Be Italian

Spain never really got jealous. No. He was always so carefree and he was always laughing. Nobody would have thought that he had the slightest capability of feeling envious. Green-eyed he was indeed, but only in a literal sense… unless it concerned Romano. The moment his dear little South Italy was dragged into the scenario, the sweet Spaniard was anything but.

Instead, he focussed on his lover. He was so slender, and perfectly moulded into the fine young thing that he was. His lips were delectable, and his eyes were like gems, and his pout. Ah. It was that seemingly permanent frown on his face that always seemed to get Spain. When he was around the ladies, however, Romano was nearly always all smiles. Spain supposed that was the one good thing about having his lover's attention stolen away. At least he got to see that smile more often when women were around him.

The tanned, brown haired Spaniard clenched his fist. How infuriating. Surely Romano wasn't doing this on purpose. His little Lovino was just too handsome for his own good. His Italian ways had practically every single girl within a mile's radius fawning over him. God, Spain hated that. He hated the way they swooned over him, the way they gently placed their hands on his arms, the way that they looked at him… Spain wanted to tell them to back the hell off, but that would not have been cool.

"Ehi, bastardo," snapped Romano as they walked through the streets back from the meeting. They made it to their apartment block right before the rain began to pour. Their apartment was located on the ground floor, which offered Spain the ability to walk briskly to the door and open it.

"Perché cazzo sei così silenzioso? E non ti si addice–"

Spain grabbed Romano by the wrist, dragged him into the apartment, and practically slammed the door shut. The elder nation pressed his weight onto the smaller country, pinning him against the back of the door. Their lips met, hearts racing, as Spain forced his tongue forward into the Italian's mouth. He could tell Romano was flushing. He could feel the heat from his face on his own skin. Spain's hands explored the contours of Romano's shoulders. They eventually found themselves sliding down to the younger lover's chest, then to his sides, and then down his back until they settled rather comfortably on Romano's ass. He had always had such a nice ass.

"Bastardo. Che cazzo ti credi di far–?" breathed Romano as their lips finally separated.

"Eres mío, ¿entiendes?" said Spain darkly. He stared straight into Romano's eyes, not a trace of a joke within his own.

"Non scherzare con me, stronzo," frowned Romano, trying to push the Spaniard off of him. Spain forcefully pinned Romano's hands above his head with a single hand, taking hold of the Italian's chin with the other.

"No dejes que te toquen de esa manera. Tú eres todo mío," warned Spain.

The hand that he had on Romano's chin quickly found its way to South Italy's belt, which was undone within a matter of seconds. Next was the button and then zipper of his loose jeans, which sat nicely along his hipline. Romano moaned as the heat rose in his stomach. Spain could be dead sexy when he wanted to be.

Let it just be said that they never made it to the bedroom.

While Romano was busy taking off Spain's shirt, Spain was busy with Romano's pants. Clothes were lost and forgotten on the floor in a trail that led down the small hall into the kitchen area. It was difficult, though. What was all of Spain's quick kisses, and groping, and his heavy breathing. He smelled like rare spices, Romano decided. And he loved it.

"Spagna," groaned Romano. Spain smiled. He liked to hear his name on the little Italian's lips. It was the only name he wanted him to ever call out like this.

They were on the floor, tangled in each other. Fingers were laced together, legs were practically in knots, and their mouths never really seemed to separate for more than a second. Spain could hear Romano's heart in his chest as he slowly kissed down his jaw line, down his neck, and then to his collar bone. His skin was smooth and sweet. Oh, how he loved his Italian. His beautiful little Italian.

"Spagna, per favore," pleaded Romano. "Per favore, ti volgio."

"Paciencia," whispered Spain softly against hot skin. "Este es un castigo por lo que me preocupa."

"Punizione?" gasped the little Italian breathlessly. "Per favore, no."

Spain made his way down to Romano's half-hard member. He was so damn irresistible when he was exposed like this. Spain loved it. He ate it up, his eyes scanning every detail of the Italian beneath him.

Gently, he pressed his lips the Italian's length. He received a lustful groan for his efforts. He wanted more. He wanted to hear that voice. He wanted to hear Romano beg for him, plead for him, scream for him. Romano was red-faced and enjoy every delicate touch that Spain placed upon him.

