Genre: romantic with a little bit of drama
Warning: YAOI, modern!AU, some swearing
A/N: English is not my mother tongue, have mercy on me /0/; written for the prompt "Indecision" for the COWT-2.
Eventually, after you switch off all the lights of the apartment and smoke the last cigarette of this day, you join Romano in your bedroom.
The room is dark, quiet. You undress until you just wear your boxers, and when you climb on the bed the mattress whines a little under your weight.
At first he disregards you.
He is silent, still. A curled ball with the blanket up 'til his head. You can tell he's still awake even though his back is turned to you and his chest raises and drops regularly.
You don't like when he ignores you. It makes you angry.
Usually.
Because this time is different.
Over dinner, you two had a fight. Another fight.
It must have been something trivial, idiotic, because you don't remember anymore why you even started and why you ended that way, with Romano crying and insulting you in his native language before he could hit you with a knife or a pan and stormed away with more Italian swears. Probably you were bored and he was particularly tired or stressed.
Still, it's not the first time you tease each other like that, after all.
Arguments are a constant in your life with the hot head Italian, that's not the problem. Honestly, you spent more time arguing and fighting and spitting insults to one another - until the tension boils over and you find yourselves fuck each other into every surface of your flat. You're quite happy that way, like you haven't been for quite a while now. Things work out just fine at the end and it seems like Romano is enjoying himself too – after all, itwo years/i of engagement mean something. He would have left himby now if he wasn't and he likely wouldn't lose a second of sleep because of that.
But this evening is different.
You know you've crossed a line.
You feel a little sick just to the thought of it. Guilty. Sorry. You rarely had felt that way for anyone but your sister, Alice.
And that's why you draw nearer him and search for him under all the layers of sheets. When you find him, he protests, digs and kicks at you while you try to soothe him in a hug – or to pin him to the mattress, so you won't get killed.
Chest against chest and legs tangled together, you snuggle against him. It's an uncomfortable position, with the Italian being stiff.
"Romano, listen, I..." you start, and you'd like to finish with am sorry, but your mouth keeps shut and those two words seem stuck down your throat. As an alternative, you settle for pressing some closer to his warm body. Your pride will never let you to actually say it, those words will never leave your mouth, and both you and Romano know it.
But you also know that you don't give yourself to cuddling that easily, and if you're smuggling against him that way it only means that you want to make peace with him.
"Leave me alone!," the Italian finally bawls, trying to free himself and hit you again. "Go sleep on the couch, testa di cazzo*!"
"This is my place, Romano," you reply as you grab both his wrists and hold them on the mattress, on the sides of his head. You fix your eyes on him, and he stares back, furious. His eyes are still red and puffy, and you can feel your heart clench at the sight.
"I-I don't fucking care! Go away!"
"I'm trying to be mature here, play along, would ya?," you finally snaps.
"Of course, you mature," Romano laughs, but there is no mirth in it. Just poisonous sarcasm. "You've being a dickhead the whole time! Isn't a bit too late to show you have some brain left under all that hair and gel, you know?"
"Then if you stopped being a stick up in the ass, that'll help for sure!"
Romano's eyes go wide, and you see him biting down at his lower lip.
Fuck. You know that talking back won't solve things between you.
"Whatever," you eventually sighs, giving up. But you sleep on the bed anyway. Romano doesn't kick you out, doesn't speak to you, just keeps silent until you can tell he has fallen asleep.
On the other hand, it takes a while for you to crush, and before you close your eyes finally drifting into slumber you realize you have been listening to the sound of Romano's regular breathe.
The next morning, despite being his day off, Romano helps you choose a tie that matches your suit. You settle your eyes on his face as he's intent on doing up your tie, his green gaze locked on his own fingers. You scan his tired eyes, his long dark eyelashes and the particularly pissed frown he wears for you. When you try to steal a kiss he bumps you away and returns under the covers. He doesn't join you for breakfast as he usually does, nor does he bid you goodbye when you leave.
You get to your workplace around 8 a.m.
At 9.07 a.m. you collect your stuff and without a word leave the office, your gaping colleagues and a livid boss screaming at you.
On the drive home, stuck in the middle of traffic, you wonder about what you would tell him when you'll see him. What you should tell him.
You dwell on the right words, and once you're satisfied you repeat each word, each sentence in your head to make sure you'll remember everything.
For once you're sure you don't want to screw things up more than what they are already.
