Just fear me,
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love me,
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do as I say...
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Progression
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"I don't want to go today. Maybe I'll go tomorrow." The smaller man taps a cigarette free of the battered pack, and shaky fingers place it between his lips.
Precarious. Everything about him is precarious.
His breathing is shaky at best as he feels for the lighter, pointedly fixing his eyes on the horizon. The other isn't close enough yet, but he can feel him closing the gap.
He repeats, "I don't want to go today."
And then the taller man is next to him, and he smells so many spices and warm things and sun-baked earth. He hears the metal click and sigh, and the crackling hiss of blue-white-orange dancing up and licking at the end of the cancer stick.
For a split second, he just wants to be eaten.
Which is probably one more reason why he can't do this he can't do this he can't do this.
Still, there's no other reply.
He probably shouldn't expect one. This isn't a made man he's talking to.
This is their gardener. His gardener, now.
This is Antonio, the man he's been gaga in love with since cootie vaccinations went out of style and dutiful fathers started handing out questionable reading material. But not his nonno. There'd been no need. All the Vargas boys needed to do to see scantily clad women was leave their rooms.
Despite not being as endearing and cheerful as his twin, Lovino was by no means a dim boy. He realized pretty quickly that girls were supposed to not be icky anymore. Instead, he spent far more time than was probably normal ducking the doting women that littered the compound, choosing instead to watch the groundskeeper and his boy go about tending the property.
The young Carriedo was one of precious few that talked to him like an equal instead of an artifact or a loaded gun. Always smiling, always teasing him. Never shying away from his queries or his punches.
Lovino had lost track of how many sweltering summer days he had spent hiding away, watching the older boy strip away protective layers as he tempted plants, produce, and proud little princes into fruition.
But there was nothing growing, now. Nothing sweet or spicy about this.
Antonio sighs, and Lovino manages to tear himself out of the skyscape, plummeting back to the Earth. The sight of him just manages to make it worse.
He's traded in his smile, his dirty work jeans, and his big old gloves. All he has now is a suit that fits too well, a grim set mouth, and a lighter.
"Yo no le obligará." He says. I won't force you.
And he doesn't call him 'Boss' or 'Don' or any of that crap, which is a small blessing, because everyone who does has been trying ceaselessly for just the opposite.
Lovino answers, "Obrigado." Which is Portuguese, not Spanish, but the ornery refusal to 'indulge' him in his native tongue makes the Spaniard smile a little, and that's good for the twisted little wreck they've made of Lovino's sense of security.
He doesn't resist when Antonio presses the front of his right shoulder ever-so-slightly against his left shoulder blade.
It's been a long time since he's touched the Italian without the boy pitching a fit, and he's not so dense that he couldn't figure that one out. He cradles him without boxing him in.
They look at each other, and they make comparisons.
Antonio sees the shadow of a scared little boy playing grown-up with his daddy's cigarettes, slowly climbing up the latticework of a leader. There are things he doesn't know, about the real word, and about Antonio—about all sorts of things, but he can be taught.
Lovino sees a god slighted by his own clothing. The suit fits well, of course, but it's a familiar costume. Laced with careful stitches and traces of gunpowder. He doesn't ask, because he just wants to worship, and be held. He wants to say that this is enough, but it would be an insult to all of them—a shameless lie.
They're wearing the same thing, and in his head, Feliciano reads the verse again.
"No rest for the wicked."
"Lilacs can help with that." Antonio rumbles softly, and then, "I've cut some away, for Marcello." *
He doesn't ask, but Antonio tells him anyway.
"He won't put on his shoes. He won't hold Feliciano's hand. Ludwig tried to make him, but they both started crying."
So he was the only one, among his brothers, that hadn't broken down completely. He'd been the one to stay awake, resting against the headboard as his brothers climbed under the covers and held on for dear life.
Strange.
He'd always been the first to scream and cry and chant 'unfair'.
But he's stayed quiet, through the nights leading up to this. They needed him, and that much, he could give. It's all right to take nonno's place just for that—just to protect them.
"Are you trying to tell me something?"
Antonio laughs a little, but there is little to no humor. He runs a hand through carefully-styled hair— probably wrestled into submission by a militant Elizaveta—and Lovino rides out the vibrations.
"You can hide behind me, if you want. I don't mind if this jacket gets wet. I hate it, but it was a gift."
"From nonno."
"Mm."
"Expensive gift."
"Worth every penny."
"So you can be a tissue?"
"So I can be a shield." Long, calloused fingers hover over the soft hairs at the nape of Lovino's neck, "For you. Just like I promised."
...He'd really prayed the man wouldn't say that. That he was a hired gun all along, despite all of Lovino's refusals to take a personal guard. He may have been desperate for friendship, but he didn't want to pay for it.
Even from inside the box, Rome is mocking him.
At least he'd been honest with Feliciano and Marcello, introducing them, and letting things grow from there. 'This is Ludwig, your bulletproof German.'
He didn't sneak out to bribe a friend or a confidante. He didn't steal anyone from them.
...Lovino is blaming him, again. He really sucks at this 'grieving' thing.
