DJ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
djsoliloquy) wrote2010-01-31 08:08 pm
djsoliloquy) wrote2010-01-31 08:08 pm
Entry tags:
Not exactly pillow talk (Hetalia, Spain/S.Italy)
Oh god, well, I kind of said I would prettify this a bit and de-anon and it’s Sunday, so here goes. I'm beginning to think I might have some kind of finger fixation? Heh, might. The other fill is teeny, so I’ll just post that one with a drabble or something.
I think I prefer them (at least mostly) unrequited, but these two can be hot and so much fun.
Title: Not exactly pillow talk
Words: ~2,000
Originally posted: @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
saying_yes_2010
Characters: Spain/Romano.
Rating: Hard R. NC-17? Anyway, it’s porn, guys.
Summary: Spanish spoken during sex!
First, the bed.
Romano's bed, and Romano. The crumpled blankets form a nest around them. Romano's hair gives off an exhausted, heavenly scent when Spain runs his hand through, and Romano blushes and almost chokes on a grape until Spain stops. It’s the afternoon now, the sounds and watery light from the window soft and forgiving, indistinct, beautiful, warm. Everything about the day has been a little like Spain and a little like Romano, so it's only a little bit of vanity on Spain's part if he can’t get enough of it, probably?
It doesn’t feel as self-involved as vanity. Maybe it’s more like pride.
He sets the wine glass on the table and falls into bed. Romano watches him. Spain grins, moves forward until Romano is forced to lean back on his elbows or surrender to a kiss. Romano slumps back and jabs a knee into his ribcage.
Spain laughs. “Háblame,” he says, maneuvering around Romano's knees. “Speak to me, Romano.”
Romano is fond of glaring at Spain, or just avoiding Spain altogether, but in bed his eyes are always wide and open, sharp, taking in everything, the eyes of a painter busy memorizing details for a later canvas. Spain loves how he sometimes won't always close his eyes even when they kiss, and Spain keeps his open sometimes too.
But Romano also glares in bed. For a moment he looks like he might refuse, then he surprises Spain by setting his jaw and saying in passable if monotone Spanish, “Partly cloudy, light winds becoming northeast around 10 kph, 20 per cent chance of rain—”
Spain stares in wonder. “Romano, you can make weather reports sexy!” he says, earning himself a scowl. He laughs and grabs Romano's jabby leg under the knee, pulling up and dropping Romano back on the bed. He plants rows of kisses along the inside of Romano’s thigh, tasting the soft secret stretch of skin that is something of a delicacy. “Say something,” he says. “Talk with me. Please? Pretty please?”
Romano glares, suspicious, as Spain releases the leg. “Why? I don’t care what, I'm not talking dirty to you, you old perverted son of a bitch.”
Spain kisses him, quick and cheerful. A sharp line of heat seals them together all down their bodies, and as Spain settles into this new interesting position he turns to whisper in the shell of Romano’s ear. “So you can tell me everything you want me to do,” he says.
Romano's cheeks heat to a divine shade of red.
The silence is kind of long after that, though. It must be like walking through the big markets, Spain thinks as he picks up where they left off, using his hands and mouth and giving Romano something against which to throw himself. It’s a lot of choices all at once, how do you even start choosing?
Spain leans back and they hold each other’s gazes—Romano down at him with half-closed eyes and Spain up through his eyelashes as he lowers his head over Romano’s panting chest. “Like this?” he suggests. His hand moves down Romano’s side, trailing with his fingernails to the hip. Romano’s leg collapses the rest of the way to the winkled bed sheets. Opening.
But no answer. Romano bites his lips closed, still impressively red in the face. But that could just be the exertion now? The afternoon heat? Spain wets the closest nipple with his tongue and blows soft, cool air over it. His fingers twine patiently through the dark curls between Romano’s legs. “We could start with fingers,” he tries as his other hand splays over Romano's chest. “Or tongue. There’s still a ton of lube left. Or we could keep kissing, because there's no rush! We don't really have to be anywhere, and you can never have too much kissing, right? You remember how to say kiss me, don't you?”
