Everyone had their kinks, or at least that was what Spain told himself. Told himself again and again as he pushed the bar between his legs, snapping it into place, leaving him secure. Such a good feeling.

He ached for it.

Everyone is a little dirty, he told himself as he ever-so-slowly impaled himself on his toy, then flicked it on, allowing the first fringes of a pleasure that was too delicious, to addictive, making him come back every time, like a junkie for a fix.

He craved it.

Everyone needs to indulge. Tan fingers toy at the collar on his neck, then drag down the chain, fixing it to the floor. Hands behind his back, into the cuffs, sighing as they slide home.

He's shamelessly addicted, he'll never give this up.

Everyone needs to be tied up And then they come. Fiery, feathery touches all over his body, creating an agonizing ecstasy that he tries to escape from. Useless, useless, he's bound by chains and steel, unable to feel anything but the cold bite of metal and those scorching touches.

He doesn't know how long he's there for, doesn't want to, doesn't care. He spatters the floor, once, twice, burning from the inside out. It's meaningless, he'll clean it up later, for now he's stoking the fire. Leans his head on the wall, dripping sweat and panting. Can't breathe the heavy air, can't think the heavy thoughts.

He isn't paying attention to the rest of the world until the door swings open.

"Spai-" Romano's voice is cut off with a choking sound. Silence, then the door hits the wall and Spain swears he hears a growl.
Little Romano growled for him. Before Spain even registers shock, footsteps fall and glorious heat presses onto his bound form. Hot breath in his ear, he leans to it, stopped by his leash choking him. He tries anyway.

"So this is what mi jefe Spain likes."

Browned knees threaten to buckle as he hears his own language fall sugary-sweet from the lips of the boy he lusted after for so long. Romano's lips at his ear, chest on his back, hands going somewhere, god, there pleaseyesthere! Massaging, nails digging in, making Spain moan wantonly. Those fingers brush the toy buried deep in his ass and the flames jump higher, higher, scorching him and he whines, tries to move away. He's caught in his own snare, and the Italian pulls the toy out, leaving him clutching on his own emptiness.

He hears buttons popping, fabric tearing, then fingers probe his entrance all too gently. Romano is naked behind him, an unseen grin on his face.

"I'm going to stretch you now, fill you all up over and over, fuck you so incredibly hard for giving me such a lovely show."

The flames are there, too, in his voice, licking and singeing Spain's ears. He likes it, he loves it, he needs to be burnt, roasted alive to atone for his sins.

"Please" it comes without warning, something he had tried to keep inside "stretch me, tear me, I want to feel the burn."

Then those spit-slicked fingers are pushing in, quickly but carefully, and he arches up, away, always trying to escape the cages he makes for himself. Unmerciful, the fingers follow, pushing, twisting, stretching, Oh God burning like hot irons. The white of the wall distorts before his eyes as his hips rock back awkwardly onto the fingers inside him. They scissor, then press that spot that makes him cry out and see nothing.

"You're so beautiful like this, tied up for me, everything I could want." says the scorching voice of Romano. The embers land in his hair, on his cheek, fusing with the skin.

"It's not enough, more, fuck, Romano, I need more!" he begs, and long fingers leave him, are replaced by something that scalds his skin and he shivers, pressing back.

For a second, the world is blank. When he's back again, Romano is seated to the hilt and they scream in tandem, in unison, of their violent pleasure they howl to the ceiling. The fire spreads now, and he is burning, plunging into it with all his might. Lips and teeth on his neck, marking him, claiming him, not enough, he needs movement.

Romano complies, always the good boy, drawing out and slamming back in roughly, listening to the animalistic sounds ripping from Spain's throat. He reaches around, one hand thrumming Spain's nipples, the other cupping his cock, then jerking him hard. Sparks behind his eyes become fireworks, heat in his veins a fever. The Italian's voice is still in his ear, praising him and cursing him at the same time, telling him he's a dream that will never be let go, will never be over.

He doesn't need to guess, he just turns his head to the side an accepts the kiss. It's domineering and wicked, everything he wanted. He can taste the tang of wine, the precum Romano had tasted while lubricating himself, and on the back of his tongue, the dark, sweeping taste of love, of Romano himself and he suckles it in time to the pounding his prostate is receiving. He wants to break away and beg Romano to not stop, not when he is so close please just a little more. Romano, the perfect lover, the perfect master, does it for him and whispers in his ear one more.

"Come for me now." It's both an indisputable order and a begging plea.

All Spain can do is accept and add more white to the wall in front of him yelling his name as the flames crescendo and the burning tide drags him under. Some splashes up high; he leans forward and licks it off, clenching down. Romano follows him, painting his insides white with boiling cum, teeth buried in his neck, breaking the skin, breathing more fire into his blood, hotter, hotter, until every cell in his body is razed to ashes.

When he can breathe again, Romano is undoing the cuffs, massaging his muscles gently. The words float softly through the air, as though almost an accident.

"Ti amo."

"Does that mean you love me?"

A pause, then "Yes, it means I love you."

"Ti amo" repeats Spain, unhesitating "like my heart's on fire."