Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

A/n: This little fic is dedicated to Miss Ukulala, since she's such a cute cutiepie. Of course, cute cutiepies deserve presents, so… here it is! I hope you like it, dearie! Merry Christmas!~

A/n2: Ukulala also asked me to share a cute Dutch song when posting this fic. Okay!~ I recommend to all of you: "Beauty en de Brains" by Nielson. Don't let the seemingly English title fool you: it's a Dutch song, it's a cute song and it's in our top callarandomnumbertralala at the moment. Yazahhh! XDDDD

A/n3: Just in case people start asking me when I'm going to upload a new enormous fic: I don't know yet. Still doing my best to graduate and shit. And it's pretty damn hard. :-( But I'm doing my best! Now enjoy the fic and try to endure the rambling. Thank you!~

= Disgustingly Sweet =

L:

Every once in a while, I get this… this urge.

This urge to destroy!

Okay, not to destroy. I just felt like saying something completely unexpected. I mean, having an urge to destroy? Seriously? Man, that would be a very bad urge. Also, it would suggest you need to get a hobby. Like gardening. Or reading. Or reading about gardening.

So no, I'm talking about a different kind of urge. A more… embarrassing kind of urge.

The urge to be disgustingly sweet.

Towards…

Well.

Towards Antonio (seriously, you shouldn't be surprised about this and I will kick your ass if you are, dammit).

Yep. Sometimes, I just wanted to be really nice to him.
Not… not that I treat him like crap most of the time, or… or that I always play the part of the grumpy guy while he plays the part of the sweet guy (like some creepy, crazy role-playing fetish-thing)…

Hell no. Come on, I know I can be quite an asshole, but really, deep down, I'm a nice guy. I can do sweet things, too. I can be as sweet as a goddamn teddybear. Still a motherfucking cool teddybear, with a cigar in my mouth and a rifle hanging on my cool body and some awesome sunglasses on and shit, but sweet nevertheless.

I just… I don't always feel like it. Like acting sweet all the time. I'm not Antonio or something.

I mean, he pretty much always is awfully nice and bubbly. Every day. He just wakes up, looks around the room, pulls me out of my sacred heap of pillow and blanket and shrieks "Good morning, sweetie!~" right into my ear, before he kisses the fuck out of me. Morning breath or no morning breath – he does it and he does it good.

And the rest of the day, he… well, he just bounces through the rest of the day, never losing that grin – and never failing to shower me with kisses, hugs and other wussy kinds of love and affection.

Which I always gracefully accept, since I'm Italian and therefore elegant like that.

Manly, I mean. Not elegant. Manly.

But.

I also accept his loving because I love him as well.

And it feels good.

Good is nice.

A-anyway, so I sometimes get the urge to be disgustingly sweet towards Antonio. Usually after I've been feeling particularly good about myself or him or our relation or the sun's shining, crap like that, and whenever that happens, I just…

I want to be nice to Antonio all day long.

Act like a lovesick teenager all day long.

Stupidly follow him around all day long.

Like when… l-like…

…well, I like to sneak up on him while he's working in the garden, for example. Then I just keep on staring at him for a little while, until my eyes start to water a bit from staring so intensively, and then I just wrap my arms around him and wait to see what'll happen. Mostly good things, since Antonio likes to get surprise-hugs, and his kisses seem to taste a little bit happier whenever I do this.

S-so anyway, today, I happened to be in this mood. The right mood.

And that meant I was going to be so disgustingly sweet towards Antonio, he'd never know what fucking hit him.

Right.

Off I go.

A:

I was washing the dishes in the kitchen when I suddenly felt something was trying to burn itself right through my body.

Now, that seldom is a good thing – so I stopped daydreaming about diving into a bathtub filled with ripe tomatoes and was about to turn around, hoping really hard that there wouldn't be an angry Dutchman and/or gloating Englishman behind me with a fire-laser beam ('Say your prayers, you apron-wearing, money-grabbing, Euro-demolishing douchebag.')…

…but then I heard someone gulp. Just a bit. Very softly.

