lemonsandmelonsandpearsohmy:

“Hermano!” came the heavily accented shout. Spain stopped in his tracks and his eye twitched. Romano glanced up, annoyed with the stopping. He was tired and wanted to go home. And since they’d taken Spain’s car, he couldn’t just leave because he refused to drive that piece of shit. Plus, he wanted to know who was calling Spain. 

Spain slowly turned around, eyes narrowed into a slit as his brother, Portugal, sauntered over with a calm smirk. Portugal gave a quick glance to Romano, noting the way Spain had his arm wrapped around the younger nation’s waist. Interesting…

“Irmão,” he said, this time in his native tongue. He looked much more comfortable with this than when he awkwardly called out in Spanish. Despite the languages being similar in many ways, the language never quite rolled off his tongue as easily.  

“What? What do you want?” Spain asked impatience evident on his face. Portugal gasped lightly before laughing.

“Quick to the point, are we now? Come on, brother. Spare me a moment. I have to talk to you. Can’t you give me that?” he asked not-so-sweetly as he eyed Romano with hungry eyes. Romano stepped closer to Spain with an uncomfortable shift of his feet. Spain sneered.

“No. We’re in a hurry. Why don’t you just text me or drunk dial me as you always do?” he said, his arm tightening around Romano’s waist as he pulled him closer. Portugal didn’t take his eyes off of Romano, but shifted his gaze to the curl, glancing back to Spain to watch his reaction; he slowly reached out and dragged his fingers across the curl.

“A-ahh!” Romano cried, trying to pull away and burying his face into Spain’s shoulder. Spain’s eyes clouded with anger, but he reacted in no other way except digging his nails into Romano’s shirt and silently glaring at Portugal. Said nation continued his slow torture, challenging Spain. He was slightly disappointed in the lack of any reaction, but was quite satisfied in the noises the Southern Italian was making.

“St-st-stop! N-nrghh…” he cried, biting Spain’s shirt and trying weakly to beat away both men. “F-fucking… b-bastards… stoooop!”

Portugal finally pulled away, bored with the show now. Frowning he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Heh… Whatever. I guess I’ll see you around, her—“ Portugal was cut off by Spain’s fist. Nose gushing blood, Portugal gasped. “What the fuck?” Spain glared daggers as he threw back his fist and slammed it back into his brother’s face.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Him. Do it again and a broken nose will be the least of your problems,” he hissed, tugging Romano along as they walked off.

“C’mon, Lovi… Don’t cry, baby… I’ll take care of you,” he continued softly as he gently wiped away Romano’s tears. “I’m so sorry, Lovi… So sorry, sorry…”

(Source: jadeharleyquinn)