Details: AU.
Pairing/s: Prussia/Romano, (TBA)
Warning/s In This Chapter: Nada. Except for Romano's potty-mouth, which, by the way, isn't speaking much in this chapter XD oh and human names used~
Summary: So er, again: Lovino Vargas is an ex-elite agent of the WPO (World Protection Organization) with a past he'd much rather forget. Acting upon that whim, he decides to get on a plane and leave the city, the people –everything behind only to find things he'd…much rather not…like say, himself in the enemy's arms.
And in the non-enemy kind of way too.
Note/s: I decided to dig up one of my old original stories (that I discontinued) and see if I could do something about it…eventually, I ended up replacing the names a few details here and there –thus replenishing the lost vigor I had for writing this. I'm not sure as to what other pairings I'll want in this because, like any other hetalia fan, I have a lot. It'd be a great help if any readers who stumble upon it review with pairings they'd like to see, make this a less, ah…painful process XD
So anyway, here is the first chapter to…
'The Reasons Why'
Chapter one: Are you awake?
Lovino felt his heart speed up, then slow down just as it had started.
His breath hitched and then returned to a normal pace.
He squinted, the beams of sunlight that had found ways to break in through the curtains hurting his eyes.
He felt his brain throb painfully against his skull and his hands grip the sheets in attempt to make it go away.
Wait.
What?
Sheets?
He groaned rolling over and about to press his face against the pillow.
The pillow that was supposed to be under his head but wasn't.
The pillow that would've made things hell of a lot easier for him but decided to be part of the discarded whatever pile on the floor (he'd figure that out later).
He breathed out heavily, the headache taking on an unfortunate likeness to a hammer and, for the sake of the almighty God, his head wasn't a fucking nail. Hearing his heartbeat in his ears only made everything else hurt too much for him to find himself comfortable on the bed that part of him knew he wasn't supposed to be in.
Instead of the pillow, Lovino felt his head press against something smooth, although a bit sweaty.
A chest.
A bare chest.
He felt his breath hitch again, his heart do that thing it did when he first opened his eyes --except this time it went on overdrive and wouldn't stop.
His face was still pressed against the pale skin and he could hear the heartbeat of whoever his makeshift pillow was.
The rise and fall of the person's chest could only mean that he (because, obviously, no breasts in sight, which, in any case, made things worse than it had initially been) was sleeping but there was a soft grunt, muffled by the pillow (were there two?) and then shifting of arms around his waist.
How on earth did those get there?
Lovino strained to look up, golden-brown eyes only able to catch a glimpse of platinum blond hair.
...and more pale skin.
Blond hair and pale skin?
"…no, fucking no." He breathed, his voice coming out strained and hoarse.
A chuckle.
"Hah, you wish."
A long period of silence followed that and the man's arms moved to loosen the grip around him. Lovino could finally feel fabric under his head, despite the fact that damp hair did not feel so good against bedsheets and pillows.
No matter.
It wasn't a bare chest.
Lovino closed his eyes while he took the time to take another heavy exhale to calm his nerves down. Part of him wanted to turn around and see who it really was and the other wanted to grab (son of a— was that his shirt on the floor?!) the missing article of clothing from the floor and walk out as if nothing had happened. He knew he was fairly good at that. What he didn't know was if he had enough stupidity impulse to go with the idea of the first part of himself ...or the third, which he would prefer not to mention.
He shook his head, willing those thoughts to a place far, far away.
Really, what reason did he have to dwell on before?
The Italian sighed, taking a handful of the blankets and bringing them up to his face to hide the slight flush he could feel on his cheeks.
"Something wrong?" He heard the voice. It sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn't quite put a face or a name to it and his curiosity was growing by the second (which, like a lot of things that morning, should not have been.)
Lovino bit his lower lip and shifted until he was turned over all the way, facing the other side and then his eyes widened, mouth taking the shape of a very dignified gape.
A languid smile graced the other man's features as amused ruby eyes took in the sight of a very surprised Lovino. His head was propped up by a hand that supported it and at the same time twined itself through his own hair.
"Morning, beautiful."
Lovino closed his mouth, another shaky breath was taken as he felt his face heat up even more.
"You—what—when—fuck—what the—WHY?"
