Yes, hello. Remember how I was supposed to write a one-shot? Here it is, more than a month later. Thank God for the Arctic Monkeys.

I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor

Saturday nights were for sitting on the sofa, relaxing with a glass of wine and watching your favourite films. They were not for bumping and grinding to vastly overrated, shallow mainstream music. All Lovino wanted was to be able to enjoy Saturday nights in the company of his cat. So why, why was he lining up next to his brother and his scary German boyfriend, waiting to get into the town's most popular club?

Birdie. The club's name was Birdie. Who the hell called their club a stupid name like Birdie? It didn't make any sense! Still, it was better than something like Club Destiny or the Red Room or Skanks 'R' Us. So what if he was being stereotypical about the people who frequented these night clubs. He didn't care, and it wasn't like anyone could read his mind.

Although he did have to admit, this club was a damn sight better than some of the other clubs he had seen around. A majority of the crowd were dressed nicely enough and only a few girls here and there had skirts riding up their asses. It didn't make for pleasant viewing, but at least they weren't everywhere he looked. The exterior wasn't so bad – no vomit on the walls, nice, neutral colours. It almost looked classy. Maybe his previous experiences of clubs were just bad representations.

"Ve~ Lovi, did you know that Luddy's big brother owns this place? Do you think we could get in for cheap? Ooh, do you think we could even get into the VIP lounge?" As usual, Feliciano wasn't censoring his thoughts at all. Every little notion that entered his possibly-empty head soon made its way out of his mouth. How Ludwig could stand it, Lovino didn't know. He put up with it because Feliciano was family – by Lovino's measure of a normal person, Ludwig should have hightailed it long ago.

Really. Why was Feliciano so damn cheerful? Ludwig didn't look all too happy (then again, that was probably just his face) and Lovino knew that if looks could kill, that group of girls that kept giggling at him in an unbelievably annoying manner would be giving him a much wider berth.

"Ja, uh, I haven't told Gilbert that we're here," Ludwig mumbled. Ah, that was smart thinking, Lovino had to admit. If less people they knew were there, it would be far easier to slip away unnoticed. He could be one of the masses for an hour, and then he could return to his couch.

Oh, fuck it. Feliciano had an answer for everything. "It's okay! Gilbert gave me his number last time we met him, and I've already sent him a text to let him know. He was really looking forward to it! So am I; I like Gilbert, Oh, not as much as you, Ludwig! But your brother was very friendly when I met him which I thought was very nice of him since I was a stranger and all – though I don't know why you wouldn't let me go drinking with you both! Not that I really minded, I mean, I did get to hang out with Tonio and Francis and they're very nice too. Will they be here too, Luddy?"

Lovino hadn't paid much attention to the majority of Feliciano's little monologue. Years of practice had enabled him to tune out about ninety percent of his musings and simply pick out key phrases. Don't get him wrong – he did love his brother. However, if you tried to listen to everything Feliciano said, it often left you extremely confused and at a complete loss for what to say.

"That was very helpful of you," Ludwig said through gritted teeth. "And I have no idea if Antonio or Francis will be here. Probably – those three are joined at the hip."

Part of Lovino revelled in the German's obvious annoyance, and another part dreaded having to meet another bastard. He could only imagine this Gilbert as a bigger version of Ludwig, and Ludwig was already a freakin' freight train.

More muscly, more German, more everything. He was sure to despise him. It had taken him a while to accept Ludwig as an almost daily fixture in his life, and now he was expected to welcome his brother into his world? No way in hell was that happening.

And he didn't feel like meeting Potato Bastard Number Two's asshole friends either.

He needed to get out of there before he killed someone. These girls just didn't understand that you danced inside the club, not outside. The jostling was starting to get to him. One more shove, and he would push the bitch right back. Hopefully she would land on her ass and he would have some entertainment. He was about to tell Feli that he was leaving, no buts, but his brother started to jump up and down, tugging on an exasperated Ludwig's sleeve.

"Look, Luddy! It's Gilbert! Over here~" He yelled and waved like an idiot, but luckily most people were too absorbed in their own conversations to notice, and the music was very loud, even standing outside.

"Feli, West!" Ludwig's brother wasn't really how Lovino had imagined him; although he got the 'more' part slightly right. Judging by his crimson eyes and silvery hair, he was an albino, so he was blonder than Ludwig. He was louder than Ludwig by a few hundred decibels. They were about equal in height, but where Ludwig was brawny, Gilbert was lean. And sweet baby Jesus, he was annoying, even at a glance.

Ludwig grimaced, narrowly avoiding a headlock. "Hallo, bruder."

"Man, it's so awesome of guys to come here! Why are you standing out in the cold? Lud, you shoulda told me you would be here, you know I'd let you skip the line." He was talking only to Feliciano and Ludwig. It seemed to Lovino that he had not been noticed; now was his chance to leave.

"Gosh, Gil, that's so nice of you! Oh, I brought my brother along too, do you mind?" And Lovino was forced into the limelight. Fuck. Now he was stuck here. Feliciano pulled him forward, and he was made to play nice.

"Lovino." He didn't bother smiling as he shook Gilbert's hand. Shit, this guy didn't look all that strong, but he had a grip like a vice.

"The Awesome Me is pleased to make your acquaintance," Gilbert smirked. "But you can call me Gilbert, 'cause I'm nice like that. Don't wanna remind you lesser mortals of your place." He threw his head back, and Lovino's ears were subject the weirdest laughter he had ever heard. That wasn't even laughter! He wanted to back the fuck away, but Gilbert still held his hand.

"East, let go of him," Ludwig chided him. Lovino loathed sending the German a glance of appreciation, but he was very grateful indeed to have his hand back. He needed that for things.

