9The World Is Not Enough, Skyfall.
Uuuh, I was trying to do the 30 day OTP challenge, instead I ended up with this. I essentially failed the challenge with flying colours!
All aboard the dark ship, Romachu!
Chinese Cigarettes
Slip of the Tongue
This relationship doesn't make much sense.
And it's not fair to call it a "relationship" either. It's less than that. More like an agreement, really.
A dangerous agreement, one the other wrote up and he blew smoke over. People like them can't just do things because they feel like it. There are consequences for every kiss and touch, there are repercussions for marked skin and bruised lips.
Romano will be fair: he gets the short end of things outside the bedroom. Once they leave the bed, or the table, or the couch, or that one awkward time in the limo on the way from the airport to the hotel, he loses. He gets burned economically, financially, and politically every time they touch.
But he's not the one taking away physical scars from these encounters, and he isn't carrying any emotional burdens either. It's just sex. It's just someone looking at him and demanding his presence, his voice, his touch, everything. Whatever he's willing to give is what the other one wants and he isn't about to lose that. It's just sex with someone who has never looked twice at his brother, but who sits with smouldering dark eyes in every meeting, catching soft lips between nicotine-stained teeth, incense and candle smoke following him like a sweet perfume that shouldn't catch him the way it does.
But it does.
So he follows.
And they fuck. He knows the other one should feel ashamed about it, about what they do, but neither of them do. It's just sex.
He begs and he moans and he pushes up into every thrust. He leaves scratch-marks down Romano's back and sinks his teeth into his shoulder. He curses him, maybe even hates him, but every time he comes he wraps his arms around Romano's neck and kisses him with soft, swollen lips. They'll kiss and kiss until they melt together and sink down in a tangle of silk sheets and black hair.
And when they're finished they have a smoke. Maybe they sleep for a little while first, but one of them always has cigarettes in a discarded pocket, or sitting next to the bed, and if he doesn't have a lighter then the other usually finds one.
Romano always complains that China's cigarettes are too floral, like the art in his house, but China thinks Italian brands taste more like burnt paper than shredded tabacco.
Their's is a business initiative that's gone completely wrong. For every shipment of illegal merchandise that shows up in South Italy's ports to pollute his industries, the People's Republic of China bleeds out the human collateral of the black market.
They both hate the criminals, they both hunt the criminals, but neither one of them can catch them. They've tried working together for a few years now, but aside from a few petty gains here and there, some black-bag techniques and the occasional raid, South Italy and China have realized they're better off helping each other cope with the stress than they are at actually hunting down and dealing with the corruption.
So it's wrong, and they've both been told to stop. Well, Romano's been told to stop: he isn't sure if anyone has the power to make China do something against his will anymore. But his little brother has warned him, and scolded him, and even a couple of times begged him to stop letting these meetings happen.
Romano has never agreed to try, and he hasn't really thought about it either. Of all the things that can make his situation worse this arrangement doesn't even make the top five. It's just sex.
It's just sex that, the first time it happened, they were both too piss drunk and miserable about everything else to even care. They were too hung-over the next morning to make heads or tails of it, so Romano just got dressed and went home to shower. They came back to work with each other a few weeks later and it was business as usual not getting anything done or making any kind of significant progress.
Until Romano lost his temper about something, and instead of getting mad back at him when he told his associate to put his pretty little mouth to better use, China did exactly that. He did it on his knees in his own office, and Romano just knew it was better than getting piss drunk and passing out on a couch or a sidewalk.
The next time they almost got caught in a Beijing police station, and after that they found a hotel room in Naples. The first time they stuck around long enough to fall asleep with one another was at China's private residence, and Romano left again before breakfast.
It's just sex. It's not a relationship or a love affair. It's just China mouthing softly at his collar bone as he wakes up again after another tryst. It's just Romano's hand lifting itself up on its own to drag those long black strands of hair off the other's face and back. China's hair is coarse and rough, but he doesn't dye it to keep it black: Romano would know by now if he did. The lot of it is thick and heavy in his hand, he can feel the weight of it as he smoothes it down over China's shoulder.
