A/N: This is a giftfic for shizuosstalkerdemonhoard (formerly ghostpiratenordics (formerly colej67)) on Tumblr, the captain of the Speden ship. I hope you all enjoy this little crackfic. :)

Warnings: use of alcohol, bad ABBA puns, and M/M sex


Spain's smile set him at ease.

A handful of them had ended up at this place after their meetings ended. Usually he would have opted for somewhere quieter with a smaller crowd, but Denmark had been quick to pull him past the doors of the place and order him to not even think about leaving. And then the Dane had opened a tab and promptly disappeared into the throng of people packed in and around the small dance floor.

He'd easily spotted France and Prussia amidst the dancers, and England nodded hello to him from the other end of the bar where he was downing gin and tonics. He'd nodded back and took a drink of whatever Denmark had ordered them before disappearing. Places like this tended to make him uncomfortable.


Sweden looked up. Ah. He should have guessed the Spaniard would be somewhere nearby. Where ever two of the bad touch trio were to be found, the third was sure to follow.

He grunted a greeting, fully expecting the man to return to his friends.

"Mind if I sit down?"

The corner of his mouth tensed in confusion, but he shrugged all the same.

Spain draped himself over the bar stool next to Sweden, making himself comfortable on Denmark's suit jacket. His knee pressed lightly to the side of Sweden's thigh and he waggled a finger for the bartender to come over.

Sweden glanced over. He'd always been a bit jealous of people like this— easy-going, confident, always smiling. He heard a whoop of laughter somewhere behind him and mentally grimaced, grudgingly recognizing Denmark as one of these people. He'd never spent much time with Spain, who tended to flit around the smaller, cuter nations, but the sunny smile he turned on the Swede was placing him in that category too.

"Don't usually see you out in places like this..."

Sweden shrugged and nearly spilled the drink he was raising when Spain pushed him playfully.

"Mathias's doing then?" He laughed and leaned a little closer to Sweden. Their legs pressing against each other.

"Mm." He set his drink down and couldn't help but wonder if the Spaniard was a little too intoxicated or if he just flat did not find him intimidating.

Though, with as many drunken charades as it was rumored Spain was a part of, Sweden though it was quite unlikely to be the first. Besides their meetings hadn't even been out an hour.

He let himself smile a little, just a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. The nations he did not intimidate (the ones that he did not need a stiff drink after being around anyways) that weren't off put by his stoic demeanor and apparently ever-present glare were few and far between.

Spain tapped his fingertips along the edge of the bar in time to the song blaring through the speakers. He was humming softly. His tie and blazer were long gone, probably long-forgotten in his car, and the sleeves of his red button down had been rolled up, and the collar undone. His eyes were locked on Sweden. Maybe waiting for a conversation to start up, Sweden though. But he seemed comfortable enough to just sit.


"Antonio!" He grinned broadly again. "Call me 'Antonio.' Everyone else does... Except Romano." He rubbed the back of his neck a little.

Sweden felt his cheeks color a bit, unused to calling the others by their human names. He was starting to feel uncomfortable again. Spain's smile had faltered a little.

"'ntonio..." Sweden fumbled, not knowing what he was going to say after that. Spain's leg was still pressed against his, and the curious look the Spaniard had him pinned with was making him anxious.

He looked at their drinks, and awkwardly mumbled, "What 're you dr'nking?"

Spain looked confused for a split second. "Beer," he answered mid-laugh. He leaned back in the chair, turning his shoulders towards Sweden, smiling once again. His laugh settled into an amused hum. "Why don't we talk more often?"

Sweden let out the breath that his momentary scramble had forced him to keep and relaxed into his seat, turning ever so slightly towards Antonio.

He noted one of the brunette's feet was resting on the higher rung of his stool. "H'ven't t'lked much."

Even his eyes were smiling now as he leaned forward into Sweden's personal space. "Don't need to."

He blinked. What was that supposed to mean? Spain was very close to him. He was like this with everyone though, right? At least, he was with France, Prussia, the Italies. Then Spain had resumed his position and was turning his attention to France, who was waving for Antonio to join him on the dance floor

"Berwald," Spain said. He swished his beer bottle and downed the last of it. "Do you dance?"