All he wants to do is curl up in the damn box until Antonio pulls him out and wraps him up in a ratty old blanket in the garden shed. He wants to surround himself with the sound of wet earth and rain and forget what the old man looks like now that he's finally lost.
"Don't misunderstand," The hand at his neck moves down, gripping hard to force out the tensing knots in the prince's shoulders, "I'm not like Ludwig. My reasons are entirely selfish."
Lovino isn't sure whether he should laugh or cry or both because that makes so very little sense. "How's that, bastard?"
"With your abuelo gone, it's my job to be closest to you. I can touch you, and there is no one in the world who can stop me. I can make you scream and cry and beg for me to stop your heart—all out of pleasure. You are my G-d, now, Romano, and it's my right to serve you." *
Suddenly, Lovino feels his heart swell with wonder, with grief, with adoration—and more than a little fear. The look in those pretty green eyes is sharp and predatory, and Lovino might be fighting off a shiver.
This is Antonio, the boy with dirt smeared over his cheeks. The boy that took hours to lead pests away from his crop rather than kill them. The boy that had shouldered his blame and beating when the housekeeper found the flea-bitten, emaciated mutt that Lovino had demanded he help him nurse back to health.
For the first time in his life, Lovino wants the man to stop smiling.
He must have whimpered or something, because the next thing he knows, he is being turned ever so gently to face his old friend. Antonio grasps his face and presses their foreheads together, softening just a bit, "Does that seem unfair, Lovino?"
"You're fucking scaring me."
The grin is only half-normal, but it's a concession, all the same. Sharp Spanish eyes narrow with laughter, and his head shakes without losing contact, "I've been terrified for years, you selfish little brat. I was waiting for it, you know. For Rome to pass or concede, so that I could honor his contract. You think you're the only one who hides away like a voyeur?"
He pauses, for a moment, but they both know it's rhetorical. Lovino is too busy choking on his soul to answer. Antonio draws away before continuing, but not by much. His hands slide down the sensitive neck to toy with the new don's suit jacket.
"I've seen every part of you, Lovi, and I've memorized it all. I touch you every night, in my mind. There was no other way—Rome would cut off my hands if I touched his glass prince."
"And now he's dead." Lovino croaks.
"My apologies. Other than that, I really did love him like a father."
"Don't," He hesitates, forcing his voice around the block in his throat, "Don't say that. It only makes this worse."
Another laugh, warmer, but still taunting, "I have never seen you as a brother, querido. Many ways, in many positions, but never as a brother."
"What if I deny you? What if you were wrong? You could lose more than your hands, you know."
The Spaniard goes blank for a moment, as if he is stunned by the very notion, but then the look fizzles off, leaving a thin smirk behind. "You've always been a horrible liar. I've watched you, remember? Listened to you screaming my name while you did such filthy things to your body. Hasn't it always been my name? Mine and G-d's?"
Blood rushes to his cheeks, and he feels ashamed. He never even dreamed that he'd spent those nights in confession.
"Since the first time, I've been completely ruined. Just hearing you say grace gets me hard, Lovino, and every time I go to church, I feel like an ass. I won't say I'm going to hell. I believe that He loves everyone. But if my mother were alive, she'd bathe me in acid."
Lovino had never met his mother, but he doubted the man was exaggerating. ...Even if he wished that he was.
"I've..." His breath caught, "I've ruined that for you, eh?"
"If I say that you have, will you show mercy?"
"Mercy?"
"You can have anything from the neck down, but leave my other senses to me. If I can never touch you, then let me see you, smell you, and taste the smoke from your nasty little habit." At this, he plucks the cigarette from the pliant Italian's lips and lets it drop to the terrace, smoldering against the stones, "Let me hear you, so that I can answer your prayers. I'll give you everything that He can't."
Lovino isn't sure what scares him more: the idea of Antonio touching him until he begged for death, or the idea of dying without ever experiencing that touch.
It gives him that little bit of boldness he needs to stay above water.
"You're a fucking masochist."
"Only because you punish me."
"It doesn't sound like you mind." His eyes narrow, more defensive than angry, "You said that you were the same, didn't you? That you just want to screw me, right? Because I'm such a fucking tease? I liked you better when you were pretending."
"Pretending? I've never pretended with you."
"Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is this, then? Threatening to rape me one second, then spouting about G-d and acid baths and all that creepy shit!"
"So I didn't tell you everything, can you blame me?"
Lovino scowls, preparing an undoubted, 'Fuck YES!', but Antonio holds up a hand to indicate that it was, again, rhetorical.
"I know you can, Lovino, and I know you probably do, but I don't regret it. To be honest, I don't see how this can make things any worse. I'd rather see you furious than filling up some empty hole with cigarette smoke."
"You're talking out of your ass." The words are offensive, but it sounds more like six-year-old Lovi, wandering around, tugging on pant-legs and skirt-folds, asking for a hug.
"I promised I wouldn't lie to you. You had to find out about the contract somehow, and I figured it would be better to come out with it—all of it—than letting you think I didn't really care. I know how you work."