Gilbert waved for them to break from the line and follow him in, past the less than pleased people who had been waiting in the line for a long time. Lovino felt like all the grumbles and glares were directed at him and he would have given anything to be able to run. But he couldn't. His brother was holding onto his arm, because he knew it was just like Lovino to try and make a break for it. Running was his speciality back in high school. He had been the best in the cross country team and the athletics team. It had earned him the very cringe worthy name of Lightning Legs Vargas. To this day, he still wanted to kill anyone who mentioned it.

The first thing that struck him about the club was that the music was far too loud. He couldn't hear whatever it was Gilbert was saying – not that he cared very much – and the pounding bass assaulted his poor ears. He'd have a headache before the night was out. Secondly, it was very warm, and the people all pressed up against each other did not help that at all. He shrugged his jacket off. Also, people. There were a lot of them. It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did.

Done observing, he scanned for Feliciano. This time, he really was leaving, regardless of how rude it was. He did not want to be here. All he wanted was his comfy couch! But when he looked around, his brother was nowhere in sight. Neither was Ludwig or Gilbert.

This'll be a breeze, he smiled to himself. A quick turn and a few steps to the door was all it would take. Then, he saw the bouncer. And the bouncer saw him. And the bouncer smiled and his blood turned to ice and he wanted to curl up in a ball and cry because, for some reason, the bouncer's childlike grin chilled him to the bone.

Okay, so he wasn't getting out that way. But these places had more than one exit, right? Yet after five minutes of searching around, the only other exit he could see was behind the bar. He really was stuck here. Alone. Creeped out. Thirsty. Thoroughly miserable. So he did what any man would do; he went to the bar, intent on getting absolutely hammered.

Antonio loved his job. He loved mixing the drinks (so many pretty colours), he loved the atmosphere (electric, elated, titillating), and most of all, he loved flirting with the attendants. Normally, that was Francis' department, but if Antonio didn't try to put himself out there the Frenchman would steal his customers. That meant less tips. Antonio was not about to let his friend take what was rightfully his.

Tonight, his eyes were fixed on a certain customer who didn't seem quite so happy to be there. His woe drew Antonio's interest – what was the reason behind it? Had he been dumped, or stood up? Fired? Dog died? Whatever the case was, he certainly looked like he could do with a drink, and Antonio was very good at his job.

Also, this guy had an adorable face with apple red cheeks that were begging to be poked and an odd little gravity-defying curl. It always helped when they were easy on the eyes. He looked the tiniest bit familiar, but Antonio couldn't think of where he had seen his face before. He was almost sent reeling when the mysterious stranger met his inquisition with a scalding hazel-eyed glare. The single look held a potent amount of venom, but it also kind of turned him on. Maybe he was a sadist.

"Can I help you?" he hissed. His words were impossible to hear over the deafening music, but Antonio thought he got the gist of it. Jesus. This one was feisty.

But he took it in his stride – he had dealt with difficult customers before. "Actually, I was wondering if I could help you!" he laughed. "You look like you could use a drink, amigo."

"Just give me something. I don't give a shit about the price, the content – just give me the damn drink." Straight to the point, like an arrow to the heart. Antonio liked how blunt this guy was, even though his tongue seemed to be laced with barbed wire.

He wondered if this guy was the type to loosen up when he was drunk. He had just met him, but Antonio found he wanted to see him like that. Being the fantastic bartender he was, he set right to making the drink. Rum and Coke it was. Easy enough. A ten dollar bill was flung his way, with a mumbled 'keep the change'.

It should have been the end of the conversation. Antonio should have left the miserable man to wallow in his own sorrows, but he was intrigued. This was one night where he wouldn't mind if Francis took his customers. He would just stay down at this end for now. "Where I come from, this drink is called the Cuba Libre," he remarked amiably, serving a drink to another customer.

When he received no answer, he thought that perhaps he hadn't realised he was talking to him. "Sometimes it's called the Ron-Cola or the Cubata. Kind of interesting, right? These drinks all have different names depending on what country you're in."

"Look, I don't really give a fuck," the guy growled. Damn, his low voice was sexy.

"Oh, okay then…" It was a bit hard to talk to someone when they clearly didn't want you around. Antonio was more disheartened than he would normally be, but he let it go. If Harry Potter had taught him anything, it was to never poke a sleeping dragon.

His attention was grabbed by a woman looking for a drink, and by the time he was finished serving her, the grumpy stranger was gone. He hadn't even left his jacket behind, or his phone, or wallet, or anything that would give Antonio a valid excuse to look for him. Just gone.

"Antoine, you are looking a bit put out, non? Is something the matter?" Francis grabbed the vodka from the top shelf and looked at Antonio worriedly. Antonio supposed he had reason for concern – he knew that he normally wore a goofy grin wherever he went. Happy seemed to be his default expression.

"It's nothing," he replied, shaking his head. Really, he was a grown man now. No use sulking over fruitless encounters.

"I believe you," Francis stated with a deadpan expression. In a show of just how mature he really was, Antonio stuck his tongue out and waggled it. "Very attractive, mon ami. I am sorely tempted to take you to bed myself, but I think you had your hopes pinned on someone else."

"That's ridiculous," Antonio told him.

Francis laughed, tossing his blonde locks. Antonio had always thought that made him look stupidly feminine, but what did he expect from a Frenchman. "Do you really think that? You are just like me – you rarely leave this place alone. Yet you never invite me. I'm hurt!"

Before Antonio could dig his grave any further, Gilbert sauntered into the middle of their bickering. "Yo, arschlochs. How's business? Nah, tell me later. Lud brought his little Italian with him tonight; you know, the happy guy. Seems like he brought his sour-puss brother along too, but we kinda lost him. If you seem him then tell him to go on up to the VIP lounge. I don't think he wanted to do much dancing anyway. He seemed kinda unawesome."

Now Antonio knew why the stranger was familiar; Feliciano was his brother. Unless the two were standing beside each other, he probably would never have put two and two together. Could you really blame him? They weren't alike at all. Well, he was going off first impressions. "What's his name?" Antonio asked.

"Uh… Something like… Luigi? Lorenzo?" Gilbert was slowly searching through all the Italian sounding names he knew. He'd get it eventually. "Lovino, that's it!"

