Anonymous said : I wondering, if you have time, would you write a romerica (Romano and America).

It was not gay to look at another guy's dick.

Lovino thought this as he stared straight ahead.

In fact, it was almost expected to look at another's guy dick. After all, the bathroom had no fucking shower curtains. It was just a long wall of shower spouts and knobs, a drain right in the middle. By eight in the morning, there were at least two dicks within touching/looking distance.

Lovino ran a hand over his face. His shower was a touch below warm.

Alfred, meanwhile, seemed quite happy, dick swinging in the breeze.

When Lovino first saw Alfred's dick, he was surprised that it wasn't tiny from steroids. Then he realized that Alfred didn't use steroids—he was just really, really jacked. And he had a nice, steroid-free dick.

Lovino hadn't meant to look at Alfred's dick. Not the first time, anyways. The fucker had just walked right in, towel over his shoulder. Lovino stared at him, because it was three in the God damned morning.

"Mornin'," Alfred had greeted, smiling.

"Fah," Lovino had responded, because the speaking-part of his brain didn't function this early.

Alfred had shrugged and started his shower.

Lovino had continued to stare. Lovino worked for the college newspaper, and the newspaper started printing at fuck-early. Lovino wasn't awake without a shower.

Alfred just seemed to like taking showers really, really early.

This was fine at first; Alfred stayed at his end of the bathroom, Lovino his. But over the past two weeks, Alfred had slowly been inching his showering closer to Lovino's spout.

Lovino turned the temperature down.

Alfred continued to wash happily next to Lovino. Literally, right next to him. Lovino could hear the sound of Alfred's hands gliding over his skin, flesh against flesh, smooth and slippery and wonderfully, wonderfully close.

"Your shower is pretty cold. I can feel the droplets from here."

"Well," Lovino said, voice echoing loudly against the tile, "maybe you shouldn't shower so fucking close."

Alfred shifted, and there was a pout in his voice. "There's a draft by that end."

Lovino switched his attention to his feet, and struggled to find something to say that didn't involve the proximities of dicks.

A tan hand entered Lovino's peripheral vision. "Dude, your water is freezing."

Warm water rolled over Lovino's shoulders, and the instant it reached his dick, Lovino got hard.

"I like it cold," Lovino yelled, slamming the handle to 'cold.'

A mistake had been made. Lovino tried not to cry as fucking cold ass water slowly froze him to death. He hadn't even conditioned his hair yet. He had to stick with it, because Alfred was grinning. With shaking fingers, Lovino picked up the bottle of hair conditioner and squirted some into his palm.

"Wow, you must like it really cold."

Lovino glared—another mistake. Alfred was facing him, arms crossed, water running over his glorious, glorious muscles. The light caught on tendons and other delicious things. Lovino snapped his eyes back to the wall.

He got hard, anyways. The conditioner dripped down his hand.

"You some sort of gay or something?"

Lovino's breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his chest painfully, and it was impossible to even attempt to answer that question. His shoulders hunched up, and Lovino hated Alfred and his dick in that moment.

Alfred shape loomed nearer. "Would you suck my dick, if I asked you?"

Lovino found his voice. His eyes flicked to Alfred. "Fuck you."

But Alfred's face was a confusing mix of emotions. He was smiling, but his eyebrows were drawn together, head tilted, like Lovino was a difficult math problem. It was strange to be in the center of that look, and it made Lovino break the eye contact.

"Would you let me suck your dick?"

Lovino tensed up again, and he faced Alfred. "Fuck you."

Alfred scratched the back of his neck. "Morning wood."

Lovino squinted. "What?"

"Morning wood makes me horny," Alfred said quickly. "So, I was just wondering."

Lovino blew air out his lips in a laugh. "You were just wondering if you could blow me because your morning wood made you horny? Ha, yeah, okay."

Alfred's jaw clenched. "I'm serious. I've seen you get hard before in here. So…" Alfred grabbed the back of his shoulder and let his elbow hang. "No homo."

Lovino stared. "Did you really just say 'no homo' to sucking my dick?"

"It's not—not, you know." Alfred gestured to Lovino's crotch. "It's like eating soft serve ice cream, right?"

"Oh my God, it's too early for this."

"But you think I'm hot, don't you?" Alfred smiled. "You could just touch me."

"Look," Lovino chopped the air emphatically with his hands, "I just want to condition my hair and get to my shitty extracurricular."

"I could walk you there."

"You were much hotter when we hadn't said more than ten words to one another."

Alfred's smile grew. "You admit I'm hot, though."

However, Alfred continued to fucking talk to Lovino. Every fucking morning, it went something like:

"This asshole on my team thinks just because he's a fucking tank that he can call the shots, even when coach calls him an idiot. That's what he is, too," Alfred said, brusquely scrubbing over his bruises. "He's a fucking idiot."

"You're a fucking idiot."

"Yeah, but I'm a hot idiot."

This was true. Alfred was a fucking idiot, who liked to party and play football and drink. But he was also hot.

So, usually, Lovino blocked out whatever fucking dribble Alfred was talking about and focused on his body. It was a very, very nice body. At least Lovino didn't have to hide his hard-on anymore.

One morning, Lovino was looking at Alfred's thighs when the jock repeated himself. Lovino looked up, disoriented.

"What?"

Alfred pointed at Lovino's hands. "Why are those always black?"

"My hands?" Lovino stared at his hands like he had never seen them before. "I work for the newspaper."

Alfred tilted his head like he did when he was confused. "So?"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Even though we have a digital version, we do still print a version. I check to make sure the printer isn't fucking up. The ink's usually still wet."

Alfred lunched forward and caught hold of Lovino's wrist. Lovino made sort of a arck noise before Alfred dragged Lovino's hand over his pectoral muscle.

Lovino stole his hand back.

"Look, it didn't leave any streaks!"

"Don't fucking touch me!"

Alfred smiled. "Sorry."

"No you're not! You're not allowed to touch me. You—You're not allowed to make me touch you." Lovino fumbled. "You're not allowed to have me grope you against my will!"

"I didn't mind."

"I minded!"

"Yeah, but, like, I didn't grope you, ya' know?" Alfred wiggled the fingers on his hands. "Grope, grope, grope."

Lovino stepped away. "I have mace."

"You know, I maced someone, once."

"I'm not fucking surprised."

"He was a lot like you—he was a giant bitch."

Lovino pursed his lips. "Fuck you."

"I don't think mace hurts that much."

Lovino squirted the shampoo bottle at Alfred's face. Lovino sort of expected Alfred's superior reflexes to save him. It caught Alfred full in the eyes; he didn't even try to move away, like a deer in headlights.

Lovino sucked in air through his teeth.

Alfred bellowed.

"Fucking ow!"

"Sorry, fuck!"

"Fucking ow, dude!"

"It was a joke!"

"You squirted fucking shampoo in my eyes!"

Lovino winced. "It was supposed to be like mace! I thought you would move—don't rub it in! Stop touching it—"

"Shampoo isn't even close to mace, assfuck!"

The next time Lovino saw Alfred, he had glasses.

Internally, Lovino panicked. He had fucking blinded someone.

"Yeah," Alfred rambled, "I went to the doctor, and I guess I wasn't blind, I just had bad vision and only noticed it after the shampoo in my eyes. Can I get an apology blowjob?"

"You can fuck right off, is what you can do."

Lovino learned a very valuable lesson in the shitty, public bathrooms of his shitty, public college: Never talk to people you're wildly attracted to, because as soon as they open their mouth, they're going to disappoint the fuck out of you.