Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

A prize/thank-you fic for UnknownAuthorPerson, based on a surprisingly detailed and challenging prompt, which has spiralled out of control into a chaptered fic, despite my efforts. I really shouldn't be taking on another chaptered fic right now, especially considering the circumstances, but I have no regrets. No regrets! If nothing else, plotting and writing the inane absurdity that is/will be the soap opera is a kick that leaves me simultaneously facepalming in disbelief and embarrassment, and laughing maniacally inside my head.

It also is serving as a nice diversion while I wait for the doctors to figure out how to treat the illness which is currently deteriorating my mental faculties. Unfortunately that means that I really can't speak for the quality of the story, as I am writing under impaired cognitive function (although I am doing my best). Thankfully UnknownAuthorPerson is both aware of and understanding of this, and gracefully allowed me to continue despite my current condition. Which is nice, because I have the need to write, but I am a little afraid to write for any of my other stories until I know my limits and the extent of my impairment, and writing this story is helping me test them and work that out.

Once treatment is started my mind should clear, but it may be some time until then. So in the meantime, please be patient with me and forgive my lapses (feel free to point errors out to me, though, so that I can fix them.)

That being said, enjoy the show! (And mind the rating. It's there for a reason.)

"Hurry up, guys! It's going to be starting soon!" Spain called excitedly from his place on the couch, squeezed in-between Belgium and France. Prussia, sprawled across the armrest next to France, leaned over to snag a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Spain's lap.

"Just for the record, I'm just here for the snacks." He said, ignoring France's irritated huff when his shouldblades blocked the view.

"Down or up, idiot. Choose one." France nudged the Germanic nation, frowning. "I for one don't want to miss anything."

"Yeah, yeah." Prussia acknowledged, jamming as much popcorn as he could fit into his mouth and quickly snagging another handful before resuming his previous position. "I'ge'up." He settled back against the couch, shifting restlessly on the armrest, and made a face. "On second thought, down was more comfortable." He decided, flopping sideways to sprawl across France and Spain's laps, jostling the popcorn bowl.

"Idiot!" France scolded again, rescuing the bowl from hitting the floor and settling it safely on the side table. "You're going to make a mess. Are you at least comfortable now?"

"Yeah, 'm good." Prussia answered lazily, rolling onto his back and pillowing his head on Spain's stomach, blinking at the screen. "Much comfier." Spain absently ruffled his hair, and France returned his attention to the screen, draping his arm comfortably across Prussia's hip. "When's this thing s'posed to start, anyway?"

"Any minute now." Spain craned his head back over the back of the couch. "Netherlands, Romano, Veneziano! You're going to miss it!"

"Like I give a crap." Netherlands answered coolly from where he leaned nonchalantly against the wall in order to lurk silently in the background as was his wont. "I don't care either way."

"Brother's been looking forward to this all week." Belgium murmured confidentially to the others, her catlike grin fond and amused. "He was very impatient to get here. He practically dragged me all the way!"

"It's a very good show!" Spain agreed, smiling happily at the success of his nation's entertainment. "Everyone loves it!"

"Did you remember to set it to record so we can watch it together with Luxembourg later?" Belgium reminded him, tucking her skirt securely around her legs (she was probably safe on this side of Spain, especially with her brother nearby; but she couldn't be too careful in the present company).

"Oh, right!" Spain leaned forward to grab the controller off the coffeetable and hit the record button, briefly smothering Prussia, who squirmed a bit but didn't complain. "Thanks for reminding me! I wouldn't want him to miss the first episode of this season!"

"It's too bad he couldn't be here." Belgium agreed, nodding in sympathy for their missing friend. "It would have been nice if we could all be together."

"His boss is such a slave driver." Spain's brows furrowed in a concerned frown, and he pouted a little on his friend's behalf. "He could've let Lux off for this. It's just one afternoon, after all."

"We can watch it again together later." Belgium reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll bring it over to watch at his place after he's done with work! We'll all want to watch it again anyway."

"That's a good idea!" Spain agreed, cheering instantly.

"I thought you said this was going to start soon." Prussia complained, squirming back against Spain a bit for attention. "I'm getting bored, Spain. This is booorrrring."

"It'll start very soon!" Spain assured him, stroking his friend's upper arm in a calming fashion. "You're going to love it, Prussia, wait and see!"

