Good, Lord, this took forever for me to write. This conversation actually took place all the way back in October, but at the time, my computer adapter was broken, so I didn't get the time to write it out until afterwards. Then I kinda forgot about it, starting writing "Without a Paddle," and when I finally had the time to write everything I was neglecting, my computer broke, as I've stated in a few other stories. Back at school means more roleplaying, so I had to finish this one so that we could start a new one! As I was writing this, it was kinda funny, 'cause I forgot a lot of the stuff that happened, and when I read out a few things to my friend, she was like, "I don't remember that either."

So, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Disclaimer: I still own nothing... Le sigh...

It was nearing midday in Madrid, Spain, and a grumpy Italian was lazily lounging on the couch in his former caretaker's home. Said caretaker was sitting across from him in a huge armchair, his face completely hidden by a book.

Romano sighed. "I'm hungry," he announced, flailing his arms slightly for emphasis.

Spain remained engrossed in his book, not even acknowledging the other man.

The Italian frowned, eyes narrowed. "Don't make me smack you…" he warned.

Still nothing. Romano sat up. "Bastard, stop reading that fucking book and tend to my needs!" he yelled.

Spain seemed to be reading the book intensely. His face was contorted in extreme concentration. But at least the idiot had enough sense to lower the book slightly.

"Stop pretending to read," Romano snorted. "Everyone knows you can't focus long enough to finish a sentence." Let alone read, he thought to himself.

Finally, Spain glanced up. "But this book is about you, Roma-chan," he grinned.

That surprised Romano. "What the fuck are you attempting to read?" he slowly stood up and began to make his way to the other man.

Until Spain smirked at him. "Your journal…"

Romano stopped dead in his tracks. "Where the fuck did you find…" he stopped, face growing red, and coughed nervously. "I mean… what journal?"

The bastard smiled. "My little tomato should leave his things out where boss Spain can find them," he cooed, absolutely giddy.

"Give me my fucking journal back you fucking fuck face!" Romano leapt the rest of the way across the room and tackled the Spaniard to the ground. The two landed with a loud thump as Romano tried to grab the book.

Spain merely held it out of the other man's reach. "Aw, but I like all the nice things that you've written about me in here!" he said, wincing as Romano kneed him in the vital regions.

Romano sputtered. "Stop reading! I demand it!" He reached forward to grab the journal, but Spain suddenly switched hands. He brought it up to his face, still keeping it away from the Italian, and began reading.

"-and his churros are good, too. Especially dipped in chocolate. He likes to sing while harvesting tomatoes… I like his songs."

"Stop making up lies!" Romano screeched, face beat red as he desperately tried to grab the journal. "The churros are a lie!"

Spain gasped, pausing. "The churros are not a lie!" he defended. "Besides, you wrote it right here!"

Romano tried to punch Spain in the face, but the brunette rolled away at the last second. "I wrote lies! When have I ever told the truth?"

Spain looked confused. "Why would you write lies in your diary?"

"Why would you read my diary?" Romano countered, grabbing onto the Spaniard's wrist. Spain broke it easily.

" 'Cause I wanted to see how you really felt about me." Jesus fucking Christ, the idiot actually smiled.

"You're a fucking freak, you know that, right?" Romano asked, sitting back a little to glare at Spain.

"Your mouth says I am, but your diary says I'm not" Spain smirked.

Romano froze. "… What else did you read…?" he asked, horror building in the pit of his stomach.

Spain's smirk only grew. "Aaaalllll~ of it…" he sang.

Romano's face became even redder, and his stomach churned. This was going no where. He had to change tactics. "…Fine, you piece of shit," he growled, standing. "I'm just gonna have a siesta. Don't disturb me… asshole."

"Want me to come with you?" A flash of teeth as the bastard stood.

"Hell no!" Romano spat. "Just make yourself useful and make me some food for when I wake up." He turned around and began walking out of the room.

Behind him, Spain flipped through the journal and pointed at something particular on the page. "According to you, you ALWAYS want me to come and have a siesta with you…" his grin widened.

Romano spun around and tried to grab the book again. "When the fuck did I write that?"

"Yesterday…" More of the grinning. God, was that the only thing this bastard did?

"I did not! Stop these lies!" Romano jumped as Spain held the book above his head, standing on his toes.

