KKA: I'm hoping to make this between three and four chapters. Probably four… Anyway. I want me some Spamano of the M-related nature. If you don't like it, don't read it. Oh, to spell it out. They're totally gonna have sex. XDDD Maybe even twice? I was roleplaying Spain, but gave him up and now I needs me some Spain-niichan fixation. So… I may be giving Spamano a much bigger role in my other fics than previous envisioned. Oops.

This Is Going to Happen

Chapter One

Six Years Later

Lovino was not pleased. Actually, that didn't even come close to how pissed off he was right now. He was livid- enraged- outright humiliated.

"But how do you know that you're gay if you've never tried it, Lovi?" Feliciano, his ridiculously stupid baby brother, continued to press with that too-eager, too-innocent face.

"Cuz I know, all right? Shut up!" Lovino hissed as he slammed coats to the side.

His brother, the ridiculously stupid one, was currently questioning his sexuality while shopping in his all-time favorite clothing department. If anyone overheard this, he would never be able to come back and he would have to kill his brother. As much as he acted differently, he did love the insufferable idiot, and he really didn't want to kill his brother. However, if Feli kept talking, Lovino would have no choice but to bring out the stilettos (and not those stylish, red-leather ones preening in the window either).

"How do you know you're straight, huh? You're just born that way, okay? Now, please, in the name of all that's Holy, shut the hell up!" Lovino added quickly. He was distracted by the black suede, half-sleeved coat his hand fell upon. "Hey, Feli, check out this one."

"Ve~ So handsome, but why not try the green one? It makes your eyes look darker," Feli pulled out an identical forest-green one.

Lovino gulped and looked down at the black one again. "No… the black one will go better with those new boots I bought in the last shop," he murmured, trying not to remember a pair of green eyes.

"If you say so. Anyhow~ who says I'm straight? I like to look at pretty ladies, but I didn't really like touching Carlita's breasts like I thought I would. I kept thinking about that new issue of Vogue, too. I shouldn't be thinking about fashion if I'm touching a lady's breasts. Oh, Lovi, I like this one! Look, it's blue! I love blue!" Feliciano exclaimed happily as he pulled out a cashmere poncho a few clothing racks away.

Lovino was still at the coat rack, gaping in horror and shock and confusion. How can Feliciano just jump from topic to topic like that! Lovino wondered as he hurried to Feliciano's side.

He grabbed the poncho, slammed it back on the rack, and glared down at Feli, the free-standing curse of a curl crinkling over his right eyebrow.

"You don't go running around a fucking clothing store asking if people are gay or talking about fucking tits, all right?" Lovino snarled as a woman walked by nonchalantly. Luckily, she hadn't overheard them.

"But… ever since you moved out into your own place, we never meet up to really talk except while shopping, Lovi. Where else can I talk to you about this?" Feli whined, tears coming to his lashes.

Feliciano always seemed to be walking around the world with his eyes closed, literally and figuratively. Maybe Feliciano preferred the smaller view. Maybe opening his eyes and seeing the wide world around him frightened him, so looking through his highly narrowed view kept him in perspective, kept him sane? Who knew. Lovino had obviously spent too much time studying for that philosophy test. He rubbed his forehead and slowly the tension created by embarrassment leaked out his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, you're right. But I don't talk about this shit well. I come shopping to fuckin' relax, not talk about sex and boobs," Lovino told Feliciano. Feli lit up, his terror-slash- sorrow gone in an instant.

"How about over coffee?"

"HELL NO!"

Lovino felt the sweat gather on his forehead as his voice echoed throughout the store.

"Sometimes, I really hate you, Feli." Lovino muttered as the store manager made her way towards them.

"Sorry, Lovi."

Luckily, Lovino and Feliciano were both well-known and (in Feli's case) well-loved customers. After profuse apologies and promises never to be so loud or vulgar again, the boys were able to continue shopping and Feli had dropped the personal questions. However, Lovino knew his brother would bring it up again until his curiosity was satiated. After that last observation by Feliciano, Lovino was a little curious himself about Feli's love life.