"I'd better." Prussia said, pouting a little for show. "I wouldn't watch something sissy like this if you guys hadn't been talking it up so much."

"Now, now. Stop fussing and have a beer, mon ami." France chided, passing him a bottle, knowing his friend just needed some attention. "You'll like it, you'll see." Satisfied now that he'd been noticed, Prussia settled down to sip his beer and watch the screen, waiting for the much-hyped show to start.

"It is a very good show." Belgium agreed, and turned around in her seat to peer over the back of the couch. "But where are the boys? They're going to miss the beginning if they don't hurry!"

"Veneziano, we're going to miss the beginning if you don't hurry up." Romano growled as he stood in the kitchen, arms full of snacks and beverages for the show ahead. "It's about to start, dammit!"

"Ve~, but, I want to make sure we have enough snacks!" Veneziano said, digging through the fridge, his own arms loaded like his brothers. "It would be bad if we ran out halfway through the show!"

Romano had to concede that. Snacks were a vital part of the experience, too. "Fine, but hurry up!"

"I'm almost done." Veneziano assured him. "I'm so excited for the new season, aren't you? I wonder what's going to happen!" He chattered excitedly, closing the refrigerator door and trotting over to the pantry to pull out a few bottles of wine. "I hope Catalina isn't too brokenhearted over her fiance's death last season!"

Romano frowned, worried himself over Catalina's condition. The beautiful, spirited daughter of the wealthy and powerful Gaspar de Castañón in the period drama Forever is Not Long Enough had been through so much already, between the death of her beloved aunt, finding her long-lost sister Isabel and losing her after only six episodes to a freak bull-trampling accident just before Isabel was able to reveal to her the terrible secret that their family was hiding, falling in love with the handsome Francisco and her heartbreak over his subsequent betrayal with her best friend, and learning to trust and love again at last with the dashing Pedro de Navarro, despite the disapproval of her father and the interference of the wicked Camilla, who had designs on Pedro despite being courted by Gaspar. And just when everything seemed to have worked out and been going well for her, what with Camilla's schemes being revealed, and her father being saved from public disgrace and ex-communication by Pedro's timely intervention, resulting in Gaspar finally approving their marriage; the last season had ended with Pedro's death, stabbed in front of her during the wedding by his best friend— who turned out to be Camilla's bastard son, seeking revenge for his mother's disgrace.

It was terrible. Romano (and millions of other fans), had been heartbroken for poor Catalina, who had been through such terrible tragedies, but stayed beautiful and strong and spirited throughout it all. He was hoping this season things would be different. He'd been counting off the days to the season premiere all summer.

And Veneziano was going to make him miss it!

"Do you think I have time to make some pasta?" Veneziano wondered, frowning at the pantry.

"Veneziano, if you make us miss the premiere, I'm going to put you on a marmite diet for two whole days." Romano growled threateningly. His brother gasped in horror, eyes widening at the thought of such a terrible fate.

"Ve, ve, ve, I'm done, don't make me eat marmite, please!" He cried, fleeing the kitchen. Romano followed him with a victorious huff, satisfied that they weren't about to miss the show.

They made it back to the couch just as the last commercial ended, and the announcer signalled the start of the show.

"So this soap opera-" Prussia started to ask, only to be hissed into silence by the other six (and swatted by France).

"And it's a 'daytime drama.'" Spain corrected. "Not—"

"Shut up, bastards! The show's starting! If you make me miss anything..." Romano threatened, eyes fixed intently on the screen. His weren't the only ones, though— everyone but Prussia was watching with eager intensity, their excitement palpable enough to even keep Prussia's mouth shut and his eyes on the screen to see what all the fuss was about.

"Cuando el amor no es locura, no es amor." A mellifluous Spanish baritone announced fluidly as the music was beginning to swell. Prussia frowned.

"Subtitles, Spain?"

Wordlessly, Spain hit a button on the remote, and the subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen along with the voice. "When love is not madness, it is not love. And when it is love, then..." the voice paused dramatically, before declaring the title as it spelled itself across the screen in brilliant red and gold, "Forever is Not Long Enough."

"You've got to be kidding me." Prussia snorted, rolling his eyes, earning himself a light backhand from Belgium.

"Shhhh."

Prussia pouted, but ceased interrupting. Until Catalina appeared on the screen a moment later, that is.

"Fuck, is that the chick you've been talking about? She's hot!" He exclaimed approvingly. "This might be worth watching after all!"

