I started writing this a while back. The idea came from the ad-campaign for Fiat Puntos "Spirito Di Punto".

The coincidence is somewhere between starting this story, and finishing it...I ended up owning a Fiat Punto. Lmfao. Thanks for editing, Shell. x

Romano is big enough to admit that perhaps he is the slightest bit responsible for wrecking Bella. Of course, not as responsible as the idiot who'd been stupid enough to walk into the road where those strange little black and white decorations began, He had swerved head-on into a lamppost because of that dumb son-of-a-whore. Naturally, he'd immediately stepped out, and screamed at the bewildered man who Romano deemed responsible, (who was sure that the crash looked pretty fatal, considering the speed that the driver had been going at) thus ending a short, but beautiful relationship.

Bella was, or had been, a Ferrari 458 Italia; Tomato red, sleek, and shiny, with a smooth, black leather interior, and an engine that roared like a wounded lioness. Driving her had been like having dirty sex: hard, exhilarating, and satisfying. Romano had named her Bella, because that was what she was. It didn't matter that everyone else thought it was a stupid name. Many had said it was a terrible name actually, but no one really knew that, in actuality, Romano had named her after his very first horse, a stunning, grey Pura Raza Española with a soft nose. He cried when Spain gave her to him and had been inconsolable when she died. It still made him teary now, though he would deny it until the day Germany became a decent human being-come-nation.

They were all nothing but jealous and Romano had been left feeling nothing less than smug pride throwing his beloved car around like a toy.

Throwing her face-first into a lamppost, however, had proven to be pushing her just a little bit too much. The specially sent out Ferrari F1 mechanic says as much as he stares, dumbfounded, at where the engine has managed to crunch its way into the passenger seat ('How fast were you going?' 'I don't remember. Obviously not fast enough, since I managed to avoid that stupid fucker.') And so Bella was off to car- heaven, damaged beyond repair, and leaving Romano with a dent in his insurance as big as the hole in his bonnet.

Having to admit the tiniest fraction of responsibility is wounding enough, but really, his Prime Minister's reaction is downright insulting.

"'the fuck is this shit?"

One of Mr Berlusconi's extremely fabulous personal secretaries stares at him for a moment, deep chocolate, kohl-lined eyes lidded in boredom. A second later, her disinterest wins out and she shrugs, returning her attention to her Blackberry. "You asked the Prime Minister for a new car."

Romano stares incredulously at her. "Yeah, I did. So where is it?"

"It's right there," she sighs, dragging her attention away from where she's chatting to her friend in the treasury.

"That's a very funny joke. So funny I haven't been able to start laughing yet. Seriously, where's my new car?" He scowls, fast losing his patience.

Equally annoyed, the secretary shoves her phone into her very expensive Prada bag and folds her arms over her ample chest. "What's the Goddamned problem? You asked for a car, and you got a car," she growls

"I asked for a car, not a heap of shit!"

"It may have escaped your notice, but we've got massive public debt and a huge deficit, so perhaps the Prime Minister can't afford to keep buying you brand new Ferraris and Maseratis every Goddamned week," she snaps.

Regardless of hundreds of years of cowardliness, an angry Italian woman puts the fear of God into anyone, so when Romano flinches and glumly mutters 'you shouldn't talk to your country like that,' it's clear she's won this particular argument.

"Look on the bright side," she says, reaching into her bag to retrieve her compact, checking her make- up, "this way, you're supporting the economy."

Romano is too busy staring miserably at his new Fiat Punto to acknowledge her.

Spain thinks it's cute.

"It's such a lovely shade of burgundy!'

It really comes as no surprise to Romano. Spain has, after all, a long history of possessing the gayest cars known to man; a pale yellow Beatle, a purple Clio, a white Fiat 126… the list goes on. His current heap of junk is a lime green Seat Ibiza named Naranja, because Spain doesn't do irony, even when he tries to, so his endorsement of the car is hardly a compliment.

The reason Spain is even in his car in the first place is because of an arrangement that had been sorted a mere few hours before Bella (God rest her soul) had been so cruelly torn from him.

The next EU meeting had been scheduled to be in Lisbon and there had been no real point in flying* since Romano loved to drive and could easily get them there in record-breaking time. Naturally, Spain was too lazy to do anything other than happily agree.

This had, however, all been planned before Romano had acquired his new method of transportation and as he had dreaded, the drive had been a complete nightmare. Romano was used to zipping along at 270km/ph on Spain's more deserted roads. Instead, his new piece of crap could barely push 140. He was being overtaken by lorries, for fuck's sake! It didn't help that Spain was still fucking obsessed with Sweden's shitty Eurovision entry and had nearly hit Romano in the face at the first harrowing whistles from his iPod. Then he kept skipping back to it once it had finished. And then he had sung along with miss-timed 'pop-u-lar's. It was really fucking bad enough as it was, even before Romano was reminded of the fact that he'd spent the evening of Eurovision drunk and half- asleep in Spain's lap, while Spain and Germany proceeded to get drunk with each other, and progressively louder, and louder as the night had gone on.

