Credits: Thank you so much to too-much-romance for beta reading and jotejote for the Spanish translation

Disclaimer: If Hetalia were mine, the fanfic below would become a canon story

Warning: Romano's bad mouth + Spain's sappy attitude = graphic outdoor fellatio, followed by excessively mushy fluff

Author's note: Same-sex marriage has become legal in Spain since July 3, 2005

Walls and Nations

The alleyway seemed empty. Its narrow lane was flanked by wheat and burnt sienna walls that were dented with the marks of soccer ball dribbling practices—as was expected from the inhabitants of a country that lived its reputation in the World Cup. The sun-baked cobblestone paving was still damp from this morning's rain, trapping the fallen leaves from the terracotta-potted plantations jutting between the bars of cast iron balcony railings above. The golden glow of the afternoon sun was shimmering upon the water puddles, but its heat was lukewarm compared to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo's fiery breath across his neck.

South Italy cursed his lover's suave caresses and tantalizing kisses … though neither of these shared the blame as much as his own equally eager responses. Why the hell did he allow himself to be dragged into an alleyway after some grocery shopping? Now, thanks to the zeal of a certain tan-skinned, green-eyed nation, the shopping bags lay neglected. Some of the contents—canned fish, jarred pasta sauce, and powdered seasonings—from the bodega across the road were scattered near their feet.

In a matter of seconds, Romano found himself snaking his fingers through the thicket of his lover's dark, wavy hair. Too engrossed in vocalizing expletives that most Italian dictionaries refused to list—each word interluded with Spain's kiss—he refused to prevent the older nation from unzipping his pants. His manhood had started to tingle warmly and the muscles beneath the smooth skin of his thighs cried out in anticipation.

Spain lowered himself onto Romano, the estrus of his breath barely embracing the crown of the shorter nation's shaft.

Romano bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, intent on his partner's slow and deliberate access. He didn't breathe as his partner continued his descent, his attention focused on the semi-rigid length. A pair of hands brushed the younger nation's thighs, but the deftness of those fingers found a way not to make him feel the barrier of fabric that was his trousers. No bed, no pillow, no facility of comfort eased him; only a solid wall supported his back. Even so, when his dark-haired lover was down on both knees like this, the buzzing city a few streets behind them seemed worlds away.

Having fully claimed the hot-blooded youth, the amorous nation gazed at his lover, flame of passion illuminating his eyes. Those eyes were dangerous. They sparked with intense desire, as though telling him that having another man's penis inside his mouth were the most delicious thing in the world. Spain's hand firmly gripped on the base of Romano's shaft, still partially extended, passing the head between his full lips and threading it straight between his teeth—just enough to tease, but careful to avoid too much friction. He took delight in the sensation of his partner's flesh growing large and stiffening in his mouth.

"Fuck!"

A guttural noise slipped between Romano's lips. Even if the opportunity to escape had presented itself, there was no way he would have taken it when such a warm mouth sucked his dick and a soft tongue swirled around its ridge.

The Spaniard ran his tongue along the hardened column, attending to the texture of each vein and the bulge, content to feel the Italian's cock swelling still further. Then his tongue lapped the base of his lover's length, and then his mouth took each of the twin globes underneath in turn. Nibbling. Sucking. Chewing.

"Fuuck!"

Another sound came out from Romano's throat, slightly longer than the previous one and somewhat akin to a mewl.

Spain took his lover deeper, his lips wrapping up the full length of South Italy's erection. The Spaniard's head bobbed quickly backward and forward, each stroke seemingly trying to engulf his lover further. Occasionally, his frayed mane fell upon his lover's slick shaft. The discomfort of the seams of his partner's unzipped trousers rubbing his flushed cheeks was the minimal price the tanned-skinned nation had to pay.

Yet, before long, the youth before him could no longer stand such teasing and started bucking his hips, nearly choking Spain.

A strong, tanned hand stilled South Italy. "Don't," Spain warned the younger nation. "If you move so wildly, my teeth may hurt you."

