CT's Hetalia thread

[cakeface33]

Man,this is perfect! It was sooo worth waiting a little while for your fics.Thanks so much.

[Not_Telling]

Flawless.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Gaaaaah! This was so precious! Soooooo worth the wait! <3 <3

[Hachimitsu Tea]

For some reason, in spite of quite liking America's character and not minding Canada's, I've always been kind of "whatever" about the NA bros, but this was adorable! The brotherly love when America finally pulled his head out of his butt was just hngggggh <3<3 And there was something happy-squirm-inducing about Canada trying to fight back his sneezes so that he could yell at America, and the fact that he found himself enjoying being able to sneeze I totally loled at that ending too. Priceless!

[CT <3]

Here you go!

Disobedience

Romano was certainly no stranger to shitty ways of being woken up, but being sneezed on had to cap them all.

It hadn't even been his fault either; it wasn't like he'd intended to have his body pressed up against that jerkhead's, with barely an inch between their faces. And, given that he'd been so hazy and half-asleep at the time, how was he supposed to tell what Spain's bobbing chest or the soft hitching labouring his snores was going to develop into? In fact, he'd only jolted fully awake a split-second before the release; enough time to see Spain crumpling his nose desperately and his mouth stretching wide, but much, much too late to scramble away.

"Hrhhh… Hr'esshhhhhiiihouu!" Spain's tortured face smacked into Romano's, the unrestrained fervour of the sneeze sending warm spray against the other's cheek, "Hk'schhouuu!"

A wave of anger flared up inside. Instantly, Romano lifted his knee and slammed it as hard as he could into the bastard's groin, provoking an anguished yelp.

"Owwww!! Roba, I-"

"What the HELL, jerk?!" Romano yelled as Spain rolled around in agony, "Do you think you have the right to just sneeze in my face whenever you feel like it? Because you fucking don't, you asshole, you-" he trailed off at the sound of stalling breath again and, this time, Spain flipped around to muffle his sneezes into the pillow.

"Ih’nxschhh! N’schhhiiuhhh!"

Wiping his abused cheek, Romano bit his lip. Spain was never usually this sneezy in the mornings, and neither were his regular outbursts so exaggeratedly throaty or so damn wet. The last thing he wanted was for Spain to be coming down with something again... not that he gave a flying fuck about that idiot's health.

"Alright then, tell me the truth," he said as Spain emerged from the pillow, dazed with the aftermath, "You managed to catch some shitty cold again, didn't you?"

Spain snuffled congestedly and ran a hand through his sweaty, tousled hair. It was remarkable just how much he resembled a hedgehog at that moment; a very guilty, lost-looking hedgehog at that.

"Yeah, baybe I do hab a bit of a sdiffle. By throat was feeli’g pretty sore last dight, cobe to thidk of it." he drew a sleeve noisily across his nose, wincing slightly, "But there's do deed for by little tobato to worry, it's dot serious or- Hey Roba, don't-!"

He ducked as Romano extended a hand to check his forehead, but Romano caught him.

"Not serious, my ass! It feels like you're on fucking fire, idiot." he growled, "And you've completely ruined that pillow too."

Spain glanced at the mess-drenched article and gave one of his casually-apologetic giggles that was definitely not in the slightest bit cute.

"Lo siento! I'll just throw it id with the laundry whed I do it later, I guess."

"No you won't. You're not doing anything today except from staying right here in bed. And stop looking at me like that, dammit!" he added as Spain's red-rimmed eyes began to glisten with melty gratitude, "I'm- I'm only doing this so you don't spread your snot around the whole house. Not because I care about you!"

"Awww, the codcerd you show your boss is so touchi’g sobetibes, but there's really do deed." he paused to cough thickly into his fist, "It's shopping day today, and you know how annoyed you get when we run out of fo- foo-"

He collapsed into a fit of gurling coughs, his nose already streaming in excess. Romano quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well I'd be even more annoyed if I had to follow such a pathetic looking idiot around the supermarket the whole damn time." he slipped out of bed, stretching and yawning, "Anyway, I'm going to take a shower."

Spain pulled off the covers, his face lighting up. "Si, sou’ds good! I'b always happy to please by tobato, whedever he wants it."

Heat rose to Romano's cheeks. "Who the fuck said you were invited? I just need to wash my face properly dammit! Alone."

Just before the bathroom door, he stopped to pick up the box of tissues resting on the shelf and hurled them at Spain's head.

"And take these, you sound like you need them."

After his shower, Romano returned to their room and was infuriated to discover that the bed was unoccupied. What the hell did Spain think he was playing at, getting up and about in his shitty condition? Uninvited possibilities of feverish unconsciousness and illness-induced injury flooded Romano's mind. What if that jerk ended up causing himself an accident- was he too selfish to even consider how much that would that would torment him?

He changed as quickly as he could and rushed downstairs, following the sound of rustling to the hallway. To his relief, his lover was there, unharmed and rummaging around in the cupboard where they kept their coats and boots. His face was buried inside and his backside stuck out prominently, as comical as it was sexy. Romano cleared his throat and Spain snapped around like a guilty child.

"Oh, h-hi, Roba!"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Romano demanded, "When did I tell you could leave bed?"

Spain didn't answer, but turned back to the cupboard and continued searching. "Hey, have you seen my shoes recently? I can't find them anywhere."

Romano spluttered his incredulity. "Are you actually serious? They're on your feet, you thick shit!"

"Oh yeah, so they are!" he laughed and slipped on his coat, closing the cupboard door, "Haha, I must have put them on when I was upstairs and forgotten hehh 'bout th-them."

His voice seemed to flutter over the last few words and his nostrils twitched momentarily, but it failed to develop any further.

Romano narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Don't tell me you're thinking of going out now."

"'Course I ab!" Spain said, humming brightly as be fastened his buttons, "I've got-gotta get hehhh food for my little to-tobato dext-dext..." he faltered again, eyes screwing up and head beginning to tilt backwards slightly; his whole face teaming with the effort of holding back. The display was so ridiculous that Romano had a fleeting urge to just stick a tissue up the idiot's nose and liberate him, but he put it out of mind and started hunting in the cupboard for his shoes.

"Fine, I'll go instead. You're such a dumb fucktard that this probably didn't even cross your mind, but your damn fever's going to get worse if you trail around the supermarket for an hour."

"It's- it's dot- hnnnggg- -hehhhh- th-that bad, really-" Spain replied, still doing his best to appear unaffected regardless of the tears slipping down his face, "B-boss can st- stiiiiiihhh- still go- hehhhh- sho- shopp-"

"For fuck's sake, just sneeze, dammit!" Romano snapped, finally having had enough, "I can tell you want to!"

