Good Messy Fun

"It's about time you came home, bastard, I'm hungry!"

Spain had just barely stepped in the doorway when he heard his former protectorate's voice yelling at him again. Even now, Romano seemed to like staying at his house, though he would never admit it. Naturally.

"Where the hell did you go?" With a chuckle, Spain replied,

"It's only been a few hours, I told you before I left that I needed to go into town and ge-"

"Whatever, just cook something for us already," Romano interrupted, turning out that he didn't particularly cared for what the Spaniard had to say. "Sure." Spain made his way into the kitchen the young Italian trailing right behind, arms crossed as usual. It was all actually quite flattering to Spain. Romano was a picky eater. No getting around that. He'd rather not eat at all than have even a bite of foreign food come near his mouth. Despite that, Romano always wanted him to do the cooking even though his food was just as good, if not, better! Now, whether that was because he never felt like putting in the effort for cooking for both of them or if he truly liked his old boss' food, he had no clue. But he hoped for the latter. Grabbing an armful of tomatoes he decided to himself that he would prepare gazpacho, something relatively quick and easy. He set them down on the counter, grabbed a rather sharp knife and took out the cutting board. While rinsing the plump fruit, Romano caught his eye. He was sitting on the opposite side of the counter, staring at what the other's hands were doing. He couldn't help but smile.

"You know Romanito, if you help me out here, we'll be able to eat sooner." He didn't budge, stubbornly kept his butt right where it was.

"Oh, come on Romanito. I know y-"

"Don't call me that!" the lazy nation snapped.

Romano hated Spain's little nicknames for him. They were demeaning and he wasn't a kid anymore; not that he approved of them when he was younger either. With a sigh, Spain returned tending to his tomatoes. Keeping them in the sink, he headed to the fridge. As he was busy gathering more ingredients, Romano quietly got off of the counter and quickly snatched one of the newly cleaned fruits and went back to his spot on the counter. Smirking to himself, he took a decent sized bite out of the red orb. "Ay Romano! Seriously, can't you wait until dinner is ready?" Spain's arms were occupied with cilantro, limes, onions, and other vegetables as he walked back to the work area. While he put the sink along with the previous ingredients, Romano took another chunk out.

"Nope," he mumbled with a mouthful of tomato

"¡Para de comer! It's not fair that you're taking my tomatoes!"

"Tch, so? It's not like you're actually going to do anything about it now, right?"

Just as he was about to, defiantly, take yet another bite; a grinning Antonio snatched the bright crimson sphere right out of his hand. He didn't even try to hold in his laughter as Romano instantly started to throw out a stream of less-than-courteous phrases. It was too amusing to him. He may have been a grown man but his behavior was that of a 5-year-old throwing a tantrum. He still hasn't changed one bit since he was little. '¡Qué Lindo!' Romano only stopped to take a breath. Spain decided to seize this time of momentary silence.

"You can stuff your face after you lend me a hand."

"LIKE HELL!"

"...fine."

With that, he tossed the half-eaten tomato into the trashcan. He really didn't want to. He actually felt terrible for sending an innocent little tomato to such a fate. Awful, but it had to be done. The results would show it. Thankfully, Romano was a very predictable man.

"Alright! I'll help you for God's sake! Just give me the damn knife!"

The irritated man jumped down once again and stomped, obnoxiously of course, to where his new tool was. Spain didn't oppose. After all, he was at least 60 percent sure that he wouldn't threaten and/or assault him with the blade. Figuring that the odds were in his favor, he opted to use the mortar and pestle. Romano quickly diced the tomatoes while Spain took the pieces and mashed them into a thick liquid. They said nothing. The atmosphere had a very rare peaceful feel to it. Spain dared not to say anything that would ruin this. He only glanced at his occupied country every so often and smiled. Unexpectedly, the silence was torn.

"...What are we making?"

"Gazpacho."

