Title: The Sunlight That Surrounds You
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character/Pairing: Romano, fem!Spain
Rating: mild R?
Summary: Romano curses the fact that Spain is a woman, and then revels in it later.
Note: Hurr hurr I like genderbends. I wrote this like... over... a month ago, at least? Haha, laziness on my part. It's not my best and it's a little short, but. Oh well. 6_9 Figured I should finally post it and get it off my mind.

Romano wanted her. He wanted her like the sun that shone on her lands, the breath of her air, the smell of the salt and surf of her shores. He wanted her - that beautiful mess of dark hair and bright eyes, he wanted to watch her sigh and lie beside him. He wanted her. He wanted Spain badly.

Romano cursed himself for the changes his human body gave him - that he couldn't look at her without feeling his heart pound, or feeling the blood course even faster through his veins. He missed being able to look at her as just a source of warmth, a source of infuriating and silly comfort. Now, Spain was a woman to him, a woman that made his heart stop and made his hands tie up in a knot around his heart. He hated growing up if it meant that he turned into a babbling mess every time she smiled at him.

He went to confession whenever he could. He would spill out his sins to the priest, hoping for some release - some sort of way to stave off the image of her naked and beneath him. Romano was a good young man, a good Catholic, he didn't need Spain's (unknowing) temptations always fluttering on the edge of his mind. The priests would always just sigh and seem to smile at him - to them he was just a young man caught up in love, not a boy lusting after his caretaker.

So, Romano denied her and denied himself, and always turned away, always cursed at her, always snapped and fought her. Maybe Spain wouldn't notice if he cursed a little louder, maybe Spain wouldn't pinch his cheeks and smile if he didn't turn so red. Maybe Spain would let him rot that part of his heart in peace if she didn't turn and look to him with such happiness and light in her eyes and her heart in her hand.

It didn't take long for him to realize that he wasn't falling out of love anytime soon.

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It was late, so late at night, when Romano snuck into her room and into her bed for their first time. He had grown up - he had left - but he still couldn't leave her image behind. He still couldn't leave her behind. Spain was still as he remembered her - warmth and sun and golden things wrapped up in skin and heat, and he could feel his body react before he wanted it to.

She didn't stir - she hardly ever did, even with guns and canons outside her door and a knife at her throat (at least as Romano remembered her). But, she curled towards him, unconsciously strengthening that desire that had fueled inside his skin for so long he didn't remember not loving her like a sin.

Romano kissed her - he took her lips and he took her hair into his hands. He pressed against her, against that sun and warmth and everything he had wanted for so long and didn't take. (After all, he had been young and a child and her property - not the other way around.) Then she stirred, then she moaned against his mouth, but didn't fight. Spain didn't realize it was him, she didn't wake yet, she just moved and made everything feel so tight and close and goddamn why didn't he love her sooner.

It took her five kisses, open-mouthed and warm against him and her skin, for her to awake, for her to see what he was doing. Her eyes were darker than he remembered - not glass green and tinted with sand, but like old moss and the haunted back memories of her mind. Romano just kissed her again, stole Spain's protests with his mouth, listening to the gentle mumbling against him.

Romano expected Spain to kick him, to push him off and wonder what he was doing. Oh, she was wondering, she was staring at him with her eyes as he kissed her stubbornly. She stared at him more when he grabbed at her flesh and at her chest, clumsy and childish. She stared as he lifted his shirt and took hers and cursed at her loudly under his breath before stealing her lips all over again.

It seemed to finally dawn on Spain when he moaned against her, not able to hide centuries of frustration and want any more. It was then when Romano saw that tanned skin flush dark with red, see her eyes widen with realization and her mouth form into an "o."

He wanted to curse at her and tell her she was a stupid bitch like she always was and why did it take her forever to notice this and-

She kissed him back.

There was no remorse in it, no anger, no debate. She kissed him gently, kissed him open mouthed and flush, she kissed him all over his neck and arms and made him melt. She still looked at him curiously, still looked at him with a gentle question in her eyes, but she did not argue. She accepted it. Hell, she wanted it.

That was more than he ever asked for.

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Spain was still stupid smiles and foolish laughter and other things that infuriated him even as she laid in his arms. She was still her, she was still sunshine and bright eyes and a mess of hair. The only difference was now that she was his.

Romano would still turn as red as a tomato and Spain would still tease him, but he could kiss her now. He could make her stop that laughter without a word, and he could take her up and hold her tight and sigh. They could lay in bed together and he could still call her names, still hear her laugh. They could still be the same, even after so much change.

He just didn't have to go confession quite as often - at least, not after he put that ring on her hand.