This was written originally for the sparo_xchange Christmas event at LJ. The prompt was "Romano gives Spain a 'very special' Christmas present that he refuses to reveal to the Spaniard through all of Christmas Eve."
Summary: Spain is willing to do anything to get his Christmas gift early. Romano claims to not approve but secretly does.
Warnings for bad writing, Romano's dirty language and thoughts, OOC characters, and fail!humor. Also, watch out for non-explicit curlplay (as in, you might forget it's happening because it's rarely described) and hinted past and future sex. The past/future sex hints were more descriptive than the curl play. Rated M to be safe.
Romano squirmed in his position, face bright red when he noticed the strange looks they were garnering. They were, after all, in France's kitchen. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, glaring at Spain.
He had every right to be suspicious. He'd just been minding his own business, drinking a little wine, walking around, when Spain showed up out of nowhere to pin him against the wall, like the somewhat-hot (okay, fine, really hot) pirate-conquistador-Boss-empire he used to be.
"Have I told you how sexy you look tonight?" Spain's supposedly innocent smile made Romano blush. He almost always blushed whenever Spain smiled like that because half the time, Spain was never thinking innocent thoughts. Spain ran his fingers down Romano's cheek, his other hand pressed against the wall for support. "Because you look very nice." He winked, and Romano bit his lip, unable to meet Spain's gaze.
He hated that Spain could control his actions with so few words. No one person was allowed to have that ability. It wasn't fucking normal. "Yeah, well, I—"
Spain twisted his finger around Romano's curl (What. The. Fuck. Here? Now? . . . Not that Romano minded all that much, but still. . .), giving it a sharp tug before gauging Romano's reaction: a barely held back moan. "What was that?"
"Mmm, not here, Spain." He tried sounding reprimanding, but his voice was weak.
"But I really want you, Romano," Spain murmured huskily, his voice always a turn on. Damn him and his way with words and his amazing fingers and shit. . .
Romano was maybe, possibly, kind of a little excited. Heat was racing through his body, bubbling from his head to his toes but mainly pooling at his crotch. This was not the appropriate time or place to be turned on. But it felt so nice, and it had been a bit of time since they'd gotten to do this (alright, fine, it had been a day). . . Spain's fingers slid up Romano's shirt, and fuck they were cold, but they made his body hot and—
"Not here." He had to be the mature one. He always was. "Bastard."
He had to. . . He had to. . .
A part of him, though, was sorely tempted to forget that they were at a party in France's (the motherfucking pervert) house. He wanted to jump Spain and get fucked—while he wasn't that picky about sex, he had the slightest preference to bottom (hey, it was manlier than people gave him credit for)—into the floor.
Damn Spain for doing this in France's house. There were probably hidden cameras or something, waiting for moments like this. Or maybe France was just hiding in a corner, masturbating, using them as free porn (because their sex was fucking hot). Even though it wasn't. . . technically. . . porn. Spain and his friends were just fucking perverts; that was the problem.
Because Romano. . . wasn't. . . into that stuff.
"I think here is a perrr-fect place," Spain whispered back, purring in a way Romano found unusually attractive. He shivered. Damn Spainto hell, with his stupidly hot Spanish accent. Damn him.
Romano blushed harder as Spain leaned forward for a kiss; Spain's fingers stayed tangled in Romano's hair. Romano's cock was getting hard. . . just a little.
He straightened from his relaxed position against the wall to meet Spain's lips, unable to do anything but comply (fuck that bastard for making him so weak). He wrapped his arms around Spain's neck for support because the bastard kept pulling on his hair, and damn it, Spain knew that curl made him weak. Combined with the fact that it was Spain, Romano couldn't remain unaffected.
Spain smiled through the kiss, fingers deftly twisting and pulling at Romano's hair—and it was only a coincidence that Romano's curl was in his hands, too, Spain claimed.
Coincidence Romano's ass. This was pure and simple Spain-wanted-something-and-he-was-going-to-get-it-no-matter-what curl abuse.
Romano's curl stood out proudly and prominently (like a fucking erect cock begging for a blowjob, that's what it looked like); there was no way that Spain was doing this accidentally.
Romano was pressed against the wall, desperately hot and trying to ignore the small group of people attracted to the crude noises escaping his lips. And, for all the people who were annoyed with Romano on a regular basis, there were still more people who loved hearing his moans.
He squeezed his legs together, trying to hide the obvious erection in his pants, trying to keep his body from falling into Spain's tempting hold.
