Intro || No Event || Aphro As Desired

[notunaforyou]

The warbling voice of Édith Piaf resounds throughout Monaco's hotel room, almost drowning out the rush of bathwater filling her tub. There are a multitude of tissue-lined shopping bags and delicate shoeboxes on the floor and bed, each being systematically emptied of its lavish contents as the tiny principality shimmies out of her current outfit

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[diosorogloria]

The room reminds him of a battlefield. Well, the kind that doesn't involve blood, obviously, but the kind that servants face everyday and it gives Spain a bit of a headache at the sight. The sight looks far too familiar for his liking, though he would never find himself with a room full of what looks like feminine frippery, certainly. Oh Romano, he wonders if his charge is all right...

The ache worsens a little at the sound of the warbling French voice (who is that?) only for him to get distracted from it when he sees a familiar face peeking out from behind the bathroom door.

He blinks at her a bit blankly, "Monaco?"

[notunaforyou]

Well, this is a lovely surprise if Monaco ever got one. Her friend, her lovely Espagne stumbling upon her out of sheer coincidence. And when she's in a good mood, too. What luck!

She steps out from behind the door, chiffon dress shuddering lightly with her movements. She doesn't mind that her room is in complete disarray; in fact, she rather likes it that she's able to show off what good taste in clothing she has all at once like this.

"I believe it is customary to knock before entering a private room," she reminds him teasingly, the fact that she made the exact same faux pas only a few days earlier already having slipped her mind.

[diosorogloria]

The teasing words earn her a small, amused smile. He does his best not to leisurely take her in, a hard, but not impossible task. She's beautiful, of course, and that dress just reminds him of what she looks like underneath it. This place, really...

"My apologies." He returns, inclining his head, green eyes twinkling with boyish teasing. "I'll do better to remember that."

[notunaforyou]

"Somehow I wonder if you really will, though," she says happily, beginning to gather up a few of the garments from the edge of her bed with her right hand, the left still holding the glass of mahogany-colored liquor. She clears a space for him to sit, any actual chairs in the room having been all but lost under her new clothes long before his arrival.

The marks on her neck and shoulder have seemingly disappeared, Spain will notice if he so desires to investigate. Covering them took her a good fifteen minutes earlier that afternoon, the cosmetics she'd acquired in a rush to hide them not doing their intended job well at all.

[diosorogloria]

He doesn't resist her invitation and sinks down over the spot she vacates for him. Again, he looks around at the mess. How can a woman live this way, he wonders.

He does notice that the marks are gone and figures that a good thing. It's curious how they disappeared so quickly, however.

"You've been busy." He means the clothes and the marks, of course.

[notunaforyou]

"A bit," she replies, continuing to move things from the bed, slinging dresses and blouses of all colors over her arm and nudging shoes on the floor into matching pairs with her feet. The door to the hallway has shut at some point, whether on its own or by Spain's hand, she doesn't know.

"But I must say, I find it hard not to be, in a place like this." She briefly considers telling him that it's not the wonderful shopping facilities that prompted her to do this, but rather it's just the result of her trying to expend nervous energy. Anxiety disorders weren't exactly well-understood in the seventeenth century, after all...

[diosorogloria]

He follows her around with his eyes, picking up on her uncertain energy. All the color and her moving around, it's making him dizzy. He sighs as he sits back and looks somewhere else. The singing voice catches his attention again and wonders about it.

"Who is singing?"

He thinks the singing is doing nothing for any form of relaxation, but he supposes, maybe, she finds it such. Spain doesn't quite like it though. Silence, or the sound of the sea, will be better.

[notunaforyou]

She pauses for a moment, almost as if she needs to think about the question, before answering, "Her name is Édith Piaf."

Allowing him to listen uninterrupted to the scratchy recording for a bit longer, she silently places the clothes she's holding on top of one of the chairs, hoping they don't fall but not really doing much to ensure they won't.

"Very popular about 60 or 70 years ago," she then continues, gliding over to her nightstand where she left the bottle of imitation Grand Marnier. She pours him a glass without asking whether or not he'd like any, then strides back over to stand beside him, listening for another few moments.

"Less so now, though." She presses the glass of liquor into his hand with a smile. "Do you like it?"

[diosorogloria]

Spain takes a moment to drink the liquor she offers and to listen to the warbling singing. No, the wine doesn't make it more bearable. He smiles a little and doesn't hesitate to give his honest opinion. "No, not really."