Sweden declined to answer, instead finishing his drink and standing up. Spain might have had his flamenco, but Sweden had ABBA, and, he thought at least, that meant in this environment it was Spain on the short end of the stick.

And then Spain laughed softly and stood with a grace he could only assume came from when he was a matador over a century ago. Sweden wasn't completely sure of course, but he didn't think it was normal for someone, even someone who was a bit overly friendly at times, to stand chest to chest with an acquaintance at the bar. "See you on the floor." Spain had leant forward and huffed hot air against his ear when he said it.



Sweden shook the surprised look off his face and glanced at the Spaniard as he made his way over to France. Spain had been too close. He felt his cheeks warm slightly. Spain had a really nice ass.

He swallowed thickly and tossed his jacket over Denmark's, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his collar and cuffs before looking at the gyrating mass of dancers. Where the hell had Spain gotten off to...

"Go get 'em, Buddy!" An unexpected smack to the middle of his back sent Sweden reeling forward mid sweep of the crowd.

He gritted his teeth and glared harshly over his shoulder. Denmark and Prussia were leaning on each other, laughing their hardest. Sweden shook his head and turned back to the crowd. France had magicked himself in front of him in the ten seconds his attention had been diverted. He nodded his head to the left and surveyed the Swede with a knowing look.

"Have fun~!" He chirped as Sweden sidestepped him.

Thankfully with his height it was only a few more seconds before he'd found the Spaniard and settled a hand on his hip.

Spain hummed curiously, tilting his head back to rest on Sweden's shoulder and smiling when he saw who it was.

He couldn't help but blush a little.

Sweden slipped his free hand to its place on Spain's other hip, and Spain's arms lifted, pulling his shirt up and leaving a bit of skin bare under Sweden's thumbs.

And before Sweden could say "Mamma Mia" Spain had twisted around and sealed his lips to the blonde's.

Flirting or not, Sweden hadn't been expecting that.

Several songs, two congratulatory catcalls, three very heady kisses, and a lot of grinding later they stumbled off of the dance floor. Both of them sweaty and panting lightly, Spain wearing his wide toothy grin, and Sweden a smaller smile.

"Wanna head back to the hotel?"

Was Spain...? Sweden looked a little perplexed, but nodded, trying to ignore the voice in his head that insisted Spain was propositioning him, not just flirting.

A hint of a smirk flickered across Spain's face. "Let's get our things and go then."

Sweden was thankful that it was cool outside. Wearing his jacket inside, even for a few minutes, had been stifling. Spain had opted not to put his back on, carrying it over his shoulder casually

"You're a good dancer."

"So 're you."


There was a lull in the conversation, and Sweden felt obligated to say something. "Thank you."

Spain gave him a curious look.

"For..." He searched for the right word. Flirting with him? Hanging out? "T'night." He finished lamely

"Don't thank me just yet." He chirped. "The night's not over quite yet."

"But w're goin' back to the hotel..."

He snorted and looked at Sweden. He was amused. "I'm coming on to you, Berwald."

"Alr'dy know that..." He mumbled, blushing in embarrassment. "But we l'ft the bar, so..."


He shrugged. "Thought you were... done."

"Not a chance." Spain caught his eye and winked. "You're rooming with Mathias, right?"

Sweden nodded.

"My room it is then."

Now that he knew Spain was interested, two could play that game. He held the door open for Spain as they reached the hotel and then let Spain lead him up to his room.

"I tried to get Romano to room with me, but probably went to stay in his brother's room like usu-"

Sweden kicked the door shut behind him and wrapped his hand around Spain's wrist, pushing him to the wall. Spain's smile seemed to get a little wider at that, and he leaned in to kiss Sweden.

Their fingers laced together, Sweden's hand pinning Spain's next to his head. Spain tilted his head a little into the hand on his jaw, his own free hand grasping Sweden's tie. It was the first piece of clothing to hit the floor, and the moment it did something broke. They became more frantic, hands exploring each other and tugging at clothes in a way that would have decidedly crossed the line when they were dancing.