They settled into their usual seats at the usual coffee shoppe laden with bags a few hours later. Lovino ordered black espresso, Feliciano ordered his double-chocolate mocha with extra whipped cream, and both ordered strawberry cake with white icing and extra strawberry syrup. As everything was placed before them, the bags were set neatly out of the aisle, and the waiter a discreet distant away, Lovino brought it up.

"All right, what's this about Carlita?" Lovino prompted in a long-suffering voice. Feliciano broke into a wide grin, completely oblivious to the large amount of whipped cream on his face.

"Well, we went out on a date. I like her well enough, she's very pretty, very nice, ve~ But… Well…" Feliciano blushed lightly and dipped his finger into the whipped cream on his mocha absently. He sucked off the cream, then leaned on his elbow and sighed. "Nothing, Lovi. No reaction. We kissed, we even petted a little, like I said before, but I just wasn't hot inside at all. I have always like the way a boy looks, but I like the way girls look, too, so I never thought anything of it. Am I gay, Lovi?" Feliciano asked with a pathetically conflicted look on his face.

"How am I supposed to fucking know?" Lovino snapped. He knew his face was bright red. He just didn't do these kinds of conversations. In an effort to help though, since his baby brother was conflicted, Lovino calmed himself down and sipped his espresso as he considered it. His face was a still a little red, but when he set down his tiny espresso cup, he felt calm enough to speak. "Just because you weren't attracted to Carlita, doesn't mean you're gay. Carlita is a slut anyway." He ignored Feliciano protests. "However, if you think you're more attracted to boys, why don't you try looking at one better? Just look at one you think is attractive and see how attractive you think he is. Can you…" Lovino broke off, crossing his arms over his chest protectively as his discomfort increased. "Can you imagine k-kissing him, or t-touching him, I guess. And what happens if you do?"

"Ve~ You're so smart, Lovino! I knew you could help me!" Feliciano cried happily, this time the tears gathering those of joy.

"It doesn't take a genius to come up with a plan like that," Lovino muttered, not totally unpleased from the praise.

"Oh, I got a postcard from big brother Francis a couple days ago." Feliciano remembered. He searched through the brown leather knapsack that Lovino bought him on his last birthday. It was flat and square and not quite "purse-y" enough to cause any sort of derision. Feliciano loved it and had already ruined it by sewing stupid little patches all over it. Most of them had funny little sayings, but some were flowers or hearts. He even had little kitten buttons on it. He pulled free the said-postcard.

"He is not our fucking brother," Lovino growled, but he snatched the postcard from Feliciano's out-stretched hand anyway. He read the ridiculously loopy and overly feminine handwriting with a scowl. His scowl darkened further. "We're meeting him tonight?" Lovino yelled at Feli. His brother cringed.

"I-Is is t-tonight? I thought it was tomorrow… ve~"

"You dumbass. Shit, shit! He said the old friends may be there. What the hell am I supposed to wear last minute like this?" Lovino almost shrieked, gripping his perfectly cut and arranged hair and digging into his scalp with his fingernails. "I can't go, I can't. What if- damn it, I can't not go, 'cause if … shit." Lovino slumped into his seat and let his forehead slam on the table. "God, I hate you so much."

"I d-don't understand!" Feliciano wailed, having barely managed to save Lovino's cake and coffee by pulling them away. "It's just big brother Francis and probably Gilbert! Maybe even Anto-"

"Like hell that tomato-bastardo will be here! He hasn't shown his ugly-ass mug in six fucking years," Lovino snapped angrily. Feliciano flinched. Lovino sighed. "Sorry."

Feliciano nodded and put a spoonful of strawberry cake in his mouth, sniffling. Lovino straightened himself and looked at the card. "His writing is kinda sloppy, so I'll let it go this time. And we did just go shopping."

"You'll wear that new coat right? It makes you look so sleek. Even if the green would've been better, the black makes you look sexy," Feliciano smiled happily, glad that Lovino had forgiven him so easily for his mishap.