Romano writhes, trying to arch into Spain’s hand and mouth at the same time and winding up unsuccessful at both. His hands twist in the bedsheets, clenching the material in his fists to keep grounded. Spain hears a strangled whimpering fuckdammit in Italian.
He holds his fingers to Romano’s mouth, first as a reminder but then the mouth opens for him. The tip of the tongue flicks out, almost like a challenge.
Spain pushes gently inside, caressing the inside of Romano’s mouth. Of course Romano’s eyes don’t close, but his mouth does. The tongue explores Spain’s fingers, sucking him fiercely, teeth nipping at him when he won’t offer another finger right away. Spain smiles and pets Romano’s chin with his thumb, saying Romano’s name aloud just so they can hear it together.
Romano blinks, eyelids heavy, when Spain extracts the fingers. “You're so fucking predictable.”
“Huh? I am?”
“You won't do anything unless I say it in Spanish, will you.”
Spain shrugs, laughs. “Sure, eventually.”
“Like I'm gonna wait that long! Fine, touch me,” Romano says in Spanish, palming Spain’s hand under his erection. “Dammit, Spain. My dick, and I’ll—I’ll tell you how, okay, so...God. Harder,” he growls. It makes Spain nearly giddy, flushed all over, and there’s an unexpected outburst of words when he does as Romano tells him—Fuck, God yes, fuck it come on, just— and Romano tangles their fingers together around his cock, draws lines with his nails down Spain’s back.
Spain kisses, holds, shapes Romano’s mouth with his unoccupied hand. It's not that he’s trying to fix anything. He loves hearing Romano speak Spanish, loves hearing Romano make that effort. He's only trying to make tangible that sweet Italian lilt inside the Spanish words, luring it out so he can lap it up and taste it.
The body under him trembles, feverish. Romano's lips quiver as Spain parts them.
“Touch me,” Spain says into Romano, showing him. He replaces his fingers with his tongue and rolls the words into a slow kiss, letting Romano feel the shape of them. It's one of those rare moments when Romano's eyes are firmly shut, and Spain aligns their hips, sliding them over one another. “Fuck me, Spain,” he moans and Romano forgets himself, making the sounds back at him, jackknifing and attempting to lock them together with a leg hooked over Spain’s thigh.
Romano sighs with a sound between a snarl and a sob. His eyes flutter open. They stay closed longer and longer when he blinks, though, so Spain guesses he must be getting kind of close. “You're so gorgeous right now, did you know that, Romano?” he says, rubbing Romano’s arms. “It gets easier. I'm so proud of you.”
“Moron, I haven't done anything,” Romano snaps. Then he stops and sniffs. “Okay. Y-you want some of your words? I got your words, right here. Condoms. In the dresser. Lube. Get.”
Spain tragically must take his hands off Romano for a moment to retrieve the items, but his heart stops for the vision of Romano’s body on the sheets, flushed and ready for him. Although ready means something different than with most people, and for him is, as always when Romano has an opinion in the matter, open to debate. “Can you keep telling me how?” Spain says, a huge idiot grin on his face. “In Spanish? Please? It’s been fun so far, right?”
Gritted teeth. Romano’s head rolls back, neck straining with forced tension. “God, just…dammit, I’ll do it myself in a second. Fuck.” His breath releases in a shaky hiss as Spain’s hand curls under to cup his balls, the ring finger delving below that. There’s a flurry of Italian expletives before Romano catches himself. Romano can sound tough yet vulnerable at the same time better than anybody Spain knows. “Oh fuck just, that, boss you bastard—”
“Háblame, Romano,” Spain says, kissing Romano’s face, nuzzling him all over. He runs his open mouth over Romano’s exposed throat, sucking at the skin and cooling sweat like he could never get enough of it. Like it’s still his.
