UGGGHHHHH. This was meant to come out on my three-year anniversary of being on fanfiction dot net, but Hurricane Ophelia had other plans. Internet/power came back yesterday. Anniversary was Tuesday, storm hit Monday. Go figure.\

But yay me! I started this gig when I was 12? 12? God, what a three years.

Original fiction, because I have two massive ideas I wanna get out? Don't know her, sorry.

Speaking of, it seems I cannot touch a keyboard without creating historical gay angst. Literally my main original story, probably my planned one. I need to calm down.

Consider this 1920s or thereabouts. Also, ya, Lovino thinks some pretty gross things that yours truly is flatly against, but at the same time having a historical character just be totally accepting for no reason when society isn't is quite unrealistic in my opinion.

Lovino has never kissed a boy. He's never wanted to, not really. Sometimes, perhaps. But not really.

He sips his drink, tearing his eyes away from the dancefloor. He can barely stand these society parties. In fact, the pretty girls, enjoying newly-invented contraception and short skirts, are the only thing that keeps him from all-out revolting against his grandfather.

The room is brightly lit with chandeliers, filled with dancing couples and upbeat, jazzy music. Lovino sips again. The drink is bitter, and he unconsciously wrinkles his nose.

In fairness, it's been quite the month. He had taken a ten minute break to run up to his room during their grandfather's last party, not for much, just because the girl he'd decided to pursue was getting more obnoxious with every glass of Italian wine, but he must have had more than he'd thought because he'd ended up opening the door to Feliciano's room, and there he was with that German, confirming all Lovino's worst suspicions regarding their friendship. At least they'd only been undressed from the waist up, because jeez, Lovino didn't need his eyes assaulted more than they'd already been. He'd stayed just long enough that they were aware who he was, and then he left. He was sure they were freaking out at the moment, certain the police were coming for them.

Lovino snorted. It was gross, sure, but brothers were brothers. He wasn't going to do whatever mental gymnastics it had taken Mr. Pure and Mr. Rulebook had done to justify breaking the law, (It's just love, nobody's getting hurt!) but at the same time some people just don't deserve jail, and Feliciano least of all. He thinks Feli is relaxing now, seeing that Lovino isn't quite petty enough to call the cops.

The thing is, he hasn't been able to rid himself of the thoughts. If he were to grab, say, the blonde boy beside him, and just make out with him right on the spot, what would happen? The room would stop, right? People would be disgusted.

Ah, for that kind of entertainment, Lovino thinks, chuckling to himself. He glances through his lashes at the dancers. Pretty girls (pretty boy), fluttering about. But he's trying not to focus on the boy. But the boy certainly outshines the girls. Curious.

Lovino doesn't think he's noticed boys like this before, but now he focuses perhaps he has. Or maybe not. Perhaps he's imagining things. God, he doesn't know. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to detangle the thoughts that have knotted up like string in his head.

He looks up at the boy, anxiety rapidly pooling in his stomach when he realises how his heartbeat quickens when he watches him dancing. He can't be attracted...

An evil little voice creeps into the back of his mind. Say, what if you..?

Lovino turns around and focuses on his wine, and when he turns again the boy is right beside him. No. Nonono.

"Are you the host's son?" The boy asks, smiling.

Lovino nods gruffly, because the boy looks so good in a tux, it accentuates everything and frankly he's having a hard time thinking with his brain. "Lovino Vargas," he says.

"Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo."

Aaand I did not ask. He doesn't say this, though, he simply asks what Antonio is doing here.

"My friend was invited." Lovino nods. Heck, is this the guy that hangs around with Trash Potato's brother? That makes everything much worse. Also, he wants to invite the guy to dance just to see that body move in that tux again, but that would get him some weird looks.

Instead, he simply offers Antonio wine. And then a little more. And then he drinks some more himself, because this is a party dammit.

Everything is very fuzzy when he invites Antonio outside to smoke, then drags him out even when Antonio says he doesn't.

Lovino giggles as he lights up. "What's funny?" Antonio slurs heavily. He has such pretty eyes, Lovino can't handle this.

"My life," Lovino says, slowly, spitting the words around his tongue, "Is a mess. You?"

"Ah, 's'not funny," Antonio says. "What's wrong?" His head lolls against the wall as he stares up at the stars.

They're in a secluded area, Lovino notes. Right at the edge of the courtyard. None of the servants will be out. And Antonio is too drunk to remember.

Fuck it, he might be too drunk to remember. He stubs out his cigarette underfoot, breathing in the humid night air, listening to the whining of bugs. He'll wake up with bites everywhere. Shit.

He leans up on tiptoe, putting his face up close to Antonio's. Antonio giggles, spilling alcohol-scented breath onto Lovino's cheek. "You gonna kiss me?"

Lovino quirks an eyebrow. "What'd you do if I was?"

"Ah, I don't know?"

Lovino laughs giddily, a little too high-pitched for his liking. His stomach is doing eight somersaults a second. "Will I?"

He's not sure who kisses who, but he is quite sure of Antonio's lips against his, and his hands on Antonio's neck, and Antonio's hands on his back, and the fact that Antonio's lips are warm despite the night air. He doesn't like it more than he likes kissing girls, but he doesn't like it less.

They break apart, laughing like idiots. "God," says Lovino, "we're criminals."

"Arrest me, officer!" Antonio cries, offering his wrists as if to accept handcuffs. Lovino uses this to pull Antonio forwards by the wrists and kiss him again. Good. It is still very good.

He's not sure how long they're out there. Ehh, time is an illusion if you ask him. They go inside, and Antonio simply drifts away into the crowd. Lovino tries to not be disappointed, but what did he expect? That they ballroom dance together?

He doesn't see Antonio leave.

Eventually, he stumbles to bed himself.

However, he wakes with three things: A splitting headache, a headful of fuzzy (scary) memories of a Spaniard with wandering hands, and a telephone number in his pocket.

Did I do good?

Also, three goddamn years and I think this is my first explicit kiss scene. Milestones, loves!