who could be scared of England, who was so fun to tease, who always answered the phone no matter how much he complained about it, who was so lovably awkward?

Italy couldn't get enough – enough kisses, enough touches, enough of the sharp, sweet pleasure deep inside him. It consumed him, and he was determined to consume England right back. There was no doubt – reality was so much better than any dream. The sun hadn't even set when they fell panting, spent, onto the bedsheets, their sweat so mingled that it became one scent. Exhausted, England all but collapsed onto Italy below him, who gripped him tightly.

"E-England?" he panted.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

"Scared?"

England went to get up, but Italy squeezed him tighter, forcing him to stay put.

"I'm scared to let you go." he whined.

Britain could only laugh.

"Idiot." he teased "You're lucky you're cute."

"I am cute." Italy agreed "Kiss me."

Italy released Britain only just enough to allow him to do that, moaning as Britain started teasing his hair.

No-one saw either of them until the next morning.

Excuse me, I must glue my head back together, as it just exploded in embarrassment upon the realisation that someone's just read that...

So, that's kind of how I imagine this ship going. Italy's such a coward, I think he would definitely be the instigator for it to work. He would definitely win England over, though, if only by attrition!

(And apparently spaghetti bolognese, as it's known here in England, is some kind of abomination to Italians. Can anyone elaborate on this?).

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this short story. All reviews, as ever, are welcome!