Note: In no way am I opposed against gay marriage/gay rights, however this is merely just an argument between two nations about where they want to get hitched in.

Marcela refers to Gibraltar, Marcela, according the internet means: "sea and sky", it was chosen because of England's love of the sea (pirate!England reference).

Also, this is unbetaed, so expect the usual: spelling mistakes, grammar problems, etc...I've tried my best to fix the ones I've found, but there's always ones that I've missed.

Note as of 3/24/2013: I've been informed by a reviewer (thank-you by the way) who told me that gay marriage has been recently approved in the U.K.. I wrote this while it was still pending, so please, imagine that it hadn't been approved or legal yet but still in the process of happening. Thank-you.

"Would you rather we marry in Madrid or Barcelona during the summer?"

England looked up from the book he was reading and turned to face Antonio.

"Why should we get married at your place? Last time I checked, there's nothing wrong with mine." He retorted.

Antonio smiled, "Your laws don't even allow marriage between two people of the same gender."

England scowled at him, and replied in a scathing tone, "It's called a civil partnership, idiot."

"A civil partnership isn't a marriage, Arturo."

"We'd get the same rights and all, Spain. Just a difference in name."

"Would you rather say you're married to someone or say you're in a civil partnership with someone?"

"What fucking difference is there?"

"Well, as you've pointed out, a difference in name. A marriage is a marriage, a civil partnership makes it sound so unromantic, so... Impersonal."

"So? Besides, I'd like to remind you that we're in the bloody process of making gay marriage legal here."

"So? There's no guarantee it'll become legal in time."

"We can always fucking wait." England snapped, setting his teacup none-too-gently on top of the coffee table. The tea inside had long been drunk, England just hadn't bothered pouring himself some more.

"Besides, do you really want it to rain on the day of our wedding?"

"Who says it'll rain?"

"There's a reason all those citizens of yours that visit me in the summer don't spend it at home."

"So? They just might want to go visit somewhere else for a change?"

"Really? Since I can understand why, your weather happens to rain every seven days of the week."

"It's not that rainy here!"

"It's currently raining now, Arturo. I been to differ."

"Other than the fucking rain, why do we have to get married at your place?" England asked impatiently, emerald eyes glaring with wounded pride.

"Why wouldn't you want to stay at my place? We've got sun, good-natured people and excellent food. The exact opposite of what you've got." After saying that, the dark-haired man leaned back and let his face fall into what some would consider a smirk.

England gritted his teeth, getting his book off his lap and standing up. Bright gold-green eyes twinkled with amusement at England's show of irritation, Spain could see that the gloved hands were tense like he was going to grab something, most likely a weapon of done sort.

"Arturo, if we get married at my place, we can easily visit Marcela, in Gibraltar." He attempted to bribe the blond with an offer to visit one of the former Empire's remaining colonies. Or was it last of England's colonies? No, probably not. But their only one they had together.

England considered this for a moment, he hadn't seen Marcela (whom Spain named, and the name had regretfully stuck so he had no choice but to call her Marcela) since that time weight years ago. He simply never managed to visit to, as somehow his schedule never allowed him close enough to visit. There was something that always happened that prevented him from visiting. He had relied on Spain to bring him news of how she had done.

The colony that he and Spain both made had stayed with him, even after his other colonies left. She also smiled a lot, just like the country she stayed with. While sometimes the smile pissed England off in record time while it was on Spain, it calmed and warmed him when Gibraltar wore it.

During World War II, he had her back for a short while, but that was note enough. He was busy then, busy and bleeding from the war.

"We could catch a flight there, after the wedding here."

Spain paused. He couldn't deny that piece of logic.

"Well, Mi Preciousa, if we get married at my place, France would have a harder time with annoying you before the wedding."

"What the hell do you mean by that? He knows your place as well as mine! No, he probably knows our better!"

"Well, being such good friends with him, I of course wouldn't trust him around Marcela or Lovino. So, over the years, I've built and arranged hiding places, which is more than you can boast of."

Grinning down at England finishing that with a smug tone, he felt proud of himself. Now all he had to do was arrange for all the proper things for the wedding; England would look so cute in the wedding dress...

As he started off into space with a slightly creepy exclusion on his face, England countered that reason with another one if his own.

However Spain didn't acknowledge it, as he was too busy fantasizing about some things that would be best left unsaid. Like England in a wedding dress, blushing like a school girl, but worse. Much, much worse.

So England just walked out the room in frustration after getting no response from his fiancée.

This was lucky for Spain, since he began preparing everything for the wedding at his place once England was gone.

Oh how furious England would be once he found out in the morning.

A/N: I have absolutely no amazing ability at writing romance. So uh, sorry if...anything really. If there was anything offensive in there, please tell me and I'll do my best to correct it. Thank-you for reading my first fic on here.