Oh.

Immediately, something familiar came to mind and I smiled, relieved. Then I concentrated myself on the dishes again. I even began to hum a little bit.

There wasn't an angry Dutchman or Englishman behind me.

There was a frowning Italian behind me, standing close to the kitchen door, watching me with red cheeks and longing eyes.

I knew. Oh I knew. Believe me, I had experienced these kind of situations before.

I bit my lower lip in anticipation as I dipped a glass into the soapy water. Ah, it seemed like Lovi was in one of his – not rare, but also not common – disgustingly sweet moods today.

Yay!

I licked my lips slowly. If I listened very closely, I could hear him. His slightly-quickened breathing, the swallowing of lumps, the soft scratching of his nails over the walls…

He was so cute. I shuddered. God. So incredibly, unbearable cute, it should be a crime to be this adorable. One day, I swear I was just going to hug and kiss that awkward, sweet man so much that he'd pop. Or kick me in the balls. Probably kick me in the balls.

Oh well, it would be worth the pain.

Anyway, the funniest part was that Lovino didn't seem to be aware of the fact that I was aware. Of him.

It was difficult for me to do, but I suppressed a squeal. Ah, silly Lovi!~ You always think I'm such an oblivious fool for not noticing you, but I know, sweetie, I know. I know how sweet you can be – and I know I should just act like I don't know, so I will.

But hurry up.

You're just too cute.

Hurry up, will you?~

L:

Look at him, washing that wine glass like some fucking maid. With those big hands. And those slowly-dipping-the-glass-into-the-foam-movements.

Dammit, now I felt like doing it in sexily foaming dishwater. Way to lower my standards.

Antonio looked handsome. Good god. I clenched my fingers around the doorpost. Very handsome.

It was kind of disturbing. The man was wearing a fucking apron, a purple, frilly apron with white ducks on it, for Pete's sake, and yet, he still was the most handsome person that I had ever seen. I swear, I'd tap that ass even if he wore shit from some secondhand discounter shop. I'd tap the living daylights out of it.

B-but before I could tap anything, I should… should approach him some more first.

Fuck. I wanted to hold him really badly right now. We hadn't touched each other for hours (his fault, he wanted to clean the fucking House so badly) and now, although I was in good spirits, I felt neglected and needy.

Maybe I should do something already.

That's right – it's approaching-him-and-suddenly-hugging-him-from-behind-like-a-goddamn-tigerbeast-time!

Okay.

Let go of the doorpost.

Let go of the doorpost now.

That's it, nice and easy…

…o-okay…

A:

Boy, he sure was taking his time, wasn't he?

Hmmn. I was growing impatient. Rapidly. It had been a little while since the last time I had "accidentally" touched him and now, I really felt like "accidentally" touching him again. Not even in a hurr-lose-the-pants-you-sexy-thang kind of way, but in a simple I-just-need-to-touch-you-because-I-just-want-to-touch-you-because-I-love-you-and-because-I-don't-know-just-let-me-sweetie~ kind of way.

Ah, I know it's confusing. Please don't try to get it. I tried to get it once and it only gave me a headache.

I decided to distract myself from my need to turn around and squish Lovino to my body – and I did so by washing off a bowl. A really big, glass one. Lovi loved using these classy things whenever it was his turn to make us dinner – and oh, he sure made a nice dinner last night. Something with a lot of tomatoes in it, of course. It had a really difficult, Italian name that I forgot right after Lovi had told me.

I was so impressed though!~ My Lovi was such a good cook! And a dominant one, too! Yesterday night, I was like "well let me thank you for that meal" and tried to tear his shirt off, but then he was like "well no let me thank you for enjoying it", kicked me into bed and screwed me silly.

He did, he did!~

Ah, I really like myself a dominant-in-the-kitchen-and-dominant-in-bed-as-well Lovi every once in a while, he's very hot. But then again, I love all the faces of Lovi. Whether they were cool and collected or flushed and unsure – I made sure to love and cherish them all.

