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The bottle of wine on the floor was from a small town in Calabria. He had asked Italy to bring it when he came to visit. He had obliged, a knowing, sad look in his eyes as he had handed the bottle over to him.
It was Romano's favourite wine. He had always preferred brands produced with traditional methods in the little villages of his country. They tasted like the past, he had said more than once.
Prussia brought the glass to his lips and took a generous gulp. When he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself in Romano's kitchen in the little house he had in the countryside for those times when he just wanted to hide away from the world. The two of them had escaped there countless times. Prussia couldn't remember how many hours he had spent sitting at the table, watching Romano cook and drinking this very brand.
The wine left a sour taste on his tongue, but he didn't know if it was because everything Romano had liked now carried a bitter flavour or because there were a few things missing. It made it difficult to imagine he was anywhere but his room in the basement. Romano's kitchen had always smelled faintly of basil and old wood. There was no bubbling pot on the stove and no frowning Romano to mutter under his breath how he had no idea he why was always cooking for such a bastard.
“This shit is too weak for someone like. I could never get drunk on this,” Prussia muttered with a sigh and put the still half-full glass away.
He fell back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, not feeling up for anything. He grabbed the pillows and shoved them under his head to get more comfortable. He had bought the second one when Romano had started staying over more often. It was probably time to get rid of it. He only needed one now.
Prussia had always thought that if one out of the two of them was going to die, it would be him. They had talked endlessly about him disappearing, and every time he had promised Romano that he'd always be there. Not once had either one of them imagined that it would be Romano to fade away.
He closed his eyes and swallowed a lump in his throat. He was too awesome to cry at this point. It had been a month. He was supposed to get over it already and march towards new conquests instead of spending the Friday night alone in the basement, drinking Romano's wine and missing the Italian insults he would growl at him in bed.
He recalled how Romano would let his teeth graze against his skin in irritation when he was talking too much or saying something he didn't like. No matter how long they had been together, Romano had never lost his ability to grow angry and flustered whenever Prussia complimented him or said something sappy. And he had done it often, loving how a few words from him never failed to have that effect on his boyfriend.
He grabbed the pillow that had belonged to Romano and pushed his face into it. He was sure he could smell Romano's shampoo, but he knew it couldn't be. Germany had washed his sheets a few weeks ago. There was nothing but memories left of Romano in his bed.
The last few weeks before death had been the worst. Romano had alternated between claiming he didn't give a fuck and breaking into a sobbing mess because he no longer had the strength to open a bottle of wine. He had thrown things at him and screamed that it wasn't fair he had to go when Prussia was the one who had no land or people to his name. Then he had cried, apologized and told him to go away because he was horrible and didn't deserve love.
Prussia had never before felt so helpless. There had been nothing for him to do but hold Romano close even when he was fighting back and yelling at him to leave him alone. It had shattered his heart that he wasn't awesome enough to save him. He had done his best and tried to find out why this wasn't happening to him, what was still keeping him alive after he had lost so much, but there had been no answers.
“If there's a way for me to come back from the afterlife like Grandpa, I might pay a visit to Veneziano to make sure he's not totally fucking up the country. But I'm never coming to see you. So you had better move on fast, bastard,” Romano had said one night.
Then he had buried his face against Prussia's chest and continued, his voice thick with tears, “Next time, you should get together with someone who won't drop dead right away. Or else I'll put some horrible curse on you from beyond the grave.”
Prussia blinked and reached up to wipe at his eyes. Fuck, it wasn't fair. What was the point of being the most awesome nation in the world if it meant that he had to watch those he loved fade away? This wasn't even the first time it happened.
He didn't want to think of the final times full of anger, tears and despair. There were better memories to recall, nights they had spent in Romano's house thinking that they had the rest of the eternity for each other.
His fingers slipped under his shirt to pinch at his nipple, and for a moment he imagined it was Romano's way of telling him to shut up after him saying he loved the things he did to him. He traced down his chest and recalled how rough Romano could get when he was in a dominant mood. Before he had got together with him, he had never imagined that Romano would even know what happened in bed, much less want to lead.
He closed his eyes once more so that he wouldn't have to see the empty room. He could still taste the wine from earlier, so he chose to pretend that Romano had just kissed him. The touches against his skin no longer belonged to him. They were Romano's fingers moving down and pressing against his sides, almost hard enough to bruise.
It was times like this that Romano tended to show more self-confidence than usual. He would look at him with eyes dim with desire and know exactly what to do. Prussia would never admit it, but a few times Romano might have got something akin to a mewl out of him when his teeth barely brushed against his length.
He fumbled to open the zipper and pull his trousers down. Romany usually liked to tease him more, but Prussia couldn't wait. He needed something to fill the loneliness, even for a moment.
He was forced to open his eyes as he reached out to look for his toy box under the bed. There were two tubes of lube inside. One had been bought by Romano right before he had realised what was wrong with him. Prussia never used it anymore. He couldn't bear the thought of it running out.
He grabbed the other one that he had bought himself only a week ago and squeezed a generous amount of lubrication on his hand.
The first touch felt cold against his member, and he arched his back as he mimicked Romano's caresses. He moved his hand slowly up and down his length, not yet touching the tip.
“Yeah, I told you Italians are the best at this,” Romano might say just before giving him a yank that was rougher than the others. They wouldn't be using lube when they were doing this together, so soon Romano's hand would be replaced by his mouth.
The friction had warmed the lube, so it wasn't difficult to imagine that the thumb travelling down his length was actually a tongue. He shivered as the touches found the tip of his member and circled it, teasing the slit before moving up again.
Prussia increased his pace and couldn't hold back a moan. He recalled what it had been like to clutch at Romano's hair, to hear his grunts and to feel his whole body tighten right before one more lick made him tumble over the edge.
He groaned as his climax overcame him, and for a moment he forgot about everything around him. However, the satisfaction of his release was short-lived. There was nobody he could pull into a kiss after his breathing had calmed down and nobody to tell him that he had better return the favour if he didn't want to sleep on the floor. The spot by his side would remain vacant all through the night.
Prussia rolled over to his side and hid his face into the pillows so that Germany and Italy wouldn't hear him cry.