hetalia oneshot || days of sun and earth;
title: Days of Sun and Earth
pairing: SPAMANO FTW
rating: PG-13 ish?
summary: Romano thinks of his history with Spain, and what led them to this point.
DAYS OF SUN AND EARTH
The sun is powder, fireworks and power, on the hills; Romano closes his eyes, inhales. Memory jogs back at the call of sunlight. Those were the days- when he and Spain were always together- when things were as simple as "no" and "yes," as Spain’s eyes for wanting and Romano’s curled fists- in anger, and in solitude- the days when all somebody needed to live were his own two hands and a ticket to ride: simplicities of the earth that both of them understood so well.
Memory like a nighttime movie flashes through his mind. Romano has never had the artistic hands of Veneziano, but behind his eyes he sees the same colors- and those days are painted in primary lightning, real to him, moving with him wherever he goes. Days where sun breathed into everything- he can hear his own voice yelling down the sunrise halls of Spain’s empty house, "Get the fuck up, stupid bastard!"- days when they would work the land. Spain was an uncouth bastard so he’d grin, bite into a tomato they’d just picked, drink milk straight from the bucket; his country eyes, his body peaceful and sunny...days Romano would have to sit through a chiding for pickpocketing some unsuspecting bastard in the tiny streets of Arcos de la Frontera. Days when Spain’s hands always smelled like gunpowder, and when the closeness was never enough, and Romano was filled with such a longing that it felt like salt stretching on a wound, felt like a bullet howling through his heart- days when the strength of Spain, his gold, his conquistador smile, made Romano feel so useless.
And then, and then?
-Then steam and metal quieted them, and there was blood in the streets. Then shattered days came. A regime of suspended words, children’s gunshots. German occupation, facism the only way out. Spain was torn in two and Romano was between a rock and a hard place. Neither of them could keep up.
But still (Romano turns on his side, exhaling, his breath feels like bullets) how he just wanted to be close to him- give me your Franco, it’s the same...bow down to the mafia, to a dog sick and loping with corruption and avarice,- he’d do it, if it meant that one day he would be strong enough to look at Spain in the eyes, be on his level- and then they could start again-
Nothing really changed, though- phases in and out- and then the long stretch of peace.
And now-
The sun fades over the hills and Romano sits up, opens his eyes. And now what they have is a train going straight from Madrid to Rome, an all-night cafe and always a way to meet in the middle (Spain on the platform with arms full of presents, looking around, clueless as usual- obscured by smoke- Romano hanging out nearby). Now there are fast cars and roses, an outlaw night- a kiss, a turn of the hip, sin in the rushing dark- something mad that might be love.
"What are you thinking of?" Spain asks, smile intrusive, leaning close.
Romano averts his eyes, scoffs. "Nothing," he says, and reaches for Spain’s neck (his hands still tremble, after all these years)- his mouth burns like acid, his eyes meet Spain’s and there’s a chorus of gold- "Just that I should be a goddamn historian."
Spain’s mouth agrees: and give me my sin again- Romano should know how to do it; after all, Romeo was an Italian.
NOTES;;
1] Arcos de la Frontera, an all-white city in Cadiz.
2] after WWII, South Italy was basically at the mercy of the mafia. Mafia control over the government reached its peak in about 1980, and died down under the media shitstorm that people like Giovanni Falcone and Paulo Borsellino caused.
3]...some geography crap. Rome is not considered part of South Italy, but yknow. I just wanned to put it in there. And Verona is in North Italy, but. Y...know...
4] and give me my sin again, a paraphrased line from Romeo and Juliet.
Thanks for reading! :D
pairing: SPAMANO FTW
rating: PG-13 ish?
summary: Romano thinks of his history with Spain, and what led them to this point.
DAYS OF SUN AND EARTH
The sun is powder, fireworks and power, on the hills; Romano closes his eyes, inhales. Memory jogs back at the call of sunlight. Those were the days- when he and Spain were always together- when things were as simple as "no" and "yes," as Spain’s eyes for wanting and Romano’s curled fists- in anger, and in solitude- the days when all somebody needed to live were his own two hands and a ticket to ride: simplicities of the earth that both of them understood so well.
Memory like a nighttime movie flashes through his mind. Romano has never had the artistic hands of Veneziano, but behind his eyes he sees the same colors- and those days are painted in primary lightning, real to him, moving with him wherever he goes. Days where sun breathed into everything- he can hear his own voice yelling down the sunrise halls of Spain’s empty house, "Get the fuck up, stupid bastard!"- days when they would work the land. Spain was an uncouth bastard so he’d grin, bite into a tomato they’d just picked, drink milk straight from the bucket; his country eyes, his body peaceful and sunny...days Romano would have to sit through a chiding for pickpocketing some unsuspecting bastard in the tiny streets of Arcos de la Frontera. Days when Spain’s hands always smelled like gunpowder, and when the closeness was never enough, and Romano was filled with such a longing that it felt like salt stretching on a wound, felt like a bullet howling through his heart- days when the strength of Spain, his gold, his conquistador smile, made Romano feel so useless.
And then, and then?
-Then steam and metal quieted them, and there was blood in the streets. Then shattered days came. A regime of suspended words, children’s gunshots. German occupation, facism the only way out. Spain was torn in two and Romano was between a rock and a hard place. Neither of them could keep up.
But still (Romano turns on his side, exhaling, his breath feels like bullets) how he just wanted to be close to him- give me your Franco, it’s the same...bow down to the mafia, to a dog sick and loping with corruption and avarice,- he’d do it, if it meant that one day he would be strong enough to look at Spain in the eyes, be on his level- and then they could start again-
Nothing really changed, though- phases in and out- and then the long stretch of peace.
And now-
The sun fades over the hills and Romano sits up, opens his eyes. And now what they have is a train going straight from Madrid to Rome, an all-night cafe and always a way to meet in the middle (Spain on the platform with arms full of presents, looking around, clueless as usual- obscured by smoke- Romano hanging out nearby). Now there are fast cars and roses, an outlaw night- a kiss, a turn of the hip, sin in the rushing dark- something mad that might be love.
"What are you thinking of?" Spain asks, smile intrusive, leaning close.
Romano averts his eyes, scoffs. "Nothing," he says, and reaches for Spain’s neck (his hands still tremble, after all these years)- his mouth burns like acid, his eyes meet Spain’s and there’s a chorus of gold- "Just that I should be a goddamn historian."
Spain’s mouth agrees: and give me my sin again- Romano should know how to do it; after all, Romeo was an Italian.
NOTES;;
1] Arcos de la Frontera, an all-white city in Cadiz.
2] after WWII, South Italy was basically at the mercy of the mafia. Mafia control over the government reached its peak in about 1980, and died down under the media shitstorm that people like Giovanni Falcone and Paulo Borsellino caused.
3]...some geography crap. Rome is not considered part of South Italy, but yknow. I just wanned to put it in there. And Verona is in North Italy, but. Y...know...
4] and give me my sin again, a paraphrased line from Romeo and Juliet.
Thanks for reading! :D