He read directly from the journal once more. "I wish Spain would come and take a siesta with me. I get so lonely."

"… I don't get lonely… I get cold…" Romano muttered. "Dumbass."

Spain smirked again. "So you do want me to come and take siestas with you," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"No! I just said I get cold!" Romano defended. "So I'll keep my clothes on this time!"

The eyebrows waggled more. "But body heat is better."

Romano just stared at him, a disgusted expression on his face. "… Stay away from me, you pedo…"

Spain pouted. "But you're all grown up now…" he muttered.

"I saw the way you looked at me when I was little, you sick bastard!" Romano yelled.

The other man became flustered. "But I was waiting for you!" he argued.

Romano scoffed. "Don't you remember what you used to do when you thought I was asleep?"

Spain scratched his head, brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "…No?" he finally came up with. Idiot.

The Italian blushed. "I'm not even gonna describe it. It was so fucking traumatizing."

"But… I never did anything!" Spain defended.

"Yes, you did! Don't you fucking deny it! Fucking pedo…"

Spain looked devastated. "I swear, my little tomato, I never did anything!"

"Then who snuck into my room at night and tried to get pictures of me sleeping naked?" Romano yelled.

At this, the Spaniard looked horrified. The thought of someone trying to do that to his precious little tomato… "I don't know, but it wasn't me!"

"I told you to stop fucking lying to me!"

"I'm not lying, I swear!"

Romano crossed his arms. "I call bullshit but whatever…" He began to walk in the direction of the door. "I'm gonna go take a siesta… BY MYSELF!" he added over his shoulder.

"Fine," Spain huffed. "I'll just sit here and read more of your diary."

Romano paused, then spun around, a smirk on his face. "I thought you said you already read all of it?"

The older man looked away, fidgeting slightly. "Not all of it…"

"That's not what you said earlier, you dumbass!" God, why did he put up with this?

"I just read a few parts…" Spain told him, looking anywhere but at his former charge.

"Then fucking give it back to me or you don't get to have a siesta with me!" Romano yelled.

Spain looked at the book in his hands, then to Romano, and then back to the book. He glanced at Romano once more. Romano was standing in the doorway and he was beginning to take off his shirt… very seductively, one might add, smirking all the while.

It was a win-win situation for the Italian as he noticed Spain's nose begin to bleed.

"Give me back my fucking journal, or you won't see more of this!" Romano taunted, throwing his shirt to the floor.

Spain took the back of his hand and wiped the blood dribbling from his nose. "Only if you promise!" he exclaimed.

Romano rolled his eyes, huffing. "…Fine," he agreed.

The grin that Spain gave him was entirely too big for his face. "Okay!"

"Then hand it over!" Romano glared, hold out his hands for the book.

But Spain merely looked at it once more. Romano glared more and picked up his shirt, putting it back on. "Asshole."

"You can it after the siesta," Spain told him with a smile.

"If you don't hand it back now, I'm never sleeping with you again!" Romano threatened. There. See how the bastard responded to that!

Spain gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"I would!" The Italian confirmed.

Spain adopted a kicked puppy look. "… But why?" he whispered.

"Because you're a dumbas! You don't care about my feelings!" Romano sniffed. "You kept reading it even when I told you not to!"

"But… I only wanted to know more about my little tomato…" Spain pouted sadly. "You never talk to me…"

"Because you just stare into space the whole fucking time!"

"Nuh uh! I listen!"

"What did I tell you last night in bed?" Romano challenged.

Spain paused, tilting his head and thinking hard. "… That you hate Germany…?" he asked.

Okay… "… While that is true, that's not what I fucking said!"

"… That you think France is a pervert?" Spain tried again.

"Again, that's true…" He was just naming off things that annoyed the fuck out of the Italian, hoping that one of them was something he had mentioned last night. "But you're a dumbass that doesn't fucking listen!"

"Well, talking to me in bed isn't the best scenario!" Spain snapped.

This was true. Once Spain was in bed, hardly anything got through that already thick skull. It was like, as soon as he touched the sheets, his entire being shut down.

Not like Romano was going to tell him that he understood. Fuck no!

"I listen to what you have to say, you insensitive bastard!"

"I don't talk in bed!" Spain yelled.

