Prompt from tumblr user notflavio who happens to be awesome. 3 Have some sappy/cute Prumanos
Sappy music caressing the background? Check.
Red and white checkered tablecloth draped just so over a round table? Check.
Heaping plate of spaghetti? Check.
Gilbert's master plan was coming together quite nicely, only enhanced by a warm breeze rustling the rose bushes nestled against the tiny café. Lights of the city glinted off the Tiber where the moon blushed pale gold at its own reflection and water lapped a soothing promise against stone barriers. A soft vitality drew a sense of calm over a city that had known centuries of chaos.
Lovino Vargas usually ate romantic shit like this up, though he would try to hide it behind a scoff and an eyeroll. But Gilbert knew better. He knew to look for the glint of light and wonder that widened surprised eyes for only a moment.
And it had.
"So the hell is the deal? You said we were going for a quick dinner," Lovino muttered. "And the hell are you so dressed up?"
Straightening his tie and adjusting his waistcoat, Gilbert flashed him a grin. "Maybe your definition of quick is a lameass one and mine is better. Sit down." He gestured toward the plate, the movement sending the candle-flame into an excited dance.
Lovino's chair scraped against the cobblestone as he sat down. "Okay, uh…" He could feel his cheeks burning.
"This is the part where you bask in my glory and eat this fucking awesome plate of spaghetti that I totally made by hand," Gilbert said.
"Yeah. As we sit in a café. Where people make the food for you. And bring it to you." He raised an eyebrow, but there was laughter in his voice. His shoulder sagged and he leaned forward, finally at ease. He began to eat.
The two were silent for a few minutes, soaking in the lights and the quiet clink of forks on the plates, careful to avoid each other's utensil in the tango for more noodles. Gilbert wolfed down his in giant bites that suffocated his fork while Lovino took daintier bites, avoiding meatballs which he regarded with slight bemusement.
"I told you I made the spaghetti by myself, dumbass," Gilbert said. "And I like big balls."
This earned a snort from the Italian, which only encouraged a bigger grin from the Prussian. Then Lovino began to laugh, a quiet peal that sent his shoulders trembling. His eyes were bright with contentment.
"Fine, then it's not half bad. Asshole." Lovino spun his fork once more and began to eat though a strand, slurping it up, brows scrunching at its length. "The fu—"
Gilbert smirked. Time to initiate the master plan. He had the other end on his fork, and quietly began sucking it up, the strand a slack loop between them, growing ever shorter, tauter.
Their lips were inches apart.
The moon was large above their heads.
A boat murmured dozy yawns through the river below.
Lovino's eyes met Gilbert's and—
He bit down, severing the spaghetti and slurping up the rest with a little pop before leaning back. His lips turned up into a mischievous smirk.
"Hey, not fair! You broke the laws of spaghetti!" Indignant, Gilbert crossed his arms. His brows crunched in the middle and a pout reminiscent of a five year stole across his mouth.
"Laws of spaghetti?" Lovino was already rounding up another bite. "The fuck?"
"You heard me! You're supposed to let me kiss you if we end up with the same strand!"
"So you made them extra long? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"
"Y-yeah, so!"
"If you wanted a kiss, you should have just kissed me. The fuck do you want the kiss to have noodle in it anyway. Fucking kinky is wha—"
He never finished his sentence, because Gilbert had shoved his chair back, strode over, and seized the words from his mouth, his hands at his cheeks. Lovino tensed, surprised, but relaxed into the kiss, soaking up the lambent atmosphere, the good food, and the excellent company.