Chapter Text
There aren’t many things Romano finds particularly appealing this early in the goddamned morning, but even he knows that the world can’t be all bad when he stands beneath the shower spray and lazily watches as Spain saunters into the bathroom and starts stripping off his clothes. Romano snorts, licks his lips and ignores Spain’s flirty smile in favor of trying to make out the shape of his calves and the flare of his hips through the fogged shower glass. He’s played this fucking scene enough times in the past to know that the shameless bastard thinks he’s gonna come inside without saying a damned word to steal all the hot water and take up all Romano’s space with his slick skin and greedy lips.
Romano knows how this is supposed to go, knows how Spain thinks this morning is going to unfold. Romano will keep his eyes closed and pretend not to want Spain’s hand to curl around the shower door, pretend not to want the splay of Spain’s hands around his waist and or the murmur of good morning in his ear. He’ll pretend until Spain slides against him, wet and hard and eager, begging enough for the both of them so he doesn’t have to pretend any more.
That’s how it could go, Romano knows. It could go that way and it would be good and they’d both go to work smug and satisfied. And then later, when the day was over and Romano was full of wine and pasta, he could scowl at Spain’s knowing smile and tell him he’s a bastard with no fucking self-control, and that it was Spain’s fault Romano was distracted all day by the memory of Spain on his knees, sucking him off while water slicked his lips.
But this time Romano’s actually awake enough to do more than slump against the tiles in sullen protest of morning and he thinks that maybe he wants Spain to be the one to suffer all day with fire in his veins and daydreams that leave him half-hard under his desk. He wants Spain to be the one forced to down two fucking cups of coffee just to be able to resist the need to drag Romano back to bed to linger for hours, touching and tasting and taking up all of Romano’s damned time and attention.
He wants to fuck up Spain’s day, wants to fuck up what little concentration the idiot’s got, and he damn well wants Spain to sit down in his chair and remember the press of ten Italian fingers into his too perfect ass.
This morning Romano doesn’t fucking feel like pretending, doesn’t feel like waiting on Spain to open the shower door and give him a sweet smile, doesn’t feel like wasting time on not giving in. Spain’s already down to nothing more than his shirt and reaching for the door, but Romano can move fast when there’s something worth the effort, so he leaves the water running and steps out dripping wet to bunch Spain’s ugly fucking tank-top between his fingers.
“Don’t say a goddamned word,” Romano mutters when Spain’s eyes go wide and his lips open to doubtless say something really stupid.
“Not even good morning?” Spain asks hotly, hands already cupping the flush of his cheek and the clench of his jaw while Romano shuffles them back, back, back until he hears the slap of Spain’s thighs against the marble vanity.
“Not even that, asshole. You’re about to be too busy to run your goddamned mouth.” Romano rolls his eyes and nips the thumb Spain drags across his lower lip. He spreads bossy hands over the flare of Spain’s waist and urges him to push up on to the counter, smirking when Spain shivers a little from the cold stone against his skin.
“But I want to run my mouth over you,” Spain teases, stroking his damp hair from his forehead and tasting the drops of water that run down his cheeks.
“Who doesn’t?” Romano taunts, just to watch Spain’s gaze go dark and possessive in the flicker of a second before Romano licks his lips and they’re kissing like its gonna go out of fucking style.
He’s got Spain’s lip between his teeth and his breath on his tongue and Spain’s already hard against his stomach, trying to pull Romano closer and closer. And because he’s got Spain where he wants him, needy and at his fucking infinite mercy, Romano magnanimously grants Spain’s wordless request and kisses him until their mouths are both stained wet and red and he can feel Spain’s chest heaving against his.
“But I want you the most. Anyone else who wants you will just have to be disappointed.” Spain murmurs when Romano permits him to breathe and Romano takes stock of the cut of his jaw and the taste of his skin. Spain sighs, drops his lips to the curve of Romano’s ear and whispers, “Because I also love you the most.”