The meeting hadn't gone particularly well either. The northern states were uptight, pretentious bastards, as usual, Greece had been asleep, Portugal had spent the entire meeting looking embarrassed, Spain had been more interested in rubbing at the bruise Romano had left on his arm and Romano had been too furious with the world to even consider listening to some crap about austerity drives. He could already feel a massive headache coming on from the threats of strikes, even if his brother seemed to care more about where everyone was eating afterwards.

Despite almost going through with his plan to dump the car into the ocean and simply fly back to Italy with his brother, the next morning Romano had found himself at Spain's hotel room door. Spain had only taken two and a half minutes of Romano's repeated thuds against the door to wake up and open it. Unfortunately, it had then taken a further three hours to make him look presentable, gather their stuff together, and get Spain to leave Portugal alone. By the time he'd remembered and located where he'd hidden his piece of shit car, it was half-past one in the afternoon and Romano was feeling even more volatile than usual.

He had been tempted to leave Spain to just walk back himself, since six hours alone with the man was bad enough without being shoved into a tiny, crap car, listening to the noise that was Spain's choice in music; he'd moved onto "Allez! Ola! Olé", France's spectacular addition to the Shitvision Crap Contest. The heat was stifling and Spain refuses to help with the driving (because apparently that breaks some kind of insurance law or something and Romano still has no idea what insurance is for, but his boss screams about it every time he manages to wreck another car, so he figures that he'll keep his mouth shut and quietly stew about it instead)

"This car is very economical," Spain says suddenly, around three and a half hours into the journey.

Romano stares at him, expertly combining looks of incredulity and insult into his own special, purely Romano brand of angry.

"We've already gone very far and we haven't needed to stop for petrol yet!" Spain continues, utterly oblivious to how each word is cruelly ripping into Romano's pride.

"Usually we would have stopped at every single petrol station that we'd come across, but we haven't had to stop at all! Isn't that—eh, Roma? Why do you look so angry?"

Though it's taken Spain a while, he's finally managed to stumble onto the fact that Romano is gripping onto the steering wheel and looking like he's trying with all of his might to set the road ahead of them on fire with the strength of his glare alone.

It is with a slow, stiff motion that wouldn't look out of place in a horror film that Romano turns to face Spain. His eyes are almost slits and his teeth are bared. "You know why we haven't stopped yet, Spain?" he hisses, voice tight with barely-contained rage. Spain stares at him in dumbfounded silence and shakes his head hesitantly. "Because the engine is small."

That said, Romano turns to face the road.

Spain swears he can see the tarmac smoking.

The journey is considerably delayed by Spain's persistent whining about being hungry

"Phew. I'm a little peckish! You got any snacks?"

"Stop fucking complaining! If you're so fucking hungry, we'll fucking go to a restaurant, you greedy son of a bitch!"

"Roma, is that your tummy rumbling?"

"No. Shut up."

They pull off the motorway a couple of hours past the Spanish border and seek food in a near-by little town. Due in part to the fact that Spain had requested the most awkward thing on the menu and Romano had required three courses, plus coffee and biscuits, it's nearing sunset before they even reach the signpost welcoming them to the province of Madrid.

Unfortunately, they've only just left Ávila when Spain somehow manages to get himself one of those idea things that he is so rarely blessed with, but always so enthusiastic over.

"Come off at the next junction!" he announces, grinning broadly.

Romano fixes him with a pointed look. "No."

Spain pouts in a way that no olive-skinned man with striking green eyes and tousled, curled chocolate locks should and tries again: "Ro-ma! Please!"

"No."

"Why not?"

Even though he should expect such a straightforward, honest questions from Spain, Romano is still a little thrown by how to respond. 'Because… because…' He puffs his cheeks out childishly. "We're already completely behind schedule thanks to your greediness and this shitty car, and I want to get home, eat, and sleep, because I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been driving for fucking hours and I haven't had a damned nap!"

"I know, but—"

"What? What is so important about your precious, fucking junction!" Romano demands, glaring at him heatedly from where he's hunched over the steering wheel.

"There's a really lovely vantage point there!" Spain beams.

Romano gawks at him. "You want to go and look at some pretty views?"

"No, Romano," Spain corrects. "I wanna go and look at pretty views with you!'

Romano doesn't particularly care that he's driving. He slams his forehead into the steering wheel regardless. "I- just- why?" he splutters.

Spain flashes him a delighted smile. "Because it'd be nice to spend some time with you."

"You've spent the past twenty-four hours with me, idiot," Romano says incredulously. Spain pouts again, but this time it makes Romano's stomach twist just the tiniest bit (in disgust, naturally; why would he feel any sort of guilt over Spain's pathetically disappointed expression?) and he has to sulkily fix his eyes back onto the road.