Taking the advice, his lover conceded defeat gratefully and let his head roll forward as if in slow-motion to satisfy the obvious discomfort.

"Hhhh-heeehh... hp'shhhuuuuuu! Ah'tshhhiiiuuuu!" there was a brief pause in which Spain began to straighten before shaky anticipation tortured his frame once more, "Kst'shhhiihuuuu!!!"

The recovery seemed drawn-out and painful as Spain gradually transformed from anguished victim to his usual, cheerful self.

"Phew, what a relief!" he sniffed deeply and dabbed his sweaty forehead, "My poor nose really needed that one."

Romano said nothing. As much as he hated to admit it, seeing his lover so utterly powerless to each and every intense demand of his illness both sent electrifying tingles shivering up his spine terrified him to the core.

Realising that he was staring, he hastily grabbed his boots from the cupboard and knelt down to put them on.

"See what I mean? You're ill, jerk. Really seriously ill. If you're going to go waltzing off to the supermarket like the dumbass that you are, I'm coming with you."

"Oh, that's so sweet, Romano!" Spain said with a smile so affectionate it was almost embarrassing, "Of course you're welcome to tag along if you want; it'll be nice to have my little tomato's hand to hold."

"Don't think I'm doing this because I like spending time with you." Romano spat, grabbing his jacket and following Spain out of the house, "It's just, well, someone's got to save you from your thick self."

Nonetheless, he made no objections when Spain slipped his fingers into his own, apart from reaching up and (completely unintentionally) bumping his lips against his boyfriend's cheek.

Romano gritted his teeth as he steered the trolley into the next aisle. Since he usually just made Spain push, he hadn't realised just how fucking heavy a week's worth of shopping could be and he was straining slightly under the weight. Noticing, Spain placed a hand on the edge of the trolley to steady it, but Romano shoved it away furiously.

"Fuck off, jerk."

"What's wrong?" Spain said innocently, "Can't Boss take the reids whed his little tobato's struggling?"

"I'm NOT struggling, you bastard!" Romano snapped back, "And don't push your luck. You're lucky I even let you come."

He continued pushing and adding to the trolley in irritable silence while Spain hovered behind him. His wet sniffles punctured the quiet with a constant reminder of his affliction... not that they made Romano feel concerned about him in the slightest.

As they reached the fruit and vegetable aisle, Spain stopped and gave an exclamation.

"Hey, Romano, these tobatoes are od offer! We cad buy eved bore today." he picked up the nearest one and held it in front of his face to examine, "Look how plump they are too! Just per- per..."

The sudden mid-sentence lapse sent alarm bells blaring in Romano's head, increasing in volume as Spain's chest began to swell and he placed a shaking finger underneath his flaring, scrunched-up nose. Abandoning the trolley, Romano rushed over and grabbed his wrists.

"Put that tomato down, quick! You're going to-"

But his efforts were in vain. With a final, helpless breath of anticipation, Spain jerked forward.

"Huhhh… ‘rishhhiouu! Huh‘ushhh! Hehhh… huh‘rishuh! "

The fitish intensity of each sneeze showered spray further than Romano could have believed possible; splattering not only the tomato, but both pairs of their hands, the sign showing the price of the fruit and, to his horror, at least five of the other tomatoes on display.

Spain seemed just as surprised as he was as he. "Woah, bless me!" he said, wiping his recovering nose against the cuff of his jacket, "Those were some serious sneezes there, no?"

Romano responded by shoving him hard in the chest. "You asshead! Now we've got to buy this shit and we can't even eat it!"

"Haha, my bad!" Spain chuckled in that maddeningly-carefree way as he helped his lover collect up the soiled fruit, "You know what it's like when you've got to sneeze, though. Such an overwhelming sensation... fighting and fighting to get loose."

Scowling, Romano tipped the tomatoes into a specifically isolated section of the trolley. "Stop trying to make up shitty excuses; I'm the one who's got to pay for all this, you jerk."

"C'mon, don't be like that, Roma!" he wiped off a tomato on his shirt and inspected it, "I bet these'll be fine once we've washed them."

"For you maybe," Romano said, starting to push the trolley again, "But I'm not eating anything that's got your fucking germs all over it."

He swung the cart into another aisle, so irritated that he barely noticed the weight.

“Hey, where are you going?” Spain asked, “It’s checkout time, si? We have got everything now, haven’t we?

“Not everything.” Romano said, eyes scanning the shelves, “There are just a few more things… aha!”

Finding the required item, he took reached up to remove a couple from the shelves and tossed them in with the food. Spain made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat.

“Tissues?”

“Yeah.” Romano grunted, “I thought we might need some more given the way your fucked-up nose never seems to stop running.” he reversed the trolley to guide it towards the checkout, then stopped and added few box of Lensip Max as an afterthought. Anything to keep that jerk’s damn sniffing at bay… only because it was so annoying. To his frustration, Spain stooped down and took the newly-included items out determinedly. Romano blocked the shelves and grabbed his arm as he tried to replace them on the shelves.

“What are you doing, bastard? You need that stuff!”

Spain fought to balance the tissue boxes against the pulling. “Romano, I really appreciate the thought, but I keep telling you- this is only a little sdiffle. I’b still as stro’g and healthy as ever, and you dod’t deed to buy all this for be at all!”

“Give them back!” Romano snarled, making a grab for the tissues, “I’m the one who has to live with you and your shitty cold, dammit!”

But Spain merely held the boxes higher out of his reach. “Heh heh, catch them if you can, then!”

“This isn’t funny, you jerk!” even standing on tiptoes it was impossible to prise them from his lover’s hold, “Stop acting like a fucking three-year-old and just- oh shit”

His sentence ended in a gasp of panic. Spain’s eyes were glazing over dazedly again and his eyebrows knotted together. A second later, his breath began to hitch with uneven jerks of helplessness. Romano looked around desperately for a way to slip out but there was nowhere to go; he was wedged between the shelves and his boyfriend, with the trolley blocking his way on the other side.

“For fuck’s sake,” he begged desperately, “Just try to hold it in. Please?”

He could see that Spain was doing his upmost to obey. The struggle of suppression was causing his entire body to tremble wildly and his nose to dribble all the way down his chin. Yet, just as before, the urge seemed just too overpowering to resist.

“Hiehhhh…” Spain threw his head back and Romano squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact, “Ehhehhhh… Eh’shhhiiiuuuu! Ip’SHHHIUUHH!!”