“Tell me exactly how you want it,” Spain whispers. He closes his eyes and there's a high, desperate noise vibrating against his teeth. “Romano, mi cielo, mi corazón, tell me what you need.”
Romano chokes, grimaces. Muscles ripple under his skin, tense with uncontrollable shivers. “Spain,” he says in shaking Spanish. “Fuck me. And fucking hand me that pillow! Put it under my hips.”
He slips the pillow under when Romano arches his back. “How's that?” he says, uncapping the oil and warming a small pool of it in his palm.
“Yeah, whatever. Sometime this century would be good.” Romano lays his head back and sighs, maybe attempting to relax. His hands claw over his thighs and belly, leaving light trails over the skin.
Spain thinks he can feel Roman's pulse as he works a finger inside, into the exquisitely alive heat of him. He’s generous with the oil, turning his finger and coating in as far as he can reach, measured and leisurely with his movements as he eases Romano open. Well, he has something precious in his hands, of course he’s going to be careful.
“Dammit, I'm not gonna break,” Romano seethes. “Just. Fuck, wiggle the end of your finger or something, I fucking swear I’ll ah—” a soft sweet dip back into Italian, Holy Mother of, “—I’ll be ordering you like a pissed off dictator if you keep trying to make me talk to you.”
“But I’m asking you to, I want you to.” Spain catches his breath when Romano bears down on his finger. Well, two fingers now. It makes it kinda hard to swallow imagining how that velvety tightness will feel when it's actually around Spain instead of just his fingers. “That's what makes it fun! If you want, I mean,” he says.
“You know, they’re not that different,” Romano says between his other little commands. Harder, touch my cock, to the left, use your other fingers bastard. Maybe he’s just lost patience, but he really seems to be warming to the idea. Spain can't help but smile. “You could always try my language, idiot. I don’t think it’d kill you.”
Spain bows his head and gently kisses the head of Romano's cock. “But you hate taking orders,” he says, licking his lips.
Romano trembles everywhere.
He slackens with a moan and folds back on the pillows when Spain removes his fingers. Spain slicks Romano’s cock with the excess oil on his fingers before attempting to roll the condom over himself.
“If you actually took the time to try Italian,” Romano says, gasping, as seriously as he can in his state, eyes trained on Spain’s fingers, “well, the world would end or something, but after that I could, maybe…try. To listen to you, or something. Maybe! But don’t just be fucking expecting it!” he says, beginning to shake again as Spain holds his legs apart, supporting him under the knees. “Smug prick. I wouldn't be doing it for you. And I’m not making any promises.”
Spain's mouth curves in a smile. He bites his lip as he presses his cock against Romano, not really inside yet but certainly bearing forward with promise. He's just pulling Romano onto his lap when he hears the quiet, begrudging, “Bésame.”
He stops, unsure if he heard it. Romano glares almost questioningly up at him, waiting for his reaction.
Romano swallows. “Boss,” he says.
Oh. It touches Spain's heart and goes directly to his cock, raising all the little hairs over his body on the way. He suddenly can't help the smile lifting his face and he curves over as slowly as he dares to administer it, sliding into Romano in the same motion until he's seated fully inside. “Ah, Romano. Yes. Just like that.” Romano goes unexpectedly pliant, bending for him as their tongues make fast hard sweeps through each other, and Spain can taste the languid heat of the afternoon and the wine and the words, the words, not from him now but from Romano, “Vamos a follar, you bastard—”
Spain’s hands are shaking a little, it’s clear neither of them are much longer for this when Romano can’t keep from changing on every give and take between Spagna and España, slipping more as it gets difficult to think, as they rise beyond the point of reason. Spain buries his face in Romano’s neck, his hand between them stroking out a familiar rhythm on Romano’s cock. Romano mutters and snarls, sometimes in Spanish, orders and little half-pleas and half-threats that Spain tries to answer but it's so much, it's too much. Before Romano’s ragged breath hitches, before his body clenches and words fail as he comes, Spain whispers one of the only Italian things he knows into his ear.