"Yeah, I know, Roma," Spain explains with a smile that Romano pretends not to notice out of the corner of his eye. "But we had all of that meetingy stuff and then your brother and France joined us for dinner, which was fun and all, because your brother is so cute, and France is always good company, but we weren't alone and then you didn't come to my room last night and you've been grumpy all day because you don't like this car, so we haven't really spent any time together at all and it's been nearly two weeks since we did spend any time together."

Romano bites his tongue, holding back the complaints that Spain had, instead, texted him incessantly and rang him every single day to ask him how he was because, in truth he sort-of-almost-a-little-bit-kind-of-had missed Spain too. And so instead, he relents just the littlest bit.

"How far away is this place? And don't lie to me and say that it's five minutes away, when it's an hour and a half off course," Romano grumbles.

Spain grins at him. "Ah, no, no, Romano!" he says, waving his hands for good measure. "It's not off course at all. In fact, it's on the way home. It just means that we come off the motorway earlier, that's all."

Romano gives him a look that clearly states he doesn't trust him, but snaps the indicator up regardless, pulling into the slow lane.

"You'd better know where you're going," he warns as he drives along the slip road, wondering how long it will take them to get horribly lost.

"'course I do, Romano!" Spain smiles. "We're in Spain, after all and I am Spain, so there's no way that I don't know where I'm going."

Romano stares at him in disgust for a long moment." You're really not as reassuring as you'd like to think you are."

By some miracle, they manage to locate Spain's admittedly very pretty lookout, parking and getting out just in time to lean against the bonnet and watch the sun paint the rolling landscape orange and pink.

Romano has to admit that it's all rather lovely. The soft breeze, quiet warmth, and the security Spain's arms around his waist (that he had begrudgingly allowed to settle there after the fourth time he'd smacked them away), all helped to take the edge off the anger that had been simmering just under his skin since the moment he'd slid into the driver's seat.

The soft call of his name snaps him out of his drifting thoughts and he turns his head, angling it to see Spain better, grunting in question.

Against his expectations, Spain isn't grinning dumbly at him. Romano has to take a brief moment to admire how sort-of-a-little-bit devastatingly attractive Spain is in the soft light of dusk, orange glow making his eyes more intense.

"So when do you want to test the suspension out?" Spain asks suddenly, his unusually serious expression remaining fixed.

Romano stares right back, disbelieving.

'Testing the suspension' had become Romano's very covert way of initiating car sex over the years. He's man of simple kinks (unlike Spain, who seems to have a kink for just about everything, to the extent that Romano is almost afraid to even ask the dirty, old pervert). A little bit of rough, a little bit of bondage, a little bit of getting his arse smacked red until he can't sit for a week, a little bit of public indecency- oh yeah, that's always nice. Ah, but the point is...the point is that, for all Romano's saintly lack of perversion, car sex is most definitely one of those things that just gets him going. Maybe it's the trembling vibrations of the engine tingling up his legs. Maybe it's the feel of quality leather caressing his arse. Maybe it's the awareness of the sheer power clasped between his fingers. Maybe it's the fact that his cars were raw, unrestrained manhood, so it doesn't matter that Spain is fucking him over his dashboard. Maybe. Whatever it is, Romano gets off on it. On the other hand, Romano strongly suspects that Spain really does think that they are actually testing the suspension out.

If the very concept of it doesn't make him want to puke, Romano might say that that the atmosphere before Spain had opened his stupid mouth had been almost romantic. Spain, however, with his usual mastery of subtlety reminiscent of a bull crashing through a china shop, manages to shatter whatever nice, little atmosphere had settled over them with one single, blasé comment.

"So this is why you dragged me up here! A quick shag?" he snaps, flinging Spain's arms from around him.

Spain looks wounded. "What? Romano, how could you think such a thing of me?"

"Very easily," Romano growls.

Spain looks sulky for a second and then brightens considerably, taking Romano's hand in his. "C'mon. It's beautiful up here and we've had a hard day. What better way to relax is there?"

Romano looks unconvinced.

"And think about it!" Spain continues with a charming smile. "It's almost become a cute tradition of ours, right? You get a new car and we test if the suspension is any good."

'Tradition'. Romano snorts. "Don't try to excuse the fact that you're a dirty, pervy, old man."

"I'm not old," Spain sulks.

"Yes, you are. It's a crime to be caught touching up people considerably younger than you are in the back of a car, you know," Romano says, grinning.

Spain laughs at that, finding the concept very silly when they're both centuries old. He settles into a coy smile, which - for all his obliviousness in most aspects of the world - he knows full well makes Romano a bit weak at the knees.

It works. Colour blossoms pink on Romano's cheeks. He hastily jerks his eyes away. "Oh no you don't, bastard."

"Don't what, Roma?" Spain asks, his voice taking on a soft, lilting tone. "I was only suggesting it because you're a bit tensed up from driving all day long."

"Only because you're lazy," Romano says, scowling at him, cheeks slightly puffed.