Romano stopped moving. It normally took a lot of things to get the obnoxious nation to comply, but not now. Not when his face flushed with scarlet and his breath fervent with the desire he was too ashamed to admit. Not when a Spanish tongue had just played his cock with the adeptness of a virtuoso. And certainly not when he had lost all ability to think.

Spain could not suppress his smirk. It was one thing to see Romano make such a face, but it was another to know that he was the cause of it. He ached for more. More of those trembling legs. More of those quivering moans. More of those shut eyelids. More of those laborious pants. More of Romano.

The green-eyed nation resumed his ministrations, and the aching rod was licked from root to tip once more. The head was singled out for prolonged attention as the older of them drank its owner pre-come with more greed than he could have for all gold in the world. Gently, he kissed the opening at the top of Romano's dick, and then licked it teasingly with the tip of his tongue. He proceeded to take the hardened head entirely in his mouth while using his tongue to encircle its crown, tickling the sensitive point where South Italy's foreskin met his rounded structure. He made sure to flick that agile tongue of his against that indentation below the crown before completely pulling out.

Romano jerked. Positively jerked with bulging eyes and hitched breath.

"You bastard!"

The older nation smiled and continued. As long as it was his beloved Romano who pronounced it, any profanity became poetry in the tanned nation's ears. He had learned to interpret that his lover's complaints were actually compliments since decades before. After all, when it was emanated from South Italy's mouth, a single utterance of "bastardo" could mean anything from "hi" to "thank you." Presently, it translated as "that feels good."

###

Had he not known Romano all those years, he could have easily mistaken the shy expression of his partner's affection as a gesture of unwillingness. Sometimes, he did not know what to do with this rambunctious nation. South Italy's conduct was like that of a raging bull, but then, who could best Spain in bull taming? He had been in love with his colony since the nation's childhood days. Of course, the love had been platonic back then. He had simply considered Romano as an adorable little boy and loved him as a younger brother he had never possessed.

But then, as the years passed by, and his beloved Italy was under the threat of the Ottoman Empire, the Spaniard did everything he could to protect this young Mediterranean neighbor. He would never be prepared to sacrifice that far for any other nation—his colony or not; Lovino Vargas alone was entitled with such privilege. Spain suffered tremendously in wars, often going home with grave injuries, but he swore to himself: No voy a dejar que ningún turco pongan sus sucias manos sobre ti, aunque sea lo ultimo que haga!

−'I won't let any Turk lay his filthy hands upon you, even if that's the last thing I do!'−

One day, Spain returned home in a worse shape than ever. He even had no energy left to remove his armor before collapsing onto the bed. He was aware of the sound of his door being opened and closed, but his own eyelids were too heavy to be opened.

He heard little Romano yelling, "Wake up, you idiot; I didn't ask you to die on me!" followed by a much, much softer, whispery utterance of "Don't you dare leave me alone! A world without you is meaningless."

Spain opened his eyes, only to find a tearful Romano next to his bed. He held the little boy by his hand, blood still dripping from his fingers, and, for once, South Italy let him.

That had been the beginning of their romance.

When he taught South Italy the art of seduction with his own body for the first time, years afterwards, it was on his partner's urging. Out of goodwill, he had intended to show the hot-blooded boy the remnants of his grandfather's glory and taken the young nation touring Roman sites in Spain, such as Merida and Carranque.

When they reached the ruins of Tarragona Amphitheatre in Tarraco one sunny afternoon, Romano pinned him against a limestone column and kissed him furiously, ignoring the presence of other tourists that might come their way at any moment. They had shared a kiss on the lips before—just one day prior—and so it had not occurred to Spain that his young lover had wanted a progress in their relationship that soon.

The older had tried to explain that he brought no lubricant or any other sort of preparation, but his stubborn partner would hear none of that. At the exposure of his bare thighs, it had been a mistake to expect virginal demureness out of South Italy.

The younger nation had defiantly yelled at him, "So what? It's not like you haven't seen my dick. You cleaned me up when I leaked on my pants, dammit!"

'But that was years ago and you were still a toddler at that time,' Spain wanted to say, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

Coated with his own saliva, the taller nation had then entered his partner, taking his young lover with the utmost gentleness he could muster. Clad with a series of profanities, Romano had hugged him tight, offering no resistance. It was a crazy idea—wanting the first time to be rushed outdoor instead of in a romantic bed of roses—but this was Romano, and craziness was no more than one of his attributes.