"You do mumble disturbing things in your sleep though…" Romano thought aloud. "Makes me wanna punch you in the face even more…"

Spain looked confused. "I don't sleep talk…" he said.

"How would you know?" Romano spat.

"You just said I did…" Romano could see Spain getting more and more confused.

"… And you just said you didn't…" Romano resisted the urge to face-palm. "You don't even pay attention to what you say."

"…So… I do talk in my sleep?" Spain asked.

This time, Romano did face-palm. "Yes!"

"…What do I say?"

"Something about tomatoes and my butt…" Romano muttered, glancing away.

"But your ass looks so nice in those red pants I got for you…" Spain whined.

"…Is the only reason you got me those pants was to look at my ass?" Romano sputtered.

Spain merely gave him a sly look. "…Maybe…" he drawled.

"I'm never wearing those fucking pants again," Romano told him disgustedly. "Looks like I'm stuck wearing sweatpants… Im gonna go burn those fucking pants now…"

Spain frowned. "Aw, but you look so sexy in them…"

"You're such a fucking pervert!"

"So I'm not allowed to admire your ass in those red pants, but you can ogle at mine when I wear my matador pants?" Spain asked, eyes narrowing.

"Exactly!" Romano cried. Finally! Some progress! "That's how this 'relationship' is supposed to work!"

"Well, this relationship is fucked up then!" Spain huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"When wasn't it?" Romano asked, following the other man's example.

"… True… " Spain agreed. "Well, if this is the case… then maybe I don't want it to be this way anymore…"

Wait… what? Was Spain… was that bastard breaking up with him! Oh, fuck no! Spain wasn't allowed to break up with him! Only Romano was allowed to decide when this relationship was over! Did he really mean that little to Spain? Romano felt his throat begin to close up, but swallowed past it. No way was he showing Spain how hurt he was.

"Fine. You can just leave then," he glared.

"Fine," Spain echoed. "Take your stupid diary." He threw the book on the ground by his feet and crossed the room, pushing past Romano to walk out the door.

Romano followed, but began to head upstairs to take a siesta. Spain continued to the front door.

Romano watched him for a moment before scoffing. I can't believe that dumbass is leaving his own house…"

Spain threw open the door and walked down the driveway, heading to France's house.

"See ya, you stupid fucktard!" Romano called after him, beginning to strip off his clothes for bed. He threw a look over at Spain and the other nation. Spain was stripping for France. "Have fun getting raped!" he yelled. He glanced once more to see things getting a bit heated. He shrugged and turned over, letting out a huge snore, trying to ignore the loud sounds.

"Stop faking it behind that tomato plant!" he yelled, glaring at them. "I can see you!" Honestly, he was trying to sleep, here!"

The perverts only got louder.

"You're a fucking freak!" Romano glared. "I can see you doing shit behind that plant!"

Spain suddenly cried out, only it was more of a scream. And it was Romano's name.

Romano raised an eyebrow.

"Shit…" he heard Spain mutter.

"What are you saying shit for…?" Romano asked, sitting up. Obviously, he wasn't going to be getting his siesta today.

"Uh… no-nothing…" Spain said, coming out from behind the bush and making his way back to Romano, avoiding his eyes.

Romano shook his head. "…Dumbass," he muttered. When Spain got back to him, he glared at the older nation. "Clean yourself up and make yourself useful," he told him. "Cook me something."

"… Can we have churros after?" Spain asked hopefully, pulling his shirt and pants back on.

Romano rolled his eyes "…Sure…" he relented.

"And a kiss…?" Spain's puppy dog eyes couldn't have gotten any bigger.

"Hell no!" Romano spat. He was drawing the line there.

"Aw…" Spain frowned.

"Dumbass," Romano muttered.



"But I'm emotionally scarred from what happened with France!" Spain cried.

"You weren't with France…" Romano told him. "You were behind the tomatoes the whole time!"

"No, France…" Spain murmured. He wrapped his arms around his stomach. "He hurt me!" A single tear fell from his eye.

Romano rolled his eyes. And wasn't that becoming the theme of the day? "I'm afraid to ask, but where?" he asked.

"He did a bad touch…" Spain whispered.

Romano pulled out a random doll and held up to Spain. "Now show me where he touched you," he said.