The man grinned, reaching forward to playfully tug on Lovino' hair (thankfully, not the curl that stuck out like a sore thumb) and then moved to trail that same hand down the other's neck to his waist, hooking his fingers through the other's belt loops with all his intentions set to pull him closer. However, his plans were put to a stop when the other backed away, using hands (he had only realized he had now) to pry the fingers off and keep them a good number of inches apart.
"You fucking cabbage what the hell did you—ow, dammit." His head, apparently, did not agree with him yelling so early in the goddamn morning.
Another chuckle.
"I liked how you said it last night better, had a nice ring to it too."
He grinned, taking the hand that was still holding his and pressing a kiss at the younger man's palm.
"Last...what?"
Since when was Lovino Vargas' vocabulary reduced to just what?
"Last night." Gilbert said, this time with a frown, his hold on the hand faltering a bit.
"You don't remember?" He sounded faintly disappointed.
"Don't give me that look," Lovino glared, "If anything, I should be scared, because who knows what you could've done to me."
The German only rolled his eyes, hoisting himself up from the lying position to rest his back against the headboard as he idly traced mahogany behind him.
"Don't flatter yourself, boy." His eyes narrowed, Lovino's glare intensified.
"You were the one who called me...called me..."
"Beautiful?" Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest, "doesn't have to mean that I had to screw you last night, does it?"
"I well--...no."
"Tch. And I thought you were a trained, special agent of the WPO."
"Ex- 'trained special agent--" Lovino smiled ruefully, which looked more like a scowl, rolling over to lie on his back as he stared up at the ceiling, not noticing the surprised look on the older man's face he glanced at him for a brief second.
"Is that why I found you in the state you were in last night?" The man was giving him a calculating look, trying to discern the sudden (maybe not so) extra sullenness that the other carried with the previous statement.
It wasn't difficult, really.
Not all people were lucky and able to pick themselves up from taking a fall like that.
Lovino couldn't honestly remember how Gilbert had found him the night before or what they had done (or what had been done to him, that man was lucky his brain wouldn't permit long tirades). The headache was slowly fading and as it did, he willed himself to remember, at least fragments of what had happened and what had brought him there because the fact that he was in a hotel room (a nice one at that) with the reason he had been fired from his job needed an explanation.
And it better be a damn good one at that.
He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them when he felt weight on either side of his legs and his head to glance at the shirtless man on top of him.
Oh, the shirtless bit just really had to be part of his train of thought.
"Is there anyway I can make it up to you then?" Gilbert asked, or, well, grunted out with a slight snicker at the end— the German tried though, to lace sincerity around every word but it didn't quite reach Lovino.
That or the Italian didn't let those words reach him.
He shook his head.
"Really? (Lovino swore he saw a cringe here) because…I er…I had something to do with the whole reason so…"
The Italian frowned, thinking about replaying three months back in his head and December 25th –which had been the day he was throttled back into the world of the jobless.
Pathetic had never been such a perfect word to describe someone. It sickened him to think that way, but there was no way else to say it. He was an idiot for even having it in him to believe that he could get out of this whole ordeal unscathed, all for his idiot of a little brother and this kraut's idiot of a younger brother as well.
"Not you, idiot. The younger one."
Gilbert scoffed, "would you rather him wrap his arms around you then? Although your brother wouldn't appreciate that, I think."
Lovino shook his head and glared, the ceasing pain returning momentarily until he regained enough composure to speak.
"And what could you possibly do?" Lovino challenged then, decidedly ignoring that last comment.
"For starters," Gilbert smirked, pressing his forehead against the younger. "There's you."
"Honestly." Lovino rolled his eyes, more than just a little exasperated with the man.
"Honestly." The older echoed.
Lovino shot the man another one of his glares before pushing him off.
With most of the headache gone, he could finally go.
"Where are you going?"
But to where, exactly. He wasn't sure.
Gilbert was eyeing him, a look that seemed to radiate something that could easily be mistaken for worry but Lovino was utterly lost as to the reason behind it. Perhaps the man wasn't saying something.
Not like that was anything new.
Gilbert Beillschimdt was an assassin turned con-artist turned assassin-con-artist --and that had all taken place in the span of three months.