They’re still gasping and shaking from the little aftershocks when the heel digging into Spain’s ass slowly flops to the bed. When he has the mind for it again, Spain kisses every bit of Romano he can reach. “Thank you,” he whispers between quiet, blissful laughs. “Gracias. You were so great, you’re so good to me, Romano.”
Romano rolls his eyes and suddenly there’s a hand planted in Spain’s face, shoving him off but lacking the usual enthusiasm. Spain chuckles and leans into the touch, kisses the fingers. “You're impossible,” Romano croaks, otherwise vigilantly intelligible. “What’d you...?”
“Mm?” Spain pulls out as gently as he can, and they still both give out little gasps. “Are you alright? How do you feel?” he says, disposing of the condom and helping himself to the pillow of Romano’s shoulder.
“The world’s ending,” Romano mumbles. He rubs his eyes like the sudden change in plans will be a hassle working into his schedule. “I heard you say something. In Italian. And that’s impossible.”
Spain smiles. His hand rubs easy circles over Romano's belly. “It’s not really a big deal, is it?”
A groan. “I don't know. I don't care.”
“What’d I say, Romano?” he says as Romano slaps his hand away from the come on his stomach.
“You...what?” And Spain can practically hear the blush. “I don’t know! How would I know? Asshole. You didn’t actually say it, anyway! And even if you had it was probably dumb and embarrassing just like everything else you say!”
“You’re beautiful,” Spain says again, snuggling Romano back into his arms.
Spain thinks he can tell when Romano’s eyes close too, finally close as he sighs and—well, maybe doesn't relax, but he stops tensing and lets Spain curl over him, letting out a final, “Yeah, I rest my case.”
--
-
☼ {Háblame – "talk to me"; Vamos a follar – "let’s fuck"; Bésame – "kiss me".
Mi cielo and mi corazón are terms of endearment, literally "my heaven" and "my heart."}
I think I prefer them (at least mostly) unrequited, but these two can be hot and so much fun.
Title: Not exactly pillow talk
Words: ~2,000
Originally posted: @
saying_yes_2010 Characters: Spain/Romano.
Rating: Hard R. NC-17? Anyway, it’s porn, guys.
Summary: Spanish spoken during sex!
First, the bed.
Romano's bed, and Romano. The crumpled blankets form a nest around them. Romano's hair gives off an exhausted, heavenly scent when Spain runs his hand through, and Romano blushes and almost chokes on a grape until Spain stops. It’s the afternoon now, the sounds and watery light from the window soft and forgiving, indistinct, beautiful, warm. Everything about the day has been a little like Spain and a little like Romano, so it's only a little bit of vanity on Spain's part if he can’t get enough of it, probably?
It doesn’t feel as self-involved as vanity. Maybe it’s more like pride.
He sets the wine glass on the table and falls into bed. Romano watches him. Spain grins, moves forward until Romano is forced to lean back on his elbows or surrender to a kiss. Romano slumps back and jabs a knee into his ribcage.
Spain laughs. “Háblame,” he says, maneuvering around Romano's knees. “Speak to me, Romano.”
Romano is fond of glaring at Spain, or just avoiding Spain altogether, but in bed his eyes are always wide and open, sharp, taking in everything, the eyes of a painter busy memorizing details for a later canvas. Spain loves how he sometimes won't always close his eyes even when they kiss, and Spain keeps his open sometimes too.
But Romano also glares in bed. For a moment he looks like he might refuse, then he surprises Spain by setting his jaw and saying in passable if monotone Spanish, “Partly cloudy, light winds becoming northeast around 10 kph, 20 per cent chance of rain—”
Spain stares in wonder. “Romano, you can make weather reports sexy!” he says, earning himself a scowl. He laughs and grabs Romano's jabby leg under the knee, pulling up and dropping Romano back on the bed. He plants rows of kisses along the inside of Romano’s thigh, tasting the soft secret stretch of skin that is something of a delicacy. “Say something,” he says. “Talk with me. Please? Pretty please?”
