Title: Another Kind Of Orange Ninja, or, Things We Don't Tell Queen Beatrix About
Summary: In which the Netherlands very nearly makes a significant diplomatic gaffe. Fortunately, everything goes better than expected!
Pairing: Romano/Australia ... now with more Netherlands.
Rating: M, for Mmmmyeahno you know what I can't even make a joke about how not worksafe this is.
Disclaimer: I barely own the plot, much less the characters!
Notes: Yet another kink meme deanon. I saw the request for the pairing and thought it was so crazy it just might work. Most of the actual plot - what plot there is - is from the OP, and what little Italian I put in now and there got corrected by an Italian speaking anon. So, at this point I feel like really, I can hardly take the credit for this. It's pretty well a group effort!

.:.

Going to meetings, Netherlands thought, was a really boring thing. They all did it, but it was like any other chore. You cleaned your room because it was filthy and growing things - things you couldn't smoke. You emptied the ashtray because it was full and because there's no place for new ash with a full ashtray. And you attended the world meetings when people told you to because it was your job.

Not like he'd signed up for this shit, but ... what was done was done, and as a personified nation he needed to go to these things. All of the ones he was invited to. No matter how boring they were.

But damn, would it ever be awesome to have things spiced up a little. He toyed with the baggie in his pocket. Hmm... England sure was paying a lot more attention to that whiteboard behind him, and to his game of keep-away with the markers with America, who kept trying to interject with "helpful" ideas.

Netherlands slyly looked around. Seated next to him were Canada - who was trying not to fall asleep and failing, judging by the periodically bobbing head - and North Italy - who obviously hadn't bothered trying to stay awake and was out like a light. On North Italy's other side, however, was Germany, who was a total stick-up-the-ass, so he'd have to be surreptitious.

He grinned. Super spy powers, activate, he thought, and removed the baggie from his pocket and a paper from his wallet.

Instantly Canada perked up. Netherlands placed a finger on his pursed lips - the universal 'shh' signal - and winked. Canada grinned and wrote something on a pad of paper, while Netherlands made short work of the herb and the paper. He'd be nice - he put a little more in it than he would have, in case the dose got shared among friends.

Canada spun the paper around so he could read. I'll help you hide it if you give me some, he'd written.

As suspected. That's my tulip boy, thought Netherlands, and gave him a quick nod as he licked the paper shut, behind his hands.

They managed to get through the joint quickly. He envied Canada's invisibility at times like these; the brat managed to take long drags brazenly and openly above the table, and could practically blow smoke rings, and nobody saw a thing. But once Germany smelled something up, they had to put it out.

Nevertheless, Canada and the Netherlands spent the rest of the meeting silently shaking with giggles. Netherlands wasn't buzzed, not even close, but the light-headedness marijuana gave him, plus the thrill of getting away with it, made England's nonsense tolerable. Maybe he'd bring mushrooms to the next world conference. He walked away from the table in a relatively good mood.

That is, until he bumped into Spain. "Oh," he greeted, "hello," because he had no real reason to be impolite, and sidestepped to pass the man.

But Spain mirrored his movements, blocking his escape. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word," he said, and latched on to Netherlands' arm, leading him forcefully. "We can go somewhere private, no?"

No, thought Netherlands obstinately, and, I'd really rather not. "The hell do you -"

"SHH." Spain whipped around and glared at him, and there was just a trace of the old Spain, the one he used to be, which ... kind of struck fear into Netherlands' guts just a little bit, so he shut up - for now - and let Spain drag him this way and that.

Spain finally stopped them behind a column outside the hotel's pool and grabbed Netherlands by the collar, shoving him up against the wall. Netherlands tried to wrest himself from Spain's grip but it was useless - and he was kinda high, so his hands were a little bit flimsy. "Now," hissed Spain, "I have tried to be calm. I have tried to be understanding, but I am at my wits' end. I have needs, you see!"

Netherlands froze. "What." Oh goodness. "Look man, I understand - believe me, I more than understand! - but I just don't like you like that." Flattered, though. Flattered and a little creeped out.