The force of the sneezes sent Spain’s rapidly-contracting chest smacking powerfully into Romano’s as he released over his shoulder. His feet unbalanced, Romano felt himself lurching backwards and smashed headlong into the shelves behind. Row upon row of items toppled off and onto the floor, several catching him painfully on the side of the head as they fell.

It seemed like forever before the foray of cans and boxes came to an end, but eventually, Romano was able to straighten up and step out of the pile; his face so red it felt like his cheeks were about to explode. The whole damn aisle had stopped to watch his blunder, including a shop assistant and several hot ladies, but Romano’s eyes only sought one person. The one person who was standing back from the damage he had fucking caused, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and withholding what looked like the violent urge to laugh.

“I’b sorry Romano,” he said as a fit of giggles overwhelmed him, “It’s just… well, you should hab seed how adorable your scared little face was!”

Fury like Romano had never felt before gushed over him. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was flinging himself straight at his dumbfounded boyfriend, knocking him to the floor.

“YOU DAMN BASTARD!!!”

Fifteen minutes later, the not-so-happy couple emerged together from the supermarket, dazed and disgraced, but somehow miraculously clutching four bags of shopping apiece. The utter humiliation of the experience was still causing Romano’s ears to burn and his curl to scrunch up in shame. When Spain leaned down to gently kiss the top of his head, he pulled away in an instant.

“Leave me alone you fucking waste of skin!”

“Oh Robado, I’ve told you how sorry I ab.” Spain said with a remorseful frown, “It was all by fault, I know it.”

“Damn right it was your fault!” Romano snapped, “I fell over, knocked that shit off the shelves in front of all those people and had to apologise to the manager, all because of you and your damn nose! I told you not to come out in the first place, but did you fucking listen to me?”

Spain out one of his irresistible little wounded-puppy-dog whines. “I know, Roba, I know. I should have listened to you all alodg. If there’s adythi’g to bake it up to you, to get you to forgive be, thed-“

“Well, I can think of something,” Romano looked him directly in the eye, “When we get home, you do exactly as I say. Which means staying in bed and letting me take care of you until this cold’s over, got it?”

“Si, that seebs fair edough to be.”

“Good.” Romano said with a huff, “Because that’s the last time I ever want to- w-want to- 'TCHHHIIIIH!!!”

The sneeze tore through completely without warning, forcing spray over his boyfriend’s neck. Horrified, his eyes widened.

“Now look what you’ve done, you jerk! I’ve caught your damn cold too!”

“Haha, salud, Robado!” Spain laughed, not looking sorry in the slightest, “I guess this beads that I cad start look’g after you too!”

Romano scowled and rubbed his dripping nose up against the shoulder of his shirt. “Fat chance, dickhead.”

(End)

Okay, since I don’t have any more requests to fulfil at the moment, I’ve got quite a few ideas for what to do next. It’s Pancake Day next Tuesday, so I was thinking of writing a little something for that but I’m not sure whether to use FrUK or GerIta. Preferences, anyone? After that, I’ve got several outlines in particular that I wouldn’t mind giving a shot.

• 
  A three-part cold fic starring the Germanics (and co-starring friends).
  
  
• 
  A one-shot based on the concept of a ‘fetishist society.’ Will partly include a continuation of the Spamano I just wrote where we see Romano afflicted and Spain maybe slightly getting off over it as well as a couple of other pairings with different scenarios.
  
  
• 
  A historical fic about Spain’s Armarda against Britain. This will be Spain-with-a-cold again, though, so I dunno, maybe I should leave it for a bit?
  
  I’d be glad to hear everyone’s thoughts.
  

[Not_Telling]

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD

[cakeface33]

Very nice despite being sooo torturous to Romano. Th fetishist society concept sounds really intriguing as does the Spanish Armada yet slightly less so. I've personally never really been one for the drabbles with more than 3 as the focus. It just seems that the focus gets tossed to too many people at the same time,but I say go for whichever one hits inspiration first.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Very nice despite being sooo torturous to Romano. Th fetishist society concept sounds really intriguing as does the Spanish Armada yet slightly less so. I've personally never really been one for the drabbles with more than 3 as the focus. It just seems that the focus gets tossed to too many people at the same time,but I say go for whichever one hits inspiration first.

Squee! This was so cute! And oh my they all sound so lovely! I agree, choose which ever inspires you first! All of them sound so wonderful!

[SpookyBoi]

I like the fetish society idea. It sounds interesting.

[cupkake]

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUUUU!!!! I can't even express how much I loved it! Spain definitely strikes me as someone who never covers their mouth and all those scenarios, from waking up to the part where Lovi is held against the shelves ~ YOU DID FANTASTIC PROPS TO YOU

[CT <3]

Wow… this is so late. I meant to post it for Shrove Tuesday, but it took a little longer than expected. But then, I’m pretty sure this isn’t even celebrated in America, so nobody will know of my negligence*evil grin*. I know I’m probably due to write another GerIta, but I felt more inspired for these two. They’re utterly irresistible in domestic scenarios.

*Warning* Blatant innuendos and sexual references, especially towards the end. It is still mild, though, don’t worry.

Pancake Day

From the very first day they'd started co-habiting, France and England had stuck to a series of strict ground rules for maintaining a relationship that didn't involve killing each other. England had instantly demanded a multitude of restrictions; no putting French cheese in the ordinary fridge, no forcing him to dress up in ridiculous costumes, no perving on other nations or people, and daily showers were to become obligatory. France, on the other hand, had only two requests in mind. One, that England let him call him 'mon petit lapin' without any complaints and two, that he was always allowed do the cooking. So it was that 99% of the time, France was left alone to exercise his culinary expertise. The other 1%, however, England broke the rules.

Every once in a while, perhaps too infrequently for France's liking but still often enough to be satisfying, he would become possessed by domesticity and announce that he would be preparing dinner that night. The first few times this had happened, France had responded with horror, ridicule and point-blank refusal but, given that his stubborn petit lapin would never paid the protests any mind, France gradually began to see the benefits of these rare occurrences. Of course, it did mean that he had to nibble on vaguely edible morsels from a plate of burnt and insultingly-bland scraps, but in return he got to witness the hot and bothered Brit storming frustrated around the kitchen for a few hours before inevitably breaking down over the end result and admitting that, yes, French food was indeed superior to its pathetic British counterpart. Once or twice, France had even managed to persuade him to apologies on his knees.

So when England had him thrust a list of ingredients and asked him to go out to the supermarket to buy it, France had only been too willing.