"She's beautiful." Veneziano sighed dreamily. "And so brave, ve~."

"She's a goddess." Romano corrected, gesturing definitively.

"Our little Roma has a crush on Catalina." Belgium murmured lowly to the others, eyes sparkling. "It's so cute!"

"It is cute!" Spain agreed, clasping his hands under his chin at the cuteness of it, eyes likewise sparkling. "My little boy's growing up!"

"I can't say I blame him, she's hot as fuck." Prussia admired, watching the heroine's ample bosom heave pneumatically during a particularly dramatic clip wherin she was facing down some pirates.

"Shut up, bastards!"

Finally the lengthy opening sequence ended, and a series of flashbacks and dramatic narration brought the viewer up to speed on what had happened last season.

"Holy crap." Prussia exclaimed as the eventful life of the tragic heroine unfolded. "All that happened last season?"

"That's just the highlights." Veneziano explained without looking away from the screen. "A lot more happened, but it'd take too long to tell. So, they only show the clips that are relevant to the current episode at the beginning of the show, ve~."

"Damn." Prussia fell silent for real this time, interest finally piqued, just as the flashback sequence finished with the last scene of the previous season: Catalina, holding her groom in her lap as he died, on the floor of the cathedral, before the candlelit altar where they had just exchanged vows.

"Don't leave me," Catalina pleaded, stroking the face of her fatally wounded groom, her pure white wedding dress stained with the blood of the man sprawled across her lap, "you can't leave me, Pedro. We're finally married. You're my husband, Pedro. You're...you're my everything."

"Ca, Catalina." Pedro rasped, blood trickling from his mouth, nobly handsome even in anguish, and raised a trembling hand to caress her cheek. "I'm...sorry...I can't...keep my promise. I...I love you, my Catalina. I'll...always love you."

"Pedro." Catalina sobbed, turning her face into his palm, kissing it. "Pedro, Pedro, my Pedro. I'll never love again."

"You must, Catalina." Pedro insisted, urgently, and coughed on the crimson life-fluid bubbling in his lungs from his multiple stab wounds He swallowed, and tangled his fingers in her hair, eyes burning with the intensity of his conviction as he spoke. "There's...so much love in you, Catalina. Don't...don't hide it away. You must love again."

"I can't." Catalina sobbed, heartbroken. "Without you, Pedro, my heart will die, I know it."

"No, my love, no." Despite his terrible pain, Pedro smiled lovingly, lifting her chin to look in her eyes. "You will find love again, Catalina. I know it. Do it..." He paused to cough up more blood, continuing labourously, "do it for me."

"Pedro..." Catalina closed her eyes, tears coursing her cheeks, taking his hand in hers and kissing it tenderly.

"Catalina." Pedro sighed, closing his eyes with a peaceful smile, breathing his last breath. "My... love..."

Catalina kissed his brow, brushing the hair from his face as she wept. Then she looked up at the man who had caused the death of her fiance, the traitorous son of Camilla, who was held firmly by two of the town's guardsmen. She rose from the floor, eyes flashing, drawing herself up with the grace and authority of a queen. "Get him out of here." She commanded, gesturing furiously. "Before I kill him with my own two hands."

"My mother has been avenged!" The traitor cried, struggling as the guards dragged him from the church. "The bastard died like the dog he was!" His maniacal laughter echoed through the church, fading into the distance as he was led away.

"Catalina." Gaspar de Castañón stepped forward to gather his daughter in his arms, and she clung to him, weeping. "What are you all standing around staring for!" He shouted at the assembled congregation."Clean up this mess!" Slowly, the people began to pick up the pieces, and bear the corpse of the brave Pedro de Navarro away as the scene faded.

(Quiet sniffling was the only sound in room, every moistened eye was riveted on the screen. France wordlessly slipped Prussia his extra handkerchief.)

Seagulls cried out as they wheeled through the air, their wings a brilliant white against the stunning cerulean skies. Catalina, though, was unmindful of them as she leaned against the balcony railing, her shining raven tresses tousled artfully by the wind as she gazed wistfully into the distance, her dark eyes sad. Gaspar stood in the doorway, his own expression one of fatherly concern as he took her in. "You think of him still, Catalina?" He asked sadly as he drew near, reaching out to cup her chin, lifting her gaze so he could look in her eyes. "Even after all this time?"