Amidst the jabbering voices that danced along the stone walls, senses gradually returned to the two nations as they stood there half-naked in a pool of cooling semen. Spain had been pounding Romano's most intimate places for almost twenty minutes and now a handful of tourists were approaching. In the end, Spain had to carry the adolescent Romano on his back because the latter complained about sore bottom and couldn't walk straight.

Ever since, more often than not, it was Romano who initiated their couplings. The strange thing was that the word "pervert" was among the list of vocabulary his younger lover used—even though the said youth could be squeezing his ass during the insinuation.

###

And today, they were making out in the open again.

Sticking out his tongue, Spain took the shaft deeper into his mouth until he felt his lover's flesh curving down his throat. He formed his lips into a tight circle, covering his teeth so as not to harm his precious lover. Distinctive popping sounds marked his intense suctions as Romano's erection slid in and out of his mouth.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" groaned the shorter nation incessantly.

Meanwhile, Spain's hands wandered to his lover's butts. At first, his gropes went unprevented, and he indulged himself in the anal stimulation. Even with the trousers and the briefs acted as barriers between their skins, he felt Romano's muscles flexing and moving beneath his touch. However, as his agile fingers shifted to lower the standing man's garment, the younger nation caught him by the wrists and barked, "Not here!"

As much as Spain yearned to take his lover right there right now, he respected Romano's wish not to have outdoor sex that day. Romano was right, of course; any of the residents could open the window or even go to the balcony. Sex could be done more slowly, lovingly, in bed later when they reached home.

Hence, Spain nodded, and Romano slowly let go of his grips.

Now freed, Spain's hands moved to pleasure his partner's balls. He cupped and teased them until they rose at the flamenco of his fingers. Then, he gathered them in one hand and pulled them down, drawing them away from the base of the cock in a playful manner. Using fingers to form a circle around the base of the scrotum, the ardent nation hold the balls down in the sac.

Not failing to notice his partner's legs wobbling a little, he stole a glance upward. Romano's face appeared to be contorted with pain and pleasure.

"Aah! Don't you move so much, dumbass!"

"But I'm not the only one who's moving," answered his older lover with a cheeky smile.

South Italy started. Had it not been for Spain's word, he wouldn't have realized that his hips had been thrusting back to meet each of his lover's demand. Again.

Spain slurred, "You're still blushing even though we've been together for all these years?"

"S-shut up!"

The older nation quickened his pace, pumping fast and furiously with all the strength his mouth could muster, while his hands applied the pressure and speed on his beloved's erect flesh.

His decades of experience did not fail him. The sound of his partner's breathing became quicker and shallower. The younger nation flung his head back with an arched body. The urgent clutch on the fabric that covered Spain's shoulders verified how tense his muscles were. His rigidity now rivaled the hardness of a rock and the balls underneath heightened so much that they become no longer pliable. The swelling of his cock head in side Spain's mouth warned the kneeling nation that it would explode any moment now. The former conquistador raked his teeth gently over his lover's sensitive flesh, disabling him from holding back any longer.

"Unnggghhhh!"

Romano's cry was an octave higher than his normal speaking voice. He erupted in one electrified jolt, spilling his seed into the warmth of his lover's mouth.

Still, the pleasure was not over yet. Spain milked his partner's cock by squeezing at the base and then sliding his hand up the shaft toward the head. He would not stop until he drew out every last drop of fluid, making Romano thrash and growl and dig his fingers deep into his shoulders. The lap of his skilled tongue cleaned up after the mess before he zipped the trousers back.

The shorter nation's knees coggled afterwards, but his lover would not have him sink to the ground. A pair of sturdy arms caught him in an exuberant embrace. As the gleam of green met hazel, one thing was clear: the bond of love they had forged for centuries was unshakable.

Spain licked his lips clean from the remnants of his partner's ejaculation in slow, sensuous swipes, perfectly aware that Romano couldn't tear his gaze off whenever he did that.