Was he seriously this sex-deprived (well, it had been a day. . .)? Was he willing to act so vulgar in front of everyone? Was it happening because of Spain?
When Spain twirled Romano's hair curl and pretended to tie it in a knot, Romano knew the answer was 'yes' even though it was supposed to be 'no.' He really, really wanted the answer to be 'no.'
Still, he tried to pull away. It was just that. . . his arms weren't functioning properly. It wasn't Spain turning him on and making him weak and needy. Just being in France's house made him weak. It was like the air was some type of date-rape drug meant to contaminate innocent Italians. Damn that bastard France.
Spain pressed his lips to Romano's curl, and Romano's legs buckled. Mmm. . . He clutched the fabric of Spain's shirt instead of pulling away. Because obviously that was the manly thing to do.
God. . . Forget it. He just wanted to abandon all his inhibitions and have sex with Spain then and there. Screw the fact that they had an audience; screw the fact that France would be jerking off somewhere; screw the fact that there would be free entertainment for the other nations.
He wanted sex with Spain and he wanted it regardless of the obstacles. . . That was his cock talking.
Spain slid the curl into his mouth and ran his tongue over it.
"Sp-Spain. . ." Romano was like spaghetti noodles in Spain's hands now, trembling and unable to support himself. His face was bright red, his breathing hard and his body burning. "Bastard. . ."
His mind went hazy, and all he wanted to was Spain's cock in his ass, their naked bodies pressing against each other as their mouths met in passionate, desperate kisses, bodies writhing as the sticky sounds of skin against skin and sweaty limbs running down each other's bodies filled their ears, the smells of sweat and come and lube (minty, because it tingled and felt really nice) coating the air—
Wait, was Spain seriously rubbing his crotch in public in France's house at a fucking Christmas party? Okay, that was not necessary.
Even, mmm, if it felt so good. . .
Wait, no. That wasn't supposed to be happening. Romano was supposed to be the mature one in this relationship and tell Spain to fuck off and leave him alone. Play hard to get. But the alternative was finishing himself off in the bathroom alone, and that wasn't a fun thought. Dammit! Now what?
He stumbled forward, allowing Spain to catch him. He could smell Spain's light cologne mixed in with his natural, musky scent. Goddamn him. Why was every single fucking aspect of Spain perfect and sexy and delicious?
. . . Not that he thought something so ridiculous. . . And he was definitely not going to tell Spain these things.
"Why. . . Why are you. . ." He hated how weak his voice sounded, but dammit, it was Spain's fault for toying with his erogenous zone in the first place. His cock stirred in his pants, straining to be released and touched by a certain Spaniard.
Because, damn, Spain was good at what he did. Every part of Romano felt more sensitive, like the smallest breeze against his nipples would harden them until they were pained, like the slightest brush of their lips together would make him hot and needy, like the next pull of his curl would make him come.
"Don't you think it's a great time for opening presents, Romano?" No it wasn't a damn good time for—
"What the hell?"
That was what this was about? Stupid bastard. Couldn't he wait a couple of hours? Romano didn't like how his voice didn't sound as angry aloud as it had in his head.
Stupid dumbass curl making his cock lead his decisions. Stupid dumbass Spaniard for making his body so needy for a certain Spanish cock. Fuck him!
Spain had been unusually excited for Romano's gift since their car ride over to the party. Romano had dropped a few hints, saying it was special and Spain could use it at night and maybe after France's party they could test it out. . . He hadn't realized Spain was this enthusiastic. He'd thought his hints were pretty fucking amazing, but not to this extent.
Now that he thought about it, though, Spain had kept asking about the gift throughout the party. In fact, ever since Romano had mentioned getting Spain a gift in the first place, Spain had been very curious about what it was. During the middle of sex the night before, even, Spain had asked what his Christmas present was.
It wasn't as though Romano was a terrible boyfriend (he gave fucking amazing blowjobs, if that was anything to go by); he was nice, sometimes. He bought little gifts for Spain on a regular basis. He humored Spain's odd sex kinks. He did a lot for that bastard. What made Christmas so special?
There was no reason to pull on Romano's hair. And it was a stupid reason for Spain to be putting their relationship on display. A very stupid reason.
He had to put an end to this. He had to forget how good it felt, he wasn't going to orgasm for just anyone. Even if the anyone was his super hot Spanish ex-conquistador-pirate-Boss-empire of a boyfriend who he loved more than he'd ever imagined was possible.
Fuck. He did not just think of his super hot Spanish ex-conquistador-pirate-Boss-empire like that. Of course not. Romano hated the guy. Obviously.