"I think of him always." Catalina smiled mournfully, tears shimmering in her beautiful eyes. "Every moment of every day, I think of him." She turned her head and closed her eyes, a single tear slowly coursing her silken cheek. "The pain is as fresh as the moment of his death. Pedro, my Pedro..."

"Ah, my daughter." Her father folded her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin and rocking her gently. "I would see you smile again, Catalina. I would see you find love, and happiness. I want you to live, my daughter."

"I do not think I can ever love again." Catalina said sadly. "My heart is dead, papa. When Pedro died, it died along with him, and I do not think it can be made to live again."

"My daughter, my darling girl." Gaspar crooned, stroking her hair. "Do not say such things. Your mother, and your sister, and Pedro; they would be sad to hear such things. They would want you to be happy. They would want you to live, and to love, and to be loved. To be happy, Catalina. For them. For me."

Catalina nodded, pulling back to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "You're right, they would want me to be happy." She looked up at him, tears still sparkling like diamonds in her eyes, and gave him a watery smile. "I will try, papa. For their sake. For you."

"That's my girl." Gaspar kissed her forehead, and smiled warmly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Now, come. I have something that I think might cheer you up. Your papa has got a present for you!"

"Oh?" Catalina asked, curiousity peaked as her father escorted her through the house and into the courtyard. "What is it, papa?"

"You will see in a moment, my darling." Her father assured her, eyes sparkling. "Ah, there he is." He stopped in the archway, gesturing grandly at something in the courtyard beyond. "You see? What do you think?"

Catalina turned, searching curiously for her father's surprise, and gasped, eyes widening in delight when she caught sight of the magnificent black stallion standing in the courtyard, coat shining in the sun, thick mane rippling in the breeze. "Oh, papa!" She ran across the courtyard to throw her arms around the horse's neck, and it whickered lightly and nuzzled her shoulder at the attention. Her father laughed, delighted with her response to his gift.

"You like him, then, Catalina?"

"Oh, papa, he's magnificent!" Catalina effused, smiling brilliantly as she stroked the animal's nose. "He's beautiful! Wherever did you find him?"

"I saw him on my visit to Madrid. The moment I set eyes on him, I knew he was perfect for you. The spitting image of your mother's Arturo."

Catalina nodded, eyes growing misty at the memory of her mother's favourite horse. "He saved her life on many occasions." She murmured softly, trailing her fingers over the stallion's cheek.

Her father nodded, blinking back tears of his own. "He was a good horse. Your mother loved him dearly. And this one," he added more strongly, stepping forward to lay his hand on the stallion's forehead, "this one, who is so like him, will bring you luck." He caressed his daughter's cheek with his other hand, smiling fondly. "Do you like him, Catalina?"

Catalina smiled at him, eyes shining, and pressed a kiss to the horse's cheek. "He's wonderful." She released the horse to throw her arms around her father's neck instead, pressing a kiss to his cheek as well. "Thank you, papa. Thank you. Can I ride him now? Before dinner?"

"You cannot wait, eh?" Her father laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright; but mind that you're back in time for dinner." He tapped her nose. "I'm glad you like him, Catalina. Arturo was a wonderful horse." He winked, eyes sparkling mischeviously. "Your mother was riding him when we met. Perhaps this horse, too, will carry you to love as well, no?"

"Oh, father." Catalina closed her eyes against the rising tears, clinging to her father. "I will try to be happy, but I cannot promise to love." She sighed deeply, confessing in a whisper, "I fear that part of me is lost forever."

"Never say never, my daughter." Gaspar brushed her raven tresses out of her eyes, smiling warmly. "You never know what the future may bring, hm?"

Catalina smiled a little sadly, obviously mourning her lost love but trying to be brave for her father's sake, and kissed his cheek again. "I'll be back in time for dinner, papa." She assured him, pulling back and mounting the horse.

"See that you are!" He called after her, waving as she rode from the courtyard. "Remember, the Baron Vincente will be there, and Juan de la Barca! Do not be late!"

Catalina rode along the ivory coastline, the vibrant red of her dress and gleaming ebony of her hair and cantering mount a breathtaking image against a backdrop of azure sky and ocean; a masterpiece of fresh womanhood, completed to perfection in the soft flush of her cheeks, her carmine lips, and the brilliance of her eyes.