"Yeah, sure… sexy…" Lovino took a bite of his own rescued cake with a pensive frown. If only…

The postcard Francis had sent hadn't been too specific about who would be there, but he had been about the bar, time, and dress code. There was always a dress code for the Parisian-born Frenchman. Francis wasn't really related to them, obviously. His father and their mother had been good friends, maybe even lovers though they never outright said so, in their college years at Oxford in England. Even though they had been separated by distance, married other people, and had children with their separate spouses, they had remained good friends until the day Francis's father had died. Francis had barely been thirteen, Lovino nine, and Feliciano eight, when Francis had moved with them. His mother hadn't been in the picture since he was less than a year old.

With Francis had come his school buddies he had made. His father had been a shiftless wanderer and had taken his little boy around Europe with him. Francis had enjoyed and to this day thanked his father for the rootless days of his youth. He swore he appreciated culture so much the better for it and knew at least five languages fluently. The two school buddies he'd made had been Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, a German (though Gilbert told everyone he was Prussian through and through like his great-grandfather had been) and a Spaniard, respectively. The three of them had been in the same boarding school in Germany, on the border of France. Antonio because his father was a wine merchant whose business had recently expanded into that region and Gilbert because his younger brother was so ill that Gilbert was sent to a boarding school just to be out of the way.

They had been inseparable since their first day of classes.

Lovino hated them all. Francis had constantly made lewd jokes and liked to dress him and Feli like girls. Gilbert used to play practical jokes on them, normally with stupid booby traps like trip wire and oil-slicked floors. Other times, Gilbert would tell them spooky stories and then dress up like the ghosts or monsters and jump out at them, only to laugh that stupid annoying 'kesesesese' laugh when they screamed, or worse, wet themselves. And Antonio…

Lovino adjusted his purple gauze scarf with its fashionable tassel irritably. It was early June now and Rome was hot and humid. It was around this time in the year that Lovino missed their family's home up in Venice. He refused to go back, though. He was sick of home. He wanted to see more of Italy, and hopefully, more of the world. He didn't want to be stuck in his rich-boy bubble, unlike Feliciano who didn't care any which way. Lovino moved down to Rome for college two years ago, Feliciano following soon after like Lovino had thought he would. He stayed long enough in their family's southern villa just long enough to settle in Feliciano before he got a place of his own. Sure, his parents still transferred money into his account, which he used for his ridiculously expensive clothes, but his rent, utilities, and food were all covered by his own meager income working at a sandwich and coffee restaurant not far from campus. He liked the independence, his tiny flat in the middle of bustling downtown, the beat-up old bike he used to go to and from work, and the anonymity. He wasn't a Vargas. He was Lovino, the waiter, the barista, the cute boy next door to the blind old lady, the young man that grew tomatoes on his tiny iron balcony and cooked pasta every Thursday night for his little brother while they sang old Italian songs from the seventies. It was nice.

It didn't make the humidity any more bearable, however. Especially since his tiny apartment in "old town" Rome had a majorly dysfunctional A/C.

Anyhow, Lovino was stalling. Stalling hard. Even Feliciano was looking confused now. They were at the right bar, it was the right time, and they were both dressed in their casual-fashionable best. So why was he still standing across the street?

Because Lovino was not ready. Not ready to see him if he was there. Not ready to be disappointed when he wasn't there again. For the sixth year in a row. Lovino couldn't keep Feliciano waiting much longer, though. He was surprised Feli had held back as long as he had. It was probably because he'd already pissed Lovino off so badly earlier that Feli had been able to keep his questions to himself a little longer than usual. So, Lovino squared his shoulders, cursed at the universe in general in his mind, and began to walk briskly across the street, his slightly-heeled black boots clipping against the cobbles. Feliciano hurried to catch up.

Lovino pushed open the bar door and looked over the usual crowd. Being taller than Feliciano by at least an inch made it easier for him than for Feli. He spotted a mass of bright hair in the far corner. Most Italians were dark-haired, so that many blondes in a corner meant one thing.