Though, if he really wanted to consider it, from an outsider's perspective, his relationship with Spain was kind of creepy. Kind of.
"N-No. . ." He tried to look determined, but it was an impossible task. His pants were tight, and it didn't help any that Spain's fingers were cold and skilled and manipulative. . . Breathing hard, he tried again, "No—Ohh. . ." Ugh. . . Why were Spain's fingers so good with his nipples?
Spain tugged on Romano's curl. Fuck, it felt good. It always felt good, and Spain knew it, and Romano knew it, and everyone in the fucking kitchen knew it.
Romano's Italian nature was screaming for him to just give up, give Spain the gift and run up to a bedroom and get fucked so hard he wouldn't be able to walk on Christmas morning. But the part of him that wanted to be strong, to prove himself, was saying that he had to stay stubborn and not let Spain get his present early.
Sex could wait; it wasn't like he and Spain hadn't been at it the day before. And the day before. And the day before. . . When were he and Spain not in the midst of fucking?
Whatever. Romano wasn't trying that hard, anyway. He wanted this. Spain wanted this. He was already close to coming from curlplay alone. He just hated that Spain was only doing this should-have-been-foreplay because he wanted a Christmas present. It would have been so much more meaningful if he just waited because his gift was—
Someone in the crowd watching them chuckled. If Romano hadn't been so distracted, he would have strangled whoever it was because what Spain was doing to him was not a fucking show. So what if everyone was watching and neither of them was trying to hide anything? It still wasn't a show. (Those shows were for Spain only, dammit!)
And Romano was not as kinky as it seemed!
"I happen to see the gift right there," Spain nodded at the box on the table, conveniently brought into the kitchen, "so won't you be a good little Lackey Romano and help Boss open it early. . ."
Romano, the weakling that he was, didn't want Spain opening his gift until Christmas. Like a normal person, goddammit.
Yank. . .
"No. . . Spain. . ." Romano's erection was pressing hard against Spain's leg and he wiggled desperately, trying to relieve the tension and the tight material rubbing his cock. His pants were so uncomfortable. He just wanted to free his cock and then rip off Spain's clothes and get the deed done. "You-Your—" He groaned, pressing his body hard against Spain's and just wanting to be held.
Why did he need to be such a stubborn idiot, anyway?
Spain pulled the strand of hair taut and tugged, using his other hand to—was he strumming it? What the hell? Romano wasn't a guitar, even if it did feel really good. But. . . No. Romano was not going to be played. Like that.
Now he was running his fingers up and down the curl's length and it felt so fucking good and hot. . .
Romano moaned crudely, burying his face into Spain's neck and wondering how it was possible to still be standing up, he felt so limp. He could feel Spain was a little turned on (Romano really wanted to suck on that massive, delicious Spanish piece of art) and he smirked because Spain's barely held back noises meant something. At least this wasn't a one-sided assault. Later, he'd have to teach Spain a lesson about this.
"You'll let me open your gift now, right?"
Tug. . .
Romano's eyes were half-lidded and he couldn't bring himself to look at Spain, though he was sure the man was smiling as if he'd done no wrong. And Spain probably looked fucking hot doing that, too. Damn him. Why couldn't Romano do that? Even though he was one badass Italian, he didn't know if he looked hot when he fucked (made love) with Spain.
"Th-That's not—" He held back another vulgar sound. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed, trying to come up with words. "If I could. . . I'll k-kill you, bastard. . ."
There were some things he couldn't do. He was not coming in his pants in front of everyone so Spain could open his amazing Christmas gift that they were going to use that night anyway. God! Spain was so stupid, sometimes.
He tried and failed to shove Spain away. But where would he run to? Everyone knew what was going on in France's kitchen. Everyone. Dammit, that was embarrassing.
Romano really needed to make up his mind. Was he going to run or was he going to stay? Was he still going to give Spain his Christmas present, when the bastard was making him a porn star for horny nations across the globe? Was he going to punish Spain by not using the gift when it was opened even if it was punishing Romano, too?
See, this was exactly what happened to people who dated idiots.
(At least, that was Romano's excuse for why it took so long for him and Spain to start dating.)
Pull. . .
"But, Romano!" Spain's voice was husky, breathy, and he pressed a quick kiss to Romano's lips. They both shivered at the contact. Romano loved kissing Spain. Spain could do wonders with his tongue sometimes, could drive him wild with his playful teasing and his biting. From this kiss alone, Romano could feel his cock straining for freedom, hot and uncomfortable. "If you're on the floor, tired after your orgasm, I can't help it if I open your gift and you're too weak and preoccupied to stop me. . ."