I sighed dreamily when I thought about last night some more and absentmindedly turned around, in order to put the bowl on the table (no more room on the sink)…

…and I immediately felt something fall against my chest.

Oh?

I mean… oh.

Woops.

I slowly looked down – and my eyes instantly met a green-brownish pair. And a very red, very embarrassed, mildly annoyed face.

'B-bastard.'

Lovino's voice sounded soft and muffled, probably because my apron was getting in the way. I felt his arms wrap around my waist, stiffly and shaky, and I realized I had just ruined his ridiculously cute hug-attack. He always hugged me from behind, probably because he thought it was less confronting with his cute and sweet side, but now, he hadn't.

Now, he was hugging me right in the face.

Well, sort of.

And I could tell he was deeply, deeeeeeeply ashamed by getting caught this easily, since his heart pounded against my chest like crazy and his eyes quickly looked away from mine.

'…dammit, t-turning around all of a sudden…' he mumbled. 'Y-you could've broken that bowl, you know.'

I didn't say anything, I just put the bowl away and held my breath. For a second, I feared Lovino would, well, un-wraphis arms around me and sashay out of the room with the speed of a mosquito on fire (or anything on fire really), but he didn't. He didn't dare to move. I guess he simply didn't want to let go of me.

Which… which was wonderful and romantic and wonderfully romantic in many, many ways.

L:

Crap.

Crap on a motherfucking stick in a motherfucking pile of crap.

Bastard had turned around unexpectedly, just when I had thrown my arms around him.

And now, I had more or less pinned myself against him – probably scared him too, at least, I would've been scared shitless if someone hugged/attacked me like this – and I didn't know what to say.

Well.

Well, that's just epic.

I know how to top him – took me a while though – but I don't know what to say when I enthusiastically hug him upfront instead of from behind. Dammit, it was all so freaking manly and somewhat-ironic, I demanded some sort of Fat Fucking Failure- prize.

I wanted to dwell on pitying my pitiful person a bit longer, but then Antonio, whom I, for some reason, was still holding, began to smile at me.

'Good afternoon, sweetie.'

'Y-yes.' I said.

Yes. I actually said yes. Why the fuck did I say yes? He didn't ask me if I thought the weather was nice, dammit, he just greeted me! You don't answer a greeting with yes! Nobody answers a greeting with a yes! That's like starting to dance when a teacher asks you if you know the answer to problem C!

Unless it's a dancing question, of course.

'I mean, good afternoon,' I nevertheless hastily corrected myself. 'That's what I meant to say. Hi.'

Antonio tilted his head. 'Hi?'

'S-saying hi!' I sputtered. 'I meant to say hi! Like you said hi!'

'I thought I said good afternoon.'

'It's the same thing, dammit!'

'I know, I know.'

He chuckled and leaned forwards, pressing a kiss against my forehead.

'How are you, sweetie? Feeling okay?'

I swallowed, sneakily tried to wipe my sweaty hands off the towel on the sink behind him, and nodded.

'I-I feel fine.'

'Yes?'

'Yes.'

'That's nice.'

'Yes. It is.'

'You're nice, too.'

'I'm not. You are way nicer. How many times do I need to tell you? You're the nicest fucking idiot on the world. I like you. I love you, too.'

That escalated quickly.

'Ah, I feel the same way about you, Lovino,' I got in return and I looked up. Antonio's smile had grown more tender and I blushed hard, pressing my face into his chest.

'D-don't fucking stare at me like that.'

'But I want to stare at you.' Antonio wiggled his arms free and put them around my upper body, pulling me even closer.

I gulped. It's pathetic, I know, but I didn't dare to look up.

'W-why would you want to stare at me, dammit.'

'Ah, why, you ask…'

He managed to cup my face in his hands and slowly tilted it up, until my burning, strangely bashful cheeks were fully visible again. He smiled a typical, normal, not-too-special Antonio-smile at me, so of course I immediately had to grasp him a little bit tighter, a little bit happier, just to keep my wobbly legs from slumping down.