"Ah, well in that case, you're an idiot."

"Hm? Why's that?"

"Using a blender would be much faster. Seriously, plug that sucker in so we can get eating."

"Lovino, you, of all people, should know there are no shortcuts in making a good meal. No matter how simple."

Romano just huffed and turned his attention back to the fruit. They both went on with their jobs and within half-an-hour, they were finished. Spain started to clean up all of the unneeded scraps.

"Oye, Roma. Would you mind if – "

"NO! Do it yourself, 'cause I'm not lifting another finger for you!"

He stormed off to grab a proper seat at the circular dining table. Plopping himself on the chair, he crossed his arms across his chest as usual. Spain didn't argue; he's learned not to do so. He served the both of them and took a seat right next to the rather pissed off young man. Without hesitation, he started eating. "The hell are you doing?" snapped Romano, feeling that his personal space has just been badly invaded. Without turning, he smiled to himself and stated very simply stated,

"Eating, what about you?"

"Bastard, don't play games with me!"

Spain could practically feel the intensity of his glare stab him right in the broad side of his head. He couldn't help but grin wider. He really did respect his little Italian but he could never resist the chance for some harmless teasing. He made it too easy. "Giuro su Dio! If you don't move your ass to the opposite side of this table, I'll empty my bowl on your head and then make you get me some more! Now MOVE!" Ignoring his demand, the Spaniard scooted closer yet to him. Close enough that their shoulders now touched; but he never even glanced at the other man. Growing increasingly frustrated, he jabbed the other in the side with his elbow. Spain pretended not to feel it. Other sharp hit to the ribs, wow it hurt! But, he dared not make a sound. He inhaled deeply and took another spoonful of his meal.

"I'm warning you, you son-of-a-bi – "

"You're bluffing"

"What did you just say?"

"You're a lying liar who lies," the Spaniard remarked with a giggle. "You're too much of an adorable tomato to do that to your old boss." Red-faced with embarrassment and frustration, Romano stood up so abruptly that his chair toppled over. In one swift movement, Romano, just like he promised, slammed the full bowl on the top of his head like a hat. A rather messy hat. With a loud 'AH!' Spain covered his eyes to avoid getting the juices of the tomatoes and limes in them. Most of his hair, face, and the upper-half of his shirt was covered in the soup. The bowl dropped from his head onto the table. Romano felt quite a bit accomplished. Now he was the one with the smile across his face. How cruel of him.

"R-romano! Was that really – "

"I don't want to hear it! I warned you didn't I?" He picked his chair back up and sat down. "Now go get me some more you good-for-nothing jerk."

That last word seemed to ring through the soaked man's ears in the most unpleasant way. Nearly about to protest and scold Romano's bad temperament, he got an idea. He quickly got his composure back. Smiling again he responded, "Whatever you say, mi querido." He scrapped as much of the gazpacho off his head that he could in one motion of the arm and immediately tossed it at the unsuspecting Italian's face. Spain's laughter was uncontainable at this point; Romano could not say a word. He couldn't process what had just happened but he knew that he was supposed to be angry. I mean absolutely pissed! But he just sat there with his right cheek and nose messy. He wiped it off with his hand and turned to glare at the man laughing, either with or at him; he really didn't care, and opened his mouth to scream at him again. He couldn't find any words to express how he felt. So, he decided on the next course of action. He tackled Antonio to the ground; he continued to laugh. Spain was on his back with Romano sitting on top of him. Romano grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt.

"What the hell is wrong with you? I outta pound that smile off your face!" He just got another handful of soup in his face; this time, more on the top of his hair and forehead.

"Cut that out!"

"¿Qué?" he asked in a humorous tone.