"Yes," Spain nods, amiable smile on his lips. "I've just been sitting, enjoying the ride." At that he reaches over, smoothing his fingertips over Romano's wrist. It tickles; Romano's fingers twitch in response. "So I was thinking that I could say thank you by enjoying a ride with you."

Romano can't help the way his breathing suddenly picks up and the way hairs on the back of his neck prick. "Oh really? You think a 'ride' would relax me, huh?"

Spain cocks his head like a confused puppy. "Roma, I didn't mean driving. I meant that I could ride your dick?"

Romano heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes. "Wow, Spain, really? I'm floored." Spain opens his mouth to respond, most likely with another inane comment. Romano gets there first. "Shut up and come here," he says, holding his hand out.

Spain's grin is instant. He surges forward like a charging bull, pressing against Romano's front, encircled by his arms. Romano shakes his head, unable to help the smile tugging traitorously at the corners of his lips.

"Idiot" is all he manages to mutter before Spain catches his lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

It's an eager kiss, all teeth, lips and tongue; quiet, wet sounds, and soft breathing. Romano's eyes slip closed as he raises his hands, tangling his fingers in stubborn, wayward locks, pulling at him and clasping at him, keeping their lips pressed firmly together. Spain's hands twitch on his hips in response as he sighs against his lips, sliding his tongue languidly against Romano's and humming softly in his throat.

Spain's fingers twitch again, clasping at the sharp bone of his hip before moving, sliding inwards and downwards, both hands smoothing over the front of Romano's expensive, fitted trousers.

Romano pulls back, glistening, swollen lips curving into a smirk. "You horny bastard."

Spain fixes him with a dreamy smile, cheeks pleasantly flushed. He agrees, one hand cupping him between his legs, rubbing slowly with the heel of his hand. "It's been two weeks, Roma. There's only so much my hand can do."

Romano grunts at Spain's caresses, his groin growing warm, inclined to agree. Two weeks to a man is a long time, but two weeks to two hot-blooded Latin men is torture. "Yeah, you told me every damn night over text messages that you were going to go for a wank, idiot. You're meant to-" Romano pauses, making a soft noise as Spain squeezes his balls gently in the palm of his hand. "-nh, tell me what you're doing to yourself, not go quiet and then tell me 'sorry, I just went to masturbate'."

Spain pulls back slightly from where he's trailing his lips over Romano's neck. "Hmm? What I'm doing to myself?" he asks, pausing.

With a huff, Romano drops his hand, finding Spain's and pushing it firmly back between his legs again. "Never mind, just get on with it," he gripes.

Spain chuckles, rubbing Romano a little harder, a little faster. "So romantic, Romano."

"You want to fuck in a car," Romano grunts in retaliation, cock already half-hard and starting to feel a bit constricted, swathed in layers of underwear and trousers.

Spain laughs, slightly breathy as he pauses once again in his ministrations, nimble fingers shifting to pluck at the button on Romano's fly, sliding the zip down and eagerly reaching inside for his prize. Romano hisses.

"To be fair," Spain says, warm hand clasped around Romano's warmer dick, "the scenery's very romantic."

"Hm," Romano grunts, attention focused on where Spain's fist is languidly caressing him. He can't honestly say that he cares about the pretty scenery anymore. He isn't planning on admiring it when the idea of watching Spain's sweat-slicked back flexing and shifting under him is making his mouth water.

He glances down (when did Spain undo his shirt?) to where Spain is busy kissing towards one of his stiffened, pink nipples. "Oi," he says, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair, tugging his face up none-too-gently. "Shift." Without giving him much room to argue, Romano shoves at his shoulder, forcing Spain to lean back on the bonnet with his elbow.

"Don't shove," he whines, despite the dopey smile that stretches across his lips when Romano smoothes his hands up his shirt, making the material rub pleasantly against his skin. He watches with some interest as Romano leans in close, pressing his lips against his neck, following the skin that reveals itself as he plucks the buttons of his shirt open, paying special attention to a collar bone that he has never failed to make his groin tingle at the mere sight of it.

Bypassing his nipples (and his divine stomach) Romano slides to his knees, rolling his eyes when Spain utters a delighted little chirrup. Without any reprimand for the silly noise, Romano sets about undoing his belt and fly with practiced fingers. Spain lifts his hips to help as Romano hooks his fingers around the waist of his underwear, tugging them down to his knees quickly. He slides his hands back up cream-coffee thighs and wastes no time curling his fingers around the dick he finds between them, pulling the foreskin back to slip the tip of his tongue wetly against the head.

Spain makes a quiet, guttural sound above him, his hand flying south to rest atop Romano's head. "Oh yes," he groans, thrilled. "Yes."