Antonio studied my face, that was frantically twisting in overjoyed and grumpy expressions, and couldn't help but laugh.

'Oh my, Lovi. What's going on in that handsome head of yours right now, hmm? You kind of look like a flashlight.'

I stared at him. 'A what?'

'A flashlight.' Antonio rubbed his cheek against one of mine and hugged me, chuckling softly. 'Annoyed, happy, annoyed, happy… you're such a lovely man.'

'Fuck you.' I muttered, hugging him back. 'I can't help it you're giving me feelings and all that crap.'

'Well, I'm glad I am.'

'G-good.'

'And I'm also glad you're… not hugging me from behind.'

I winced a little. 'Y-yeah, well… don't get used to it.'

'Too late. I already am.'

Antonio looked me right in the eyes and smiled, again. His eyes narrowed a bit whenever he smiled at me like he did right now, all small and sparkly and stupid and cute and stuff. His hands carefully brushed over my cheeks and jawbones when he lowered them to my neck, making a shaky shiver shoot through my body.

'I'm kind of expecting you to hug me like this again the next time you feel like holding me, sweetie.'

He kissed me. Quickly, playfully.

'Wh-what if I won't?' I asked, clenching my hands around his shirt and bits of apron.

'Well, if you can't promise me that…' He kissed me again, '…then I think…' He kissed me again, '…I'll just have to wait until you will.'

Another kiss, this one lasting a lot longer than the former ones. Antonio also wrapped his arms around me again during this one, sighing delightedly when he put some distance between our mouths.

'T-that's probably the lamest warning ever…' I softly said – and felt bold enough to peck his lips again.

Antonio chuckled. 'It is, isn't it? But I don't feel like making you do something you're not completely comfortable with.'

'But I am completely comfortable with… hugging you from… the front.'

'You are?'

'Yes. Just not all the time.' I frowned. 'You know. It might grow old.'

'That's probably the lamest reasoning ever.'

'Shut up!' I grinned, head-butting his shoulder.

Antonio's eyes twinkled, bright and happily and incredibly annoying. I wanted to point out to him just how annoying they were, since I like doing irritating shit like that, but the bastard didn't give me a chance to explain – he just moved his face forwards and kissed me.

Not – not just a lame kissy-kiss.

No. Not anymore. Kissy-kiss time was over now.

This… this was a kiss. The kind of kiss that makes shoes fly off surprised feet in silly movies. The kind of kiss that causes a very weird, very intense, very fierce brewing in the pit of your stomach. The kind of kiss that embarrasses you and turns you on at the same time. That kind of kiss.

And I was the lucky son of a bitch that got to get one now.

Antonio's right-let's-get-serious-kiss started out like most of these kind of kisses did: testing, exploring, trying to find new ways to make me feel like a motherfucking pile of Italian pudding. He didn't immediately plunge his tongue into my mouth, no, he let it trace over my lips, the bottom one, the upper one, the bottom one again. Meanwhile, he made sure I was standing completely pressed against him. I felt one of his hands was gripping en rubbing my shirt from behind, the other one was still on my face. The back of his hand – the face hand – carefully stroke over one of my cheeks. Very, very carefully. Very lightly. As if he was scared to ruin the moment. As if he was a unsure teenager that was doing everything for the very first time and wanted to do it right.

Well, that… well.

Th-that was cute. I liked that.

So I was more than happy to let him touch and kiss me the way he wanted to touch and kiss me, leaning into his embrace, smiling quietly as Antonio nipped my lips and caressed the rest of my body. Slowly, I raised my arms and… sort of clawed my way up his back, until I could let my hands rest on his shoulders.

'Aren't you sweet,' I whispered, feeling way to fucking happy, squeezing his shoulders.

I could tell from Antonio's eyes that he started to smile, but then he decided to suddenly drastically deepen the kiss – so I closed my eyes and saw nothing at all anymore.

Antonio slipped inside my mouth and I let out a muffled little sigh when his lips and tongue started moving in the same rhythm, the same motion as my own. I hold on to him tighter, pinned myself against him so much it almost hurt and blushed, god, I blushed, like my life depended on it.