"Found them." Lovino sighed, almost disappointed. If only he could've used his inability to locate the group as an excuse. Damn Francis for using a more native-oriented bar. It wasn't half-so crowded with summer tourists.

He led Feliciano through the crowd, holding him tightly by the hand. Even at nineteen years old, Feliciano could get lost in a crowded room and actually cry until Lovino found him. Or until he found some pretty girl to flirt with. Tonight, though, little Feli might be flirting with a boy if he took Lovino's advice. Mother is going to fucking kill me if she finds out. She was counting on Feli for grandkids.

As they neared the end of the bar where the group was gathered, Feliciano tugged back on Lovino's hand. When Lovino looked over his shoulder, amber eyes vaguely annoyed and confused, he saw the stupidest look on Feli's face. It was as if someone had just punched the boy in the forehead. His face was pink, his mouth a perfect 'o' of surprise, his chestnut brown eyes actually open wide.

"Lovi, Lovi, ve~ Do you see him? He's beautiful. I've never seen anyone like him before. Lovi, Lovi, look!" Feliciano urged, tucking himself against Lovino's side and pointing ahead. Lovino turned back towards the group, where he'd been headed before Feli stopped him, and saw a rather familiar but completely unrecognizable figure. The young man Feli was pointing at was huge. Well, maybe not, like, monstrous, but big. Broad shoulders, heavy arms, square jaw, hair as blonde as an angel's, piercing, narrowed blue eyes. Lovino whistled.

"Well, if you're gay, you sure know how to pick 'im. That's as manly as they get. And definitely not my type, thank God. Though… if he's built proportional…" Lovino laughed out loud as Feliciano punched his shoulder.

"Ah~ Hark, what dulcet and dear tones I hear? Is this Lovino laughing like an angel come to life?"

Lovino bristled at that mocking, sultry voice as goosebumps spread up his spine. "Oh, damn, I knew I shouldn't've come. You haven't changed at all, you fucking perv," Lovino grumbled as Francis leapt from his barstool and flung himself on the shorter Italians.

"I haven't seen my dear, sweet, little brothers in so long! Don't tell me you haven't missed me even a little, mon ami?" Francis pleaded, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter as he pulled back and looked down at them.

"Fuck no."

"I have! I've missed you, big brother Francis!"

"Ah, my light, my life, my darling!" Francis cried happily, snuggling the gaily laughing Feliciano close as Lovino struggled to get away.

"Oi! Francis, the drinks are up." Gilbert called out as glasses slid down the bar. The big blonde was sitting next to Gilbert, that vague resemblance in their faces.

Lovino's eyes slowly began to widen, in horror, in shock, in wild, euphoric hope. If that big German blonde was who Lovino thought he was…

His feet automatically began to back up, his flight-mode raging in his mind as the unsuspecting Francis and Feliciano turned to the bar.

I can't, I really can't, he can't be here… oh shit, I have to-

He spun on his heel and stopped. Coming from the front doors in all his mocha-skinned, chocolate-haired, and emerald-eyed glory was him. The reason he was gay. The reason he woke up sweaty and unspent and aching every morning for the past seven years. Those long legs, that slender waist, the curve of his ass when he turned sideways to get through a particularly thick crowd of people, that wide, cheerful, blazing smile. Oh sweet Mother Mary, help me. Lovino's mouth was dry before those green eyes even caught his.

Emerald eyes darkened, the smile faltered, and time stopped for a single breathless moment. There was a war of emotions in that dark face, in those brilliant eyes. He looked stunned, as breathless as Lovino felt, joy, confusion, and maybe… was that longing? Lovino took a step forward. And then a cry of joy, God he really hated that idiot sometimes, broke the heavy stillness.

"Antonio!" Feliciano exclaimed, racing past Lovino, right into Antonio's automatically outstretched arms. That insipid, stupid grin was back on Antonio's face and Lovino's chest constricted. He was lifting Feli up into air, at least two inches off the ground, and snuggling his face into Feli's auburn hair. "It's been so long, Tonio! Ve, ve~ Why did you stay away so long!"