Suddenly and for no apparent reason the horse shied, rearing, and Catalina cried out in fear. The audience gasped in horror as the heroine clung desperately to the animal, shrieking as it went mad, rearing and bucking, throwing its head back and screaming. Just when it looked as though she would be thrown and trampled, a hand reached up and grabbed the horse's bridle, pulling it down to earth once more, to where a young man stood waiting, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere. His back was turned, his face hidden under the brim of the dark leather cowboy hat he wore as he spoke to the animal, soothing it with gentle touches and meaningless sounds, stroking it's ears and nose and neck until it stood calm under his hands. Once the stallion was stilled, he looked its passenger, reaching out a hand to help her down.

"Are you alright?" The stranger asked concernedly, apparently taking in her pale and shaken appearance. She nodded wordlessly as she took his hand, allowing him to help her dismount. Once her feet touched the ground, though, her legs seemed to fail her, and she would have collapsed if he hadn't caught her. "Woah, there." He said as he supported her, and she ended up leaning heavily against his broad chest, visibly trembling. "Easy, now." He soothed, rubbing her back comfortingly. "You're alright. You're safe now. I've got ya." She shivered, exhaling, and clung to him as he continued to soothe her gently, lowly murmuring comforting words in his smooth, warm voice. All through this the camera was focused on Catalina; the stranger's face was never shown.

After a few moments Catalina pulled herself together, and looked up into the face of her rescuer, which was still obscured from the viewers. Her breath caught, her eyes widening, and her cheeks coloured. For a moment she only stared, mouth open, until the stranger asked kindly, "You feeling better, now?"

"W-what?" She blinked rapidly, a little flustered, and realised what she was doing, clinging to a strange man on the beach. She pushed against his chest, wrenching herself from his arms, looking angry with herself for her weakness. "Thank you." She said in clipped, haughty tones as she turned away; throwing her shoulders back haughtily, spine straight, brushing her dark hair back out of her face. "I appreciate your assistance, but I had it under control."

The stranger laughed, and she spun on him, eyes flashing at being, as she saw it, mocked. "What are you laughing at?" She demanded, cheeks flushing angrily. "I had it under control, I did!"

Finally, the audience was allowed to see the newcomer; a tall young man with a boyish face and a bright, easy smile, with eyes so blue they rivalled the sky overhead. The cowboy hat covered most of his hair, but a few golden strands tucked behind his ear showed him to be blond. He was remarkably attractive, and it was easy to see why Catalina had become so flustered when she saw him.

"Easy, easy." He chuckled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just relieved you're alright. You seemed a little shaken up, there. I'm glad you're okay." He added, tilting his head with an easy smile, and she blushed, dropping her eyes.

"I was perfectly fine." She asserted, looking away from his blue eyes and bright smile, and fiddling with the ends of her hair. "I was just...a little startled, that's all."

"Understandable." The man agreed, turning back to the horse and taking hold of its bridle. "So what had this little fella so worked up?"

"I, I don't know." Catalina admitted. "He's, he's new. I don't think he's been properly trained, yet." She brushed her hair back over her shoulder, frowning. "Although I don't know if we'll be keeping him, after that little episode."

"Is that so?" He asked curiously, stroking the animal's nose. "That'd be a shame. He seems like a mighty fine fella. We should get his side of the story first, don't you think?"

"And how do you propose we do that, exactly?" She asked, gesturing to the horse. "I certainly didn't see any reason for his behaviour."

"Well," the young man shrugged amiably, "I guess we'd better ask him, then."

"'Ask him?'" Catalina scoffed, tossing her head. "Don't be ridiculous. Horses can't talk." The young man grinned at her.

"You sure about that?"

"Of course!"

"Have you ever tried?"

"Of course I haven't! That would be absurd."

"You never know if you don't try," He winked, and she blushed again, crossing her arms with a huff. Chuckling, he turned back to the horse, and patted its cheek as he asked gently, "So how 'bout it, fella? What got you all riled up?" The horse shook its head, whickering, and the young man nodded. "Mhm. Mhm. Okay." The stallion's ears flickered, and it nudged his shoulder. Catalina watched, interested despite herself as the 'conversation' continued between man and beast. "Aha?" The young man's eyes flickered briefly in her direction, and he nodded in apparent understanding. "I see what you mean." He patted it's nose, smiling sympathetically. "I hear ya, boy. Perfectly understandable."

"W...what did he say?" Catalina asked, glancing between the horse and man. The man glanced at her, and back at the horse, rubbing its nose comfortingly.