It was Spain who finally pushed Sweden back onto the bed and procured condoms and lubricant from beneath his pillow.

"You are okay with all of this, right?"

"Wouldn't 've let it g't this far 'f I wasn't."

Spain nodded and leaned down to kiss him.

"You're okay w'th this?" Sweden pulled away.

"I am." Spain smiled. "Thanks." He pressed another kiss to the corner of Sweden's mouth.

Sweden ran his hands up Spain's back, kneading his shoulders and neck gently as he pulled him closer.

Spain moaned into his mouth and pressed himself closer to Sweden.

"Guess that stereotype about Swedish masseuses is true..." He pressed their foreheads together.

Berwald shrugged and rolled them over, keeping his right hand on the back of Spain's neck and rubbing his tanned side gently with his left. Antonio was arching, pressing against his hands.

Carefully, he leaned down and kissed along the column of the Spaniard's throat. He bit down carefully under his ear. The ensuing moan and roll of Antonio's hips made him reach for the temporarily discarded lube.

"You want to top?" He pulled back a little and took his glasses off, setting them on the nightstand.

Spain shook his head. "You."

Sweden slicked his fingers and pressed the first inside, a bit more quickly than he thought he probably should have. Spain didn't seem to mind horribly. Hepushed back against Sweden's hand after a few slow thrusts.

He settled himself a bit more comfortably between Spain's legs and curled his fingers around Antonio's length before pushing a second finger in, slower this time. Berwald stroked him firmly in time with his scissoring fingers.

Spain's hips were shifting impatiently. His hands fisted the sheets, and he was muttering half-coherently in Spanish.

"More." He finally managed.

Sweden swirled his thumb over the tip of Spain's cock when he pushed the third finger in.


Sweden looked up. Spain was panting and the flush across his face had traveled down his chest. Berwald's had too.

"I'm ready."

Sweden nodded and carefully withdrew his fingers. He reached for the condom, stroking himself a few times with the hand that had been on Spain before rolling the condom onto himself. He reached for the lube again, spreading a bit more over his length and around Antonio's entrance.

They both moaned when Sweden slid in. Spain was loud, and Sweden restrained by the teeth he'd sunk into his bottom lip.

Antonio's legs wrapped around Berwald's waist, and his hand found purchase on the back of his neck.

"I knew this was a good idea." He huffed softly against Sweden's lips when he pulled him down.

Sweden grunted.

"But if you don't move..."

He kissed the Spaniard when he gave a initial shallow thrust, catching a muffled moan with his lips.

Spain broke away to whine and arch his back. "More!"

Sweden obliged. He adjusted the legs hooked around his hips and thrust deeper.

Antonio tensed, throwing his head back and moaning long and low in his throat. Berwald's fingers twitched on the Spaniard's hips as he tried to control himself.

"Just like that..." Spain's eyes fell closed as Sweden fell into a rhythm.

Sweden would have been lying if he'd said Spain didn't feel fantastic around him. He could only hope he was making the man under him feel just as good. Berwald adjusted his hips, trying to find the spot he'd brushed with his fingers earlier when Spain had said he was ready.

He thrust. No. Again. No. Again.

A loud, garbled keening came from Antonio. Berwald thrust against the spot again.


It wasn't much longer before Sweden knew he was close. He reached down, taking Spain in his hand and pumping in long firm strokes. His thumb pressed over the head over Antonio's cock before each downstroke.

Sweden came first, Spain flexing around him proving to be too much. His hand twitched around Spain for a moment. He pulled out and leaned forward, kissing Spain forcefully as his stroking picked up again. Spain's hand covered Sweden's and in a few more...

"Berwald!" Spain pulled away from Sweden's mouth when he came.

Berwald kissed Antonio's cheek and rolled over to grab tissues from the box on the nightstand. He cleaned them both off carefully while Spain caught his breath.

"Always knew you were a passionate guy." Spain rolled onto his side, facing Sweden.

Sweden blinked, confused, when he found Spain squeezing him tightly. "Spain?"

"I just didn't think you'd be so cute!"

And Berwald smiled.