"Aw, why wasn't I greeted like that?" Francis pouted from Lovino's side.

"Maybe because Feli saw you at Easter at my damn parents' house just a couple fucking months ago, you moron," Lovino snapped at Francis. Francis, used to Lovino's vulgarity and instant inexplicable anger, sighed sadly.

"This must be the reason. How true. How regrettable. I could never stay away from the Vargas family so long as six years. My heart would break without you lovely people."

"Mine wouldn't," Lovino mumbled. Antonio had finally put Feliciano down and was grinning over at Francis and Lovino.

"Lovi, mi corazon, don't you want a hug, too? Didn't you miss me all these years?"

"Like hell I did. And don't call me Lovi," Lovino choked out, blushing brightly as Antonio so neatly invaded his personal space.

He was getting dizzy. He was going to faint. God, Antonio smelled even better than he remembered. Like sunshine and Spanish spices and chocolate, of course, chocolate. He wanted to eat the Spaniard up, lick every-

Lovino broke off his thoughts and stumbled backwards. "What the hell are you doing back, huh?"

Antonio's mouth fell down, eyes pained. Feliciano was still tucked up under his arm, grinning like an idiot and looking over at Lovino like he'd lost his mind.

"Lovi, it's Antonio! It's all right to muss up your pretty clothes for Antonio," Feliciano assured him.

"Like I need your damn permission to wrinkle my clothes! You don't give a damn ab-ab-Arg!" In the middle of his sentence, Antonio had released Feliciano and swooped Lovino up into a hug, his face buried in the curve of Lovino's neck. "PUT ME DOWN, YOU FUCKING BASTARDO!" Lovino screamed, wriggling and kicking, his face boiling in embarrassment. Behind them, Gilbert whistled and slapped the table as Francis and Feliciano cheered.

"You smell like heaven, Lovi," Antonio whispered, his lips moving on Lovino's skin.

Lovino's whole body froze, the need for flight warring with melting into a puddle. That Latin drawl, those smooth lips on his skin. Six years, damn it, six years of wanting and aching and the bastard looked even better than he remembered. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Antonio's shoulders and, for a few blissful moments, enjoyed Antonio's embrace. Then, he kicked Antonio's shin as hard as humanly possible.

"Mierde! Why do you do this to me, mi corazon!" Antonio cried as Lovino landed back on his feet. The tall, lean Spaniard was leaning on the bar, tears streaming down his face as he clutched at his shin. The annoyingly loud group of people was laughing uproariously behind them as Feliciano rushed forward.

"You don't just fucking snatch people up like that, damn it!" Lovino shouted at him.

It didn't take long for Antonio to take his place at the bar with his cronies, Feliciano and Lovino to one side. The big blonde was exactly who Lovino thought he was- Gilbert's younger brother. Ludwig had been a very sick boy and had come to Italy for a short time when they were children after Francis had moved in with them. The Beilschmidt family, well-to-do, though not half-so wealthy as the Vargas family, had decided to move to southern Spain for their little boy's health. He was Feliciano's age, but both were rather young, just barely between eight and nine, which would explain the lack of recognition between them. Ludwig had changed a lot, too, since then. Once a slender, big-eyed boy with a sweet, shy smile to that big, muscle-bound brute with a perpetual scowl was a lot to believe. Plus, Feliciano had worn dresses a lot when he was younger (thanks to a joint effort by their insanely doting mother and Francis) and, if he remembered correctly, Francis and Gilbert had tricked the poor, sick, little boy into believing Feli was a girl. Since Feliciano couldn't really remember what happened yesterday without difficulty and the poor Ludwig thought Feliciano had been a Feliciana, it really was no wonder neither of them recognized each other. But Lovino had been just an instant too late realizing this.

He knew that the Beilschmidts had lived with the Carriedos for eleven years or so years in Spain on account of Ludwig's health. Gilbert had moved back up to Germany to go to school in Berlin, staying with the "Prussian" side of the family for his high school years, and, being unable to afford the travel all the way to Spain every year, he would visit in Italy instead with Francis. Antonio had come up to visit Gilbert and Francis in Italy, bringing presents to Gilbert from his family, at least once every year for a number of weeks, if not months, until… six years ago.