Now you could get annoyed with me from blushing so damn much, even after all this time I've spent with that weird yet hot Spaniard. Hell, I know I would get annoyed with someone like that. I'd make fun of such a person whenever I saw the chance to do so. I'd grab that person and throw it on the ground and I'd pick him up again and throw him down again and I'd say: "That's an annoying cycle, right? Well, now you know how I feel when I see you do that red-face-thing! Fucker!" and all would be good and understandable again and also peace everywhere.

I'd really do that. Seriously.

But sadly enough, the only person I knew that blushed this much, was me. And I couldn't go around throwing and picking myself up again all the time, because that would be very tiresome. Not to mention bizarre.

And that's why most of the time, I just endured my constantly reddening face, praised myself with this gift of having a very good, active blood circulation (at least around the face-parts) and tried to make Antonio's face even redder.

Because YES, that WAS possible, he COULD blush more than me, if only in a few special occasions.

Now it would be nice if this occasion was a special occasion.

I think it was. So during the intense kissing and stroking, I held back a mean little snicker and started moving one of my hands lower, and lower, and lower, and now I was just a few inches away from having a handful of Antonio's ass, and—

'Make love with me.'

…and alkdsdjfkfksjdhffdkd.

My arms and hands froze in the mid of action and I hesitantly opened my eyes, even though everything inside of me nagged at me I probably shouldn't do that if I still wanted to make Antonio blush.

But, well. I did.

And so, after I had opened my eyes, I just stared at Antonio like he had told me something really unusual. Which was stupid, because his remark wasn't unusual at all (thank God and all the heavenly multicolored angels in the sky for that).

But it was the way he said it.

I mean, he usually said something like 'ahahahaha yeah that was a lot of fun let's have some sex!~' or 'I'm hard. Wanna fuck?' or even 'I'm going to count to ten. If you're not naked by the time I've finished counting, I'm going to do you right here, right now.'

Now all his ways of "seducing" me were very effective most of the time anyway – since I transform into a horny little fuck as soon as he starts suggesting sexytimes – but still.

Telling me he wants to make love with me.

Not asking. Telling.

Not "fuck with me". Not "sex with me". But make love with me.

Well smack me on the ass and call me Judy, that's a whole lot more romantic than jumping each other while watching TV-commercials.

Especially since it's been kind of a long time since the last time he actually said it like this. Hell, since I said it like this, dammit.

S-so I liked it.

I really did.

And I told him.

'So.' I licked my moist lips and did my very best to fight back yet another blush. 'So you want to make love with me. That's nice.'

Antonio nodded silently and pulled my arms off him, only to hold on to my hands and intertwine his fingers with my own. His eyes never wandered off.

'But it's… it's not fair.' I heard myself mutter. 'You see, currently, I'm in my disgustingly sweet mood. So I'M supposed to act all lovey-dovey. I'M supposed to say corny things like that. I'M supposed to… make love with you.'

'Go on right ahead.'

'No, you do it. Make love to me all you want. I want you to.'

'Then why were you complaining in the first place?'

'Because if I don't motherfucking complain about you taking the lead I might motherfucking shame myself to motherfucking death, okay?'

Antonio blinked his eyes upon seeing my awkward facial expression. His mouth changed into an endeared, amused little smile as he pressed his forehead against mine, still keeping his eyes locked with my own.

'Silly Lovi…'

I grumbled. 'Fuck you. Again.'

'Just because you're in a sweet mood—'

'No no – disgustingly sweet mood.'

He laughed. 'Alright, just because you're in a disgustingly sweet mood, doesn't mean I can't be in a disgustingly sweet mood.'

My lips started to tremble a bit. Not because I was about to cry or laugh or had a sudden allergic reaction of some sort – they just did.

'But-but you can't be in a disgustingly sweet mood,' I said.

'Why not?'

'Because you're wearing an apron.'

Antonio pouted. 'What's wrong with my cute apron?'