Lovino. An unusual name. Antonio didn't know very much Italian, but it sounded an awful lot like 'rovino', to ruin. Maybe it was taken from that. What parents would call their child that? It wasn't particularly nice when you knew the meaning behind it. But there was still something about the name that he liked.

Beside his talent for mixing drinks, Antonio was also very good at giving nicknames. In his head, Lovino was christened Lovi. There, that was cute! He hoped he would see Lovi again and get a chance to try out the name.

The overly friendly bartender had really got under Lovino's skin. Why, he didn't know. It probably had something to do with how annoyingly happy he had been; how dare he have the gall to smile when he was in such bad humour! And he had been disgustingly attractive. Lovino got the feeling that he fucking knew it too.

In any case, his mission of intoxication was thwarted.

At least he had managed to spot his brother and the Potato Bastard, and the Stupid Brother was nowhere in sight. Feliciano was moving perfectly in time with the music, not putting a toe out of line. As for Ludwig… Well, Lovino could see that he was trying to bust a move, as it were. However, he was more likely to bust a nose if he kept at it, whatever 'it' was. It was definitely not dancing.

Taking care to avoid Ludwig, he caught Feliciano by the shoulder. "Are you ready to leave?" he yelled over the music.

"No way~ This is too much fun! Please Lovino, at least go sit in the VIP lounge? Gil said we could go there, and I promise we'll join you soon. I think Luddy might need a drink." Ludwig was looking quite red in the face, but whether it was from exhaustion or sheer embarrassment, Lovino didn't know. He liked to think it was a mixture of the both.

It was at this point where most children would tear their own hair out in the worst tantrum ever seen. Then the mother or father would drag the child from the room, absolutely mortified. But Lovino was an adult, and adults did not throw hissy fits. So, he did the grown up thing and sucked it up. No chance it hell was he walking past that scary-as-fuck bouncer. The VIP lounge it was. Hopefully he could get a little peace in there, along with a drink or two.

Regardless of his age, he made sure to flip Ludwig the bird when his back was turned. Just because.

He climbed the stairs leading to the backrooms and stopped to glance down at the shifting crowds. The way that the people seemed to move in tandem from a distance reminded him of how fish would move in one of those huge bait balls. When one person moved in a certain way, everyone else would copy. It was actually kind of cool.

Shifting his eyes over to the side of the large room, he saw that the unfortunately handsome bartender was looking at him again. When their eyes met, he gave Lovino an enthusiastic wave and a model smile. Lovino's upper lip curled in distaste and he carried on up the stairs. At the top, he was greeted by a pretty insignificant blond with glasses. Had he not gave a polite little cough, Lovino probably would have passed him by. "Oh. Sorry," he apologised rather pathetically.

"Not to worry," the man smiled. "Happens all the time... Can I see your pass for the lounge, please?"

Lovino hadn't realised he needed a pass. Gilbert hadn't said a word about it, and neither had Feliciano or Ludwig. "I don't have a pass," he replied. "Actually, I'm with the Pota- uh, the owner of this place. He said we could go on up."

"You're with Gilbert? Then you must be his brother's… something! He said you would be here."

"His brother's boyfriend's brother," Lovino told him, resisting the temptation to slip in a few expletives.

The blond nodded in understanding. "Okay. Just follow me. I'm Matthew Williams, by the way. Gilbert is my boyfriend, so maybe I'll see you around." Lovino was by no means a people person, but he liked this Matthew. Sure, he had to strain to hear his quiet voice (he bet poor Matthew never got a word in edgeways with Gilbert) and he didn't understand how someone like Matthew could stand an asshole like Gilbert, but he seemed very good at heart. That was the vibe Lovino got from him, anyway. Reminded him of Feliciano.

The VIP room wasn't very big. It was very plush, with expensive looking couches, a carpeted floor and heavy curtains. There was even a private bar in the middle of the floor, but nobody was tending to it. Lovino had to admit that the couch he sat on was much comfier than the old beat up leather one he had at home. He hated to say it, but he actually liked it in here.

"I have to go make sure no one tries to sneak up here, but I'll see you later…?" Matthew trailed off at the end of the sentence, an inflection in his voice.

"I'm Lovino," Lovino replied with a genuine smile. It was small, but it was there.

"Lovino," Matthew repeated. "Well, later!" With that, he left the room and once again, Lovino found himself all alone. Well, that was the way he had wanted it, right? If he had a TV it wouldn't be that bad, but in a room all by himself… It was kind of boring. Not much you could do by yourself.

Abandoning his jacket on the arm of the couch, he grabbed a drinks menu from the table top. Looking at the names of some of the drinks, he wasn't sure whether to be amused or horrified. Smurf on the Rag? Fuzzy Navel, Screaming Orgasm, Slippery Nipple, Quick Fuck? Wow. The thought of ordering one the drinks was very enticing (surely they had earned their names), but asking a waiter for one of them would be quite embarrassing. He should probably wait until the lines started to blur before ordering them.

On that note, the door opened. Lovino expected to see his brother or Ludwig, or even Gilbert. He did not expect the irritating bartender to walk in. Why couldn't life just live up to expectations instead of throwing him curveballs? If there was someone up there, they did not favour Lovino. "It's you," he grumbled.

"Yes, it's me!" He was still happy. He was still gorgeous. Lovino still wanted to hit him. "Lovino, isn't it? Guess my name~" He smiled like a gimp as he joined Lovino on the couch.

Lovino didn't know or care how this jerk had found out his name, but he suspected that bastard Gilbert had something to do with it. "Antonio," he replied flatly. Shit. It was just his luck to run into Gilbert's dickhead friend.

Antonio gaped at him. "How did you know?"

"Psychic powers," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The way Antonio frowned in disbelief told him that he was perhaps not as stupid as Lovino had first thought. "That's what your badge says, dumbass."

