I've been watching Hetalia for quite some time now, and I felt it was time to try my hand at a Spamano. I love both their characters so much, and I certainly hope I did them justice.
Title: Un'altra Tartaruga Stupido
Rating: T (for Romano's mouth)
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form, nor do I, by writing fanfiction based on personified countries, mean any disrespect to that country or its people as a whole.
If he so much as saw another stupid turtle, Romano swore he was turning it into soup. The day had not started out well. For one thing, he had woken up at that stupid jerk Antonio's place, lying in sheets that smelled faintly of fabric softener, having been forced to stay the night by the perverted bastard. And when he had woken up, it had been to a small, cool reptile nosing its way up the leg of his boxer shorts, causing him to let out a startled "Chigii!" and fall heavily to the floor. This, of course, had set off a chain reaction in which Antonio had barreled up the stairs and burst through the door, only to find his former charge lying on his back on the floor, tangled in the bedsheets, cussing at the ceiling in rapid Italian. The country of passion had apparently found this adorable, and was now sporting a nasty black bruise beneath his ribcage to prove it.
Since then, it had only gone downhill for the personification of Southern Italy. He'd found a turtle asleep on his sandal when he'd tried to get dressed, a turtle on the top shelf of the cupboard in the kitchen, a turtle sitting innocently on the toilet tank in the bathroom… The damn little bastards were everywhere.
And so it was that it was now closer to dinner time, and Romano was in the kitchen, grumbling to himself as he set the stove to high.
"Stupid turtles… stupid Spagna… stupid oven…" Romano glared at the offending utensil and reached to open a low cupboard for a saucepan.
I don't know why I'm even making dinner. He grouched to himself. This is Antonio's house; that lazy bastard should make his own damn dinner.
Romano reached into the cupboard and his hand closed on something little, and smooth, and definitely not a saucepan. He let out a screech and fell backwards, glaring hatefully at the little green turtle.
"SPAGNA!" Romano roared, scrambling to his feet, still clutching the turtle. "GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!"
A few moments later and the country of passion was framed in the doorway, his dark hair mussed and his shirt rumpled. It looked like he'd just woken up, which, knowing Spain, was not all together unlikely, and it was most definitely NOT attractive.
"Si?" Antonio asked, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards at the sight of Romano's angry face. "What happened, Lovi? Ohhh!" Spain suddenly noticed the struggling turtle. "You found Jorge!"
Romano's eyelid twitched. "Jorge?"
"Si!" Spain cupped his hands around the little turtle, who sighed in relief at having escaped the angry Italian's grasp. "This is Jorge. Jorge!" Spain cooed to the little turtle. "Say hello to Lovi!"
The turtle just stared blankly.
"Aw!" Antonio beamed at Romano. "I think he likes you, mi tomatito."
Romano, who had been glowering at little Jorge, suddenly snapped back to Spain at the sound of the nickname. "I told you," He growled. "not to call me that stupid ass nickname!"
Spain pouted. "But, Lovi, it's so cu—"
"Don't you dare say cute!" Romano dropped to his knees and dug for the saucepan again, coming up with one and slamming it onto the stove with a ferocity that made Spain wince.
"Lovi…" Spain began.
"No! I hate those damn turtles!" Romano spun on Antonio, who clutched Jorge to his chest as though afraid that Romano would attack the innocent reptile. "They're all over the place, they get in everything, and then, when I try to have a fucking conversation with you, it's 'turtles this' and 'turtles that'. Frankly, I don't know why I even…"
Spain stepped forward and placed the little turtle on Romano's shoulder, clapping his hands at the image before him. "But the two of you are so adorable!"
Romano froze for the briefest of instants before whipping his head to the side, fully prepared to let loose on the oblivious idiot with a variety of choice words from his mafia days, when he felt the turtle slip from his shoulder at his sudden movement. Time stood still as Romano's mind played a movie of the turtle's sudden demise and Spain's heartbroken face.
His body went into motion instantly, his reflexes honed from years of dodging Spain's ill-timed hugs, and he twisted beneath the flailing reptile, snatching it from the air and landing heavily on his back, clutching the very alive and very terrified turtle to his chest.
"Lovi!" Spain dropped to his knees next to Romano as the latter gasped for air, having had the wind viciously knocked from him by the floor. Jorge scrambled off of Romano's chest and bolted from the room as fast as his little turtle legs could carry him.
Antonio completely ignored his turtle, bending over Romano, his eyes full of worry. "Lovi, estás bien?"
Romano let his head fall back against the floor as he took deep breaths. "… Bastard." He wheezed. "Your… fucking… turtle…"
Antonio sat back on his heels, his eyes huge as the full enormity of the situation suddenly hit him. "You… you saved Jorge! I thought you hated the turtles!"
Romano turned his head away, a tell-tale blush skittering up his cheeks. "I… do hate the damned turtles."
Spain frowned, clearly trying to work through the situation in his mind. "Then… why did you save—"
Romano shoved himself up and stood up, only feeling slightly wobbly as the blood rushed to his head. Spain got hurriedly to his feet, holding up his arms to steady his tomatito. "Because," spat Romano, reaching for a hand towel. He mumbled something indistinguishable, his hand clenching around the towel.
Antonio tilted his head to the side, confused. "Hm? Lo siento, Lovi, I didn't hear you."
Romano let out a growl of frustration. "I said, you dopey idiot, that I didn't want to have to listen to your crying about your stupid turtle, ok? That's all."
Behind him, Spain was silent. Completely silent. Suspiciously silent. After a moment, Romano turned and chanced a glance at him. He immediately wished he hadn't; Spain looked touched. The look in his eyes was a mixture of appreciation, surprise, and joy, and Romano quickly tore his eyes away to stare at the floor.
Suddenly, Romano felt himself being swept into a pair of strong arms. He squeaked, his face pressed to Spain's chest. "W-What the hell, bastard!"
"Thank you, Lovi." whispered Spain, his breath hot on Romano's neck.
Romano ignored the chills that were certainly NOT making their way slowly down his spine from the feeling of that simple puff of air on his clavicle and turned his head away. "Che." He muttered. "It's no big deal. Just keep the damn turtles out of my stuff."
Spain pulled back from the hug slightly just enough to let his lips brush Romano's. This was different than the other kisses that Spain had given him… this was the barest, lightest touch, full of hesitation, but brimming with feeling. Romano's face exploded a brilliant scarlet and he stumbled backwards, his eyes round as saucers.
"Chigii! B-bastard! Wh- You… "
Spain smiled softly and didn't answer Romano's incoherent babbling. That only made the Italian angry, and he spun away from Spain, grabbing a tomato from the refrigerator and a knife from the drawer. He began to prepare the tomato for dinner, muttering to himself about turtles and 'stupid tomato bastards who think it's alright to invade personal space damn it'.
But Spain's smile didn't fade, and neither did the bright tomato red from Romano's ears.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. :)
Un'altra Tartaruga Stupido - (Italian)- Another Stupid Turtle
Tomatito - (Spanish) - little tomato
estás bien - (Spanish) - lit. are you well
lo siento - (Spanish) - I'm sorry
Spagna - (Italian) - Spain