Romano trembles a little beneath the affection that bleeds from the soft stroking of Spain’s fingers in his hair. He kisses the corner of Spain’s mouth, muttering, “What the fuck did I say about words, bastard?”
Spain only smiles and brings their mouths back together, apparently willing to listen for once and forgoing sweet talk in favor of twining his tongue with Romano’s and rubbing his cock against Romano’s stomach. Thankful for the reprieve, Romano splays his hands over each sweet slope of Spain’s ass, pressing in each finger tip to feel the flex of muscle each time Romano moans into Spain’s mouth. He kneads Spain’s between his hands until he’s hot and hard between the spread Spain’s legs and crowded against the bow of his chest. He knows he’s getting Spain all wet, but he doesn’t really care because Spain keeps making these low, rough noises that go straight to his cock and Spain’s pushing into his hands like he wants Romano to take everything he’s got.
They kiss while Romano keeps greedily pressing his fingers into the temptation that is Spain’s ass, and somehow the fervor of the morning seems to slow and thicken into the deep sweetness that Romano knows is going to linger all day. Spain’s touch is gentle as he cups his face and Romano wonders when Spain’s going to catch on that he doesn’t have to hold him in place any longer because Romano doesn’t have anywhere better to be than right here in their messy bathroom, dripping water on the floor with Spain in the palm of his hands. Spain’s sighing and murmuring stupid things that make his heart race just a little faster and Romano’s forced to kiss him harder to get him to shut-up, because Romano’s thirty seconds from returning every ridiculous sentiment and its too fucking early to be sappy.
Spain hums into the embrace and bites his bottom lip, licking the sting away as Romano opens his eyes just enough to watch the slow slide of Spain’s hand between the press of their bodies, fingers drifting lazily over his nipples and dipping into his navel before brushing over the tip of his cock and down the curve of his shaft. Romano thinks it is a damned shame that he has to abandoned one ass cheek to curl his fingers around Spain’s cock, so Spain can join in the party, but when Spain groans and jerks into the circle of his fist like he’s been waiting for this all morning, Romano decides to it let go and stroke Spain a little faster and little harder.
He lets Spain feel the wickedness of his smirk as he tightens his grip around Spain’s cock, pushes into Spain’s strokes and slaps his palm against the hot, firm skin of Spain’s ass. To his smug delight, Spain’s eyes fly open, his cock jerks in Romano’s hand, and Romano’s name echoes off the bathroom walls. Romano laughs, low and rough and swallows Spain’s surprised and eager moans with messy kisses as he brings his hand down two more times, getting off on the sound of skin slapping against skin and the slow spread of warmth beneath his palm. Spain’s arching into him, practically begging for more, but Romano’s too far gone and there’s not much time left because life is a bastard that doesn’t make enough room for more than a quick fuck before the daily grind.
“Later,” Romano murmurs breathlessly, eyes closed and mouth pressed to Spain’s parted and panting lips. He thinks it might be a promise, that later has always been the promise between them. Romano knows that later used to mean separation and denial, but now it only means days and hours for desire to ferment before they can get drunk on each other all over again.
“Later.” Spain nods and murmurs his assent, stroking Romano hurriedly, their hands rushed and graceless and greedy.
Romano thinks of whispering every damned thing he’s going to do to Spain so Spain can be just as wound up and distracted, but when Spain comes all over his stomach with a gasp, Romano feels pretty fucking certain that he’s not going to be alone in his impatience to return home and get back to what’s really important in life. Spain’s come is sticky and hot on his skin and he’s going to need another goddamned shower, but the taste of Spain’s breathless kiss is sweet enough to make it worth his while.
Romano secretly hopes that there are five little marks on Spain’s perfect ass from the clench of his fingers when Spain sucks on his tongue, twists his wrist and draws out every last bit of pleasure from Romano’s body. As he sighs into the curve of Spain’s throat, he hopes that Spain carries the stain of his touch, a hidden memento of another morning tangled together.
He hopes Spain thinks of him all day.