By the time he returned to their flat, he found England already waiting in the kitchen, clothed in an apron and with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The frown-lines on his face had set in thickly, making him look flustered and irritable but still handsome. Oh so very handsome. He allowed his eyes to rest longingly on England's face as his boyfriend checked through the shopping and declared his gratitude with an approving nod.

"Alright, it's all here. You can leave now, Frog."

But France merely leaned over the worktop, resting his chin on cupped hands.

"You mean you not even going to reveal what you are making for us?" he made his sigh as exaggerated as possible, "Oh Angleterre, 'ow myserious you are being!"

"Well, I thought it would have been obvious what I was making," England said as he searched in the cupboards for a mixing bowl, "Given the occasion and everything."

"The- the occasion? Er..." France racked his brains, terrified that something important had slipped his mind, "It's only March 4th. What is so special about that?"

"Not the date, you imbecile, the day." placing the bowl on the worktop, he cracked an egg clumsily against the rim, "Pancake Day!"

"Ah, but mon ami, we do not celebrate that in France."

England looked up and rolled his eyes. "I know. But since you've decided to take the lead regarding some... particular matters in this relationship, I felt that it was only fair to install some proper British traditions under this roof in return." he turned back to the cookbook, scanning a finger over the ingredients, "Now, whereabouts d'you keep the flour?"

"Cupboard above the fridge, top shelf."

He smirked to himself as England went over to retrieve it, having to stand on his tiptoes just to open the cupboard door.

"Do you per'aps need any 'elp getting it down?"

Back-to-back measurements taken recently had finally confirmed what France had known for centuries; he had the height advantage, if only a very slight one, over his rival. Not that England would ever admit it.

"Certainly not." straining to reach, he nudged the bag of flour with his fingertips, coaxing it nearer the edge, "I'm perfectly capable of- oh fucking hell!"

Inevitably, the bag tipped over the side, slipping through England's shaking fingers and falling to the ground with a soft thud. It burst open immediately on impact, sending a cloud of flour straight into his boyfriend's face as he bent down to clear it up.

"U-ughhh!" he recoiled, screwing up his eyes and spitting out a mouthful of flour with an indignant 'pah', "Dammit!"

France couldn't help indulging himself in a little chuckle. "Well, Angleterre, I do not like to say 'I told you so', but-"

"Sh-shut it!" the anger made his face look all the more ridiculous, like a chalky or frost-dusted tomato, "This isn't flipping fu- funnnnn-" the syllables slurred together towards the end, forming an incoherent mess of helpless struggling. Finding his interest more than slightly piqued, France kept his eyes glued to his lover as he cleared his throat to try again.

"This i-isssss-n't fuuuu- fuuuuunnn-" his chest protruded with preparation and his flour-covered nose quivered. His head began to tilt back, only to rip forward a second later with the violence of the result. "Ahh'chishooo! H'tsshhh! Nhiihhhh... tishhhieeeww! "

Regardless of intention, it had always seemed like a boon to France that he was the only person in the world for whom England never bothered to cover a sneeze. That way, he could watch and obsess over each detail played out in full; the stuttering breath, the frantic pre-sneeze distortion before the wonderful jerky contraction that he so desperately he craved. It was all truly worth every goospimple, every pang of anticipation it induced.

"T'schhHOoo! At'Chhuhhh!"

With a dusting of flour still coating the inside of his mouth, England's spray was more prominent than ever, shooting forward with wet and dusty ferocity. The kind that only a repressed Brit could achieve; reserved for /him/ and him alone.

"Hat'ISHIEWW!"

It was a habit of France's to only bless another after he was certain that they had given all they had to offer. So, when England's breath stopped threatening to spill over and he lapsed into gasping and sniffling, France sauntered over, kissing his boyfriend's flour-patched hair.

"A tes souhaits, mon petit lapin," he whispered with purposeful breathlessness into the other's ear, "Per'aps I was wrong about this pancake day. It seems like an occasion I could enjoy after all."

He was punished for his insolence immediately as England bent down to scoop up a handful of flour and flung it without hesitation into his face.

"H-heiihhhhh..." the irritation was sudden and relentless, allowing little time for vocal build-up before his nose succumbed to the urge, "Hg'asshhhhiuu! At'schhhhouumm!"

In many ways, his sneezes were the antithesis to England's. He never resisted them, nor attempted pathetically to hold back or stifle. If anything, he emphasised them as much as he could, indulging in the rush of each release, making the sound drawn-out and melodramatic to contrast to his lover's irregualar, embarrassed little bursts.

"Eh'shhhhhhhoou!"

He nuzzled his face into England's shoulder for another sneeze, feeling the gush of vindictive satisfaction as his boyfriend squirmed in discomfort.

"Get off me, for goodness sake!"

But France only pushed his head further down, rubbing his dribbling nose against the soft cotton of England's shirt and sniffing with exaggerated wetness.

"But Angleterre... my nose feels oh so tickly..." he inhaled as deeply as he could, purposefully provoking his hypersensitive nose into a bout of fierce flaring, "Heh'reshhhhoouum!"

England's body fidgeted underneath him as if someone had just dropped an eel down his back. "Ugh! You've really got to stop this! Do you think I want to feel your slimly nasal discharge all down my front?"

"It would not bother me." finally deciding to spare him, France emerged, wiping streaming eyes on the back of his hand, "I''m sure it is just like everything else about moi; beautiful and romantic."

"You wish!" England snorted, and fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, "You're a pathetic excuse for a boyfriend, you really are."

He went over to the sink to wet the cloth before wiping it over his face, pedantically rubbing away every trace of flour. Once done, he folded the handkerchief over to expose a clean corner and offered it to his boyfriend.

"Here. We can't have that flour spoiling 'ton très bon visage' any longer, can we?"

His voice was so overdosed with sarcasm that France couldn't hold back a laugh as he took the cloth.

"Merci, Angleterre."

Instead of his boyfriend's furious scrubbing, France cleaned his face as slowly and as sensually as possible, finishing off by burying his nose inside and blowing hard. He knew how much those unrestrained, explosive honks drove England mad- in more ways than one. Sure enough, a very conflicted expression manifested itself on England's face as France returned the handkerchief to his own pocket; the kind of expression that wanted to be hatred or annoyance but was too wrapped up in obsession. All it did was draw attention to the uncertainty of his feelings, making him look all the more adorable. All the more loveable. All the more fuckable.

"What is it?" England demanded, catching France's gaze upon him.

"You still 'ave a bit of flour... there." he gestured vaguely to his face.

"Really?" England snatched up a tea-towel resting beside the sink and held it to his face, poised. Meticulous as ever. "Where?"

France slipped his hand over his boyfriend's wrist and slowly lowered his arm. "Right about 'ere." he said, and kissed England on the mouth.