Romano's mouth twitches into a small smile. He's good at giving head and he enjoys it too. It's satisfying, reducing the strong, unassailable figure of his childhood to a groaning, panting, unthinking mess. The thought alone is enough to make his cock stiffen as he sets about pleasing Spain, sliding his tongue into the little gap between his cockhead and foreskin, feeling it grow taught as he curls the flat of his tongue over the tip.

A few well-placed licks and laps and taps of his tongue have Spain flushed and panting, his hand tight in his hair. Romano takes his stiff dick into his mouth, the flat of it sliding down the underside of his shaft, following a slowly pulsing vein as the head of his cock starts to fill his throat. He breathes through his nose, hollowing his cheeks as he lifts slowly off, lips making slick, obscene noises that ring louder in his ears than Spain's quiet grunts. He pulls off with a pop, hand coming up between Spain's legs to take his balls in the palm of his hand, feeling them twitch as he curls his fingers gently around them. He rolls them carefully, tender as he flicks the tip of his tongue against the slit at Spain's tip. Spain agrees with a loud groan, and a dim bitterness touches Romano's tongue.

"You're real fucking excited, huh?" Romano grins up at him, hand still caressing his balls, thumb rubbing small circles.

Spain laughs. It's a breathy, relaxed sound. "What do you expect? Roma is so good at sucking cock."

Romano suspects that he shouldn't take pride in that sort of thing. Regardless, he does. "Hmm," he agrees, placing a wet kiss on the tip just as one of his fingers sneakily extends, locates and presses firmly against a certain spot somewhere between Spain's balls and asshole that-

Spain shudders and gasps, startled.

It's one of Romano's favourite sounds, so he does it again, rubbing against him, delighting in the warm rush of power and excitement that washes over him. Spain's pulling at his hair more insistently and the distinctive taste of precum is stronger on Romano's lips and tongue than before. He sucks the flushed, swollen tip between his lips briefly, running his tongue over the smooth skin before pulling off it with a dirty sound.

Romano takes his hand back and Spain sags in relief, sighing. He can't help but lean back in, pressing a little kiss to the v shape that so often guides his hands, eyes and tongue, and rubs his thumb against the coarse, tight curls that lead down from Spain's belly button.

"Do we have any lube?" Romano asks, unsurprised to hear that his voice is a little hoarse. It's not unusual after he's had Spain's cock in his throat.

Spain takes a moment, dulled sense stirring back to life. "Umm…" he thinks aloud. "There some in my duffel bag."

Romano stands, palming his own dick standing stiffly out of his open fly as if it's being framed in all of its glory. It catches Spain's attention. So much so that he misses Romano's next words.

"Huh?" he says intelligently, looking up to meet Romano's eyes.

"I said where is it? I don't want to have to hunt through your shit for hours to find it and come back to find the mood gone," Romano clarifies.

Spain takes a moment to think. "Front zipper pocket," he says. He knows that since, regrettably, he didn't get to use it the night before.

Romano nods curtly, hurrying off around to the side of the car and jerking the back door open, hurriedly attacking Spain's big, red bag on the back seat with a series of sharp zipping noises and muffled thumps. He returns a moment later, red-faced with heat, arousal, and irritation, a bottle of unnaturally blue lube clutched in his hand.

He shoves the lube into his back pocket, and scowls at Spain. "Turn around and brace your hands against the bonnet," he orders.

It sounds cold, perhaps not the passionate clash that sometimes occurs between them, but Spain can't help but feel a little thrill. He doesn't know quite when in history Romano's demanding nature changed from being cute and annoying, to something that could be so erotic, but it works and Spain finds himself eagerly complying, turning around to press his hands flat to the bonnet, thrusting his arse out as he tosses a naughty grin over his shoulder.

Romano's cheeks heat up in response to Spain's shameless display, the promise in his smirk making his cock ache. He licks his lips, eyes slithering over the curve of his shapely arse, fingers itching to do the same. Romano has never been blessed with patience. He's never been particularly virtuous, so it comes as no surprise to either of them that within seconds Romano's hand, warm and soft, finds itself resting lightly on the sculptured globe of an arse cheek.

He moves, shifting to stand close behind Spain. His other hand drops to rest beside the first, cupping and kneading and squeezing. Spain's behind is as sumptuous as it looks, a perfect balance between full and firm, and pliable. Spain shifts with a pleased sound and Romano feels like right now he is probably the envy of Europe.

He pulls his cheeks apart, pushes them back together and then cracks his hand playfully against the skin for good measure. Spain jumps and whines something, but Romano doesn't give a damn since he's too busy falling against his back and moulding against him. Part of his shaft finds and settles into the welcoming dip of Spain's crack. Spain murmurs something that sounds like approval.

Romano's mouth finds the back of his neck, wet lips and tongue indulging the sensitive skin there, making Spain squirm at the tickle that somehow drops into the pit of his stomach. He reaches behind himself, fingers finding and curling around Romano's prick, angling it down so that the entire length of it can slot neatly home between his arse cheeks. It makes Romano groan softly, mouth sucking down on the curve of Spain's neck as he rolls his hips in response, cock sliding into soft and hot, the sensitive tip brushing up against the back of Spain's balls. Spain sighs. He's excited, twitching eagerly for more as the smooth skin of Romano's dick glides over him.