This guy probably wasn't stupid, but he was by no means the brightest bulb in the shop. "So it does! I had forgotten all about that." Lovino resisted the urge to slap himself across the face as Antonio took a closer look at the shiny metal strip attached to his waistcoat. "Gilbert sent me up here to look after you for the night. Would you like a drink?"

Lovino ordered a drink and when Antonio got up to make it, he realised that his wish for some company had been answered in the worst way possible. Antonio would not shut up. Unlike with Feliciano, Lovino found it impossible to tune his voice out. His ears wanted to pay attention to every single fucking word that spilled from those lips that curved so easily into a smile.

"…so, I've been working here for the last few months," Antonio said as he set the drink in front of Lovino, who grabbed it and proceeded to drink it in almost one mouthful. The glass made a loud thunk as he slammed it on the table. Antonio chuckled, clearly amused.

What's so funny, Lovino grumbled inwardly.

The song changed and Antonio's face lit up. "I love this song~" he exclaimed. "Dance with me, Lovi!"

"Who the hell are you calling Lovi?" he snarled. That was always the first nickname that came to anyone's head and he hated it – especially when it was said like that. Antonio's accent made everything sound exotic and sexy. At a guess, he would say that he was probably from Spain. "My name is Lovino! Say it with me; Lo-vi-no."

"But I already know your name," Antonio said. Oh, the bastard was teasing him now. Bitch did not just wink at him. "You know, Lovi, I'd really appreciate it if you danced with me. So grateful, I might be willing to do you a favour. Anything you want." So that was how it was going to go down. Emotional blackmail. This Antonio was smarter than Lovino had given him credit for and it pissed him off.

It shouldn't have, not really. Who was Antonio to him, anyway? He was just some bartender he had met in a club. It wasn't as if he would see him on a regular basis after tonight. Did it really matter if he was saddled with that stupid name for a few hours?

Apparently, it did.

Unfortunately for Antonio, Lovino was not about to be out-danced. All those years of tagging along with Feliciano to his dance lessons had not been for nothing. "It's on," he challenged. Getting up and heading for the bar, he grabbed the wine bottle that was sitting on the countertop and took a generous swig from it. He'd pay for it later.

And so it began. Lovino had been so intent on kicking Antonio's ass that he had forgotten what dancing together meant. It meant being in very close proximity to Antonio. At first, it was fine. This was purely to prove a point. Suddenly, when Antonio's hand brushed his upper arm, he noticed how close they were.

The touching distance was just one misplaced move. Antonio would smirk every time he thrust his hip near to Lovino's and Lovino had to swing out of the way as gracefully as possible. The bastard was doing it on purpose!

What concerned Lovino the most was how he was letting Antonio get away with this flirtatious behaviour. It wasn't like him. Sure, he was no innocent; he had been in his fair share of relationships, but they hadn't happened overnight. He preferred to get to know the person first and save the flirting for later.

Why was he letting Antonio come into contact like this? Why was he drawing gradually closer and why wasn't he doing anything to stop it and why was he actually enjoying it all? This had stopped being a competition within the first thirty seconds and now it was just dancing. And he did not care one bit.

Unlike how Feliciano and Ludwig had danced together (one coordinated, one left-footed), the two of them moved in perfect synchronisation. Not one breath was timed wrong. He begrudgingly acknowledged that it was probably pretty impressive to watch – they certainly knew what they were doing.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Antonio asked. His cheeks were flushed, his forehead sheened slightly with sweat and he was panting ever-so-slightly. Lovino was struck with thoughts that he did not want (at least, that was what he told himself).

"Che." He felt a strange grin cross his face. It felt as out of place as his odd enjoyment. He still didn't give a shit though. Vaguely, he wondered how he could ever forget how fun dancing actually was. In his musings, he only paid slight attention to Antonio's hands which had found a place on his waist. For some reason, it felt right. And who was he to fight against what was right?

The song had probably changed long ago. Possibly around the time the determination had crept away to be replaced by the childish giddiness that left him rather lightheaded. Although that could have been the alcohol in his system, it wasn't as if he had drunk that much. Then again, he hadn't asked what was in either of the drinks.

Closer and closer and closer and now he could smell Antonio and he smelled of spice and booze and other things he couldn't identify, mostly because of how a majority of his attention was fixated on Antonio's half-lidded emerald eyes and his glowing cheeks and his chestnut hair and the little dimple when he smiled.

Just a touch away.

Contact.

It had been a while since Lovino had been kissed. He remembered his first kiss; not as awful as some had described, yet not as amazing as others had told him. The first thought that had occurred to him afterwards was 'is that all?'

Kissing Antonio was nothing like that. His senses were hyperaware of everything: every brush of their lips, every little sigh Antonio would let out, every quiet moan that he would return it with and even his taste. God, he was perfect in every way. Lovino snaked his fingers through his soft hair. He couldn't get close enough.

Far back in his mind, a small voice wondered if Antonio really would call him Lovino next time they met.

Wasn't it funny how things moved from point A to point B. Point A, Antonio had been faced with a heated glare and what was definitely a wish for him to leave. Point B, he was now kissing Lovino and it was clear that neither of them had any intention of stopping. Breathing wasn't all that necessary, anyway.

Shit, he loved how Lovino would protest when he threatened to break away. It was absolutely adorable. Teasing him in that way was almost as fun as kissing him. Almost.

Francis had mentioned about him leaving work nearly every night with someone, and it was true. One night stands were routine for him. But did he really want this to be just another shag-and-leave scenario?

No, he did not. This was different.

Lovino was just too cute, the way he gasped when Antonio ran his tongue over his lips. No further permission was needed and Antonio could taste the bittersweet alcohol on Lovino's tongue. Bittersweet. Seemed like a good word to describe the person in question, even though he had only known him for over an hour. Sharp at first; cavity inducing now.