As passionate as they were, their make-out sessions were really more like battles than foreplay; tongues writhing from the outset; lips and teeth clashing furiously; both of them fighting to go harder, deeper, like they were trying to suffocate each other in their own love. When they finally broke apart, simultaneously, it was more out of lack of air than any desire whatsoever to stop. That burn in England's emerald eyes- that ardent, needy hunger- was already making France unbearably stiff around the groin area, and the pulsing against his leg from his lover's crotch was enough to signal that he was not the only one craving a little quelquechose. Knowing that he would have to be the one to initiate, he glanced questioningly towards the kitchen table- glad that England had not yet laid it, or even put on a tablecloth.

"Honestly." England said with a half-chiding, half-yearning sigh. A habit he'd developed as an unsuccessful way of masking desire. "You really are unbelievable, you!"

France responded by looping his arms possessively around England's waist. "Why not? We can just leave this silly pancake business until later, non?"

"I-I suppose we could."

(End)

Thanks for all the votes for my next story. I’m glad to see interest in the Fetish Society idea because that was the one I wanted to write next to be honest. Don’t worry about overcrowding, though, because with the way I planned to write it, there wouldn’t be focus on more than one couple at a time. I’m not good enough to balance out too many at once .

[Not_Telling]

Ohhhh that's where you're wrong, Chocolate Turnip, we do celebrate it in America We call it Fat Tuesday instead of Shrove Tuesday though. Even still, Pancake Day is Pancake Day.

Anyways...

Cute drabble! Britain and France are so cute yay~

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Oh this was precious!

[MidnightCatK]

I loved it! I can totally see those two just being in that ridiculous situation. I was just wondering if maybe next time you used some words or phrases from another language, could you put the translations at the end of the drabble or something? I knew some of the words and phrases, but some I had no idea and couldn't tell by hints or anything. It's just a helpful suggestion. On another token, could I request that you write some more SeborgaxMonaco? I just loved reading what you wrote earlier, it was so good and I wish that pairing got more recognition. Don't feel too pressured to write it or anything though, I enjoy everything you write and won't be upset in the slightest if you don't wish to do more with them.

[Maus_17]

*SCREAMS* ALL OF THIS WAS SO PERFECT I CANT EVEN GGHHHAAAAUGH

[Cocobalt]

Words cannot describe how much I adore your writing style. The descriptions are really vivid and the the duo feel very well in character. Very very cool drabble.

[squealofapproval]

You're amazing Choco, you know that right? You write fetish poetry, that's it!

[Kushami Suki Da!]

You're amazing Choco, you know that right? You write fetish poetry, that's it!

This right here. There is no better way of putting this. It is an art.

[CT <3]

Wow, I haven’t commented in over a month? Yeah, I’m sorry. Trouble is, my exams are coming up soon (and these are pretty important as they decide which university I’m going to), so expect updates to be infrequent. That, and I (idiotically) decided to start writing a longer, non-fetish-y Hetalia fanfiction online.

Still, I really appreciate all the comments and views I’ve had despite the break. I love you people, I really do!

@Midnightcatk

D’you, I wanted to write Seborga x Monaco so much that I skipped ahead a little to write your request for it. I know I was meant to do the Fetish Society next, but… I have no regrets. Hope you like it!

Poker Face

For once in his life, Seborga wished he'd listened to his brothers.

When he'd arrived home a week ago, flushed with success over managing to secure a dinner date with the girl of his dreams, it had been Romano, predictably, who'd had the initial reservations. He'd taken his brother aside and given him a stern talking to about the dangers of going out with high-class ladies; how much time he'd have to spend, the astronomical costs of everything, and how he should expect to get dumped for a better, richer model at the drop of a hat. Naturally, Seborga had found the advice easy to ignore. It was true that he didn't know much about Monaco as of yet, having only actually spoken to her once or twice, but he'd been watching her from a distance for some time now, caught up in a star-stuck daze, and he could tell that she wasn't like that. He just could. Besides, given that his brother was in a long-term relationship with a certain Spaniard, what would he know about taking out high-class ladies anyhow?

At first, his second brother, Veniciano, had been delighted to hear about his romantic triumph and congratulated him wholeheartedly. However, when Seborga had woken up this morning- date morning- stricken with a sandpaper-raw throat and a nose so bunged up that it was nearly impossible to breathe through, then he'd voiced his doubts. He'd begged his brother not to go, told him it would be better to call it off, or rearrange it for a day when he wasn't bound to make a fool of himself. Once again, Seborga had paid him no attention. He'd barely been able to think of anything except the date all week and he certainly wasn't going to blow what could be his only chance with the girl he'd been eyeing up for months just because of one little sniffle.

Only now did he realise what a bad decision that had been.

Aside from the stuffy voice and occasional surreptitious nose-wiping, he'd been able to conceal his illness reasonably well on the drive down, and he and Monaco had chatted and flirted in the car together with the ease he'd been hoping for. The real problem came when they arrived at the restaurant. Seborga was initially glad to discover that the only space left was inside; there was much less chance of his nose running and messing up the date if they were in the warm. What he hadn't envisaged, however, was that each and every table would be equipped with scented candles.

They hadn't even ordered the drinks yet and already he could feel the cloudy haze of floweriness taking its toll, provoking his already-sensitive nose into unbearable spasms. It was running too, with a kind of ceaseless resolve which only constant and loud sniffles could amend. He wondered whether Monaco had heard any of them, and glanced at her desperately over the table as she studied the menu. No sign of recognition could be read in her eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief and cleared his throat.

"So- snff- mia bella, do you kdow- snnffff- what you're goi’g to or- ord-" he felt the itch coming a second before it overpowered him. He flicked his head to the side facing the wall for the stuffy, slightly sluggish release, "K'achhooo!"

"A tes souhaits." calmly, Monaco closed the menu and set it down on the table, "Oui, I think I 'ave decided. What about you?"

He rubbed his nose with a fist, attempting to stave off what he knew was the build-up of another sneeze. "S-si."

"Good. Excusez-moi, garçon!" she called out to a nearby waiter, and he came over to their table, book in hand.

"Bon soir. Would you like any wine to start?"

Seborga felt a rush of satisfaction at the request; clearly the man thought that he looked overage. He grabbed the wine list eagerly, remembering what his brothers had told him about how girls liked it when boys ordered for them.

"Yes please, we'll have a bottle of th- thheehhh-" his heart sank and he hastily screwed up his nose to suppress the deepening irritation, but it was impossible to resist, "K'shhooo! H'epshiii!" he collapsed forward into cupped hands, failing to muffle the cold-exaggerated volume, "H'WESHIIIEW!"