"No, not that, I - augh!" Spain dropped him, but stayed close, preventing Netherlands' escape again. Then, he whipped his head in both directions, like a paranoid freak suspecting followers, and leaned in closely. Fearing the worst Netherlands shut his eyes and turned his head away, but when nothing happened he cautiously opened an eye.

Spain was merely close to him. "This is to be kept secret, do you hear?" he whispered, and he looked genuinely worried. "But ... But mi Romano. And normally I don't let it affect me like this, but it has been three months. Three months and no word. No calls, no texts, no emails, not even a little hi in the hallway because I have not seen him in the hallway. He disappears randomly during the meetings and simply never returns! There is something wrong with him, I know it, he must be gravely ill."

"What the hell do you think I have to do with this?" Netherlands said.

"Nada!" cried Spain, "that is, it had better be nada! If I should find you've touched my Roma -"

"You know he hasn't formally accepted your advances in like four centuries, right?"

"He is just shy, that is all!" Spain grunted tersely.

"Listen, I'm sorry this is happening to you, and I genuinely hope Romano's fine, but seriously, I am going to have to file this under N for Not Netherlands' Problem -"

"Ah si, but that is where you do come in, my friend," Spain grinned, "my old friend," and Netherlands really didn't dig the frantic frenzied look in his eyes. "I -" Spain punctuated this with pointing at his chest - "need you -" he shoved a finger into Netherlands' - "to track him at the next world meeting. Find out where he is going - what is wrong with him - what I can do to help - and report back to me."

"You can't do your own dirty work?"

"You think I haven't tried? He sees me coming and disappears!"

Beat. "Why would I help you?"

And Spain smiled very widely. "Because if you do not, I shall tell your boss - and Canada's - exactly how you spend valuable taxpayer's money at these meetings."

Netherlands growled. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

And now, Netherlands concluded, there was a new reason to hate world meetings - blackmail.

.:.

The next meeting he attended that Italy Romano was at - the Organisation for Security and Co-Operation in Europe - the Netherlands came fully prepared to ignore the fuck out of everybody and just sit there stony faced. Because fuck Spain, really.

But as Spain sauntered in, he took the seat directly across from Netherlands', and then the asshole taunted him by miming taking a puff of an imaginary joint. As much as he disliked being someone else's errand boy, he didn't enjoy the idea of his boss catching wind of his activities. And Beatrix would just freak.

He kept a steady eye on Romano throughout the meeting, and halfway through the boy slipped out, so Netherlands too made his escape. Germany noticed, and asked him where the hell he thought he was going, but Spain interrupted and distracted Germany so that Netherlands could do his job. He was thankful that his backup was quick-witted, at least.

Outside the conference hall he spotted Romano's retreating form going down the left corridor, and as quietly as he could, he got to the side of the hallway, making himself as unobtrusive as possible, while closing in and following at a final distance of about five paces. Romano didn't appear to suspect a thing.

Romano turned left, and quick as a bunny, Netherlands got into position behind the corner. He peered down the left hall -

- it was empty -

...Wait, what? He frowned.

There was nobody there. Just a bunch of hotel rooms and an empty hall.

Well where the devil did Romano go?

.:.

"It's not my fault," he complained to Spain later, "the bugger's just really slippery!"

"Fine," Spain admitted grudgingly, "at least try again tomorrow. This conference is three days long, you've got to have at least one more meeting with Italy." Which he did, so Netherlands couldn't even get out of it that way.

.:.

So during the meeting, when he was supposed to be learning about democratisation and why Belarus needed a good healthy dose of it, he found himself outside the conference hall again, tailing Romano like it was cops and robbers.

Okay, fair enough, he thought, there were worse errands he could be running, and this was at least a little bit thrilling and made him feel like a super badass spy. And it served him right to wish for spicing up dull meetings.

Also Belarus was no fun when people started attacking her boss, with whom she had some kind of twisted love-hate relationship. But mostly super badass spy.

This time! he thought giddily. This time he watched as Romano went down the same hall, walked to the end of it - he ducked behind a pillar when Romano looked back suspiciously - then turned left again.