"Ah," he gasped as warmth enveloped his shaft. "Oh, Antonio..." Yes. That did it. Hearing his name made Spain want this even more than before. Romano groaned and squirmed, struggling to adjust to the fantastic sensations that ran along through his body and Spain sucked."Oh… Ah…"

And then Spain stopped. Just to be deliciously cruel.

"No, bastardo…" whined Romano.

"Lo siento. No puedo esperar."

With a moist hand, Antonio entered a single finger, followed by a second. Romano grunted, the pain lasting only for a moment before he was engulfed in an intense sense of satisfaction. Oh, the noises he would make if he didn't care for his pride. Spain smirked as he flexed his fingers. It was warm and wet and ready. Spain kissed tender skin wherever he could find, sucking so hard that marks were left behind. Romano was his, and his alone.

"¿Listo, mi cariño?" asked the Spaniard. Romano, too engaged with the battling conflict of pain and pure pleasure, simply nodded.

Spain aligned himself. The warmth of Romano's heated body gave his own limbs comfort. He entered quickly, not wishing to hurt his lover more than necessary. Romano grunted and whined, but soon forgot his discomfort as Spain began thrusting into him.

"Ah!" moaned Romano. He reached out to grab his dear Spain, but found his arms pinned down once again by the man on top of him.

The thrusts began slowly, in a rhythm a little too painfully slow for Romano's liking, but it wasn't up to him. No matter how much his bucked his hips, trying to urge Spain on, Spain refused to meet Romano's request. This was his punishment after all. There was nobody else in the world that would treat him such a way, and Spain wanted Romano to remember that above all else. He wanted him to remember that, even if he said he hated it, Spain would always be there. On top of that, he would be the best lover he will have ever had.

"Oh, Antonio, per favore!" cried Romano. Spain loved this. He loved the sound of Romano's voice. He loved the way he felt surrounding him. He loved him.

He couldn't take it anymore. Slow thrusts then began to come faster and faster. Skin rubbed against skin, sweat dripping from the both of them in salty wanton for more. Romano groaned and hissed and implored for more. He called out Spain's name over and over and over again until it started to sound like worship. Romano could have forgotten the world. It was just him, and Spain, and the night.

"Antonio, Antonio," gasped Romano. He was almost there, he could feel it.

"Romano," breathed Spain, unable to control himself. There was a pit of luscious hunger growing in his stomach. He wanted this. He wanted him. And he wanted it now.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Italian as Spain rammed into the same place over and over again. Spain knew this was Romano's weak point. It was the point that made him want to give in, and then come back for more. They were both already at their limits.

With a few more strong thrusts, Romano came undone, Spain not too far behind. He watched as Romano's muscles contracted in absolute delight. He bucked his hips forward, riding out his orgasm. He was breathless, just as was the Spaniard, who leant down to kiss him on the lips. "¿A quién pertenece?" he asked, placing a delicate kiss on Romano's brown.

"Te. Sempre," was the soft reply.

Translations:

"Ehi, bastardo," - Hey, bastard.

"Perché cazzo sei così silenzioso? E non ti si addice–" - Why the fuck are you so quiet? It doesn't suit you-

"Bastardo. Che cazzo ti credi di far–?" - Bastard. What do you think you're doing-

"Eres mío, ¿entiendes?" - You're mine, do you understand?

"Non scherzare con me, stronzo," - Don't fuck (joke) with me, asshole.

"No dejes que te toquen de esa manera. Tú eres todo mío," - Do not let them touch you that way. You're all mine.

"Spagna," - Spain.

"Spagna, per favore," - Spain, please.

"Per favore, ti volgio." - Please, I need you.

"Paciencia," - Patience.

"Este es un castigo por lo que me preocupa." - This is punishment for making me worry.

"Punizione?" - Punishment?

"Lo siento. No puedo esperar." - Sorry. I can't wait.

"¿Listo, mi cariño? - Ready, my dear?

"¿A quién pertenece?" - Who do you belong to?

"Te. Sempre," - You. Always.