Word count: around 500

Genre: humour

Rating: barely worksafe?

Note: So, this Friday I told my boyfriend about how the Vatican City is, in fact, not guarded by Italian police or military, but by Swiss Guards (look up on wiki if you want to know more) because apparently he didn't know about this before. It went downhill from there XD I can't apologize enough for this entirely politically incorrect piece of fiction.

It really wasn't the choice of who to certain selected people was known as the Southern part of the Republic of Italy, Romano for short, Lovino Vargas for those who didn't know him by his whole full name, to be a nearly 1000 year old virgin. Really, it wasn't.

Because while there was being a good catholic, a god-fearing man – or nation, it didn't really matter since to him the two were the same – who said his Ave Marias and went to church every week and confessed his sins just as often as he committed them (except for the swearing, he'd never been good with controlling his language, but Veneziano did such a good job with that part so why would he need to care?), there was also Spain.

And Spain wasn't only the idiot whom Romano had had the great disadvantage of falling in love with; he was also a bastard who knew how to move his tongue in ways which definitely didn't help Romano's own self-control when it came to wanting to stay a virgin until the day his politicians and people decided to disregard the words of the bible and allow same-sex marriages. Meaning, never.

On a personal level, Romano didn't much care. All he knew was that what Spain was doing with his mouth somewhere around his chest-area felt fucking amazing, and he wanted more of it, everywhere. One well-tailored garment followed another into the pile on the floor, until the two of them were clad in only their underwear, flushed and panting and gods, Romano didn't even care if he'd burn in hell for this, all he wanted was for Spain to pull off his stupid Roberto Cavalli boxers and—

--and upon doing so, Spain froze in position, staring down at Romano's crotch with complete confusion written on his face.

Romano was just about to ask him what the hell he was waiting for, when Spain reached down to tap one knuckle against…

…against the chastity belt.

Oh. Yeah, right. He'd forgotten about that. Fuck.

"Uh," he began, but honestly, it was a bit hard to think of anything to explain this by.

Spain was still staring at his crotch.

"What…? Why are you…?"

"It's something the cardinals thought of, way back in the 17th century or something. I can't even remember. Fucking outdated shit, I'd totally forgotten…"

Spain leaned closer, and Romano suspected that he should be covering up about now, because honestly, this was pretty damn embarrassing.

"I didn't even know they make these for men! Why does it say 'Made in Switzerland'?"

"How many other nations do you know who wouldn't fucking grab for my vital regions if they had a chance?"

"But, then, the key?"

"He's got it."

"Huh? 'He'…?"


Spain groaned and hid his face in his hands, and Romano reminded himself; this was the reason why he was a nearly 1000 year old virgin. Affanculo.

End note: Affanculo – Fuck it all (Italian)

End note the second: Yes, there are chastity belts for men for real. Don't ask me why I knew that before writing this fic, even. And for those who'd like to argue that Romano couldn't possibly forget about wearing a chastity belt, let me just point out that 1) who knows how much you think about something you've worn since you hit puberty about, let's say, 500 years ago, 2) this is one of the Italy brothers we're talking about, Airheaded should be their second name, and 3) this is crack :)b