Romano moves his hands down to take hold of Spain's arse cheeks once again, pressing them tight around his cock and thrusting twice more, sighing in delight at the sensation. Spain agrees with a hiss and wriggles impatiently.

"Roma," he complains, flushed and pouty. "Hurry up!"

Romano nips his shoulder in response, grinning as a thrill of superiority runs through him. "What? You usually love it tender and slow, bastard."

"I don't want it tender and slow right now, Roma." To emphasise his point, Spain smacks his palm against the bonnet.

"Well you don't usually listen to me when I want it hard and fast, do you?" Romano replies, his voice ringing with false pleasantry. It's entirely reasonable, he thinks. He thoroughly deserves it. Spain has teased him more than enough in the past with languid touches and unhurried kisses when he's had his legs spread and his hole begging to be fucked.

"Pretty please?" Spain asks. He casts a heavy-eyed glance over his shoulder and clenches his arse cheeks together to seal the deal.

It works. Romano groans, more at himself than the heat around his prick. He's never going to master the art of being patient, he fears. He didn't have much incentive to in the first place he tells himself as he reaches behind him to pull the lube from his pocket.

"Fine," he huffs, uncapping the bottle and slathering the palm and fingers of his right hand in it. "But only because I'm so generous."

Spain grins victoriously, stomach squirming in excited anticipation as the slick noise of lube on skin fills his ears. "Right, right," he agrees as Romano steps closer, reaching up behind him to curl his fingers in Romano's hair just as the first touch of slippery fingertips slide over his asshole.

Romano isn't gentle. He doesn't need to be. Neither of them are particularly virginal, and Spain takes his fingers easily enough. Romano doubts that he even needs the preparation, but for all that he likes the rough and the passion, he doesn't like hurt and he cares enough about the stupid bastard to not be careless.

That said, it doesn't take long to prep him, his fingers stirring him into a heightened state of excitement rather than relaxing and stretching him. He's wriggling around in a way that Romano would find irritating if it wasn't for the small noises he's making to urge him on.

"Romano," Spain says breathlessly. "Just put it in, okay? He clenches around Romano's fingers in clear invitation.

Unfailingly polite as Romano is, he can't possibly ignore such a welcoming gesture. "Shut up," he grunts, hurriedly tugging his fingers free. His hand finds his own cock, flushed and aching from neglect. His fingers clasp around it and he groans as he jerks swiftly on it until it perks back up to full hardness, glistening and slick with lube.

Spain glances over his shoulder and their eyes lock. They're both excited and eager and maybe even a little amused, but there's something intense there too; a wordless exchange which sends a shiver down Romano's spine. Suddenly he's not quite sure which one of them needs the other more. Spain seems to understand. A soft smile stretches over his lips and he looks away, leaning forwards as Romano moves to pull his cheeks apart with one hand and hold his cock steady with his other. They both take a sharp breath when Romano rubs his tip back and forth over his hole a couple of times. For a moment he considers teasing him again, but that's quickly dismissed. Spain's twitching is too alluring and quite frankly, Romano has all the patience of a Catholic schoolgirl.

They both exhale slowly as Romano slowly penetrates him. Spain accepts him easily, his body curving in a way that makes Romano's mouth water. Distantly Romano wishes that he'd pulled Spain's shirt off so that he could see his beautiful back flex and pull taught.

"Fuck," he grunts when he can't press any deeper, his groin cushioned tightly against the curve of Spain's backside.

Spain laughs, voice a little gruff. "That's what we're doing."

Romano makes a noncommittal sound, hands moving to grip Spain's hips. He sighs in delight, resting his nose against Spain's shoulder. "You're such a slut sometimes," he says. It sounds fond, not venomous.

Spain closes his eyes, flushing as the accusation makes his cock throb, Romano's dirty words always so oddly erotic when used at just the right time. "So mean," he murmurs as he shifts his hips in a slow circle. Romano's fingers twitch on his hips. "You should be nicer to Boss."

"Boss?" Romano snorts. "Some boss you are, letting me stick my dick in your ass."

Spain makes to respond, but whatever he was going to say is lost when Romano rolls his hips in a shallow thrust. It's a short, sharp motion that rakes against all the right places inside him. He hisses in response, dropping his hand and clasping it to Romano's arse, pulling and urging.

"Mmm…Roma," Spain groans. "C'mon!"

"Tsk!" Romano releases his hip with one hand, moving it to grip Spain's hand instead. "Stop ordering me around!"

Spain laughs at that, a touch breathy. "Ah…I guess that's never worked, has it?"

Romano considers that, lips pausing on Spain's shoulder. "Hmm…you're right. I never listen to a fucking thing you say."