And undeniably delightful now – not that he would be one to deny it, of course. He had never defined himself as having a type before but he couldn't recall ever being attracted to someone like Lovino. All his previous attractions were to people who were much easier. Not easy in that sense; easy as in they had greeted him with the same good humour he greeted them. Lovino, though he hadn't been anywhere near as pleasant, was worth it.

Well, he was probably putting too much thought into a very short relationship – if they had a relationship at all. This had just happened and who the hell was he to stop it? All he knew about Lovino was that he hated the name 'Lovi'. Parting with that information now meant that he was to be stuck with that name for as long as Antonio knew him. Hopefully, it would be longer than one night.

Suddenly, Lovino pushed him away with enough force to nearly knock him right over. "What the fuck?!" he yelled.

Antonio was startled, to say the least. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked the now clearly furious man. His face had turned the same shade as Antonio's favourite tomatoes. The strange little curl seemed to twitch in agitation.

"…I think we interrupted something." A new voice. Antonio turned to see where it had come from and saw that they had company. Gilbert, Ludwig, Feliciano, Matthew and Francis had seen everything.

"Carry on, don't mind us," Gilbert smirked.

"Ohmigosh, Lovi, see! I told you that you would enjoy yourself tonight!" The personification of all things good and wonderful bounded over and punched his brother on the shoulder. A little too roughly. "Ouch! Wow, your shoulder is way harder than I thought it would be," Feliciano whimpered.

"I hate you," Lovino spat. Feliciano just laughed and sat down at the table, examining the drinks menu.

"These drinks sure have some funny names. Hey, what's an Irish Car Bomb? It doesn't sound so good… Maybe I won't try that. Should I just have water? I have work tomorrow and I don't want to call in sick because last time I did that, my boss got really mad and it was-"

"Water is fine for both of us," Ludwig said firmly, taking a place beside Feliciano. The others followed suit and Antonio squeezed in beside Lovino before anyone else could sit beside him. Francis sighed and resigned himself to drink duty.

Lovino was trying not to look at him. Antonio decided to make a game of it. He would try and make a grab for Lovino's hand, maybe stroke his knee, and every time, Lovino would grit his teeth and jerk away. His obvious annoyance was hilarious. It was just a matter of time before he unleashed his righteous fury.

Yeah, he was definitely a sadist.

Francis returned with the drinks and raised his eyebrows at Antonio, who stared back with a blank look. "Mon dieu," he sighed. "First I find out Feliciano is taken, and now dear Lovino is no longer available. It seems like I am the only single in the room. How depressing."

"I'm not taken!" Lovino protested. "And I wouldn't fucking touch you if you were the last man on Earth and all the woman were gone and there were no more potatoes!" Ouch, that was harsh. Antonio wasn't sure who was more stricken; him or Francis.

"You wound me," Francis simpered. Lovino rolled his eyes and moved closer to Antonio.

"You got told," Gilbert sniggered. Matthew shoved him playfully and fixed him with a disapproving look that told the albino off for rubbing Francis' singledom in. However, Matthew knew as well as anyone who knew Francis that the Frenchman was far too promiscuous to ever settle into a relationship in the near future. That was the way he liked it, he guessed.

Back to his game. Antonio tuned out the conversation as he continued to tickle Lovino who was becoming jumpier by the second and his head was slowly turning to face him. Anger radiated off him in waves, seemingly giving out heat. Some small part of Antonio wondered if he should really be pressing Lovino's buttons like that.

Meh, the reaction would be worth it.

Lovino finally looked at him. Antonio gulped. Silent anger was scary. The scowl was absolutely ferocious and Common Sense told Antonio to move away. But Antonio had never been good at listening to Common Sense. So, feeling that it had put in its two cents, Common Sense returned to the dark corner of Antonio's mind and Antonio stayed where he was.

When he finally spoke, Lovino's voice was acid. "Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me."

So, making Lovino angry wasn't as fun as he thought it would be. He should have listened to JK Rowling. Or let Common Sense have its input. Either way, he would not be facing down an extremely pissed off and still extremely attractive Lovino. "Sorry…?" he said meekly, laughing nervously.

"Che." Lovino looked away, his face still an impressive shade of red. Antonio didn't understand. Five minutes ago, Lovino had been more than happy under Antonio's touch. And he had reciprocated. What – now that they were amongst company, he couldn't show his affection? Okay, he got why that was. Some people just weren't used to PDAs.

Nevertheless, did he have to act so standoffish? He didn't need to recoil like that. Just a simple 'no' would do. A shake of the head, a reprimanding tap, anything. But to react in a way that made it seem like Lovino suddenly hated him… It hurt. And it made him feel guilty, too. After all, he had been the one to start it.

Was it any wonder why he had been living off one night stands? The first guy to come along that he actually really wanted something more with and could maybe have been starting to like him (judging by the way he had kissed him), and Antonio had invoked his ire to the point where any progress he had made with Lovino liking him was promptly halted. He should be so proud of himself.

Lovino got the feeling Antonio had misunderstood his reaction. It wasn't Antonio's fault – it was his own fault. He just couldn't react like a normal person. No, he had to go and unleash unholy fury on any unfortunate who crossed his path. It didn't matter who it was – nobody was exempt. Not even hot Spaniards.

It wasn't even his usual reaction. Usually, he would yell until he could feel the pressure squeezing against his skull and his throat began to hurt. Loud anger, not quiet, cold rage. Antonio had turned as white as a sheet the instant he had spat those words. For the first time, Lovino hadn't enjoyed that look.

The way Antonio had touched him – it was just so… Intimate? Now, he had no fear of intimacy, even if it could take him a while to reach that point. He didn't know. It wasn't as if he hadn't enjoyed it (part of him had wanted to tease Antonio back) but he had felt embarrassed. In front of all those people… He just couldn't.

Instead of just asking him to stop, he had pushed him right away. Honestly. And he actually asked why people preferred Feliciano to him?

Lovino was the biggest bastard he knew.