Struggling not to stutter, "It's your turn," South Italy quickly shifted his focus to his lover's lower half. He made an attempt to unbutton his partner's trousers, but his fingers trembled slightly.

Spain shook his head with a tender smile and placed his own hands over his younger lover's. "It's okay. I'd rather make love to you at home."

"Oh yeah? Explain this!" With a sneer on his face, he groped the evident bulge in the middle of Spain's trousers. "Depending on your answer, I can crush your vital region."

Spain bit his lip; it was all he could do to swallow his unmanly squeak.

"You'd better be prepared. Once we get home, I won't even let you reach the bed. I'm gonna fuck you at the door. Raw and hard." With that, Romano nipped the hollow of Spain's throat.

Spain winced. Just as he was familiar with his partner's curves and erogenous zones, South Italy knew his as well. The constraint of his clothing became more and more unbearable. Every passing second was a torture, a challenge to last longer, to survive, no matter how petty the difference it would make.

"But Roma, I want to hold you tonight."

"Not before I come inside your ass." The younger nation added with a feral smirk, "Twice, at least."

It never failed to amuse Spain how Romano, who had the tendency to blush at the slightest teasing, could be so blatant with dirty talks. But at the moment, the direst threat of all was the shorter nation's grip.

"Wait, don't rub—ah!"

Spain stiffened and went limp for about half a minute. When his muscles began to relax, his breathing was still ragged.

His partner's jeer rang in his ears, "Hey, hey, what's this? It was you who dragged me here in the first place, then you got hard just from sucking me, and now you burst like a geyser just from me touching you once, even with your pants on?"

Now it became Spain's turn to blush. "I can't help it. You're too sexy."

"Chigi! You bastard! Why did you bring me here in the first place anyway?"

The taller nation gulped. "Well, because you looked so bedazzling in the sun and I wanted to kiss you … but then, my hands just moved on their own … and… "

DING.

DONG.

DING.

Spain's voice was drowned by the toll of a large bell from a distance. It appeared that a church in the neighboring area was holding a wedding ceremony.

"That reminds us on our own wedding, don't you think?"

"In what way?" scowled Romano in spite of the blossoming specks of crimson on his cheeks. "We didn't use loud wedding bell, confetti and all that."

"Exactly. This wedding differs from ours in every way but one," explained the older nation, "Our love for each other wouldn't come second compared to those bride and groom." Then he added as an afterthought, "Or any couple in the world."

Romano did not answer, but he instinctively wiggled the toes of his right foot. Beneath the cover of his shoe, a matching gold ring with Spain's encircled his fourth toe.

###

Six years prior, Spain appeared at his door with a small basket of tomatoes and insisted that Romano should eat them straightaway. It was midsummer, so Romano thought the tomatoes could become nice refreshments and went ahead to munch them without hesitation.

They sat together in the kitchen island, surrounded by bottles of herb-infused olive oils and jars of dried pasta; North Italy went to visit Germany, leaving Romano alone in their shared house. When the tomatoes at the top of the heap had been consumed, Romano noticed a small box hidden among the rest of the tomatoes.

He picked the box up and reproachfully remarked, "Sheesh, you dropped this in food! How careless can you be?"

"It's for you," replied Spain, his expression looked serene, but his lips quivered, as if in cold, even though the sun was strong that day.

Hands still smeared with tomato juice, Romano opened the box. A pair of gold rings nestled inside it.

All his life, Spain would never be able to forget the face his lover was making that day. The hot-blooded nation seemed at the verge of bursting a thousand swearwords, yet at a loss for word at the same time. He simply stared at the rings with tomato juice and seeds dripping from his chin and fingers.

"Romano?"

There was a pronounced bobbing of South Italy's Adam's apple before he answered his lover's call with a shaky voice. "What the heck are these wedding rings doing here?"

"Same-sex marriage has been legalized in my country since today." He took a quick breath. "Lovino Vargas, would you marry me?"

The hazel-eyed nation snapped the box close with an incredulous—if not accusing—look. "You're asking me to abandon my brother and join forces with you if a war comes? To abandon my language and culture and to absorb yours? To follow your fucking rules in politics, economics—"

Spain touched his lover's lips, pleading for silence. He shook his own head, but did not speak before Romano granted him the silence he requested.