"Dumbass! I'll fucking ki—"
"Let's see if it works!" Spain said, cheerful as he always was. Licking his lips, Spain gave the curl a final tug, yanking so hard Romano was sure it was going to rip out of his head completely. And it felt fucking amazing.
Intense warmth flooded his body, pleasure racing through his body and heat flushing across his cheeks. He shuddered, his arms around Spain tightening as he came, spilling onto his pants, which had never been removed. The relief was wonderful, but the embarrassment and the anger that replaced it weren't any better.
Romano's loud moan silenced the party; his face was bright red. His clothes felt disgustingly oppressive. He wanted them yanked off, for real sex. Now.
But fuck, he was going to have to kill his boyfriend (err. . . fuck buddy. . .) first. And before Christmas too, dammit.
Spain started to pull away, intending to run toward the table and retrieve his gift—Romano had said it was special, so it had to be good, and Spain had unlimited patience when it came to his former henchman but that patience was nonexistent when it came to possibly racy Christmas presents. Romano tightened his hold on Spain.
"I don't think so, asshole," he breathed, wiggling a little to try and get more comfortable.
Trying to regain his balance, Romano glared. "You ruined my pants and gave a fucking show to everyone for a stupid Christmas present." Romano pounced on him, dragging him to the floor. Spain whined but otherwise didn't object, though he tried and failed to look innocent.
"Can I at least open it first? So we can use it now?" If Romano was a pushover, he would have fallen for Spain's deliciously innocent (sexy, fucking hot) look.
But Romano ignored him, climbing on top of Spain. He wrapped his thighs around Spain's hips (disgusting pants and all), straddling him, his face flushing red when he felt the slight bulge of Spain's own cock pressing against his ass. No. He did not want that cock in his ass at that very moment. Though riding Spain didn't seem like a bad idea. . .
Yeah. . . He might use that as punishment. . .
Fuck! Romano swore, he wasn't as kinky as he seemed.
Romano's pants felt sticky and filthy and everyone—he was pretty sure all the nations were watching now—could see that he'd fucking come in his pants, but he tried to ignore it. He ran his fingers onto Spain's stomach, sliding his shirt up so he could feel Spain's totally not-gorgeous (but really it was) abdomen. He wanted to lick it.
"I think I should return the favor, right? Because you were so impatient and couldn't even wait a couple fucking hours?"
"Tell me what it is, at least!" Spain begged, not even fazed by the position he was in.
"Hell no." Romano made a face. "We were going to use it tonight anyway, you bastard!" His face burned, and he clutched at Spain's shirt. "Why'd you have to go and ruin everything?"
Spain groaned, not moving from his position. "Romano! I need to know if you're so desperate to not tell me. It has to be good, right? I mean. . ."
Romano, wishing desperately that Spain had an erogenous zone (and then he'd be able to get back at Spain—he'd be the one to play around with it in public, at meetings, at private events, in front of family, when they were bored. . .), shoved his fingers in Spain's mouth. Spain's tongue flicked at his fingers, and he shivered.
He'd give those perverted nations a show to watch, alright. They could watch Romano prepare himself for a fucking awesome ride.
"Find out tomorrow. After I'm done being mad at you." Who said Romano hated public displays of affection, of public sex? Spain had already forced him to orgasm in an open setting, in France's house, on Christmas Eve. There was no turning back. Yeah, riding Spain seemed really fun now.
"For someone who used to be a world empire, you're kind of an idiot." He pressed his lips to Spain's, sliding his hand into Spain's hair. Spain bit at Romano's lower lip, and Romano moaned, moving his free hand under Spain's shirt to play around with his nipples. "Merry Christmas, bastard."
The supposedly amazing (fucking awesome) Christmas gift, perched innocently on the table, remained untouched for the remainder of the night.
A/N: Okay, so this was more of an experiment with getting into Romano's head while staying very non-explicit when it came to more smutty things (considering that when I wrote this I was still too shy to even think about using the word cock). I went back and uber-edited it, so I hope it's actually funny and better than before. XD
I'm aware it isn't Christmas anymore. It wasn't very holiday-ish to begin with (except that, well, the 'plot' centers around public curlplay for a Christmas gift), so that's why I'm not waiting until next December to post this. =P
It was sooo much fun to write (humorous sex is always fun to write XD), so I hope you liked it! ^^