His heart pounding, Netherlands made the maddest dash he'd ever made to the corner where Romano had gone left and peered beyond it less cautiously. He spotted the first hotel room door, which was open, closing fast.

That must be it, he thought, and seized the opportunity to duck in after like some kind of orange ninja. Success! he thought victoriously.

But the second he was in, not a foot away from Romano's back, the door closed behind him with a firm snap.

And Netherlands suddenly realised how painfully obvious it was that he had thought very, very little ahead, because shit, shit fuck, there was another nation in the room. This was a private meeting. And his exit was blocked. He couldn't leave without drawing attention to himself.

At least both of them had their backs turned to him, but the other one was turning around - oh shit!

He realised he was right next to the hall closet, which had large sliding doors partially open on either end. Netherlands ducked into the closet - his spiked hair caught on one of the metal hangers but it wasn't next to any others, so it didn't make the distinctive clink - and he had to stoop, or else lean on the wall, to get comfortable, but it provided him with a great view.

Safe. For now, anyway. He'd still have to figure out what to do next. Not to mention an exit strategy.

If he left now, Romano - and the other nation - would know they were watched, and they might consider it spying (because that is exactly what it was! he thought). Now, it was not a time of war; if it were this would be tantamount to a direct security attack. But even during peacetime, it was highly, highly undiplomatic to spy on a nation during a private meeting conducted with another nation. Even with due cause. It usually sparked an actual conflict. Oh man, Beatrix would be so pissed if she knew about this, he thought, so pissed that a little bit of pot'd be nothing. Highly undiplomatic.

Of course, it was also highly undiplomatic to blackmail an old friend into checking up on the guy you were not sleeping with, Netherlands thought dully, but there wasn't much he could do about Spain's actions.

Pinned like this as he was, he might as well ride it out. Wait for their meeting to finish and leave after they did. The hotel room doors auto-locked behind you, so it wasn't as though they'd return later and find evidence someone had been in. But what irony of ironies that this was taking place at a security conference!

He redirected his attention to Romano and his friend.

Now that the other nation had turned around, he was easily identifiable to the Netherlands and - oh, wow.

Oh. Wow.

The other nation was Australia, who had taken off his shirt, and was presently working on the belt and fly to his shorts, with a rakish sort of sexy grin on his face, and hot damn, thought Netherlands, why does he ever wear shirts? He should just not wear them. Ever. For the good of mankind.

Wait a minute.

Romano.

Shirtless Australia.

What was Australia doing at an organisation for security for Europe, anyway?

"Yer late," Australia stated tauntingly.

"Aw, shut up, koala bastard," Romano retorted.

Netherlands watched as Romano stepped closer to Australia, too close for friends considering one of them was half-dressed. He toyed with Australia's nipple with one hand and slid the other down Australia's shorts. Australia hissed approval. "Anyone follow you?"

"Mmm. Don't think so," Romano replied against the bronze skin of Australia's neck. And there was something about the lusty way he said it that drove the point home to Netherlands.

Yeah, no Netherlands should really not have been here.

"Ah, shit, you've got me - ngh," Australia moaned, and Romano's teeth were bared, his lips curled nastily so Netherlands suspected he was using them very strategically - "so fucking hot," or hard, it was difficult to tell, with Australia's accent. Judging from the monster in his shorts either would be appropriate.

"You want fucking hot, I'll give you fucking hot," Romano replied, and succeeded in getting Australia's shorts loose enough to pool around his ankles - skinny little things that they were. Netherlands had never noticed. Australia must always wear his boots to their meetings, because if Netherlands had had any clue the man bore such sculpted calves, such elegant arches, he was certain he would demand Birkenstocks for every single fucking meeting.

But really, Netherlands thought, there was a lot more about Australia that was a feast for the eyes. As the shorts came down they revealed his lack of any underwear at all.

And, new rule, Australia should just always be naked. Except for the Birkenstocks.