"Well," he said, brows furrowing, "it's a little embarrassing. I'm not sure he wants me to tell you."

Catalina pursed her lips, frowning, hands on her hips. "I think I deserve to know."

The young man nodded, and addressed the stallion. "How 'bout it, buddy? You mind if I tell her?" The horse lowered its head, flicking its ears. "I know, I know. But part of bein' a man is fessin' up to your mistakes." He nodded, once, and turned to Catalina. "Well, y'see, it's like this: it was just that you're so light and easy to carry that after a while he forgot there was anyone riding him at all. He thought he was all alone out here, enjoying a peaceful stroll on the beach, y'know? And so when he happened to glance back and catch sight of you sitting there, all bright and beautiful like you are, he was dead sure for a moment that the sun had come down from the sky and was sittin' on his back, and, well, he panicked." The horse snorted, and pawed the sand. "I'm gettin' to that. Y'see, he says your beauty burned so bright he was sure it'd burn him up, too." The young man's eyes held hers as he added earnestly, "So, you see why he might have gotten a little flustered. It's not everyday you find out you're carrying the sun."

Catalina's lips twitched. "No, I guess it's not."

The stranger grinned, blue eyes hopeful. "So, you'll keep him?"

"I suppose we will." Catalina agreed, smiling despite herself. "As long as it doesn't happen again."

"Y'hear that, fella? All's forgiven." The young man patted the horse's neck. "Isn't that great?" The horse shook its head again, and whickered, nibbling at his shirt. "What's that? Y'sure? Hm...I don't know if she'll agree to that, but I'll ask." Catalina arched an amused eyebrow as the young man turned back to her, grinning boyishly. "Our friend here says he'd feel better if I went along to escort you back. Just to make sure you make it safely."

"Oh he does, does he?" Catalina laughed. "Alright, then. If it makes 'him' feel better." She allowed him to help her get back on the horse, gasping a little in surprise when he lifted her easily into the saddle, as if she weighed nothing at all. Once she was comfortably mounted he took the animal's bridle, leading it back the way they'd come.

As a commercial for laundry detergent started, the audience stirred, temporarily released from the spell of the show. "So..." Prussia started. "Daytime drama, huh?"

"Yep." Spain affirmed, nodding. "It's a perfectly legitimate form of entertainment."

"Cool." Prussia decided. "So, is everyone on this show fuckin' sexy as hell? Who's the hot blond guy who showed up and rescued that Catalina chick?"

"I don't know." Spain admitted. "He's a new character."

"He is very handsome though, isn't he?" Belgium grinned delightedly, enjoying the prospect of new eye-candy. "Oh! What're the chances he'll have his shirt off by the end of the episode?"

"Hm, fairly good." France rubbed his chin in a show of contemplation. "A build like that? They'll want to capitalize on it as soon as possible." Then he frowned, brows furrowing thoughtfully. "Y'know, there was something very... familiar... about him..."

"You've probably fucked him before." Prussia said dismissively, grabbing for the popcorn. "Or the other way 'round."

"He looks like a dominant lover, to me. But no, I'm fairly sure I would remember if I had." France mused, still frowning.

"It's true he's very handsome, but he looks so young!" Veneziano added, frowning doubtfully. "I think he'd barely even be legal yet, so if you'd had sex with him before, he would have been underage. I don't think big brother France would do that." The other nations exchanged glances.

"Sure, North." Prussia said kindly, patting his head. "Whatever you say."

"Why don't you have some cookies, Veneziano." Belgium offered, smiling in a motherly fashion as she offered him a plate of sugary treats.

"Ve~, thank you!"

"Well, whoever he is, he's good with horses." Spain said approvingly, changing the subject. "So I'm sure he's a very nice young man. What do you think, Romano?" He asked, turning to the personification of South Italy.

"Igottagobastards." Romano said in a rush, jumping up from his seat and hurrying from the room. Belgium, Spain and Veneziano looked after him in concern.

"Ve~, Romano?"

"What's eating li'l South?" Prussia wondered, snagging another beer.

"He's probably just upset that some newcomer is stealing his darling Catalina." France chuckled, waving off their concern. "Ah, the tender hearts of children in love."

"Ohh." Belgium covered her mouth with a hand, brows furrowed in sympathy. "Poor Romano!"

"Poor little Roma." Spain agreed worriedly, peering back over the couch to the door through which his former colony had fled. "Do you think we should go talk to him?"

