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It’s unusual these days for Austria to wake up alone from a post-afterglow doze; it’s exclusively Spain who’s responsible for causing this blissful state, and Spain hardly needs convincing to stay and snooze alongside him. Not anymore, although he hasn’t yet forgotten those ages of long ago, way back when fervour ran constantly through Spain and he’d be thoroughly invigorated after their activities, teasing Austria terribly for his lethargy.
(“Ah, what can I say – perhaps you had the right idea after all,” he’d smiled languidly when Austria had brought up the change, “or maybe you just make me do more of the work now?” he was joking of course, but it had earned him a threat to be kicked out of bed all the same).
Today however Spain is already gone when Austria stirs, causing him to wonder just how long he’s been asleep for - not that long, the bedside clock tells him. He’s probably just gone to the bathroom then, and will come back soon (he might, just a little bit, hope so). But then again, it had been just after lunch that Spain had turned up at his door unannounced…he strains his ears and yes, he can just about make out the sounds of his kitchen cupboards being opened and closed. This is most unfortunate - not because he minds, but because he knows he'll be told off for what Spain finds, or rather, does not.
Well, he figures he’ll proactively go and defend himself seeing as Spain’s stomach has ensured he won’t be coming back anytime soon. He also figures he should get dressed first, as his dressing gown won’t add much dignity to his cause. But then he sits up and sees that Spain’s clothes are still strewn across the floor, and time becomes of the essence; he swiftly retrieves the robe from the chair it lays on and hurries downstairs, ignoring how lazy it feels to wear it whilst the rays of afternoon sunlight brighten his way.
When he reaches the kitchen he hears rather than sees Spain, humming as he is from inside the pantry. He can’t make out the tune immediately, and it’s highly likely that he’s making it up on the spot, but he redirects his thoughts to the more pressing matter at hand; he clears his throat.
“I know you’re not naked in my kitchen.”
Spain stops humming and pokes his head round the doorway, enough for Austria to see the top of his tanned and very bare chest. But rather than smile guiltily, he heaves quite the overdramatic sigh and shakes his head.
“How is it you can be such a prude now, when barely an hour ago you were dragging me straight into your bed?”
It’s bait of the finest kind, knowing Austria as well as he does, but Austria refuses to splutter and give those devilishly glinting green eyes the rise they’re trying to coax out of him. Not that easily, anyway.
“As I recall,” he says evenly, merely raising an eyebrow, “you hardly had to be dragged. Which is why your clothes are on my bedroom floor instead of on your body.”
This time Spain does grin, without a hint of shame to be seen, before stepping out into full view so Austria can see that actually, thankfully, he is at least wearing boxer shorts.
“Relax, I know how you feel about these things,” Spain’s eyes still glitter with mirth as he makes his way over to him, and Austria gets the impression he is still being teased despite the placating words, “’there’s a time and a place for everything’ - right?”
Mocking or not, that's exactly how Austria feels, and eventually he confirms so with a curt nod; Spain leans forward and kisses him on the lips. It’s brief, but he closes his eyes automatically, and when he opens them again Spain looks thoughtful.
“You're a bit like Prussia that way, you know,” and before Austria can even start to respond, adds “except that he probably would have picked them off the floor before coming down.”
“Remind me why I let you in again?” He's unsure whether to be more insulted by one, the comparison or two, the dig at his laziness (and the fact that it is quite accurate).
“Hmm,” Spain cocks his head to one side, “because you love me?”
Austria almost – almost! – laughs, for the ease in which he can come out with such things, and also at himself for how he lets Spain get away with it; “You’re shameless,” he says and after a beat, more quietly, “God only knows why I do.”
Spain looks far too pleased with himself, so really Austria has no choice but to kiss him to not see the foolishness. His hand drifts up on its own accord to rest on Spain’s jawline, and not moments later he feels Spain’s arms circle round his waist, coming to rest across his hips and lower back. It’s nice; warm and familiar, and then perhaps too nice once they have to start breathing harder through their noses for air, holds tightening...Austria is the one who breaks the kiss, and just then, Spain’s stomach growls.