Soft lips press his temple, and Antonio's hands find his hips. "I know that you don't believe them when they say you can lead, the same way I know that you won't believe me when I say I love you. But you'll grow into it."
"You said you've never lied to me. Are you lying now?"
He's making eye contact, now, which is quite unusual for Lovino. The rush of adrenaline it sends through Antonio is more than a little heady.
"Not to you." -Never to you.
Lovino bites his lip for a moment before tentatively brushing his fingers over the Spaniard's tie. Another moment, and he's tugging hard, pulling Antonio's lips onto his.
It's soft and brief, as is the contact that follows, the way Lovino grasps his upper arms tightly, the way he presses the tip of his nose just under under the taller man's chin, half-nuzzling, half-memorizing his smell.
...And then wrinkles his nose.
"Are you wearing cologne?"
"Ah...si...first time."
"Last time. I like the way you smell without it."
Antonio chuckles, "Picky. Should I have your blinds lowered by noon?" *
"I don't plan on waking up wrapped in my blinds."
"...Ah..."
The delicate hands release their grip, and both of them are small and shy again. Lovino, for his part, flushes red and looks down.
"You, too. You ask for things, too."
Strong arms wrap around him, and Lovino doesn't mind the cologne that much if it means being held this way. Antonio says, "I will, querido, but first, we have to go. This is your Family, now. You can mourn however you want."
"...I'll go, but I'm not going to cry."
"That's a tough promise to keep, Lovi."
"Do you think I can lead?"
"I know you can."
"Will you stay with me tonight?"
"Of course."
"Then that's when I'll cry...if it's...okay."
A gentle hand runs through his hair, tilting his head back up to catch the smile just for him. He feels silly now, but he doesn't look away again, "Tell you what, I'll make you a deal. When you're with me, you can cry all you want. But when you calm down, I get to make you happy."
"And if somebody else makes me cry? Would you really shoot someone for me?"
"No. ...Mi arma es para la Familia. Mi hacha es para usted." *
Antonio watches carefully as Lovino processes exactly what that means, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips before he can object, "If I let anyone hurt you, I would save the bullets for myself."
Lovino can't really think of anything to say to that without cheapening the moment, so he reaches forward to lace their fingers instead.
Nonno, he thinks, Non so se avete progettato, ma grazie. *
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And I will be your slave.
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A/N: Below, you'll find translations and explanations for things that might have seemed unclear or that have a more complex significance. There might be a liiiiiittle bit of over explanation. X3 I might add a lemon to this later, perhaps another drabble or story. I like exploring the different universes. I hope you enjoyed the story. :)
Also. Yes. I did intend for Antonio to be feral and frightening. He's not going to hurt Lovino, but he's in no way clean of conscience, and he's not prone to waxing philosophical. He was raised as a groundskeeper's boy on a large estate.
(Psst. The quote is from The Labyrinth.)
And finally, yes, the rest of ;)
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Translations:
Nonno / Abuelo – Grandfather, in Italian and Spanish.
Querido – A Spanish endearment, usually meaning 'beloved' or 'dear'. It's also used to refer to one's lover in conversation.
Obrigado – Thank you, in Portuguese.
Mi arma es para la Familia. Mi hacha es para usted. – My gun is for the Family. My axe is for you.
Non so se avete progettato, ma grazie. – I don't know if you planned this, but thank you.
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Explanations:
Marcello is an actual character—Seborga, younger brother to the Italies, essentially.
The familiar costume – This is the first reference to what Lovino fears most. He knows that, as a Spaniard, Antonio is not capable of becoming a 'made man'. Still, the suit he's wearing is the sort that Rome bought for his men.
The contract – The contract here is not a contracted killing. Antonio cannot take one, as his lineage prevents him from being made. The contract is an agreement he made to act as Lovino's protector.
'You are my G-d, now, Romano, and it's my right to serve you.' - The nature of this statement is powerful for more than just religious reason. 'Romano' is not a nickname. Antonio is literally referring to him as 'of Rome' or 'son of Rome'. In context, Antonio is demonstrating that, whether or not Lovino is supposed to be above him, he has some form of hold on him.
The nights spent in confession – Lovino is relating religious confession to being watched by another person in such an intimate moment. Essentially, he didn't realize that he'd 'had company'.
Blinds raised by noon – A typical demand of 'control-focused' people that the blinds be raised and lowered by certain times. He's assuming that Lovino is trying to calm down by making demands, when he's really confessing that he misses the way Antonio smells.
Mi arma es para la Familia. Mi hacha es para usted. – The translation is listed above. This line serves a variety of purposes.
One, to display that, while Lovino is joking, Antonio is not. He has put more than a little thought into it, and while he's ready to shoot people to perform his new 'duty', he is far more willing to ruthlessly torment anyone who hurts Lovino specifically.
Two, to point out that Antonio is not uninitiated—not only is he comfortable with guns, he has experience wielding a battle axe to inflict maximum harm.
Three, that while he may technically be part of the Family, now, his true loyalty is to Lovino as an individual. i.e., 'I'll serve the others if I have to, but I will raise unholy hell for you, no questions asked.'
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I think that's everything. Please do review, and let me know what you thought of it. :)