Romano glares, suspicious, as Spain releases the leg. “Why? I don’t care what, I'm not talking dirty to you, you old perverted son of a bitch.”
Spain kisses him, quick and cheerful. A sharp line of heat seals them together all down their bodies, and as Spain settles into this new interesting position he turns to whisper in the shell of Romano’s ear. “So you can tell me everything you want me to do,” he says.
Romano's cheeks heat to a divine shade of red.
The silence is kind of long after that, though. It must be like walking through the big markets, Spain thinks as he picks up where they left off, using his hands and mouth and giving Romano something against which to throw himself. It’s a lot of choices all at once, how do you even start choosing?
Spain leans back and they hold each other’s gazes—Romano down at him with half-closed eyes and Spain up through his eyelashes as he lowers his head over Romano’s panting chest. “Like this?” he suggests. His hand moves down Romano’s side, trailing with his fingernails to the hip. Romano’s leg collapses the rest of the way to the winkled bed sheets. Opening.
But no answer. Romano bites his lips closed, still impressively red in the face. But that could just be the exertion now? The afternoon heat? Spain wets the closest nipple with his tongue and blows soft, cool air over it. His fingers twine patiently through the dark curls between Romano’s legs. “We could start with fingers,” he tries as his other hand splays over Romano's chest. “Or tongue. There’s still a ton of lube left. Or we could keep kissing, because there's no rush! We don't really have to be anywhere, and you can never have too much kissing, right? You remember how to say kiss me, don't you?”
Romano writhes, trying to arch into Spain’s hand and mouth at the same time and winding up unsuccessful at both. His hands twist in the bedsheets, clenching the material in his fists to keep grounded. Spain hears a strangled whimpering fuckdammit in Italian.
He holds his fingers to Romano’s mouth, first as a reminder but then the mouth opens for him. The tip of the tongue flicks out, almost like a challenge.
Spain pushes gently inside, caressing the inside of Romano’s mouth. Of course Romano’s eyes don’t close, but his mouth does. The tongue explores Spain’s fingers, sucking him fiercely, teeth nipping at him when he won’t offer another finger right away. Spain smiles and pets Romano’s chin with his thumb, saying Romano’s name aloud just so they can hear it together.
Romano blinks, eyelids heavy, when Spain extracts the fingers. “You're so fucking predictable.”
“Huh? I am?”
“You won't do anything unless I say it in Spanish, will you.”
Spain shrugs, laughs. “Sure, eventually.”
“Like I'm gonna wait that long! Fine, touch me,” Romano says in Spanish, palming Spain’s hand under his erection. “Dammit, Spain. My dick, and I’ll—I’ll tell you how, okay, so...God. Harder,” he growls. It makes Spain nearly giddy, flushed all over, and there’s an unexpected outburst of words when he does as Romano tells him—Fuck, God yes, fuck it come on, just— and Romano tangles their fingers together around his cock, draws lines with his nails down Spain’s back.
Spain kisses, holds, shapes Romano’s mouth with his unoccupied hand. It's not that he’s trying to fix anything. He loves hearing Romano speak Spanish, loves hearing Romano make that effort. He's only trying to make tangible that sweet Italian lilt inside the Spanish words, luring it out so he can lap it up and taste it.
The body under him trembles, feverish. Romano's lips quiver as Spain parts them.
“Touch me,” Spain says into Romano, showing him. He replaces his fingers with his tongue and rolls the words into a slow kiss, letting Romano feel the shape of them. It's one of those rare moments when Romano's eyes are firmly shut, and Spain aligns their hips, sliding them over one another. “Fuck me, Spain,” he moans and Romano forgets himself, making the sounds back at him, jackknifing and attempting to lock them together with a leg hooked over Spain’s thigh.