Gilbert Beillschimdt and his brother and their line of work and their side of the law and their whole fucking family was the reason he was here in the first place. Then there was his own brother Feliciano and ex-partner.
Lovino blinked at where his thinking led up to.
It somehow, made a lot more sense (as decipherable his situation and things leading up to it could have made sense) and by now he could see parts of what had taken place before all of this.
The sudden urge to get on a plane, penniless -no suitcases, cellphones --nothing.
Everything was back home.
His dignity, his job, his "friends", his "family" for the most part --his everything.
Stupidity and a drunken night alone got him here, guiding his feet through unknown streets to the airport, to, quite possibly, stumble into the arms of 'the enemy' --though Lovino didn't have much concern for that anymore. Right now wasn't the time to care about such things. Gilbert looked nothing like a criminal in his eyes and he felt rather lucky that the older man refrained (didn't want to?) try anything with him. In fact, he even seemed worried about both his current state and the last night's.
So whatever Lovino did must've been something worth fretting over.
That still didn't explain why his shirt was on the floor though.
"Why is my shirt on the floor?" his legs swung over the edge of the bed as he bent down to take the shirt, the swift motion making the pain come back as quick as he'd picked up the (when-had-he) discarded item.
He bent forward, clutching his head as if he could squeeze the pain out of his system. He could've gotten far by now if he didn't have that blasted metaphorical fist pounding on his head like it was a fucking door.
"Goddammit." He swore under his breath but was sure Gilbert could hear it from the new position he took behind him, rubbing soothing (what, what, just fucking what) circles on his back.
The pain made him ignore the oddness of the situation but he was back to his pathetic can't-move-an-inch-without-my-head-hurting self.
"I figured you weren't the type to hold your alcohol well." Gilbert mused, stopping the motions as he got on his feet and pushed Lovino back against the bed as gently as he possibly could.
Golden-brown eyes peered up at him curiously but then closed once again at the rush of pain that came back to haunt him from straining to look up and God forbid, lean against the hand that brushed the bangs away from his face. And all that guy did was ...make him feel better.
What was the world coming too?
Lovino tugged on the sheets, bringing it up to his shoulders as he pressed closer against the comfort of the pillows and the bed covers generously offered. He acknowledged the warmth with a slightly dazed and sleepy half-smile.
"You must be tired, huh?" He heard the question but simple as it was, couldn't process it properly and found himself replying with a soft "mhmm" as he surrendered to the hand that was, apparently, exceptionally good at making him forget about the stupid headache. He almost sounded disappointed when the hand left but was too caught up in the pre-dozing off stages to complain about it and embarrass himself even more.
Gilbert eyed him quietly as the younger man's features began to relax. It was almost alarming how he could look so different when he slept. Defenseless and calm --because he knew, unlike most people, that Lovino wasn't the indifferent type. He'd found that out about two months ago during their wild goose chase and all the drama that had unfolded when it had all, nearly, come to a close. He had an opinion which was, more often than not, 'no', 'stop it', 'I hate this' or 'I hate you'.
He smirked slightly, taking the shirt from the side of the bed where it hung from Lovino's hand. Gilbert threw it over the chair situated in the corner of the room, setting his own shirt down there as well.
"I'm gonna go take a bath. When you're sure that the headache's gone you can go down and have breakfast."
There was short, "mmm, yeah whatever" as Lovino buried himself beneath the blankets and the pillows. Though still awake, he felt like moving would be postponed for a little while --at least until he regained enough energy to question the man for his presence or better yet, curse him into oblivion then question him while he kept cursing, because right now, he couldn't even muster a small grumble of annoyance.
He heard the bathroom door shut with a soft click. Gilbert probably began with the whole undress and turn the shower on process which he knew better than to dwell on.
And that would've been that, but Lovino chanced a glance at the door for reasons beyond him at the moment and to the chair because the objects on it caught his eye.
Specifically the one that was supposed to be providing most of the warmth of his upper body.
Why the hell was he shirtless in the first place?
Note/s: So…there it is. ;w; Assuming you've read, review, eh? And if you're feeling particularly helpful, mention a pairing that you'd like to see and I'll try to weasel it in here if I can, thank you~!
'Til chapter two is finished then~ XD