"That's not it. The marriage is my pledge of love for you and I want nothing but your love in return. My country will not colonize or force yours in any way. If a war sweeps the world, I won't ask you to come to my side, for it is I who will side with you. You will remain Italy Romano and I, Spain. You don't even need to leave this house if you don't want to; we can always meet up at our convenience like we do now."

"Then why bother with a fucking marriage?" Romano's hazel eyes were glistening with tears. "If you claim that nothing's gonna change, why can't we stay like this?"

"As I said, the marriage is a pledge. My pledge. I want you; there can't be anyone else in my love life until 'Spain' ceases to exist." With that, he wiped the tomato juice from the corner of Romano's mouth with the back of his hand.

In lieu of words, Romano gave him snivels as a reply.

Thus, the green-eyed nation continued, "If you want us to get married in the open and be acknowledged by other nations, that's fine by me. If you want a private wedding and keep our relationship a secret from anyone else, I'm okay with that too. So, what do you say?"

"YES, DAMMIT!"

###

The current Romano glanced at the yonder church, of which roof was visible over Spain's shoulder. Their wedding ceremony had not taken place at the house of the Lord; in fact, it contradicted the present wedding in almost every aspect. For a start, there had been no large crowd to cheer at them. It had been a quiet ceremony, attended only by his brother, Germany, Japan, and Greece*—each had sworn not to disclose the event to the rest of the world. Romano had adamantly refused to wear a wedding ring on his hand, so Spain had had the rings modified to fit their toes instead.

South Italy looked at his husband, intending to glimpse, but the way the sunrays streamed over the chasm-like walls, radiating the Spaniard's hair and skin, made him stare instead. Why did this conquistador have to look so goddamn beautiful? Before he realized what he was doing, his lips had already locked the taller nation's in a hungry kiss.

When Romano broke the kiss, he looked unmistakably flustered. He quickly squatted and picked the scattered groceries near his feet—though Spain had a strong suspicion that the younger nation did so only in attempt to hide his blush.

"At least the bride didn't get her wedding ring in the heap of tomatoes." Romano tried to sound cynical, but apparently his supposed mockery did not sound convincing enough in Spain's ears.

"Where did you draw that conclusion from?"

"As if your lame method could work with anyone else!"

"It did work in your case."

"Moron! Only because you're the one who propos—" Romano stopped midsentence, realizing the fatal slip of his tongue, but a smug grin had already graced Spain's face by then.

"I take it that you wouldn't have said 'yes' to any suitor other than myself."

Romano looked away with a pout forming on his lips, the blush on his face grew even redder. However, Spain titled him by the chin, compelling him to face his adversary in the gentlest possible way.

"I love you."

Spain landed a kiss on Romano's forehead.

"I love you."

A kiss on the side of Romano's eye.

"I love you."

A kiss on Romano's cheekbone.

"I love you."

A kiss at the corner of Romano's mouth.

At this point, Romano pushed Spain's chin away. "I know. I know. No need to repeat that endlessly. Geez!"

"But Roma… " Spain caught his lover's hand and kissed the tip of his fingers. "Loving you is like breathing. How can I stop?"

The redness in Romano's face could now rival that of a ripe tomato, but he would not let his passionate lover enjoy the view. He buried his face on the Spaniard's chest, arms fumbling around Spain's shoulders, and before the older of them could say anything, a barely audible murmur of Italian words, half-muffled by his shirt, filled the air, "Allora non smetti; il tuo respiro è la fonte del mio essere." ["Then don't stop; your breathing is the source of my being."]

EL FINAL

*There are reasons why the four nations above attend Spain and Romano's wedding:

North Italy: needless to say, he is South Italy's brother

Germany and Japan: they are North Italy's loyal allies

Greece: he has soft spot homosexuality thanks to the course of his ancient history, plus, as a fellow Turkey-hater, Spain asks him to assume the role of a priest, to which Greece happily obliges (there's also the reason that he attends the wedding to accompany his boyfriend, Japan, buuuut that's another story)