Romano sighs with a sound between a snarl and a sob. His eyes flutter open. They stay closed longer and longer when he blinks, though, so Spain guesses he must be getting kind of close. “You're so gorgeous right now, did you know that, Romano?” he says, rubbing Romano’s arms. “It gets easier. I'm so proud of you.”
“Moron, I haven't done anything,” Romano snaps. Then he stops and sniffs. “Okay. Y-you want some of your words? I got your words, right here. Condoms. In the dresser. Lube. Get.”
Spain tragically must take his hands off Romano for a moment to retrieve the items, but his heart stops for the vision of Romano’s body on the sheets, flushed and ready for him. Although ready means something different than with most people, and for him is, as always when Romano has an opinion in the matter, open to debate. “Can you keep telling me how?” Spain says, a huge idiot grin on his face. “In Spanish? Please? It’s been fun so far, right?”
Gritted teeth. Romano’s head rolls back, neck straining with forced tension. “God, just…dammit, I’ll do it myself in a second. Fuck.” His breath releases in a shaky hiss as Spain’s hand curls under to cup his balls, the ring finger delving below that. There’s a flurry of Italian expletives before Romano catches himself. Romano can sound tough yet vulnerable at the same time better than anybody Spain knows. “Oh fuck just, that, boss you bastard—”
“Háblame, Romano,” Spain says, kissing Romano’s face, nuzzling him all over. He runs his open mouth over Romano’s exposed throat, sucking at the skin and cooling sweat like he could never get enough of it. Like it’s still his.
“Tell me exactly how you want it,” Spain whispers. He closes his eyes and there's a high, desperate noise vibrating against his teeth. “Romano, mi cielo, mi corazón, tell me what you need.”
Romano chokes, grimaces. Muscles ripple under his skin, tense with uncontrollable shivers. “Spain,” he says in shaking Spanish. “Fuck me. And fucking hand me that pillow! Put it under my hips.”
He slips the pillow under when Romano arches his back. “How's that?” he says, uncapping the oil and warming a small pool of it in his palm.
“Yeah, whatever. Sometime this century would be good.” Romano lays his head back and sighs, maybe attempting to relax. His hands claw over his thighs and belly, leaving light trails over the skin.
Spain thinks he can feel Roman's pulse as he works a finger inside, into the exquisitely alive heat of him. He’s generous with the oil, turning his finger and coating in as far as he can reach, measured and leisurely with his movements as he eases Romano open. Well, he has something precious in his hands, of course he’s going to be careful.
“Dammit, I'm not gonna break,” Romano seethes. “Just. Fuck, wiggle the end of your finger or something, I fucking swear I’ll ah—” a soft sweet dip back into Italian, Holy Mother of, “—I’ll be ordering you like a pissed off dictator if you keep trying to make me talk to you.”
“But I’m asking you to, I want you to.” Spain catches his breath when Romano bears down on his finger. Well, two fingers now. It makes it kinda hard to swallow imagining how that velvety tightness will feel when it's actually around Spain instead of just his fingers. “That's what makes it fun! If you want, I mean,” he says.
“You know, they’re not that different,” Romano says between his other little commands. Harder, touch my cock, to the left, use your other fingers bastard. Maybe he’s just lost patience, but he really seems to be warming to the idea. Spain can't help but smile. “You could always try my language, idiot. I don’t think it’d kill you.”
Spain bows his head and gently kisses the head of Romano's cock. “But you hate taking orders,” he says, licking his lips.
Romano trembles everywhere.
He slackens with a moan and folds back on the pillows when Spain removes his fingers. Spain slicks Romano’s cock with the excess oil on his fingers before attempting to roll the condom over himself.