Romano figured that there was no way he could win this way, so he decide to try and finished this the way it started. He jumped off of Spain and now grabbed his bowl and threw the contents at him while he was starting to get back up. Spain tried to cover himself the best he could when he saw it coming. He was actually starting to like this 'game' of theirs. It was kind of a nice change of pace, even though he knew in the back of his mind that he'd be left to clean up this horrible mess they were making. He ignored that fact and continued having a food fight with his 'delightful' little friend. He rushed back to the pot, where they had initially made the gazpacho and used the ladle to throw more food at Romano. He was finally, dare he say, having a fun time. He let out a little chuckle.

"You're cheating, you jerk!" the word didn't ring this time.

"Ha, how is this cheating? You just need to get a little creative, Lovino!"

"Creative? Pfft, you know I don't have time for that!" He just wiped some more off that chunky liquid off his shirt and hurled it at his former boss. Unfortunately, Romano wasn't known for having the best aim in the world and he had just hit him square in the eyes. He yelled out in pain and dropped his instrument. Frantically, he tried to wipe the soup from his face.

"H-holy crap! Antonio, I-I'm sorry! I didn't ... I mean I ..." He ran over to help his hurten companion.

"No, Lovi, its fine. Just let me rinse it out."

He went to do so at the sink. Romano felt so stupid! If he had been more careful he wouldn't had done this. He thought some more. If he hadn't of slammed the bowl on his head in the first place this wouldn't have happened. While Romano was blaming himself for getting so carried away, Spain was looking at him after he had dried his face off. His eyes felt much better now. He didn't want him to feel guilty about this. It was just as much his fault as Romano's.

"Lovi, could you go sit back down at the table for me, please?"

"...sure."

Spain took another clean rag and ran it under warm water, ringed it, and brought it back to the table where Romano was sitting. He bent over to him and started to gently wipe off all of the juice and vegetable bits that he had on his face. Romano couldn't help but to avert his eyes from the man cleaning him off. Now he just felt embarrassed. "Thank you" he murmured so quietly that he could barely even hear it himself. Spain just smiled at him and started to wipe off his hair. He was careful to avoid that infamous curl of his.

"You know Lovino, I bet if this had happened when you were little, I probably would have just stuck you in the pot. Haha! No question I would've won."

"Hah, screw you."

Spain pretended to stop and consider what Romano had just 'suggested'. Upon realizing this, his newly cleaned cheeks turned a darker shade than the tomatoes they had been cutting earlier. He was back to being his usual self.

"Y-you ... YOU SICK BASTARD!" He stood back up and stomped away, going towards the guestroom upstairs; which was practically his by now, considering how often he comes to stay at Spain's house.

"No, Lovi wait! I was just kidding! Kidding! I swear!"

"Too late! You ruined the moment," he yelled from the middle of the staircase. Spain was still standing at the table; starting to feel a little exasperated again. "Por amor de dios," he said under his breath. He heard the wooden door slam with a little click following after. He looked around only to confirm his early concern. The kitchen and dining room was a mess. In addition, he was alone. He started to pick up the overturned bowls from the floor. Then, a thought occurred to him; the whole reason for cooking was because Romano was hungry. He didn't recall him ever taking even a sip of it. The Spaniard grabbed a new bowl from the cupboard and filled it with whatever gazpacho didn't get smeared across the walls and floor. Putting a spoon in the bowl he proceeded, cautiously, up the stairs. Just using his first 2 fingers, he knocked at the door Romano had locked himself behind.

"Lovino?" No response. Maybe he could coax him out...

"Hey, in case if you're still hungry, I managed to save some soup for you. Would you like any?" Silence

" –Sigh- That's alright I'll just leave it outside your door then. Oh, and you should probably change your top; maybe even take a shower or something. I know you're still a mess from that, Lovinito."

"I told you not to call me that!" The angry Italian snapped once more, almost like a reflex. Spain, just satisfied that he was still alive in there, gave a short giggle and set the bowl down. Without saying another word, he made his way down the steps and went looking for a mop; feeling rather curious as to how their situation would have changed had he not opened his big mouth. When would he really learn?