'That's not disgustingly sweet,' I said, sheepishly nodding to the apron, 'that's just… you. It's just so familiar with you. It's what you are.'

Antonio looked confused. 'Are you saying that I'm an apron?'

'As a matter of fact, yes, I am. You're an apron, Antonio.'

'Really?'

'Of course not, dammit! You're not a goddamn apron, you're a fucking man!'

'Ah. Good!~ You had me worried for a second there.'

I groaned, then I took a big, deep breath.

'Look, I'm trying to say that… you can't ever become in a disgustingly sweet mood, Antonio. Ever. Because you're… y-you're always…'

And then my voice kind of died there.

A:

Lovino didn't dare to look at me anymore. He turned his probably burning face even further away from me and only made soft, grumbling noises, as if he was mumbling to himself.

As for me, I felt my heart swell up more and more. Automatically, I grabbed his hands tighter and gave them a short tug, to make Lovino stumble forwards – and to be able to steal a long kiss from his lips.

Right after the kiss, Lovino glared at me. The fakeness of his anger was so ridiculously obvious, it only made me happier and more fired up to shower him in love.

So what was I waiting for?

In a swift – and pretty gentlemanly if I may say so – move, I scooped Lovino up in my arms, like whoosh!, and gave him a peck on his forehead. And on his cheek. And since I was busy anyway – on his mouth as well. There!~

'Wha-! What the hell are you doing!' Lovino automatically started nagging, halfheartedly pushing his hands against my torso as if he tried to make some distance between us.

He wasn't a "surprise!~" -kind of guy, you see. He liked to have things in control.

But to hell with that.

'You don't know what I'm doing, Lovi? Or what I'm going to do?' I smiled – and deliberately hugged him closer to my chest and continued kissing all of his face, ignoring Lovino's feeble complaints and wiggling.

It wasn't before too long I caught his lips in another pretty heated kiss again. Ah, I loved how that always seemed to make him stop his half-assed protesting and pushing immediately.

Stopping wasn't enough for me though, so I kept kissing, hugging and feeling up on him until he was gasping for breath and gripping my shirt so damn tightly, I was scared he might faint.

'You… y-you evil bastard…' he wheezed when I finally pulled back from his bruised lips, and reached out a trembling hand towards me.

For a moment, I thought about flinching – I expected some kind of mean little pinch in my cheek or nose or something, his way of "punishing" me whenever I annoyed him too much…

…but another moment later, I felt his hand brush over my cheekbones and ear – softly, carefully – before he pulled back again, smiling ever so slightly.

I could only stare at that, stare at his bashful face, stare at that tiny little, but oh so honest smile, and before I knew it, my face had become even redder than his. I just felt the blush burning and spreading itself over my face, all in the mere blink of an eye.

'You're right,' I heard myself say to Lovino's victoriously-grinning face, 'I could never be as disgustingly sweet as you.'

His smile grew broader, proud about the fact he won a discussion, but then he realized what I had said and opened his mouth, ready to deny his sweetness.

I never let him, though: I calmly placed a finger over his lips and slowly shook my head, clacking my tongue.

'Ah-ah… maybe I'll never be as sweet as you, but that won't keep me from giving it a shot anyway. So now, I'm going to try to make such disgustingly sweet love to you, you'll never be able to remember it without getting an urge to smile, blush and rushing over to me to hug and kiss me.'

The Italian didn't go against my ambitious plan, not even a little bit. He also didn't mock it. He just looked up to me with these bright, loving eyes.

'You… you like that?' I stammered, pleasantly surprised – but not too much – by this overtly affective look of his, already taking a few steps towards the door.

Lovino nodded a bit, curling his lips even more upwards. Then he softly started kissing the finger against his lips, until I pulled it away, the strangest shivers running down my spine.

'I love you,' Lovino stated quietly.

Now I've had many "okay, I'd like to have sex with you as well" answers of him before, but this had to be the most wonderful way of agreeing to make love with me of all.

I bit my lower lip as I kicked open the door and stumbled my way towards the stairs.

God.

He really was disgustingly sweet.

End