A/N: And here is another Bad Touch Trio matchmaking service fic. The sequel to Desaparición and Leunung. The couple this time… USxUK! Established SpainxRomano and GermanyxItaly as background couples.
It was like watching a ping pong match, except a billion times better. Mostly because ping pong matches usually didn't lead to situations where the contestants attempted to crush each other's windpipes. Although it was always a possibility at some matches.
The insults were flying back and forth just like a ping pong ball, though. Since this was a fairly common occurrence, however, most of the nations weren't even paying attention. Italy had fallen asleep with his head against Germany's shoulder, which Germany seemed to be completely fine with. He was flipping through his folder, apparently having decided to wait this argument out instead of trying to stop it.
Romano was resting with his head on the table, watching the two arguing nations with only vague interest. Spain had taken this stillness as an opportunity to run his fingers through the other nation's hair and murmur to him in Spanish.
France was watching the two arguing nations with interest, although he also had decided not to intervene. His expression was almost, actually, calculating, as if he were thinking of something.
Some of the other nations had followed Italy's example and took this distraction as an opportunity to nap, a few were looking through their notes, Poland was painting his nails, occasionally leaning over to show them to Lithuania, who was doodling on a scrap of paper, Russia was tapping his pipe against the table and singing softly to himself in Russian.
And America and England continued to argue.
"And you're always eating those bloody hamburgers!"
"I know for a fact that you love McDonald's, old man!" America was glaring down at the seated England from the end of the table, his arms crossed over his chest almost defensively. "I've been to London and I've seen them everywhere! They aren't anywhere near as good as real McDonald's, but all of your cooking sucks, so it isn't surprising."
England leapt to his feet, setting his tea cup down on the table loud enough to rattle the saucer. "My cooking is absolutely delicious, you wanker!"
A few of the table's occupants vaguely wondered how the conversation had moved from America's newest plan to stop global warming (covering the entire earth with mirrors in order to reflect the sun's rays back into space) to insulting each other's cooking. Most just accepted it as a normal conversation between the two.
"Mes amis. As entertaining as this conversation is, we really should get on with the meeting."
Both completely ignored him, too caught up in their fight to even notice that they were in the middle of a room filled with other countries. Not that it would really make too much of a difference if they did notice. They'd still probably ignore France.
Germany sighed and shifted his weight slightly, attempting to not wake up the Italian. "America! England! We need to finish this meeting!"
They both turned to look at him, then glared at each other before England reluctantly returned to his seat and began sipping his tea. America sighed and returned to his presentation, flashing the seated nation an unnoticed, almost sad look.
Or, mostly unnoticed.
There was one nation who was watching the proceedings with great interest and had definitely noticed the expression.
An evil grin passed over France's face and he glanced toward Spain, who, as always, hadn't noticed anything. Probably because he was completely focused on Romano, who looked as if he were half asleep now.
France drew his foot back and kicked the Spaniard's ankle. Which succeeded in not only getting his attention, but caused a rather amusing chain reaction. As he was startled enough that he accidentally tugged on Romano's curl. Which startled the Italian into jumping wide awake and immediately start cursing at the Spaniard, who attempted futilely to defend himself. This woke up Veneciano, who started whining that he was hungry. Germany groaned and rubbed at his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on.
"If nothing else of importance is going to be discussed at the meeting, I move that we go home," he hurriedly called to the others. Before anybody else started fighting.
"Ah, I agree with Germany," Japan hurriedly added. Many of the others also concurred.
America scowled, but nodded in agreement after a moment. "All right, then everybody's dismissed."
Most of the nations immediately began to file out of the room. As Spain passed by France, attempting to apologize to a still-fuming Romano, France grabbed his arm and tugged him back. "Antoine, I have something to talk to you about. You'll come with me, oui?"
Romano immediately flashed him a look that should have instantly caused him to burst into flames. But Spain, in typical Spain-fashion, just grinned and nodded. "Well, all right. Lovi…" He turned, but the Italian had already run off without him.
"Why did you kick me, Francis? Lovi's angry with me again. And I just got him to stop yelling at me…"
"I was just thinking during the meeting… It would be so much more pleasant for everyone involved if Amérique and Angleterre would stop with all of their flirting and just have a lovely nuit de amour."
Ah yes, France had almost forgotten. This was Spain. He was probably even worse than America at reading unspoken signs. "Yes, flirting. I think that everyone would appreciate it if we provided them with a tiny push…"
Spain frowned slightly. "It won't involve kidnapping this time, will it? I don't think I could deal with anymore kidnapping."
"Non, non. No kidnapping. I was thinking that it would be more useful to use a more traditional ploy against them." He sidled closer to his friend, beginning to undo his shirt's buttons as he slipped into a more seductive voice. "L'amour can be a very dangerous thing, non? Sometimes the person refuses to admit unless they think that there's a rival for their beloved's affections."
"Really?" His shirt was almost entirely off and he hadn't even noticed yet. France occasionally understood Romano's frustration with his friend's denseness. Still, he wasn't complaining in situations like this.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Romano was standing in the doorway, flashing them both a glare that beat his other by a long shot. This one should not only have set them both on fire, but it also should have run them over with a truck, thrown them through a wood chipper, taken an ax to them, and finally buried them with a headstone that read 'fuck you'.
Spain lit up as if the Italian had arrived bearing red roses and singing his love. "Lovi~!" he exclaimed, running toward the furious nation.
He received a fist in the stomach for his trouble. And then a kick in the side when he went down. For a moment, Romano just glared down at him. Then he whirled around and stomped out. "Fucking Spagna!"
"Espera!" He jumped back to his feet surprisingly quickly and then raced after him. "Lovi~! Why are you angry?"
A/N: So I guess this kind of turned into a series? Hmmm, well, I guess that's fun ;D I like writing series.
All righty, so… as stated on my profile (but I'll post it here too just for those who haven't read the note on my profile) I'm in London while I'm writing this (It's amazing by the way) and our syllabus is very intensive, so updating will be slow. I'm hoping to do it at least once a week, but I can't make any promises. If I stop updating for a while, I WILL finish, I promise, it's just that my ridiculous busyness is catching up to me. But I WILL WILL WILL cross my heart and hope to die, finish this and my other fic in progress (which is almost done anyway) so just keep watching.
And I love reviews so keep them coming. They always brighten my day. :)