“Ah, yes,” he begins, keeping Austria in his arms, catching a breath or two, “I came over to ask if you wanted to go out for lunch, before you – ha-ha, fine, we, got distracted. So I hoped you wouldn’t mind me making us something here, but tell me, how is it you have so many types of flour but no actual food like say vegetables to eat? Do you really live off cakes and desserts?!”
“In my defence, you didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Hmm...would you have prepared a banquet for me if I had, then?”
“Please don’t flatter yourself,” he says as dryly as he can, but he feels his lips curving into a smile regardless, matching the mischief that dances through Spain’s eyes still. There's just something about it that makes Austria play along, the small amount of playfulness he possesses shaking off the dust it normally lies in just like all the other times they've reunited.
“Those days are long gone now,” he continues, “not least because we’re not married anymore.”
“So are you saying that’s it, I’m not worth making effort for anymore?”
“Well of course it sounds cruel when you phrase it like that.”
“It is cruel!” Spain pouts, but Austria is mostly immune to such an expression by now. “Anyways, you should be eating well even when I’m not here, you know.”
“Yes - I do. I had actually planned on going shopping this afternoon, I've a list somewhere if you don't believe me.”
“Good! I don’t like the thought of you not eating, even if we don’t actually need to.”
“Alright, no need to fuss dear.” He rolls his eyes, but isn’t completely untouched at the concern. He knows, and feels, that Spain cares, and so he ends up admitting, “I just don’t see the need to be extravagant when eating alone.”
“Ah, I understand,” Spain nods sagely, “a meal does taste better when shared.”
For a moment he fears he's made a terrible mistake, and Spain is about to suggest they host a dinner party or something, but luckily - well, sort of - he's just going to be berated a little more instead.
“But that’s no excuse, you hear me?! You don’t need to go all out to eat well, simple doesn’t have to mean bad."
"I know. Although if that's so true then surely you should be able to work your magic on what I do have?"
Spain pokes out his tongue. "Well, I think I saw a couple of eggs, they might just keep us going enough to go out and get restocked, ok?”
“Alright," Austria agrees, "but you’re still not getting a banquet.” Spain laughs but lets go of him to get straight to business. "And if you’re using the stove you’d best put on an apron.”
“I’ll be fine!”
“If you're allowed to fret over me not eating, then I’m allowed to be concerned about you injuring yourself.”
They both know a bit of spitting oil is nothing compared to some of the things they’ve suffered during their lifespan, but Spain gives in and takes the apron Austria fishes out for him all the same.
“Is this the kind of look you like?” he teases, looking ridiculous with bare arms and legs sticking out from the plain navy apron (but who's decision was that, Austria reminds him).
He supposes this is the kind of moment that people like to take pictures of to put online - clearly he’s been spending too much time around company of questionable influence he thinks, as he dismisses the idea. Furthermore, he wants this image to himself. Spain looks so casual, just like he belongs here, as he locates a frying pan with ease and resumes humming happily. Just watching him brings out such sentimental notions in Austria that he's even struck by an impulse to stand behind and hold him as he cooks, and he shakes his head to snap himself out of it - it's entirely impractical and not very him either.
It’s such quiet togetherness like this though that makes him wonder if this is what marriage is like for normal people, humans. It’s so much more stripped back from when they were 'officially' married before, the feasts and splendour and ceremony, all the formality each time they reunited after being apart, yet this feels just as special, maybe even more intimate than all of that, with no pretences necessary here.
Though neither of them expects the other to permanently move from the land they embody, it always feels right when they are together, despite all the teasing and poking fun they seem to engage in until eventually they settle. It's all in good nature, the result of that happiness bubbling up within them, the comebacks a reminder they haven't yet lost the sharpness of how they used to be, even if the world has changed so much since then.
He imagines past him would struggle to believe that he could be happy like this, with such simplicity – but Spain turns to smile at him and he can’t help but return it, because ring on his finger or not, he feels in his own kind of union with Spain.