Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n1: Um… hi again! ^^ Remember me? Long time no see!

Ah, how nice to be back here! I haven't been active for quite some time, as some of you might have noticed. But thanks to the wonderful motivation I got from The Second Side Of Happiness, I've decided to start a new Spamano-story! How original! *shot*

I really hope to catch your so-loved and needed attention once again and maybe, possibly, I hope to write a better story than 'This Dance'. Yeah, that would be nice!~

So… please tell me what you think of it and if it's good enough for you! If it is, then you can expect the usual updates on Saturday. Yay for Saturdays!

On to the story!

** Bottoms-Up! **

Chapter I:

Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in Bed
(Kinky Friedman)

Things weren't going so great for Antonio lately.

His stupid economy was in trouble – yet again. Together with that other poor bastard, Greece, he had been suffering from a big fat cold for a while now, constantly sniffing and wiping his nose and coughing his fucking lungs out, as if some creepy, suffocating disease was roaming free inside of his body.

It… it was kind of weird. His normally tanned, sun-kissed face was as white as a sheet now and his eyes had lost their usual sparkle. He hardly did anything other than sleep anymore. That's right, that's all what Antonio was doing all day long – sleeping. Even more than he used to and yes, apparently, that actually was possible.

Whenever Antonio was catching some zzz's, he didn't wake up until siesta-time was over – and since he didn't even bother anymore to wake up in the morning, he pretty much just slept the whole day long, from very late in the evening 'till very late in the afternoon – because, hey, why wait for a siesta when you can just as easily snooze like a fucking comatose patient while waiting for it?

But aside from his body growing weaker, he didn't change that much. Personality-wise, I mean.

When he wasn't sleeping like some kind of mutated, moronic baby, Antonio was still doing his best to keep up with his stupid, usual Antonio-habits and things. He was still smiling at me like he wasn't sick at all, still cooking for me, still trying to hug and kiss me and still way too kind and peppy and too fucking Antonio.

Every – single – day. In-between sneezes and wheezes and attempts to grab my ass – that smug bastard.

He was such an idiot. Shit. He should have known better and he should have taken a break from his weird activities more often. He really should have done just that. But he didn't want me to worry about him, so he just ignored his illness and wobbliness and he kept on acting like a freaking Spanish monkey, just to get my attention.

S-stupid bastard, dammit… I-I was – and still am – his freaking lover, of… of course he'd get my attention…

Not that I was worried about him. Hell no.

Okay, maybe a bit.

But since Antonio was Spain, I knew for sure he was going to get better pretty soon – after all, the summer was right around the corner! You know, holidays! White-legged, fat people from West-European countries just loved spending their vacation in warm nations like Spain and France and… well, the North and (especially) the South of Italy, to name a few. Tourists would make Spain's economy rise right through the fucking roof again thanks to their money and empty, vacation-poisoned brains. Because for some mysterious, shitty reason, tourists just loved to spend their well-earned cash on stupid crap you could buy on every random tacky Spanish market, even if they knew the shit they were buying was freaking shit.

What the fuck was up with that?

No doubt about it – in a very short amount of time, Antonio would be all better again. Yes, he would. I was sure of that. He'd lose that nasty cold and be all better again. He had to be. Or else I was going to kick his dead ass for the very obvious and also very valid reason that I could. And so I would.

Antonio's sickness wasn't something new – everybody around the world knew Antonio's health could be flaky as hell. And just like other times, most nations in Europe were - again - feeling sorry for Antonio and tried to help him (like fuckface France and dipshit Austria), while others were telling him it was his own fault and that he could just eat shit and die (like eyebrow-monster England and pothead Netherlands).

Everyone seemed to have a different point of view in the matter of Antonio's economy, but in the end, Antonio was pretty much all on his own, struggling to get better again, not paying attention to his fever or snotty nose, staggering around in his tomato-fields until he passed out and I had to rush to his side to carry him inside – what sucked big time because he was a freaking heavy bastard.

Still, I wasn't worried. No, I wasn't worried. Not at all. He was Spain. Spain. He'd be okay.

So instead of worrying every single day and night about the Spanish idiot – which I didn't, I absolutely didn't and I certainly wasn't crying sometimes either – I thought of an ingenious plan.

So, Antonio was all weak and vulnerable and feeling crappy and stuff, right?

And he was still trying to please me whenever he saw the possibility, right?

And he… he loved me, right?

Well, then in that case, this was simply the best moment to try and top the living daylights out of Antonio!

That's right! I wanted to top that bastard for once! Just for once, dammit!

Ever since we started going out last year, he was the one who pushed me down. He was the one who pulled out pants and squeezed things that made me go light and fluffy in the head. He was the one who was experienced and a bit older and a bit bigger and he was the one… u-um… attacking. He always was and always had been – at least, in our relationship.

God. That sounded so damn disgusting.

And strangely erotic.

No! Not erotic! Just disgusting! I didn't want to be the one… um… receiving, I really didn't! Sure, Antonio was very loving and sweet and tender whenever we… m-made love (since that bastard refused to call it anything other than that), but still! It was fucking unfair to be the one getting topped all the time! Wait, no, it wasn't exactly unfair, i-it was just coincidence I always let him take advantage of me like that! Yes! It… it was coincidence! Not because I actually liked it like that and wanted to be screwed, fuck no! Really!

And no, I never cry out how much I love him whenever we're doing it, because only sissy's shout shitty stuff like that and I'm not a sissy! I'm a man! A manly man! A manly man who's always being topped by that flirty tomato-idiot and who has grown tired of that!

Hell, I had some needs, too, dammit! I wanted to be the one dominating! I could do that! I've dreamt tons and tons of spicy stuff in which I was a fucking sex-machine and Antonio the one blushing and whimpering and willing to do whatever I demanded him to and fuck yeah I wanted that to become reality!


Well, I found out that this probably wouldn't be that easy to realize. Lately, we… we didn't do it that much anymore. As a matter of fact, it had been at least three months (three fucking frustrating months) since the last time Antonio and I had done anything sexual – and then we even had to stop halfway because Antonio had collapsed on top of me and man, that had been a very good – I mean, very awkward position.

(I hadn't used that opportunity to kiss and cuddle him like some love-struck fool, it just happened to be very cold that night! And Antonio's body was just… so very warm! So shut it, dammit!)

In a nutshell, Antonio had become too tired, too wobbly and too sick to do whatever kind of sexy activity. And I was too concerned about him – no! I mean, too sexually frustrated about the whole not-having sex part (for over ninety brain-damaging, absolutely horrific days) to do anything about it myself (ironically enough). It was sad, but our once oh so steamy sex-life was currently pretty much standing still. Like a rock. A dead one.

I had to change that, dammit! I had to do it for the sake of our people! For the people of Spain and South Italy!

But naturally, I knew that trying to dominate the passionate country in bed could be a quite literal pain in the ass if I didn't prepare myself properly: I could hurt Anto- myself, and I sure as hell didn't want that to happen.

I hoped that didn't sounded as suggestive as I thought it sounded.

Anyway, I decided to start an investigation about Antonio's former bed partners: that way, I could discover the Great Secret of Topping Antonio.

There was only one way for me to do that investigation: asking Antonio directly just who managed to top him during the past years, without telling him the reason - he wouldn't understand it, anyway.

And so I did – during one of our many not-sexual nights.