Romano appeared to agree, because he got down on his knees and didn't bother with formalities, just took Australia into his mouth full on. Netherlands didn't realise he'd licked his lips until after he found they were moist. He couldn't decide what was hotter, Romano's red-lipped enthusiasm or the hot, sick, wet noises he made as he engulfed Australia again, and again. Netherlands could sympathise with the incredible expression of bliss on Australia's face, and the sudden tremble in his leg muscles as Aussie sat back on the bed carefully, so as not to disturb Romano's work.

It was here that Netherlands remembered three very important things.

One, it had been awhile since he'd had any whatsoever that didn't feature his palm and pornography - and frankly he was really getting tired of that.

Two, these two were the fucking hottest shit he'd seen in practically ever. Definitely way hotter than porn.

Three, his face was pleasantly warm, his spine was already tingling, his pulse was racing and his skin was crawling with anticipation - and he was not even doing anything.

Yet.

Netherlands grinned.

It wasn't like he could really go anywhere, anyway, he rationalised, cupping his erection thoughtfully, smoothing the heel of his hand down his fly, pressing it in. If he were really really quiet about it... super spy powers, activate, he decided, and nudged the zipper on his pants down, tooth by aching tooth, so that it made no sound at all.

Not like Australia or Romano could hear him if he got greedy, over Romano's frenzied sucking. Australia got a hand in Romano's pretty curls - yes, including that one - and moaned loudly. He spread his legs further and further apart, gripping the duvet of the bed with the hand not in Romano's hair, and helplessly thrust into Romano's mouth, and god, did Australia look gorgeous like that, slutty and needy and wanting.

No one will ever know, Netherlands thought, as he pulled out his cock and gave it a few tentative strokes. He leaned on the wall with his legs spread as wide as his trousers would admit - he really was too tall for this closet.

Romano gave a muffled moan around Australia, which made him collapse backwards on the bed onto his elbows. "Ah! Sorry, sorry mate," he quickly recovered, sitting back up. "What were you gonna say?"

"I said," Romano repeated, "do you want to come like this?"

"How d'you mean?" Australia's voice was rough and throaty. Romano must be good with that mouth, thought Netherlands, carefully speeding up his hand.

"I brought - well, uh." Romano coughed uncomfortably. "Lube. Thought maybe we could try stepping it up."

Australia looked at Romano's face, then at his crotch, judging. "Yeah," he said finally, "yeah, alright."

"You don't mind -?"

"Ah, no, I don't," he replied, and got into position.

Now nobody had asked the Netherlands' opinion on these matters, but if they had, he would have enthusiastically agreed that this was a very good development. The bed was against the opposite wall relative to the hall closet, so he watched from his vantage point as Australia knelt on the bed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the top of the headboard. Netherlands couldn't see his handsome face anymore, but he could see pretty well everything from behind, and that was almost a nicer view. Australia spread his legs and arched his back, presenting his ass to the room and Romano (and also Netherlands) like a peep show.

And judging from how hard Netherlands was, the show was getting rave reviews. He exhaled loudly, just fractions below something the pair on the bed might hear. Dammit, he thought, I've got to be quieter.

Netherlands slowed the rhythm on his hand to something a little more tender, a little more leisurely, touching himself so lightly he barely ghosted over his hard flesh. Meanwhile, Romano had undressed quickly and hastily when Australia moved, and was showing the appropriate amount of reverent worship to Australia's ass that it rightly deserved. "God, Oz," Romano murmured, in a hushed voice, "you're so - ah, fuck. So fucking hot like this."

"Less talk, more action," Australia replied teasingly, looking over his shoulder. "Come on, then."

Romano stepped off the bed for a brief minute to retrieve something from his pockets, a small bottle. He opened it, poured some on his fingers, and sat on bent legs behind Australia on the bed. "Deep breaths," he said as a warning, before he entered a finger.

Australia didn't make much of a sound until the second finger, and then he didn't do much besides sort of sigh loudly. "More," he hissed. "C'mon, I can take it, I don't break - ungh, yes, there -"

"One more," Romano assured him, "then we get started," and as he slipped the third finger in he got a hand down to his own cock, to quell the lust a bit, take the edge off. Netherlands unconsciously matched his rhythm, his hand pressing more firmly, gripping more tightly. God, yeah.