The others were talking about why Gilbert had called the club Birdie, and it apparently had everything to do with Matthew. "Couldn't get him to go out with me," Gilbert explained. "And I tried everything! Singing telegrams, flowers, chocolate – I even snuck into his house one night and cooked him an awesome dinner. Seriously, Matt, I don't know why you yelled at me to get out. I paid for the lock, didn't I?"

"You broke the microwave, spilled milk in the fridge, left beer cans laying everywhere and your singing telegram showed up at work and got me fired," Matthew replied smoothly. The albino shifted uncomfortably and grimaced. "But the flowers were lovely," he added.

"So I just so happened to be setting this place up at the same time and since I was stuck for names, I had the awesome idea of calling it after Mattie here. I thought that would be the best way to prove my devotion!"

Feliciano clapped appreciatively, feeding Gilbert's already very large ego. "That's so clever!" he chirped. "When Luddy asked me out, I said yes straight away but that was because I was really hungry at the time and I had no money and he said he would treat me to pasta."

This was the first time Ludwig had heard this snippet of information, if his reaction was of any indication. "Don't worry, I thought you were very handsome too," Feliciano assured him.

"Yes, and I agreed to a date," Matthew blushed. "But that was ages ago, Gil! Why won't you change it?" Matthew wasn't half as pleased with his boyfriend's creative genius as the person in question was, and Lovino didn't blame him. If anyone made that gesture for him, he would be horrified. A little pleased, maybe, but mostly horrified. Plus, Birdie was a pretty weird nickname. He didn't want to know how that had come about.

"Because I can't be bothered changing it now." The albino's hand shot out to grab the fist Matthew swung in his direction and pulled the blonde closer. Matthew grumbled, but snuggled anyway.

Lovino suddenly felt lonely.

"I think we need some alcohol," Gilbert announced.

Francis scoffed. "You always think we need alcohol," he pointed out.

"And I am always right, duh." Pushing himself off the couch, Gilbert jumped over the bar and ducked down to retrieve a number of bottles. There was a mad scientist gleam in his crimson eyes. "I propose a game," he said.

Francis stood up and Matthew sighed, clearly used to this. Antonio shook his head and Ludwig, while he didn't look all that bothered, shot a look of concern to Feliciano who was wondering exactly what this 'game' would entail. "No, Gilbert. No," Antonio reprimanded him as one would tell off a puppy that had just peed in the corner.

"Relax! Just because you tried to bonk the DJ last time doesn't mean it'll happen again!"

"Lars still hasn't forgiven me…" Antonio muttered sadly. "Forget it, I'm out."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Wuss. Who's in?" Francis raised his hand and Feliciano tried to join in too, but Ludwig shook his head. This was not for lightweights. Just because he didn't allow his boyfriend to take part, however, didn't mean that he couldn't. Remembering his previous intentions to get drunk, Lovino also joined. The memory-destroying properties of alcohol were becoming more welcome by the second.

Joining Gilbert behind that bar, Francis began to help him to mix the drinks. As he watched on, Lovino couldn't help but feel a tad apprehensive. Everything was moving too fast for him to recognise what was going into what drink. And there were what looked to be fifteen or more glasses set out. Just how much were they going to drink? At least he didn't have work in the morning.

"Ladies," Gilbert slammed his hands down on the countertop, demanding their attention. "I present to you The Bastard Trilogy; aka, Bastard on the Beach. The game is simple; four drinks each, we all go one at a time and you must be standing by the time you finish. Got it? Awesome."

"Wait! What happens if we fail?" Ludwig asked, not trusting his brother one bit.

"If you fail then you'll still be so pissed, you don't really need me to embarrass you," Gilbert shrugged. Oh. Lovino was definitely going to get the blurred haze he wanted so badly. Though he wasn't sure if he wanted it so badly now – he might do something worse. He joined them by the bar regardless.

"Good luck!" Feliciano cheered. Looking back, Lovino saw Antonio give him a small nod.

Maybe he doesn't hate me. Maybe I don't have to do this and I can just go back and apologize to –

Ludwig had already taken his drink, as had Gilbert. They both looked perfectly fine. All eyes fell on him. Succumbing to the peer pressure, he drained his glass in as few mouthfuls as he could. It didn't burn, contrary to what he had thought, and it was surprisingly sweet. He was actually taken aback. It wasn't half as bad as he had expected.

"Good, we're all still seeing in straight lines." The next drink was placed in front of each competitor. Gilbert eyed them all and smiled craftily, as if he knew something they didn't. Well, maybe Francis and Ludwig knew. Lovino certainly didn't. "That was the Suffering Bastard – prepare for the Dying Bastard."

The Dying Bastard looked just as innocent as the first drink. This time, Lovino sniffed the drink before he downed it. Not unpleasant, but something in there was enough to tell him to be careful. Taste wise, he instantly wanted to spit it out. Good God. What the actual fuck was in this drink?! It tasted like Satan's jizz mixed with elephant sweat. Or so he imagined. He coughed into the glass, but refused to pull out of the running now. If drinking it in one go was possible, he would have done so. He was forced to settle for two. It felt like drinking liquid fire. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he set his glass down.

His head was beginning to feel a little woozy, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Everyone else seemed to be holding up just fine. Francis was blinking a lot, but Gilbert and Ludwig were equally as stoic. Rather out of character for the albino. Grabbing his next glass, Francis proposed a toast.

The other three were watching them nervously. Normally, such scrutiny would make Lovino feel uncomfortable. Under the influence of alcohol, he felt a lot braver. Antonio smiled weakly as Lovino raised his glass to him.

Lovino chided himself inwardly. Really, why had he been so worried before? It seemed so silly now. He didn't need to worry; he should be happy. Every little thing was going to be fine. Hey, wasn't there a song like that? There was. He hummed it and tapped a beat on the countertop as the next drink was pushed in front of him.

"This is the Dead Bastard," Gilbert drawled. "We ready? 'Kay, chug!"