"Monsieur! Are you alright?" the waiter's form was a reduced to a watery blur before him.

Sniffling and blinking away tears, Seborga tried again determinedly.

"We'll- hehh- have the clar- clare- Hk'chiioo!" by now, however, the urge had well-and-truly tickled his nose into submission and he could only turn away in panic as he felt another fit coming on, "Epshiii! Ehhh... Ep'SHIIII!!"

The sneezes were harsh and throaty, racking his exhausted body with the effort and sending mess trickling over his upper lip. Worse still, by the time he emerged, gingerly dabbing his nose with a fancy restaurant napkin, he was dismayed to discover that Monaco had taken over the ordering for him.

"We are a little too young to be 'aving wine, unfortunately, but the water jug should suffice." she said, her accent crisp and captivating, "And for main meals, we will be ordering from the set menu, si vous plaits."

The waiter nodded and he took the order down and collected their menus. "Merci Mademoiselle. And, Monsieur, a tes souhaits."

Then he whisked away, leaving Seborga a forlorn and humiliated mess. Silently, he cursed himself; how could so many things have gone wrong already? He kept his eyes fixated on a spot on the table, not daring to look at Monaco in his disgrace. Goodness knew what she must think of him now. His heart jolted as he heard her beginning to speak.

"You 'ave been sneezing a lot tonight, mon cher."

'Mon cher'. She had called him 'my dear'. Maybe she was still interested after all. Shyly, he looked up and scanned her face for sympathy, disgust, anything, but it remained as blank as a brick wall.

"Scuzi." he muttered finally.

She shrugged. "There is no need to apologise; it is not your fault. You 'ave a cold, oui?"

He nodded, blushing heavily. There was no point denying it, after all.

"It is as I thought, then." she leaned forward over the table, expressionless as ever, but with something of a mischievous glint behind her glasses, "I wonder... what would you say if we decided to play a little game."

"Wh-aaa- hehhhh- Kt'schhhhioo!! What ki’d of gabe?"

"Well, 'ow about this. I bet that you will not be able to get through dinner without sneezing again. If you do, you will 'ave to pay the bill."

"Alright." he wiped his nose on the napkin again, "But I was goi’g to do that adyway. What do I get if I avoid it?"

Monaco stretched her fingers outwards, stroking his hand teasingly. "If you go this whole date without sneezing... then I will give you a kiss."

Butterflies swooped in the pit of Seborga's stomach. A kiss. Monaco- the refined, beautiful, high-class Monaco- was considering kissing him.

"Challenge accepted." he almost whispered.

Seborga had no idea how he managed to survive the following hour. The prickly feeling was teasing his sinuses almost constantly, and trying to suppress it was both agonising and highly unsatisfying. Twice before the main meals came he made the mistake of getting caught up in the conversation with Monaco and breathing in too deeply. His nostrils had flared and his breath began hitching, precariously close to release, but after he pinched the tip of his nose and took several stabilising breaths the sensation mercifully cleared.

It became easier when they received their meals, at least then there was a different, less itch-provoking scent to distract him, and he began to fall back into the swing of his date. The food was sublime, well worth the high prices, making him feel relieved. This was Monaco he was taking out, after all, and she deserved the very best. He even tried a couple of flirty tricks on her that his brothers had taught him, like staring deeply into her eyes while she ate and offering her a choice morsel from the end of his fork and she responded well to the flattery. Or as far as he could tell, at least.

When the waiter came to collect their plates after they finished he secretly hoped that Monaco wouldn't want desert. But, determined to torture him further, she did, of course. His trepidation was immediately soothed, however, when it arrived ten minutes later and he discovered that she'd ordered an extra-large ice-cream sundae, coated in chocolate sauce and chopped hazelnuts. With two spoons.

Sharing it with her tantalised and terrified Seborga in equal measures, particularly when their hands kept clashing as they dug in for spoonful’s at the same time. He could feel the embarrassed-schoolboy blush leaping at his cheeks with every touch, but Monaco, as ever, remained calm and so frustratingly composed. Even more humiliating was his nasal situation; the cold of the ice-cream provoking it to run again in a disgustingly-constant way. He wished he'd had the foresight to bring tissues. Although Monaco seemed like the type of girl to carry a handkerchief, he couldn't bring himself to ask to borrow it, so he did the best he could at mopping up with the fancy restaurant napkin instead and ignored the scandalised glances from the waiters. If their poor opinion of him was what it took to win a kiss with Monaco then it didn't seem so bad somehow.

It felt like the meal was never going to end; the bill arrived after a lifetime of waiting and furiously rubbing the end of his enflamed nose. The itch was gradually beginning to increase its levels of torment, but it was comforting to think that it would soon be over, and the anticipation of his reward sent excited triumph tingling through his arms. He didn't like to be the one to approach the subject, but since Monaco remained silent on the other side of the table, he realised he had little choice.

"So, Biss Bodaco," he offered her one of his most foolish grins, "I've managed to avoid- snnfff- sneezing all this time, you know."

She nodded curtly. "Indeed you have. But, mon cher, your ordeal is not quite over yet."

"W-what d'you mean?"

"I mean that we have not yet paid."

"Oh- oh right." his tensed body relaxed and he fumbled into a trouser pocket for his wallet. Counting out the right amount of money, he placed the notes beside the bill, even remembering to leave a tip for the concerned waiter. Over the table, Monaco was searching in her bag for something.

"Hey!" he said, "You don't need to get out any money. I know I won, but I still want to pay for you."

"Oh, but you see I am not looking for money."

Seborga frowned. She sounded innocent enough, but there was something about her voice, a kind of playful lilt which suggested some sort of trick up her sleeve.

"Then what-?"

Instead of answering, Monaco pulled what she was searching for out of her bag. Seborga only saw it for a second, but recognised it as a small bottle of perfume. Instantly, he knew what she was going to do.

"No, please don't-"

But it was too late. Quick as a flash, Monaco thrust the bottle in front of his place and gave the nozzle two well-placed squirts. The rosy scent which it produced normally wouldn't have bothered him, but now it was engulfing his weakened nose- too powerful, too intense- and there was nothing that he could do to prevent the automatic string of violent sneezes.

"H'WESHOO! Huhhh-huhhhh... 'Tschiiiooo! Hap'SHHIEWW!" each outburst sent his body lurching forwards helplessly. Messy discharge sprayed the expensive tablecloth, but before Seborga barely even had time to acknowledge it, his chest was expanding for more, "Hehhh... Hetchhiiii! K'ssshhhewww!! Hihh...ISHIIIEWWW!!"