They both know that's a lie. Spain's easy to zone out on, but somehow, sometimes Romano finds himself hanging off his every word, just watching his mouth move, and listening to the sound of his voice. Sex is most definitely one of those times. It's deeply erotic, Romano thinks, to listen to and watch Spain while he's fucking and being fucked. To see Spain, once mighty and proud, the unsurpassable conqueror of his youth, reduced to something so fundamental and desperate. There's nothing quite so arousing, and he wants to see more, wants to see his face as he gets more and more lost in sensation, more helpless to Romano's whims.

Spain's not oblivious to the way Romano's fingers twitch against the sharp jut of his hip, his grip tightening. He knows that it's his chance. Spain's prone to wandering thoughts, but he's not stupid. He hasn't survived a thousand years and more of European history by being unintelligent. He knows when to exploit any given situation to his own advantage. Romano isn't immune to this. In fact, Romano's one of his very favourite targets because the results are always so very nice. In this case, Spain thinks that it's entirely appropriate to take advantage of the situation, and wrestle some control back. Having Romano ball-deep inside him doesn't mean he is utterly powerless.

A clench and a sharp roll of his hips is all that it takes to break Romano's resolve. Spain has to hide his smirk when Romano makes a surprised, guttural sound and curls over his back, twitching slightly. Giving him no time to recover, Spain bucks under Romano, forcing his dick to push into and pull out of him in a short, sharp motion. Romano's regaining his senses, growling in a way that makes Spain's cock throb. He clenches around him again, and tosses a filthy grin over his shoulder.

He yelps in surprise a moment later when Romano cracks him on the arse.

"Fine, bastard," Romano breathes against his ear. Spain tips his head, leaning back against Romano as Romano presses his weight against his back. They hold there for a second, Romano nuzzling him briefly before he snaps his hips forwards.

He doesn't stop after that, drawing out almost all the way, and slamming back in, fucking him in earnest. Spain's head drops between his arms, beads of sweat slowly trickling along the slope of his jaw as Romano's cock hammers into him, digging deep. Spain encourages him all the while with breathy murmurs, groaning every time Romano brushes against just the right place inside him. It's not enough for Romano though. He wants to hear him whimper. He wants to see big, strong Boss tremble for him.

It doesn't take much more. A hand between Spain's shoulders pushes his chest flat to bonnet and he lifts his arse like a dog in heat, groaning noisily when Romano slips deeper into him, cockhead raking against the swollen bump of his prostate. Romano grits his teeth, his own dick starting to throb at the slick, tight heat dragging at him with every draw back, pulsing around him with every shove inwards. He throws himself into it, hips slapping against the fleshy curve of Spain's backside with every hard thrust.

He's so into it, rutting with such passionate abandon that he almost misses the soft noise that falls from Spain's lips. Grunting softly, Romano opens his eyes, looking down at the man that he has splayed across the bonnet of his car. He's a lucky son of a bitch, he thinks, a little smug as he watches Spain shift, his eyes heavy and cheeks stained red. He doesn't whimper much during sex, but when he does, Romano fucking loves the sound. It's erotic, and it's sexy, and somehow it always feels a little like affirmation of his skills as a lover, because God only knows that he usually can't stop whimpering when Spain's the one fucking him.

Spain likes to talk during sex. It's not unusual for him to deliver a running commentary on the whole thing which at its best is erotic, and at its worst is rather fucking irritating. This time, however, Spain can't seem to do much more than gasp and groan and grunt. Guttural sounds tear from deep within his chest, the occasional mutinous whimper slipping from his lips whenever Romano's cock jabs home in just the right place. Romano isn't faring much better himself, panting and moaning noisily. His legs are starting to feel like jelly and his dick is beginning to stiffen and pulse insistently. They can both tell from the breathlessness of his groans and the swelling of his cock that Romano's almost done. Spain licks his lips and clenches around him slowly and purposefully, wanting to push Romano that little bit more.

It works. Romano snarls and picks up his pace, dashing towards the end in earnest, hips pistoning, the forceful slams of his hips against Spain's arse rocking Spain's torso across the bonnet and making him wither. Just holding on is all that Spain can do, his fingers scrabbling across smooth plastic, twitching with each pulse of heat that runs through him every time Romano digs deep.

A twitch in his balls is all the warning Romano gets before he's shuddering, pleasure licking up his spine, the desperate clench of every muscle in his lower body not enough to stop his dick from pulsing, throbbing with each spurt. His growl escalates into a loud, long groan as he throws his head back and his hips forward. He ruts desperately for a few, long moments as his orgasm rolls over him in steady waves, milking himself dry within the tight, hot, wet sheath of Spain's arse. It's only as the last twitches from his softening dick begin to fade that Romano starts to regain his senses. He shivers and sighs, flopping against Spain's back with a small moan, trying to regain his breath.

"Mmm..." Is all that he can really think to say.

"Romaaaa," Spain breathes, wriggling his arse, shameless as cum and lube start to slowly trickle free and slip down his thighs. "Don't stop!"