"No, no, let him be." France said, patting his friend's shoulder. "There's nothing that you could say or do that would ease his broken heart. He just needs a little time to himself."

"If you say so." Spain nodded, settling back down in his seat. "I'd hate for him to miss the show, though."

"Well, are recording it." Belgium reminded him gently. "He can always watch it with us later. And I'll make Romano some of my special chocolate mousse, to cheer him up!"

"That's a wonderful idea!"

"Shhhh, the show's starting again!" Prussia interjected excitedly, squeezing himself in-between France and Spain to watch as the commercial break ended.

Romano opened his eyes to stare at the mess he'd made, hot and sticky and deeply confused.

He hadn't heard a word of the conversation downstairs. In fact, ever since that...man, had appeared on the screen, he'd been oblivious to anything else. It was his voice that did it. Spanish was obviously not his first language, although he was fluent; but the way he spoke it...smooth, and sweet, with just the hint of an accent he couldn't quite place...something about it caused Romano's ears to burn and his spine tingle and made him weak in the knees. And the more he spoke the worse it got, 'til Romano's body was thrumming and pulsing and he ached with need, and he was deeply, deeply thankful for the throw pillow on his lap which hid his erection.

Ever since the start of the series, Romano had harboured a crush on Catalina (and he'd had a few fantasies, he could admit). She was beautiful, spirited, alluring, sexy. But as soon as the stranger had opened his mouth, Romano hadn't been able to tear his eyes away. He'd found himself watching those lips as they formed the words that made his blood run electric and turned his knees to water, or curved up into an easy smile that made his skin flush hot and his fingertips tingle. He'd found himself thinking of all the other things that mouth could do, too. Which led to thoughts of those strong hands on his hips, lifting him as easily as they had Catalina, of his legs wrapped around that waist, those slim hips between his thighs, moving inside him; that voice in his ear, murmuring in that deliciously accented Spanish, that easy smile above him, those vivid blue eyes gazing intently down at him as they fucked.

And then the commercial break came, and Romano's head had cleared just enough for him to realise what he'd been thinking, and become confused. He liked women, not men. He liked being on top, not the bottom— men were assholes, and he didn't want one up his. He liked romance, and love, and courtship and relationships, dammit. He had no interest in raw animal sex or fucking purely out of lust. The very thought of it turned him off. He liked Catalina, not this...this stranger. But his body was throbbing and his head was spinning and it occurred to Romano that if that man were to somehow step off of the screen and into the room at that moment and speak to him in that voice, with that accent, he would let the bastard fuck him right then and there, on the couch in front of everyone, and not give a damn. His cock twitched, hard, at the thought, and Romano babbled some excuse and fled the room, knowing he had to get out of there and find some privacy, fast.

Which was why he was here, sitting in this chair in an upstairs room where Spain kept his spare television, far away from everyone, the door safely locked and the blinds pulled, with his legs sprawled and his hand down his (now very messy, he was going to have to wash these) pants, hot and sticky and staring at the screen with a strange mixture of anticipation and excitement and confusion, waiting for and dreading the moment the show would begin.

At least, he thought as the commericals ended, he would probably never meet this guy. That should save him some humiliation.

"Putain de merde," France gasped, eyes widening in realization when the young man removed his hat as he introduced himself to Catalina's father, revealing a cowlick that France knew all too well. "I know who that is!"

AN: It's a little quick and dirty, but there you go.

So, yes. Spanish soaps. I had to do some research on soap operas for this, and it turns out that Spain (and the rest of the world) mostly watches American soaps. Spain (and the rest of the world) does make their own, though, too, which are just as absurd and deliciously fantasmagorical as any soap should be. It makes me want to act in one. Or write for one.

Prussia, when he refers to the Italy brothers in the strips and CDs usually refers to Veneziano as 'Italy-chan' and Romano as 'Italy-niisan', basically, 'little Italy' and 'big brother Italy' (not meaning his own big brother— that is, not Prussia's 'big brother Italy', but referring to the fact that Romano is Veneziano's big brother.) That's awkward to convey in English, so I changed it to 'North' and 'South', to maintain the affectionate address without being too confusing.

I should also point out that although Prussia adores the Italy brothers, they don't necessarily reciprocate. North Italy likes him okay (but is understandably wary of him at times), but Romano dislikes him intently, for very, very good reasons.