His eyes blurred over, and his head felt dreamily light and whole body wrenched with the breathy, congested releases. Vaguely, he felt a hand on her back helping him to his feet and guiding him from his seat and through of the restaurant.

"A tes souhait. Don't worry, I 'ave got you."

"Hweshoooo!!"

Seborga was not completely aware of leaving the restaurant, but the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a bench outside, sniffing and blinking away tears in the cool, refreshing evening air.

"Be still, mon cher." Monaco was beside him, dabbing his nose and his lower lip with a small pink handkerchief. It was so gentle and soothing that Seborga found himself tensing all over.

"Miss Monaco- I-"

"Shhhh, shhhh." she folded the handkerchief to reveal a clean side and held it under his nose, "Blow."

His face burned over with horror. If Monaco was so desperate not to kiss him that she sprayed perfume in his face, what did she think she was doing by leading him on so blatantly now? The last time he'd ever had his nose blown was when he was a child and his grandfather was alive, but now, on the cusp of adulthood, it seemed like such a sensual act.

"But-"

"Seborga, I am not going to ask again." Monaco said lightly. Although her face remained expressionless, there was a sternness about it that he knew he couldn't refuse.

He blew as shortly and as gently as he could, his heart thudding. The gurgle it made was so quiet that it was barely audible. He hoped that he'd be let off the hook now and struggled to pull away, but Monaco held the handkerchief firmly in position.

"Do you really think I'm going to let you get away with a feeble little puff like that?" she said, her voice sugary-sweet in irritation, "Put some effort into it, garçon. Blow hard."

She seemed so serious about this instance- so much so that Seborga feared what might happen to him if he refused to comply. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced out the fiercest blow he could manage. It exploded into one of his natural honks, albeit more stuffy than usual, loud enough to make several heads turn from the people eating on restaurant tables outside. After two more violent blows to join the first, each one longer and louder than the last, he could finally feel his nostrils clearing mercifully.

Monaco wiped his nose one last time and took the handkerchief away to return to her bag.

"There, that feels better, non?"

Too embarrassed to meet her eye, he nodded. Now that it was over, he knew that it was time to address the matter at hand.

"Miss Monaco... do you want me to take you home now?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Already? But why would I want that?"

"I-I know you're not interested in me. I know you don't want to be my girlfriend." he still couldn't look at her, still couldn't look at that beautiful, enigmatic poker face, "I don't want to force you into doing anything you don't want to, so-"

But before he could even finish the sentence, he felt her hand gracing her cheek, turning his head towards hers.

"You think I am not interested?" she whispered, her lips barely a fraction from his own, "Silly boy."

Then she closed the gap, and kissed him.

It was everything he'd dreamed of and more, the way she claimed him and explored his mouth with his tongue, sending little tingles dancing up Seborga's spine. Taking the cue, he kissed back passionately, wrapping his hands around her back and letting stands of her hair fall through her fingers. It felt so good that he never wanted it to end and couldn't help but feel disappointed when Monaco pulled away gently. His head was spinning and spinning so fast that he doubted he'd ever manage to recover.

"S-so you do-"

"Yes, I'm interested in you. And yes, I would adore being your girlfriend." Monaco grinned slyly and stroked the side of his face, "It just wanted to play with you a little first... see exactly 'ow much you were willing to put in to get close to me."

"Oh..." he couldn't think of anything more eloquent to say at that moment.

Giggling slightly at his gormlessness, Monaco got to her feet, pulling him with her.

"Come on! Why don't you take me on that romantic drive you were talking about?"

(End)

Okay, I think the words from other languages I wrote were simple enough, but I’ll put the translations up just in case. I’m not an expert, so stuff might be wrong.

-Excusez-moi, garcon: Excuse me, waiter (although ‘garçon on its own, as she calls Seb later, just means ‘boy’)

-Scuzi: Sorry

-A tes souhaits: Bless you (literally, ‘to your wishes’)

-Mon cher: my dear

-Mia bella: my beautiful one

[SpookyBoi]

Awww seborgia he's so cute!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Yay you updated! And with such a lovely fic for a come back! This was too precious.

Good luck with your Exams!

[Not_Telling]

OMGGGGGGG THIS WAS SO WONDERFUL BUENO BUENOOOOOO!!!! :D

[Cocobalt]

You know when this is a great Drabble when you managed to get excited about a pairing you know nothing about(by you I mean me). Magnifique!

[Maus_17]

Oh my goodness I love Seb and Mona! :3 this was so great and wonderfully cute!

[CT <3]

Hmmm, I’m supposed to be revising… ah well. A couple of days ago was Emi’s birthday, and I really wanted to do a little something for her. Sorry this is slightly late! Happy Birthday, Emi.

(BTW, this is a human coffee shop AU, which is why I’ve used the human names).

Flirting on the job

“Hey, watch what you’re doing with that!”

Feliciano snapped out of his daze just in time to realise that the coffee cup was overflowing. Hastily, he switched off the machine.

“Waah, sorry Lovi!” wiping the mess with a dishcloth, he grinned sheepishly, “I guess I’m just really tired today.”

His brother folded his arms with a huff. “Tch, don’t put on that innocent tone with me. We both know exactly why you’re getting distracted.”

Feliciano’s grin became all the more sheepish as the colour rose to his cheeks.

“Um… maybe.”

It was true that there was a reason behind his clumsiness. A reason which might have something to do with the attractive businessman who had been coming in to their café every day this week. Although they hadn’t properly spoken, apart from when Feliciano took his orders, the man seemed every inch his type; tall, blonde, and awkwardly-sweet behind his buff exterior. Instinctively, Feliciano glanced over his shoulder to where the man was sitting by a table in the corner with his coffee and slice of Battenberg. Coughing quietly, he raised a fist to rub his nose. The way his eyebrows knotted together in irritation was so adorable it made Feliciano feel like he was melting inside.

Lovino sighed. “You know, if you really like that jerk so much, you should just go and talk to him.”

But Feliciano shook his head. If the man been a cute girl, he’d have been over to chat him up in a heartbeat. A muscular and very serious-looking guy, on the other hand, had ‘unapproachable’ written all over him.

“Fine then, don’t.” Lovino said, filling another cup, “But if you’re not going to, then get on with your work instead of ogling him, dammit!”