Lovino felt as if his head was swelling and swelling and soon he was going to float away. And he couldn't float away – what if he never came down? What if he floated all the way up to the moon? There was no air up there! He'd be dead in ten seconds flat! Floating away was bad. He held onto Gilbert in an effort to keep himself fixed to the ground. "Don' wanna fly away," he wailed.

He didn't feel good. At all. His stomach insisted on churning like a washing machine and it wouldn't stop. How inconsiderate. A still mostly sober Gilbert feigned concern. "Dude, you don't look so good. You want a drink to settle your stomach?"

Wow, yeah, that would help Lovino. Gosh, that was so nice of Gilbert to offer. He took the drink that was offered and downed it as if he hadn't seen hydration in months. Somewhere, he heard Gilbert saying something that sounded like Chinese, but he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he suddenly felt a thousand times worse. That bastard! He hadn't wanted to help him at all.

The instant reaction was to go over to the dumbass German and do something – because he didn't know what he would do, it just had to be something and something was better than nothing and Gilbert was totally gonna regret fucking with Lovino – but as soon as soon as he placed one foot in front of the other, the floor began moving.

The floor. It was moving. It was like the ocean. The rocking made Lovino's stomach contract in a threatening manner and he instantly forgot revenge. Priority number one right now was dealing with the heaving floor.

Of course! The perfect solution came to him. He had to move with the floor. That way, he wouldn't feel the rocking! He was a genius. There would be no throwing up tonight – the porcelain throne could go without being worshipped.

Antonio had always taken part of Gilbert's drinking games. He had never been sober for them and therefore had never been able to appreciate the effects. As it turned out, they were hilarious. Lovino had leapt off his stool and had begun a kind of half-assed tap dance, swaying from side to side. "I need to move with the floor!" he yelled.

Francis was laughing hysterically to the point where he was dangerously close to falling over. Babbled French was directed to them all in turn. His understanding of French was limited, but Antonio swore he had caught the word for penis in there and felt that he had to protect Lovino. Sober, Francis was a sexual predator. Drunk, he was a sex-crazed beast. He would end up trying to have sex with an inanimate object before the night was out if he couldn't find anyone to comply with him.

The stinging hurt Antonio had been nursing was instantly forgotten. It was a silly thing to be moaning about, anyway. Let bygones be bygones and all that crap.

Right after that last drink, Ludwig had dashed from the room, followed by a fretful Feliciano. And the reigning champion, Gilbert, took his place by Matthew. The German's tolerance levels were inhuman. He probably poured horse tranquiliser on his cereal every morning.

"I have to be one with the floor!" Lovino was still at his strange dance. It involved squatting down low, hopping from foot to foot and flailing his arms. Though Antonio found it extremely entertaining, it was clear the man was positively inebriated.

He took hold of Lovino's arms and tried to hold him still. "What are you doing, Lovi?" he asked. Lovino blinked upon hearing the use of the pet term and gave a garbled response. Unable to make heads or tails of it, Antonio asked him to repeat himself.

"I shaid, I'm shorry I shnapped at you!" he slurred. The ability to pronounced the 's' sound had been lost, it seemed. "'Cause I didn't mean it and I was just embarrassed and you can touch me later, 'kay?"

Christ. Lovino really was a loose drunk.

"Oh, and you have reallyreallyreally pretty eyes," he added in a rush. "Kinda wanna touch 'em but you can't touch eyes 'cause that's gross and dangerous."

"That's right," Antonio agreed. Strangely enough, having a finger poked into his eye socket was not at all appealing. "Now, don't you think you should stand still?"

"No!" Lovino giggled. Wow, giggling sounded weird coming from him. He really was shitfaced. He wiggled his hips and his top rode up to show a little sliver of skin. Antonio tried to ignore it. "C'mere." He gestured for Antonio to come closer. His feet moved without his permission.

Much to his surprise, the smaller man initiated contact by snaking his arms around Antonio's neck and pulling his head down so his ear was level to Lovino's mouth. It was impossible to ignore how his breath tickled the side of his neck. "We can dance if you wanna," Lovino whispered.

"We can?" Hopefully Lovino didn't mean the same kind of swaying dance he had been doing earlier. Not that Antonio wasn't up for it – Lovino had looked like he was having a great time, apart from the whole yelling about the floor part.

"We can leave your friends behind."

Oh God. Did Lovino fall into the category of 'sexual predator' when he was drunk? It was weird that Antonio was denying someone sex (if that was what Lovino was insinuating). But the man was obviously off his head and it felt wrong to take advantage of his state. Drunk sex wasn't a new experience to Antonio but at those times both he and his partner had been equally as pissed.

He tried to push him away. "I don't think –"

"'Cause your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, well they're no friends of mine!"

Ah. The Safety Dance. Not sex. Lovino was howling with laughter, as though he had just told the funniest joke in the history of comedy. The way he was clutching at his stomach made Antonio feel a bit more than slightly wary. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes! I am so okay right now! Are you okay?" It was strange how friendly Lovino was being. The hurt of being pushed away was completely forgotten and now all Antonio felt was worry because Lovino wasn't in his right mind. Who knew what he would try to do?

"I'm okay," he replied, unravelling himself from the very affectionate arms.

"Are we okay?" There was a 'we'? "'Cause I didn't want to say earlier but I thought you were annoying at first and then I thought you were okay and then we kissed and I really liked it. You're, like, the best kisser ever. But I was scared that I ruined it all 'cause I'm a grumpy dick."

Okay, so Lovino had mood swings when he was drunk. That was good to know. It would have been nice to know before; now he was sniffling into Antonio's shirt in the same way a five year old would do. "I'm so sorry!" he wailed. "Dammit, bastard, I'm sorry for shouting at you and calling you a bastard!"

Antonio patted his head. He had always been great with kids. Most people had the mental capacity of a child when they were as drunk as Lovino was. "Hey, cheer up! It's not important! Look, I know what'll help you. My grandmother taught me something special when I was younger."

