More SpainxRomano fluffies for ya. ^^
I have a Nordicentric fic formulating in my head right now, too, so that should be comin' around in a little bit.
Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himuruya. And Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic is sexy.
Romano sat on the kitchen window seat, chin propped up on his hand, staring glumly at the rivulets of rainwater running down the pane.
Outside, he could see the tomato plants bouncing as the fat drops battered them. A fog had rolled in, and so all he could make out through the grey was the plants closest to the window, the outline of a few trellises, and…a dark shape scurrying between the rows, occasionally ducking down, running, and finally disappearing around the front of the house.
A moment later, Romano heard the door open, and close, and a very wet Spain dripped his way into the kitchen shivering.
"Spain, oh stupid Spain, you're going to die of a cold!" snapped the Italian.
Antonio smiled, teeth chattering, and set a sodden basket on the table. "W-well, it I-I hadn't…all the t-tomatoes would have over ripened…" his teeth rattled together with each word. "A-as it-t is, I only got a couple…" he looked forlornly at the basket, from which a puddle of water was slowly spilling over the table.
"You HAVE caught a cold! Imbecile!" yelled Romano.
"A-AaaaCHOOO!" Antonio's sneeze nearly propelled him backwards into the hall.
"H-hey! Spain!" Romano yelled, a bit nervous, "You'd better not get pneumonia or whatnot!"
Antonio answered with a sneeze.
Romano stood in the kitchen, listening to the Spaniard's slow steps up the stairs. Suddenly, there was a creak and several loud bumps in quick succession.
"…owww…" and then "Loviii…" plaintively.
"Oh, fuck this" Romano growled, and stomped into the hall. He stopped, and glared down at the Spaniard flat on his back at the bottom of the stairs. Antonio smiled dazedly up at him. "I fell." He stated, somewhat needlessly.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," the Italian snapped. He reached down and pulled Antonio up by the arm.
Romano was about to let go and shove Spain up the stairs, when the shivering man suddenly wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.
"Y-ack! Spain, you're freezing!" shrieked Romano, wriggling.
"Mmm…you're warm." Antonio murmured.
"Aaaah, jackass! C'mon; we gotta get you in dry clothes."
Romano had to escape first, then part drag, part cajole, and part insult Antonio up the stairs and into his bedroom.
"Aright. Now I'm going to run the water 'til it's hot, and you'd better get undressed and find a towel, bastard. Take a shower and put on dry clothes! Then go to fucking sleep!"
He stomped, irritated, into the bathroom and turned on the tap. He let it run, swiping a hand through it every couple seconds until it was warm.
Antonio walked in his tomato pattern boxers. Romano went red and left quickly, muttering about 'people who couldn't even run a shower without help'.
Half hour later, the door to the bedroom opened and Antonio in his light green pajamas stepped out,. Romano, who had been sitting/ fidgeting in the hall outside the door, jumped up. "Finally. You've probably used up all the hot water, you bastard."
Antonio grinned. "Mmm, but I'll still freeze unless I…" he grabbed Romano around the waist, slung him over his shoulder, and carted him into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
He deposited the foul mouthed Italian on the bed, and went around to get under the thick wool blankets on the other side. He pulled Romano close under the covers and nuzzled the top of his head with his chin.
"'Ay! Jackass! Gettoff- what is this?"
"You're my hot water bottle," Antonio murmured. "I'll die of cold otherwise." He coughed a piteous, phony cough.
"You're not sick at all, jerk," mumbled Romano, but he curled up and very soon drifted into sleep.
Antonio smiled, and closed his eyes.
YOU FAKER, ANTONIO.