Then he sighs as he sits back more against her bed, taking care to push away more clothes and other things so as not to lie on anything she owns. He takes another sip.

"I seem to have interrupted you in the middle of doing something." He says as he glances to her.

[notunaforyou]

She chuckles at his honesty, not surprised by his answer at all, but at the same time, just a touch disappointed. Piaf is one of her favorites; were Monaco in his position, she probably would have lied to put the other at ease. It's just the polite thing to do...

"Ah, not at all," she responds, plucking more of her new clothes from around him, still one-handed. The bedspread is becoming more and more visible as she bustles about, the soft colors of her wardrobe giving way to garish red. "I was about to have a bath, but I suppose it can wait."

Monaco inhales, pausing as a thought crosses her mind. It would be such a shame to waste an opportunity such as this, her large bathtub almost sinfully full and Spain arriving at such a convenient moment.

"Unless you would like to join me, that is." She takes a sip of the cognac, resting an arm across her torso, just beneath her breasts.

[diosorogloria]

He is just about to take another sip when her words make him pause. Green eyes touched by a bit of surprise and a lot of curiosity turn to Monaco. Did she really just say that? He doesn't know what to think of it.

The last time they have been naked together, it didn't quite turn out as well as both of them probably wanted. Not that bathing together will end up in sex, but well. They are in this hotel teeming with aphrodisiacs. It can verily happen. And well, what if things turn out bad again? That would just, to put it more colloquially, "suck."

His hesitant thoughts however, don't stop him from smiling a little teasingly, his voice playful when he speaks, "Don't tempt me, querida..." Because he is being tempted and at the end of the day, the possibility of more awkwardness notwithstanding, he would like to be with Monaco again.

[notunaforyou]

Her eyebrows quirk slightly at his response, a smile still playing at her lips.

"Oh, but I shall." She's long since gotten over the bruises marring her skin, and she would assume her enthusiasm to be with him now would show that.

"Come now, bring your drink." With her thumb and forefinger, she gently pulls at the sleeve of his coat, high on his arm, attempting to guide him along into the bathroom with her. "Baths nowadays are simply delightful."

[diosorogloria]

Ah, but he does know the pleasures of baths. It's been a while, but under Rome and then the Moors, he has experienced the kind of baths that made good Catholics cry out at the indecency and excess of it all. Spain enjoyed those baths, though at times he considered them inconvenient. A little Nation gets so dirty easily, especially if you are a rambunctious child like he was. He got tugged away to bathe so many times between play and sword training and other fun things that he soon started to not like them at all.

But right now, he can't quite think of anything better to do than have that bath with Monaco. "Since you invited me so graciously..." He says with a bit of a playful smile as he eases off the bed and takes his drink, ready to follow her into the bathroom.

[notunaforyou]

There's a soft tinkle of laughter as Spain rises from the bed, ready to indulge her request more easily than Monaco thought he would. She takes his hand, so large and rough compared to her own, with only three of his fingers making it into her grasp, and leads him the few steps to the bathroom, smiling almost too happily over her shoulder at him. The ribbon in her hair, a black one today, bounces as she walks, though it's the fluttering of her chiffon skirt and sleeves that draws the most attention, almost-white against almost-white

[diosorogloria]

He hums softly at that question, his playful look telling her she knows the answer to that. His grip on her fingers are loose enough that she easily is able to slip out of it. She flutters back to help him out of his coat, which is set aside soon enough. He watches her pin up her hair as he works on his shirt, his gaze appreciative over that swan-like arch of her throat. He's down to his pants when she turns to look at him and he pauses for her, smiling still with amusement before moving forward to stand behind her a bit.

They stand before a mirror, their reflections clear on its shiny surface. It's interesting how different they look. Her, pale, pretty, and polished and him, tanned, handsome (of course!), and rough. His ponytail looks untidy compared to her updo, but there's not much you can do with curly hair when it gets as long as it is now.

"Do you need any help, querida?" He asks, meeting her cheerful gaze through the mirror.

[notunaforyou]

She follows his eyes to the mirror, fog creeping around the edge of it closest to the tub. Monaco's eyes linger on her own form for just a moment --that dress, it's simply gorgeous-- before they trail over to Spain, to his arms and chest and stomach and shoulders, all tan and bare and beautiful and vying for her attention.

"If you will, please," she says with an affection unfitting for her words, fingering the few strands of large beads around her neck. It's a long necklace, and it could easily slip off over her head, but there's something so wonderful and intimate about having another person take off your jewelry for you.