“If you actually took the time to try Italian,” Romano says, gasping, as seriously as he can in his state, eyes trained on Spain’s fingers, “well, the world would end or something, but after that I could, maybe…try. To listen to you, or something. Maybe! But don’t just be fucking expecting it!” he says, beginning to shake again as Spain holds his legs apart, supporting him under the knees. “Smug prick. I wouldn't be doing it for you. And I’m not making any promises.”
Spain's mouth curves in a smile. He bites his lip as he presses his cock against Romano, not really inside yet but certainly bearing forward with promise. He's just pulling Romano onto his lap when he hears the quiet, begrudging, “Bésame.”
He stops, unsure if he heard it. Romano glares almost questioningly up at him, waiting for his reaction.
Romano swallows. “Boss,” he says.
Oh. It touches Spain's heart and goes directly to his cock, raising all the little hairs over his body on the way. He suddenly can't help the smile lifting his face and he curves over as slowly as he dares to administer it, sliding into Romano in the same motion until he's seated fully inside. “Ah, Romano. Yes. Just like that.” Romano goes unexpectedly pliant, bending for him as their tongues make fast hard sweeps through each other, and Spain can taste the languid heat of the afternoon and the wine and the words, the words, not from him now but from Romano, “Vamos a follar, you bastard—”
Spain’s hands are shaking a little, it’s clear neither of them are much longer for this when Romano can’t keep from changing on every give and take between Spagna and España, slipping more as it gets difficult to think, as they rise beyond the point of reason. Spain buries his face in Romano’s neck, his hand between them stroking out a familiar rhythm on Romano’s cock. Romano mutters and snarls, sometimes in Spanish, orders and little half-pleas and half-threats that Spain tries to answer but it's so much, it's too much. Before Romano’s ragged breath hitches, before his body clenches and words fail as he comes, Spain whispers one of the only Italian things he knows into his ear.
They’re still gasping and shaking from the little aftershocks when the heel digging into Spain’s ass slowly flops to the bed. When he has the mind for it again, Spain kisses every bit of Romano he can reach. “Thank you,” he whispers between quiet, blissful laughs. “Gracias. You were so great, you’re so good to me, Romano.”
Romano rolls his eyes and suddenly there’s a hand planted in Spain’s face, shoving him off but lacking the usual enthusiasm. Spain chuckles and leans into the touch, kisses the fingers. “You're impossible,” Romano croaks, otherwise vigilantly intelligible. “What’d you...?”
“Mm?” Spain pulls out as gently as he can, and they still both give out little gasps. “Are you alright? How do you feel?” he says, disposing of the condom and helping himself to the pillow of Romano’s shoulder.
“The world’s ending,” Romano mumbles. He rubs his eyes like the sudden change in plans will be a hassle working into his schedule. “I heard you say something. In Italian. And that’s impossible.”
Spain smiles. His hand rubs easy circles over Romano's belly. “It’s not really a big deal, is it?”
A groan. “I don't know. I don't care.”
“What’d I say, Romano?” he says as Romano slaps his hand away from the come on his stomach.
“You...what?” And Spain can practically hear the blush. “I don’t know! How would I know? Asshole. You didn’t actually say it, anyway! And even if you had it was probably dumb and embarrassing just like everything else you say!”
“You’re beautiful,” Spain says again, snuggling Romano back into his arms.
Spain thinks he can tell when Romano’s eyes close too, finally close as he sighs and—well, maybe doesn't relax, but he stops tensing and lets Spain curl over him, letting out a final, “Yeah, I rest my case.”
--
-
☼ {Háblame – "talk to me"; Vamos a follar – "let’s fuck"; Bésame – "kiss me".
Mi cielo and mi corazón are terms of endearment, literally "my heaven" and "my heart."}
no subject
Exquisite handling of languages? Check.
Beautifully written porn? Check.
Lazy, sunny afternoon? Check.
Perfect characterisation? Check.
Oh wow. Everything that I love then. 8)
<3 <3 <3
no subject