Romano laughs, tired and amused. He leans back a little, and presses his index finger against Spain's spine, enjoying the way that Spain shivers as he runs his fingertip down the length of it. "Wow...you must be hypersensitive right now," he says, almost conversationally.

Spain pants, still arched like a dog in heat. "God damn it, Roma! Don't tease m-" Romano runs his finger between his cheeks and he forgets what he is trying to say. He's pretty sure that he forgets his own name when Romano's finger finds itself back inside him, tickling at his prostate.

Unfortunately, whatever heaven Spain finds himself in is short-lived, because a moment later, Romano's finger is yanked free. He blinks, dazed as the sound of hurried re-dressing drips into his awareness. It's all very foggy to him. He's more concerned with the way that his cock is starting to leak. It's only when Romano smacks him on the shoulder and shouts at him to pull his fucking trousers up that he realises that there are two slightly embarrassed-looking policemen watching them.

It's late when Romano pulls onto Spain's driveway. Madrid is alive with the sound of friends and families dining after a hard day at work. In stark comparison, the atmosphere in the car is quiet.

Romano had barely spoken the rest of the way home. At first Spain hadn't noticed much, too preoccupied with writhing around in the passenger seat, rubbing himself occasionally between his legs to try and alleviate the throb there. Romano hadn't even commented when Spain had eventually given up trying to be subtle and had unzipped himself, bringing himself off into a few hastily snatched up tissues.

An hour has passed and now they're sitting silently, Romano visibly stewing, jaw clenching and unclenching.

"Umm...so..." Spain says, cautiously stepping into the minefield of Romano's mood. He wants to enjoy his night eating and drinking before going to sleep feeling good, and he can't do that if Romano's sulking.

"What?" Romano snaps, giving him a withering look.

Spain snaps his mouth shut, reassessing how he can breach the topic that's had Romano quietly fuming the rest of the way home.

"I know you're mad but...it's not like we haven't been caught before," Spain says.

Romano blinks, his scowl easing slightly. "What?"

"Well, y'know..." Spain gives him a one-shouldered shrug. "We've been caught before, right? Actually, it's usually by the police, come to think on it...but then we keep having public sex, so that makes sense, right?" Spain grins; Romano doesn't. Spain soldiers on regardless. "But anyway, I know you're embarrassed because you're so cute and shy sometimes, even though you're not very shy when we make love, but it's not like they saw much of you, and you probably looked really cool, and all they really did was warn us, so don't be so mad, okay?" He finishes there and takes the opportunity to breathe again.

Romano only stares at him in response, expression twitching slightly as his thoughts catch up with what Spain has just said.

He goes through several different expressions, ranging from angry to amused, before he finally settles on incredulous. "What?" he says slowly. Spain knows from that alone that Romano is really, really mad. "You seriously think that I'm pissed off over the fact that two humans caught me finger-fucking you on the bonnet of my car?"

Spain blinks, surprised. "You're not?"

"No, you idiot!" Romano snaps. He pouts a moment later, cheeks blossoming with colour as he looks away. "I'm fucked off because they caught me with such a shitty car!"

"Uh," says Spain.

"It could have been a Lamborghini! Or a Ferarri. It could have been Bella, God...how fucking cool would that have looked. God- fucking-damnit! Your stupid fucking police probably think I'm as homo as you are- stop laughing!"

Spain can't help himself. He laughs and laughs, even as Romano huffs and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him and stalking into Spain's house.

It takes Spain a couple of minutes to calm himself down. He knows that he'll get it in the neck for laughing, but he can't help it when Romano insists on being so cute and endearingly odd.

"Don't worry," he says fondly, patting the dashboard of Romano's dusk-rose Fiat Punto. "Gimme time, and I'll get him to love you."

Spain jumps out and heads inside, pausing on his doorstep to throw a wink over his shoulder. When the car blinks as it locks itself shut, Spain likes to think it's winking right back.

Footnote

*[Romano, much as he tries to hide it, has a crippling fear of flying. It doesn't matter a jot to him that an Italian man was among the first to come up with a feasible idea for a contraption that would allow man to fly. Neither does it matter to him that he wouldn't die, even if the plane crashed. He just detests flying.

Spain had tried to help him once, a few years back when he had come to the conclusion that Romano needed a good distraction during the flight that he had been forced to go on. His solution was, as to be expected, sex, not least because that was something that Spain could enjoy too. However, his idea to join the mile- high club was thwarted by the fact that England and France had already been using the toilets for just that reason.

Instead he had tried to sneakily cup Romano's crotch (because the direct route was always better!). Unfortunately for both parties, Romano's fraught nerves had instead caused him to react somewhat hysterically to the sudden touch, and he had accidentally ended up knocking Spain out when a wayward elbow met a poorly- placed temple. Spain had been out cold for two hours, and Romano had ended up feeling worse than usual.]