Author's note: Sequel to « To begin ». Modern SpAus.
To begin again
Antonio lounges gracefully on the couch, Roderich coming around it to sit and handing his friend a glass of wine. "Hmm? Oh, thanks. I hope it's not Spanish, I have enough wine at home."
"It's from your favorite vineyard here," the Austrian informs him. He watches Antonio swirl the deep red liquid in his glass, smelling it before taking a sip. "Is it as good as you remember? This bottle seems fruitier than the last."
"Yes it is," and he places the glass down on the coffee table, Roderich doing the same. "Tell me, how have you been?" When Roderich raises an eyebrow to ask what Antonio was really getting at, the Spaniard laughs and adds, "I heard the Hungarian had a date this week."
"She has many dates," the Austrian concedes, "as a woman of her beauty should have." Antonio smiles coyly. "What?"
"I'd have thought you'd be more jealous is all."
"I'm pissed as hell and more jealous than should be legal," Roderich admits lamely, leaning against the back of the couch; their bodies face each other. "But she is at liberty to do as she wants, and I would not take that freedom from her now that she has it. But, she was my friend before she was my lover and my wife, she knows that. Erzsi will always hold a special place in my heart."
"It was hard to let her go," his companion observes.
"Well of course. I loved her, deeply; I had not seen what others felt was always inevitable, the dissolution of our union."
"Unlike with ours?" Roderich sighs, his eyes taking in the smiling man beside him. He lets one hand reach out to take Antonio's, lacing their fingers together.
"You and I saw it coming. I'd like to think we were prepared for it, said what we wanted to say and left no regrets."
"I will always regret saying goodbye to you," Antonio grins and that surprises the Austrian who quirks his head. "I've never loved anyone else, the way I love you." He doesn't point out that that was in the present tense, blushing.
"You had Lovino," Roderich says lamely. He knows that's not exactly the same but he, along with everyone else, also knows his ex-husband was a little too attached to the southern Italian. Their relationship has been a turbulent one but they always seem to come back together, even after the two Italies were unified. Roderich hadn't even realized they had broken up yet again if he was being honest with himself.
"I haven't had Lovino for about twenty years now," the man mumbles, resting his head on the back of the couch and letting his beautiful green eyes close. "He still comes to me sometimes for help or advise, but I think that's just because he has literally no one else to turn to."
"He has Feliciano," but the Spaniard shakes his head.
"He doesn't want others to see him as weak, including his brother, especially knowing his brother would tell your cousin."
"None of us want to appear weak before others," Roderich observes and Antonio nods.
A pleasant silence falls over them, Roderich taking a few sips of his wine as Antonio holds his hand, a thumb rubbing his wrist. "I miss you," the other man finally says.
The Austrian leans back, smiling, until he sees the gaze in his companion's eyes. A gaze that's different, not just light conversation but something more. Other lovers Roderich has given in to, over the years and well after their time for such relationships had passed: Erzsi, whom he could never turn away; Francis, though he hates that man that has only ever tried to take from him; even Gilbert though mainly because he likes to control him, to pound into him and watch the Prussian cry out. With Antonio it's always been different; they've been able to smile at the past and reminisce warmly without doing… that.
The man scoots closer and Roderich's face begins to burn, a hand cupping his cheek. "I miss you," Antonio repeats and without hesitation Roderich kisses him, pulling the Spaniard down on him with a force he didn't have when they were first married, barely men. His back hits the couch cushion, their bodies shifting so that the man on top of him was also between his legs. "Te amo Ruy," Antonio says against his lips, the only one Roderich has ever allowed to call him anything but his proper given name.
"Te amo Antonio," and he pulls the man back down for another searing kiss.
In the bedroom lips against his neck mutter, "Remember our first night?" and immediately Roderich understands the implication. He crawls onto the bed on all fours, naked, his ass in the air for Antonio to take in. The Austrian shakes his hips a little, proud to see he could still get that sort of reaction out of the only one he has ever allowed to see him like this. Centuries have passed but Antonio is still Antonio, his Antonio.
It hurts less, his body used to these movements, his mind calm as he moves with the thrusts, Antonio kissing his shoulders and back. Once done they lay together, making no effort to cover their bodies with the sheets because what was there to hide from the only one they kept no secrets from? Antonio had told Roderich all about his days with Francis, how they'd experimented. And Roderich had written about his changing feelings for Erzsi, his confusion as borders so drastically shifted around him. No secrets, not for them at least.
"What do you say," the Spaniard asks, "to you and I giving us another go?"
Rolling over to half-lay on Antonio's chest, Roderich lets his fingers play with the dark chest hair before his hand slides up to stroke a cheek. "I would be open to that," and he smiles, kissing his lover. After all, who said they couldn't begin again?
In a busy Viennese square they stop to get coffee, Antonio wrapping an arm around Roderich's shoulders. They laugh as they continue down the street, hand in hand, an easy comfort. And when his boyfriend wants to stop in a bookstore to look for something, Roderich reflects on how nice this feels to be comfortable in his own skin again. He didn't feel agitated or put upon or put off, just… happy. Maybe this was what most people felt that so often he found hard. The happy-go-lucky Spaniard bounces back.
"Found it!" he near-sings: a Spanish-German dictionary. "Because I've become awful at your language without you," Antonio admits, Roderich paying at the counter. The Austrian simply shakes his head, leading them out.
Back outside a cold wind blows, both men instinctively stopping to hold each other close. "Dinner?" Roderich asks. "I have a place in mind."
"Lead the way," and they set off down the street, winding around a corner. It feels good.