But as you get to your apartment on the third floor of the block and close the door behind you, the hurricane in your head suddenly goes silent. You step inside, dropping your suitcase and your shoes on the entrance and make straight for the bedroom.
The sheets, flooded with morning sun, are crumpled, empty.
You then hear the shower going. You reach for the handle of the bathroom and slowly open it. A nice scent of Scots pine fills the room, the mirror above the sink and the glass partitions of the shower are misted up with steam.
Romano flinches and threats to serve you an elbow in your stomach as you settle under the spout with him, still fully clothed.
"I'm back h'me," you murmur, before sliding your arms around the Italian's waist for pressing your bodies flush together. In a few seconds you're soaking wet and your gelled crest sticks on your face.
"The fuck, Ian?," he asks, still surprised, still mad. "Why you're not at work?"
"I took the day off," you shrug.
You linger a moment or two against his neck to smell in his scent under the hot water as your hands rest on his lower back, just a little higher of his nice, tan ass.
"If they fire you, don't come home crying to me," Romano grunts, remembering that he's still furious at you, but you can tell he's kind of happy that you risk dismissal for him.
"As if," you chuckle against his lips.
You lean forward to flavor them, to plunder them, and Romano lets you do as you please until he doesn't bite down on your lower lip and force you to break the kiss.
"Hey, I'm still angry at you! You think that you can bribe me with a couple of kisses, you bastard?," Romano glares at you, cheeks burning and fists clenched against your chest.
"Ouch. Guess I can't, after all," you joke. You taste some blood on your mouth before the water washes it away.
You then move a hand to caress his cheek, to run a thumb on his tanned skin. Your lips bended in a small smirk, and you speak, low and soft, as much serious and sincere you could ever be. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
Romano says nothing for a long moment, just looked up at him with an expression that you would never forget.
You guess you're just as surprised as he is.
Most of your relationships had never been more than sexual encounters, and when they weren't, well, they did not last more than a couple of days at most.
You had never search for commitment, never asked to be loved and cared for more than one night, or a blowjob. You had never felt like you needed strangers' feelings for you, and that anybody should have demanded them out of you. You had never been generous, you had never been selfless.
But Romano has been your exception.
Romano has never had the privilege of indecision. Even before and after you two had decided to become something more than just friends, even before and after all those arguments and discussions and fights and silences and cold-shoulder treatments (sometimes deserved, sometimes delivered just for vengeance and what not), you knew he was different.
He has been a challenge from the very beginning. No one has ever driven you this crazy, no one has ever questioned your life. No one has ever crashed in your existence like he did, leaving marks and memories on you that you could not possibly erase nor forget.
More often than not he behaves like a spoiled fuck with anger and trust issues, but it just makes you laugh and wonder that you're just like him, that they are so alike.
"I promise," you repeat, hauling him closer. You feel Romano tighten his grip on your chest, the noise of the shower that keeps running, and then you kiss him again.
Romano's mouth is open for your tongue and he lets out a soft noise when you nip at his lower lip.
When he finally kisses back, you can feel the bad feeling that has been painfully stuck down in the middle of your chest being washed away in an instant. You have only the time to smile at him when you break to breath and then he drags you by your tie still slung around your neck and traps you in an intense kiss. He whines deliciously into your mouth as you take the lead and deepen it.
You slid a knee between his legs to prop him on it and start preparing him with a finger slick with soap, while your other hand toys with his already hard member and your mouth and tongue nip at his soft spot, at the crook of his neck. Romano tips his head back to it, bares his throat for you and lets out a soft sound when you bite him.
"Ian," he calls you, urgently, as he rocks back against your body for more friction. And as your cock replaces your fingers and sinks into him with a slowness that makes him whine deliciously into your mouth.
You begin to stroke his erection in time with your thrusts and then Romano whispered something breathlessly in Italian against your ear and bites down on the sensitive skin. You bump his cock harder, rougher, and he arches when you find the bundle of nerves that makes him shout and jerk his hips against yours.
It doesn't take you much to come, too desperate and overwhelmed by pleasure to slow down and make the most of this. He comes first, and you follow him after a few seconds, emptying yourself in his body with a choked grunt that almost sounds like his name.
The water from the shower washes your semen away, the Italian biting down on your lip with a tiny growl, ass still filled with your cock. You give one last rough thrust before pulling out, tasting another trickle of blood on your lips before the shower washes that away too.
Notes & Translations:
*Testa di cazzo: dickhead.
Comments are always appreciated *O*/