AN : Still the "first" time writing something smutty. So yes. You're warned. You can totally ignore that part, it's not very detailed anyway.
What do you mean, Romano has been holding something back the whole time? Totally not!
Well, yeah... Enjoy ?

"I know it might not be the best moment to ask this..." Spain suddenly said, effectively interrupting Romano's daze "But... how come? I mean, you acting like that, all of a sudden..." he received a growl in response, followed by a murderous scowl.

"You seriously never think before you talk, do you?"

"Well--"

"Wait, no, I don't think I want to know."

The positions were switched once again, angry Italian on top, clueless Spaniard under him. "You have issues." he said, and once he had, he immediately thought about France, and added "Your friends too. You should stop hanging around them."

"What does this have to do with--"

"Oh, just shut up." With that, he returned to Spain's neck, kissing, licking, biting, grazing his teeth over the skin ; then to his lips, playfully nibbling at the lower one, and licked there too before he was granted access. He slid his tongue into the other's mouth, effectively silencing any former complaints when their tongues started to battle. He was surprised he hadn't understood yet. Was he better at hiding it then he expected? No, wait, "his" Mafiosi had figured it out quickly. So it was just Spain who was being an oblivious moron. He stopped his ministrations, sat up straight on the other's legs, gave him a long, meaningful (or so he hoped) look and slid his fingers under the Spaniard's belt.

He undid it quickly, and couldn't help but smirk when he noticed a bulge at that certain strategic location, feeling proud. He then yanked his pants down (Spain was clever enough to help him with that), but before the Spaniard could do the same with his own pants, he stood up, satisfied by the confused expression and walked up to the drawer of his night table, where he took out a little bottle of an only too well-known liquid for the both of them. He then undid his belt, got rid of the clothe hiding his lower part by throwing it aside, and positioned himself back onto the bed, between Spain's legs. When he noticed the Spaniard still had his boxers on, he scowled at him and demanded in a rather intimidating tone to 'get that shit off because I'm not doing all the work, bastard', which Spain quickly complied to. He was not going to protest. Not now.

When Romano was kissing him again, Spain was slowly wondering how he could snatch the little bottle of lube away without the Italian noticing. That was, before he grabbed the tube himself and coated his fingers in it, all the way looking at him and murmuring a faint 'wait... a minute...' when his fingers disappeared out of his eyesight.

When Romano arched his back in a soft whimper, Spain was dumbstruck (and also noticed that the Italian's underwear had gone missing. When had he...?). He was not just doing what he thought he was. That was Romano he was talking about, and Romano would neve--

But when he moaned out "Antonio..." in a way the Spaniard never imagined he would hear his name (even less by this certain Italian), there was no doubt left, and he found himself being left painfully hard ; painfully hard with what could relieve him just on top of him.

Spain had never seen seconds pass this slowly in all the centuries he'd been alive.

He hesitated between closing his eyes to steady his breathing (and at the same time cool down a certain part that wasn't getting enough attention in his opinion) and keep staring, but fortunately for him, Romano made the move before he needed to take a decision. One he might regret later, you never know.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Italian's whimpers stopped and he wiped his hand off on the bedsheets hastily, only to -ohmygod finally!- touch the other's throbbing member. It was in a way that drove him mad, so slowly and--why was he smirking?

"You know that you haven't said anything in a while, right? Bastardo?" Romano trailed his finger from the tip to the base of his length at his words and Spain wanted to reply 'What does it change anyway?' but instead uttered something that was closer to 'Didn't you tell me to shut up?'.

And immediately regretted it.

"You're such a fucking moron." came the statement and all at once the pressure on his erection disappeared and Romano's expression grew dark. The last time Spain remembered that particular look, it was when he had had to announce that yes indeed, he had bought potatoes and was honestly thinking he could make them tonight's dinner, because Prussia had -surprisingly?- given him that recipe for Kartoffelpuffer and he wanted to try it out--and why was he looking like someone who is about to commit murder and Lovi, you should seriously put this spoon down!

He didn't particularly like that look.

"Talk." Romano demanded in an inflexible voice. "In Italian." he continued, insisting on the second word. Then, he added almost as an afterthought "Now.".

Spain didn't even try to understand.

Especially when the first few words that came out of his mouth were rewarded by a slick hand slipping along his erect member, making it rather difficult to think as every single touch was driving him mad, as well as a mouth gliding along his neck and that other hand doing those things to him. The second the touch left, he let out a short sound of dissatisfaction, only to be forced in a sitting position and see the body on top of him and then he was touched again and then there was that –ohfuckfuckfuck.

His thinking process was shot down for a few seconds as he felt something tight around his erection and the body going down further, followed by ragged gasps, hot breathings, whimpers, and another movement, faster this time, where Romano slid down completely and took him in.

His breathing hitched, his hands immediately shot up to grab the smaller male by his sides, his face buried itself in the crook of a neck.

This feeling could not be described.

It was relief and fire and their breathing and themselves, sensations of lust, passion, desire, and everything they had both been waiting for for so long at the same time...

After the first hit, Romano took another long breath, lifted himself up again, and sat down almost immediately after. Spain could help, he knew he could ; that's why he did.

When the pace of their movements increased -and ohgod he was so close- their voices became louder too. An amalgam of sounds and languages, 'Ti amo's and 'Te quiero's neither of them were aware of, whispers, groans, pleads.

And everything went black.

It was actually more "white" than "black", if you could give it a color : purer than it could ever be a sin. The way they gripped at each other when they came almost simultaneously, holding onto each other like a lifeline, a feeling of contentment washing over them, the need, the bliss, the-- this could not be a sin.

Even when Romano tiredly lifted himself up and lied down onto the sheets Spain took care to wrap the both of them into after kissing his forehead, he was persuaded that what he had done wasn't wrong. Strange, yes, awkward, yes, terribly unlike him, yes... but not wrong. He could blame Spain later for everything anyway.

And when the Italian's breathing evened out, something similar to a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Spain could only let out a contented sigh and peacefully watch him while he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Still, if he had known...

Spain would have started speaking Italian a lot more often. Damn.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF Finally it's done.

Translations :

Ti amo & Te quiero : I love you (what a shocker!)
Kartoffelpuffer is a quite German dish, even if eaten in other countries too. It was the first thing that came to my mind when thinking about German cooking recipes with potatoes. I figured Gilbert might like them? Dunno...

I apologize for the failed smut :'D

And Spain is an unknowing perv, you know it. Here, grab a seashell, everyone.