Spain pointed to the dolls chest area. "Here," he muttered. He brought his hand lower. "And here…"

"…That's your belly button…"

Spain's hand traveled lower. "And here…"

"That's your knee…"

"Not there!" Spain glared. He pointed to the dolls crotch. "Here!"

"He touches everyone there. That's how he says hello. You should know that by now, dumbass…"

"But it was horrible!" Spain cried.

"Then stop being a fucking pussy about it and kick his ass!" Honestly, this guy used to be a superpower?

"But how?" Spain sniffed. "He's so much stronger than me…"

Romano simply stared at him "… He's weaker than my little brother…" he deadpanned.

Spain sniffed again. "No, he's not. His economy is better… and I'm so weak from my own that I can't."

"Stop being such a fucking pussy!"

Spain threw his hands over his ears. "Stop yelling at me!" he clenched his eyes shut.

"NO!" Romano screamed louder.


"Fuck you! You're always whining about stupid shit but you never act on! Grow some fucking balls!"

There was the sound of something dropping, and Spain's pupils dilated

"…What?" Romano asked.

Spain suddenly grabbed Romano and threw him to the ground. "I said stop yelling at me!" he screamed.

Romano glared at him from the ground. "Did you just do what I think you did?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

Spain's pupils went back to their normal size and he stared wide-eyed at Romano. The Italians eyes began to tear up. "Fuck you, you fucking asshole!"

"Ah! Romano!" Spain cried, and rushed over to Romano's side. What was wrong with his little tomato?

"Don't fucking touch me!" Romano screeched, still glaring.

Spain recoiled. "What?"

"You fucking pushed me to the ground!" Romano yelled.

"I… I'm sory!" Spain stammered. "I didn't… I wasn't paying attention!"

"You never fucking pay attention!"

" I… I'm sorry! Let me kiss it and make it better!" Spain started forward once more.

"I said don't fucking touch me!" Romano sat up and piulled out a gun from nowhere, making Spain step back.


"This is what happens when you mess with me," Romano said, still glaring. Sometimes, he really enjoyed having the Mafia be in his part of the country.

Spain began to scramble backwards. "Romano…" he begged. "Please…"

"Please, what?" Romano asked. Aw, yeah. He was such a badass.

"Please don't hurt me!" Spain cowered.

"Hey, dumbass… the safety is on," Romano smirked. "I can't believe you fell for that!" he chuckled. Suddenly, the gun went off. "Oh, shit!"

The bullet hit Spain in the ass. "OOOWWW!" he cried, clutching his butt.

"Don't be a fucking pussy about it!" Romano yelled, though he was a little worried about his former-caretaker's perfect ass…

"You shot me in the ass!" Spain replied, face contorted in pain.

"So?" Romano twirled the gun around his finger nonchalantly as he tried to figure out a way to save Spain's ass. The gun went off again, startling him. "Mother fucker!"

The bullet hit the other side of Spain's ass. "DIOS MIO!" the nation cried!

"You'd better get some tweezers to get those bullets out of your ass," Romano said, throwing the gun on the couch. It went off once more. "How many fucking bullets are in that thing?" he exclaimed, ducking his head.

This time, the bullet hit a rather… vital region on Spain, and he collapsed on the ground.


Romano paused to watch him. "Well, I guess that means I finally get to top!" he said, a small smirk making its way across his face. He watched, amused, as Spain rolled around on the floor in pain. He should probably be a little more worried, but Spain was a nation. He'd be fine. "Suck it up, pussy."

Spain cried out in pain. Romano responded by kicking him.

"I think I'm in pain!" Spain shouted.

Romano stopped. That sounded very familiar… "… Were you watching 'Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog' again?" he glared.

Spain stopped rolling to look both ways before replying. "Maaaayyyyybbbeeeee…" he said.

Romano kicked him again. "Dumbass."

Spain suddenly stood up and pointed at Romano. "Hey! I've got a PhD in tomatoes!" he exclaimed.

Romano could only blink.

Spain's television and Internet privileges were officially revoked.

Okay, so about "Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog." I had never seen it, and we have Netflix here at school, so my friends made me watch it. It was awesome, and a few days later, we did this roleplay, and we had to incorporate it in SOMEHOW.

Don't judge me. Dr. Horrible is awesome.