"Ngh, please, Roma, c'mon." Australia had shifted his body up a bit in order to cant his hips backwards, to meet Romano's fingers, and that was an invite if Netherlands ever saw one, so Romano got behind him, aligning their hips, and smoothed a goodly amount of slick onto his cock.

Netherlands licked the palm of his hand wetly. It wasn't nearly as good as lube would be, but it would do. He had to grip himself at the base in order not to come when Romano entered; the keening moaning noise Australia made sounded every bit as delicious as he imagined it must have felt. He couldn't see Romano's face from this angle but he'd seen that enough today to be able to visualise what he couldn't quite see: Romano's eyes shut tightly, his jaw clenched, breathing deeply through his nose to try and calm himself down. Netherlands tightened his grasp on himself; it felt so good he throbbed.

Australia had one forearm balanced on the headboard, the other swung up so that he could twist his body and grip the headboard with clenched fingers. Netherlands could see his face, but he doubted Australia could see him, not when his eyes were barely open longer than two seconds, and when they were, they were looking at Romano.

With good reason; from this vantage point Romano knelt behind his lover, his legs slightly spread, one hand on Australia's hip. His posture alluded to the confidence of a sex god that Netherlands didn't know he possessed. It was maddeningly, thrillingly erotic. "S'okay," Australia said hoarsely, when Romano had entered him entirely, and still didn't move, "go on then."

"Go on and what?" Romano asked, and caressed the powerful muscles of Australia's ass. "Tell me what you want and maybe I'll give it to you. I might be that nice."

"Oh, fer - fuck me, ya goddamn wanker!"

Romano's first thrust was deep and Australia shouted. It didn't sound quite like pain, and not quite like pleasure either, but it made Netherlands nearly come where he leaned on the wall, hidden in the closet. "Since you ask so nicely," Romano hissed, and leaned over to kiss Australia on the shoulder blades.

And that, thought Netherlands, was metaphorical somehow for the strange rhythm they found: somewhere between caring and reverent, and demanding and intense. Similarly he sped up his own rhythm on his cock, keeping just shy of abusive. Hard enough to make it real, not so hard to make him scream. Several times he almost moaned aloud; he eventually wound up using his other hand to cover his mouth. The feeling of flesh against his lips was helpful in reminding him of his precarious position because damn, he was close, really close, and he'd forgotten the last time he was quiet when he came.

"Ah, fuck, ngh," Romano moaned, his voice shaky, "yeah, take it, Oz." Australia did not reply with actual words. He tried to get the hand gripping the headboard down to his own cock, hot and hard and obviously wanting, but Romano caught his hand instead and slammed it back against the headboard. "No, lascia, faccio io," he said, his voice strained and tight, and slipped his right hand down, past Australia's hips, to assist him manually.

Australia lost it then. Netherlands watched as he gripped the headboard shakily, the powerful muscles of his legs quivering. His words became significantly less coherent: "Oh fuck. Oh, yeah, yesyes- ah - ah!"

Netherlands bit his fingers to stop from moaning aloud. He'd let Australia moan for him, he thought, and drowned in the other nation's voice, the thick-throated gasps and cries. His hand moved faster, and faster, and more erratically, until he had to lean more heavily against the wall as he clenched his eyes shut and came in tandem with Australia.

He kept just enough presence of mind to hold himself at the tip. When he returned to Earth his hand was a mess, and he didn't have a handkerchief or tissue, so he shrugged and wiped it off on the inside of the closet door.

It didn't take Romano long after that. Netherlands watched distractedly as his thrusts became faster, less graceful, into Australia, who was trying to stay propped up on the headboard with unsteady hands. As Romano came, he gripped Australia's hips tightly, leaning over him, burying his face between Australia's shoulder blades, so the low moan Netherlands heard was muffled. Still, it was probably enough noise to distract both of them from Netherlands, zipping up his pants inside the closet.

Slowly Romano pulled out and Australia stretched, looking stiff. Which reminded Netherlands, now that he wasn't lost in throes of ecstasy, he was getting awfully cramped in this closet. He tried to twist but stopped when he heard his back crack. Too loud. But so uncomfortable!