He doesn't like the word "lover" for this agreement. It's not a relationship, it's just sex. So what if they've gone from fucking irregularly on the job to comfortably spending the night together? They don't go on dates: Romano doesn't take China out to dinner, China doesn't buy tickets to things for them to go see.
China's soft lips work their way up from his chest and along his neck, pausing so his tongue and teeth can work together on his throat until Romano lets out a breath a bit faster than he meant to. It's not his fault he felt that shock down his spine, and he hears China's triumphant little 'hah…' before the other one stops curling his fingers in the patch of hair sitting on Romano's chest.
He wants a fucking kiss? Fine, Romano rolls them over in the early morning light and gives one of the most powerful nations in the world a fucking kiss. And he doesn't let China up afterwards, especially not when he feels those arms twine around his neck, sturdy hips waiting under his while thick legs coax and pull him down.
It's just sex.
Those lips are soft though, and he likes running his tongue over them. He enjoys the intimate touch of letting his lip brush back and forth under the other's nose as they share a breath. Their eyes are only half open, the black set below him glossy with sleep and shaded by a frill of soft lashes.
But it's just sex.
"Italy?" His name is breathed between those lips and it's so good to wake up to. He smiles because it's a bad joke the other one likes to hit him with: that name originated in the south, but it's the north everyone always thinks of first.
"Hmm?" A cigarette would be good right about now, but he can still taste the smoke on China's skin from when they indulged last night. He finds it funny that China's body, although corded with muscle and full of power, is nearly hairless. It's more like soft black peach-fuzz feathered across his forearms and painting a very faint trail from the middle of his chest down past his navel all the way to his groin. Romano's hand traces that path now and is met with approval from the hand resting on the back of his head.
He's dragged back down for another kiss, eyes closed, and he's not quite ready to break for air when China tilts his head a little and starts to speak. It's a conflict: his hands are still coaxing and pulling, but when Romano actually stops and sorts out what the other man is saying...
"I think I might be spoiling this."
He doesn't know what that means: this is just sex.
"I think..." But Romano isn't ignorant in bed, so as he slides his hand away from the path he was tracing down China's body and he listens to what's being whispered under him. "I've started enjoying this too much."
"That's the point." He plays dumb, just in case he's not hearing things right. He goes in for another one of those intimate kisses, but he's stopped when China opens his eyes properly.
"No it's not, and you know that." They're both completely lucid now, and that's a bad thing as the man under him adjusts the way his arms are draped over him, pulling back until it's just his hands on Romano's shoulders. "I like it more than that..." Shit.
Shit shit shit.
China leans up and kisses his lips again, but it's brief this time and Romano doesn't kiss back. He's thinking, and he doesn't like what he's thinking of.
Because if it's not just sex, then what is it?
Romano is here in Beijing with Interpol documents and lots of government security clearance, a hotel room was reserved for him and is currently holding his unopened luggage. That room is currently inaccessible to him because he didn't check in properly when he arrived: he stayed somewhere else last night.
His carry-on and laptop bag are both with him right now though, and that's how he's able to get cleaned up and dress himself in fresh clothes before leaving China's private residence. Because he's here alone in Beijing, Romano makes a b-line for the Italian consulate and decides that he's better off being productive today than moping around about his fuck-buddy making things awkward for them.
It's. Just. Sex.
Itisjustsexitisjustsexitisjustsex.
That declaration follows him around the office all day, back and forth through the different rooms and even out onto the street when he goes to get something for lunch. Sex only. Only sex. That's all it fucking is: fucking.
After his lunch he gets to play with time-zones for a bit and has a game of telephone tag with his brother back in Rome, but by the time they're done with that Romano finds himself being driven to an important meeting.
And of course, because he's in China's capital, that's who the meeting is with. He's not stupid, and he's not some little kid either who can't fucking separate work and not-work when he's abroad for the next few days on business. Nothing creepy happens and Romano knows China well enough by now to understand from the lack of sustained eye-contact, among other things, that he doesn't want to let this morning get in the way of this meeting.
So it goes smoothly until the end, because as the Chinese and Italian delegates both start packing up, China keeps his seat at the table.