God, how Lovino wished these memories would stop. He had pushed them back so well, for so long. Sure, they managed to get out and wreak havoc on his mind, his heart, even his body while he slept, but during the day, he had gotten so good at pretending that the color green was just the color green, not something that reminded him of Antonio' gaze. Or that the Latino music his downstairs and to the left neighbors played didn't remind him of the days when Antonio sang to him love songs from Spain and tried to teach him Spanish. Or that every time he ate strawberry baumkuchen, it didn't remind him of his thirteenth birthday and the day Antonio had almost kissed him. He had. He had almost kissed him, Lovino was sure of it. They had been so close he had felt Antonio's breath on his face, had almost tasted the orange soda on Antonio's lips.

Lovino groaned and tossed back another shot of brandy. He hated the stuff, normally he sipped wine and never got drunk because getting hangovers sucked, but listening to Antonio's musical, baritone voice with his sexy Spanish-accented English was making him crazy (normally they all used Italian, but Ludwig's Italian was atrocious while his English was passable- besides, Antonio's Italian had an even worse effect on him). Lovino couldn't get those vivid, nightly dreams out of his head, of Antonio whispering in that Spanish, kissing with those perfect lips…

I'm going to kill myself if I keep this up. This is insane! It's been seven years since that day! I haven't even looked at another man and yet I'm ridiculously infatuated with this one. Fuck this, I'm going home before I actually get drunk and hate myself more tomorrow.

Lovino stood abruptly, barstool clattering loudly. The bar was loud enough that most people didn't notice, but some of his group did. Feliciano turned, his brown eyes actually open again. Of course, that probably had to do with the potato-head German Feli had been flirting with all night. Too bad , Mom, looks like Feli won't be procreatin' any time soon. Lovino chuckled to himself and leaned down for his stool. A dark hand covered his. Burning sensation, a loud thudding of his pulse, the sharp intake of breath- did Antonio notice any of this? God, he hoped not. Lovino looked up into emerald eyes, face flushed from liquor and need.

"You going somewhere, Lovi?" Antonio asked below the noise of the bar. Lovino licked his lips quickly, mouth dry at the low, deep sound of Antonio's voice. He could see green eyes follow his tongue, lingering on his wet lips. Suddenly, Lovino could see exactly what he looked like in Antonio's eyes; ruffled, flushed, barely twenty, and he felt powerful with it. He knew that Antonio was bisexual (or as he said it- he didn't care about the equipment, just about the person. Romantic, right? Whatever.).

Lovino pulled off that stifling scarf and tossed Antonio a sharp smirk. He had used it on men at gay bars and seen eyes cross. He could work it if he wanted to, so he did. It did work. Emerald eyes darkened and Lovino saw his pulse jump in his throat.

"None of your fucking business." With that, Lovino left the stool for Antonio to pick up, and his tab to pay, and stalked out the door with as steady a pace as he could. There was no way he would collapse with Antonio watching.

And he didn't.

And Antonio didn't follow.

He really can't read the atmosphere, can he? Lovino stood on his balcony just thirty minutes later, breathing deep the heavy, rather rancid Roman air. His head was clearing, thankfully, helped along with the fresh-brewed espresso from Lovino's own espresso maker. He sipped from his mug, ignored his cell phone beeping with texts messages from Feli, and leaned forward on his elbows.

From the little he gathered while pouring brandy down his throat, Lovino knew he had one month. One month until Antonio went back to his family's business in Madrid. One month to seduce the older, more experienced, sexy Latino man. One month to work the damnable man out from under his skin and get on with his fucking life. And damn it, Lovino was going to do it.

He was going to enjoy every fucking second of it and so would Antonio. He would make damn sure that Antonio spent the next six years waking up in a cold sweat thinking about Lovino, if it was the last thing he did.