The pair on the bed didn't appear to have noticed anything. Romano had laid down beside Australia, who was on his side, facing away from Netherlands. It wasn't entirely clear but they seemed to be kissing as well as holding each other and it was a damn pretty picture. A damn shame Netherlands had left his cellphone back in his jacket, in the conference room.

Then again, he thought, perhaps it would be better not to have photographic evidence of this, because he wasn't sure what Spain would think of it.

Ah, shit, Spain. Spain would probably go mad if he knew. Then again, maybe not - Netherlands hadn't spoken to Spain - as in seriously spoken to him - in a few years, and by a few years he meant well over fifty, so it was difficult to predict his reaction. He should probably take the guy out for a drink or something, because while it looked like this thing Romano had with Australia was a recent development - three months, Spain had said? - it also looked like neither of them wanted to end it anytime soon.

He turned his attention back to the two nations on the bed. Evidently Australia had left to make use of the washroom and Romano was redressing. As he exited the washroom, picking up his clothes, Australia asked, "D'you want to go grab a coffee?"

Romano was busy with the buttons on his shirt as he replied from the bed, almost a bit sadly, "Dumbass, you know I can't."

Australia nodded, shrugging into his shirt. He looked impartial about it. "But, you would if you could, right?"

"Don't be stupid. Of course I would. It's just, Spain -"

"Yeah, I know." Australia tucked the shirt into his shorts and zipped up the fly. "Want to go to the Starbucks and conveniently meet me five minutes after I walk in?"

"Pfft, Starbucks fa schifo. Let's go to the little cafe down the street instead."

"Hah, yeah, alright. Yer on."

Oh finally. They exited the door and Netherlands stretched a bit, and his hair nudged one of the metal hangers and tipped it off the pipe. It fell to the ground with a loud clang.

Australia and Romano froze.

Netherlands froze.

"The hell was that?" Romano asked.

"Not sure, mate," Australia replied, turning back to the hall closet. "Something in here, I think?"

And his heart - which was still not done beating furiously in his ribcage from that orgasm - leapt up into his throat as both Romano and Australia returned to the room.

In a split second Netherlands darted out the far end of the hall closet just as the two lovers poked their heads into the other end nearest the door. "Nothing here," he heard Romano say, but he was too busy leaping past them and out the door, held open by Australia's toe.

Safe again! Amazing super spy Netherlands. God, he should be doing this for a living or something, this was brilliant.

.:.

"Well?" Spain asked impatiently, when he tracked Netherlands down later. "Well?"

Netherlands toyed with the idea of telling him his little baby was not quite so his anymore. On one hand, retaliation for this nonsense that Spain had gone and put Netherlands through. But the fallout he would have to deal with might be ludicrous. Hard to say.

"Yeah he's sick," Netherlands said instead, affecting a concerned look. "Real sick."

"Oh, mi precioso - is it his economy? Is there something I can do?"

No. No there is not. "You know, you should probably just ask him."

"I'll do that. I will most certainly do that, oh - thank you, Netherlands, you don't know how much this means to me. I'm glad, now that I know."

"Uh-huh."

"You're such a good friend. Rest assured, if there is ever anything I can do for you, you just let me know, ┬┐de acuerdo? Anything at all."

Netherlands tried not to look guilty, and failed. "Uh. Don't, uh. Don't mention it. Friend." He coughed, feeling awkward. "Hey, let's go grab a drink."

.:.

Notes and Translations:
Netherlands gives me the impression that he doesn't feel guilty enough not to jack off to a scene like that, but that he might feel guilty reporting back to Spain who put him up to the whole shebang and seems to be after for someone who's taken. Also, Netherlands and Spain have decent current relations (historical, not so much), so I figured, a beer's probably justified.

This was one of the more ridiculous things I've written. :'D

with thanks to the Italian speaking anon who came along and corrected me...

no, lascia, faccio io: No, let me, I'll do it
Starbucks fa schifo: Starbucks is crap