"Really?" Hope sparkled in Lovino's hazel eyes.

"¡Sí! This is a magical cheer up charm!" He put on his best smile and clasped his hands, taking a deep breath. As he breathed out, he spread his arms and uttered the magic words. "Fusososososo~" He repeated the process and stopped. He waited for Lovino's response.

"What the fuck." Lovino stared at him blankly, eyes unfocused. A confused frown crossed his face. "That didn't help even a little bit."

That was a first. Abuela's Magical Cheer Up Charm™ always worked! Yet Lovino just looked more fuddled than ever. He rubbed at his stomach again and groaned. Antonio remembered how downright fucked up Gilbert's drinking games had made him feel and a pang of sympathy struck him. "Feel like shit?" he asked gently.

Lovino nodded miserably. His hair was dampened with sweat and his face was a sickly white.

Well, maybe the charm hadn't worked. But he had one more little idea. It would be okay, wouldn't it? His mother had always done it for him and it always seemed to do the trick.

Leaning forward, he pressed an innocent kiss to Lovino's lips. It was very different from their earlier kiss. That kiss had been a passionate, spur-of-the moment thing (thought it wasn't as if he was complaining). This was sweet. It was just nice. It didn't have to lead to anything; it was just Antonio's well-wishes.

"Any better?" he grinned.

"Much," Lovino thanked him. Then he closed his eyes and fell to the floor. Oh dear.

It appeared that the kiss hadn't been much use either. "Lovi!" Antonio winced as his head hit the floor with a loud thump. There was going to be a bitch of a bruise there in the morning, which would most certainly not help with the killer headache.

Feliciano returned with a pasty Ludwig who was, despite everything, quite steady on his feet. Apparently resistance to alcohol ran in the family – Ludwig's stomach just wasn't as used to toxic quantities as his brother's was. "Guys, we're going to leave now. I have work in the morning and Ludwig isn't feeling so good. Where's Lovi? Ve~"

Further inspection drew Feliciano's attention to his brother who was passed out on the floor.

"Oh. Tonio, could you carry him? I don't think it's a good idea if Ludwig carried him. He might drop him and Lovino would be really pissed when he found out."

Need he even ask? Antonio swept Lovino into his arms. As thrilled as he was to assist, he grimaced as he realised Lovino was kind of heavy. What did he expect – the man was almost his height. When you added the alcohol in his stomach, it was almost as if Antonio was carrying himself. Lovino's head lolled back and he had to lean to the side to avoid hitting it off the doorframe as he carried him out. That was hardly what they needed now.

Everything was fuzzy. Everything was loud. Everything hurt, particularly his stomach. Lovino cracked his eyes open to see that they were still in the club. Fuck, were they doomed to spend an eternity there? A group of girls stared at him, wild-eyed. "The fuck you want?" he yelled. Or tried to yell – it was more like a loud whisper. Nobody had heard him. He shut his eyes. He had had quite enough of Birdie for the night. For a lifetime, in fact.

He still wasn't sure why it felt like he was bobbing up and down. Bob, bob, bob. Like on a boat. He hated boats. He didn't even like planes. The back of his head throbbed and he didn't want to look up. He opened one tired eye to see they were at the door. The cold air blowing in was a welcome relief from the cold. He sighed in relief.

And then, that creepy-as-shit bouncer saw him. Lovino was too cold, all of a sudden. The bouncer's eyes narrowed with his serial killer smile. The very air around him seemed to darken. "Kolkolkol," he chuckled darkly.

Lovino passed out again.

On his way back to the VIP room, Antonio met an angry looking Gilbert and a rather flushed Matthew who was trying to calm him down. Gilbert shoved a jacket into Antonio's hands, one he recognised to be Lovino's. "If you value your virtue, don't go in there," Gilbert warned his friend. "I had to lock that maniac in there; he's a danger to society. First he stripped off all his clothes, including his underwear, then he tried to grab Matthew's –"

"Let's go, Gil," Matthew quipped. "We'll get Ivan to lock up tonight. Goodnight, Antonio!"

And with that, they were gone. Antonio smirked down at the jacket and examined the inside, hoping for a number, an address, anything. Nothing. His phone went off in his pocket and he laughed out loud with sheer joy when he read the text. Gilbert had asked Ludwig to ask Feliciano for Lovino's number, and now that golden piece of information was his. What good friends he had.

Antonio left the club alone that night, but he couldn't have cared less.

When Lovino awoke again, he was in his own bed. It felt like he had been dropkicked against a wall of diamond. He cursed the phone that had woken him. The tone went again to alert him to the text and the glowing screen seemed to laugh at him. "I fucking know already!" he growled and regretted it right away. Even his own voice was ridiculously loud.

'From: Unknown Number

Lovi, it's Antonio! I have your jacket, coffee and I need your address.

12/11/12 11.26 AM'

Bastard. That coffee had better not be decaff.

This is so late. I am so, so sorry! And I was too lazy to come up with my own name. (Go listen to 'I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor' by the Arctic Monkeys; it's such a great song.) I hope the length made up for it.

I actually had something else written about halfway through October but it was so damn weird, even by my standards. There was no way I could put it up, it was just awful. So I scrapped it and wrote this instead. Quite different from what I've wrote before, but I enjoyed it. I'm sorry if anyone seems OOC – and by anyone, I mean Matthew.

The Bastard Trilogy is real, and so are all the other drinks mentioned in this. Someone out there has a real talent for naming things! There are many more hilarious ones out there. Not sure if they're exactly appetizing though :P Whatever floats your boat.

Would you be so kind as to drop a little review? Let me know if you liked it, if you hated it, if you've ever had any hilarious encounters with a drunk person. I was at a friend's house for her sister's eighteenth and halfway through the night, some girl came up to me and handed me a plate with a smiley face drawn on it in ketchup. She assured me it was vital I protect it; they were looking for it. Never did find out who 'they' were and she never came back for the plate. Guess it wasn't that important after all.

Thank you! :D