That was easier said than done. Feliciano continued serving and taking orders as best as he could, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop his eyes straying back to that corner. Although… it probably was partly the man’s fault too. Whenever Feli looked, he seemed to be in some form of distress- sniffling and moaning and wiping his cuff furiously across his reddening nose. Clearly, he was suffering, and clearly he was doing his best to hide it, both of which were keeping Feliciano’s interest fully peaked. The thought of such vulnerability waiting beneath the surface was just so enticing.

His luck wasn’t about to end there, either. When he decided to take a long route back from one of his orders which coincidently passed the corner table, the man’s eyes screwed up just as Feli was walking beside him, and he collapsed forwards into cupped hands.

“Hpp’schwuuhh!”

Even muffled, the sneeze sounded stuffy and throatily-powerful; a testament to the man’s helplessness under his illness. Butterflies squirmed in Feliciano’s stomach.

“B-bless you.” he breathed, but he doubted that the man even heard him as his head titled back again.

“T’schhyuu! Hhhh… ‘SCHUUHHH!!”

Walking back to the counter when his legs were wobbly enough to collapse was extremely difficult, but somehow Feliciano managed it. Lovino was still there, working his way through wiping a pile of cups, and he narrowed his eyes at his arrival.

“Thought I told you to stop staring at that guy?”

“Whaaaat? I wasn’t staring. Promise!”

“You were.” Lovi said decisively, “It’s damn pathetic, how obsessed you-“

His sentence was cut off by the distinctive sound of hitching breath. Feliciano whipped around hopefully, just in time to see the man’s chest expanding.

“HgggrrRUSHHHHhh!!” the release seemed to rack his whole body. Blinking hazily, the man held his hand under his nose, attempting in vain to stave off another bout as his handsome features contorted. “Hhh-hahhhh… ‘PtschhhuuUU!”

“Oh great,” Lovino groaned, “Now he’s going to be infecting the entire café with his shitty germs.”

Feli slapped his brother’s arm indignantly. “Hey, that’s not fair! He can’t help getting ill.”

“Yeah, but he can help not sneezing all over the damn place, can’t he?” reaching across to where they kept the cutlery, he extracted a stack of paper napkins from the dispenser, “Here. You really want an excuse to chat that asshole up? Give him these.”

He thrust the napkins at him, but Feliciano pushed them away.

“Lovi, I can’t.”

“Yes you can. Fuck it, if you don’t, I will. Someone’s got to tell him to keep his cold to himself.”

It was only the mortifying thought of his brother insulting the man of his dreams which convinced Feliciano to take up the stack of napkins. Gulping slightly, and with his heart in a flutter of nerves, he wandered over to the corner table. He glanced back before reaching it, unable to quite believe what he was doing. His brother nodded in encouragement from the counter and mouthed a ‘Go on!’ Steeling himself, Feli cleared his throat.

“Uhh, excuse me, Sir? I-I thought you might want these.”

The man turned to look at him fully for the first time and oh. His face was the picture of affliction; chapped nose, drawn eyes framed with rims of exhaustion and droplets of mess dampening his upper lip. Better still, he looked every bit as embarrassed as Feliciano was himself and took the napkins from him with shy gratitude.

“O-oh! Thadk you.” Beneath the delicious congestion clogging his voice, Feli vaguely recognised the outline of a German accent. “I cobletely forgot to bri’g ady tissues today.”

Wasting no time, he pulled the top napkin from the pile and turned aside to blow his nose. From the amount of care he was taking, Feliciano could tell he was trying to do it as softly as possible, though even that couldn’t prevent a slight honk slipping out at the end.

“E-excuse me.” he said, wiping his nose on the crumpled napkin, “And… sorry for sneezing all over the place earlier on too.”

“Vee, it’s fine.” Feliciano giggled, hoping his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “That sounds like a nasty cold!”

“Mmmm, horrible.” he ran a hand through his hair with a groan, “And it’s all my cousin’s fault that I’ve got it. He has a perfectly good girlfriend to look after him, yet he always comes to my house whenever he gets ill.”

Feli shrugged. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of someone he likes.”

It was the man’s turn to blush then, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, I- um- I’m not sure about…” he trailed off, and before Feliciano could question him, his face was screwing up and his mouth hung open.

“HHhhhh-ghhahhhh…” He fumbled for another napkin, but the pile was set just out of his reach. To help him, Feliciano snatched one off the pile and held it out.

“Um, here you go.”

But it was too late for the man to take it, his sneeze so close to release. Feliciano found himself acting before he was aware of it, holding the napkin over the man’s nose just in time.

“Hkkk’TSHUUHHhhh! Ghhh… G’schhhHHUUU!!”

The moment after it was over, the man realised what he had done and scrambled back like he’d been electrocuted. His eyes were wide and horrified.

“Ah! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-“

“Hey,” Feliciano knelt down to his level, staring at him directly, “You don’t need to get embarrassed about sneezing. We all do it.” pushing his luck, he flashed the man his most winning smile, “I think it’s kind of cute!”

“Do you?” the man said with a kind of memorised disbelief, “That… that actually makes me feel a little better. Thanks”

“You’re welcome!” he said, grinning, “Um, I’m Feliciano, by the way.”

“Ludwig.” the man said, outstretching his arm. His hand felt firm and surprisingly soft, and, as Feli shook it, he couldn’t help but fantasise about it being put to better use.

“Hey, Feli!”

He looked up at the sound of his brother’s voice. With a jolt, he realised that there were a queue of people standing by the counter, waiting to have their order taken. Hastily he stood up.

“Ve, I’m sorry! I’ll have to get back to work.” leaving Ludwig just when he’d thought it was going somewhere was extremely frustrating, but he forced himself to stay cheerful as he looked into that handsome face one last time, “It was nice to meet you, Ludwig.”

“Yes, you too.”

Regretfully, Feli turned away- away from his hopes, away from his chance- and made his way back to the counter. Halfway there, however, he heard the sudden call.

“Feliciano!”

He wheeled around instantly. “Yes?”

Ludwig’s eyes were fixated on the table. “Uhhh, I was just wondering something. When exactly do you get time off?”

Feliciano felt his stomach drop. Surely if Ludwig was asking when he was free, this could only mean one thing. He hastened to answer.

“This afternoon. Three o’clock.”

“Then, would you be available to come- to come on… a date?” the last few words tumbled out, causing Ludwig’s cheeks to enflame.

“Yes!” Feli said, almost breathlessly, “I’d love to. Really love to.”

“Ah, good.” his attempted professionalism fell to pieces with the wide grin spreading across his face, “I suppose I’ll see you a three, then.”

Feliciano nodded. “Yeah! Definitely.”

It was a bit stupid, and he knew it, but Feli couldn’t help walking the rest of the way back to the counter with a little skip in his step. A skip of joy.

End