Romano can leave. He can totally just walk out of here and not look back: break up by default or something. Not that they're breaking up, because there's nothing too break up, but that's the best way he can think of putting it. So he can totally just leave right now, but instead he take a long, slow breath in through the nose and then sits back down again at the table, this time taking the chair next to his host.
The last of their personnel leave without asking questions, and probably without wondering either. People like them are in a class all their own, so when the door to the meeting room clicks shut, China takes a breath and speaks first.
"Do you want to talk about it?" China'll have to tell him what they're supposed to talk about. Romano's not sure how he feels about that quiet smirk he puts on next to him. "It didn't seem right to push the topic this morning, you seemed more interested in getting ready to go."
"I'm here on business, I can't just not show up to work." Lie, but he'll argue that one if China wants to go there. The other nation just takes a sip of his cold tea, and it's Romano's turn to be blunt: "If you want to talk then say something: what do you want?"
"I like things the way they are."
"Bullshit." Those black eyes swing around to look at him, the floral-patterned cup in his hand poised delicately over his thumb and hovering a few inches from his lips. But no, Romano isn't going to let China pull the age card right now, he's older than the hills but so is South Italy. He isn't some young buck who has no idea what he's doing, for Christ's sake he might have been a child during Rome's empire, but he was a child for a long time..
"If that was really how you felt, then you wouldn't have said anything."
"That's very presumptuous of you."
"No it's not." He snaps the words and he doesn't even feel bad about it, gesturing sharply with one hand while he drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Did this change just occur to you out of the blue this morning?"
China doesn't answer, and he isn't looking at him anymore either. That teacup is still suspended in front of him so Romano pushes again.
"If you don't say anything then I'm going to take that as a no: it didn't just hit you when we woke up." Which means it happened before now, and thatmeans: "So you thought about it before saying anything, right?" China never does anything without thinking it through, not unless it involves either food or pandas. He's staring so hard at nothing Romano's not even sure how he's keeping that cup balanced anymore.
"Tell me what you want." He repeats, and he watches China remain completely frozen for a moment before coming back to himself. He breathes in quickly and then sits forward to place his cup back down on its little ceramic dish, answering by the time he settles back down in his chair.
"Two things. First, I want to know why you're so offended by the idea that you have more than just technique in your favour, and second I want you to forget I just said that and what I said this morning."
"You want me to forget."
"Yes, just put it completely out of mind so we can be done talking about this."
"Are we done?"
"Talking about this?" That's so not what Romano meant, but China's head snaps in his direction and if he didn't know any better he'd say the older nation is actually getting upset over the issue. It's the surest sign Romano can think of that says he should he put it bluntly and say that this agreement is terminated. He should announce right now that they'll continue doing whatever administrative tasks will help with their work but that the part where they sneak out and pound the stress out of each other is finished.
It's what he should say, but China was quick to turn his question on its head. China's moods are still difficult to make sense of, he's still an enigma that South Italy hasn't invested any obvious time or effort in decoding, but he knows China likes to have things his way.
Romano could walk away right now; he could just get up and leave.
He could do it because China doesn't have a leg to stand on in this situation, he can't call on anything Romano's felt or said or done in the past to keep him here. He could walk the hell away and go back home if he really wanted to. The only thing that's stopping him from leaving right now is the one thing he can't understand.
He doesn't want to go.
It's just sex, and now China's threatening to complicate something that was so god-damned simple and that's worked so fucking well for them over the last few months. He should be running for the door, but he doesn't want to.
Romano is pissed with himself and beyond words about it, but China is still staring straight at him waiting for some kind of answer to his last question. Throwing this kind of shit at him right after a stressful four hour meeting has them both sitting precariously at their limit, so Romano comes up with the only thing that makes the slightest amount of sense to him right now:
"I'm hungry." He closes his eyes and settles himself back down in his chair, hands on the arm rests next to him. "I can't even remember what we're supposed to be fighting about." Lie:
Romano just doesn't care.
I currently have four more chapters finished and will be posting them over the next few days. It's fairly plotless but hey, Romachu right? Followers on tumblr have already seen this fic, but now it's got a permanent home here on FFN.
Review it if you read it! See you soon with chapter two!
