Summary: Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo believes he has met his soul mate during a coincidental encounter in which Lovino Vargas (surprisingly) helps him. When they meet again in a seedy bar, he's convinced it's fate. Lovino doesn't remember his small act of kindness or the overly-cheerful Spaniard, but due to Antonio's good looks and a bit of liquid courage, he agrees to a one-night stand. Unfortunately for him, the curly-haired man has no intentions of leaving the memory of their relationship to that one night, and Lovino's friend Gilbert is dead-set on making a career out of match-making: starting with them.

AU in which they aren't countries and Lovino and Gilbert are friends because that's how it works: they either get along great or hate each other's guts. Feliciano and Ludwig are also significantly younger than their older brothers.

Disclaimer: don't own it, but it's so fucking hilarious I'm glad I don't cause I would've fucked it all up and then nobody would write fanfics like this.

Chapter 1-

Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo was thinking—something very rare due to his incredibly short attention span, but apparently not impossible. As for why this spacey Spaniard was turning the wheels in his roomy head, well: he'd just met an angel. A snarky, hot-headed, swears-like-a-sailor Italian angel, but an angel nonetheless.

In all honesty, his heart was probably working much harder than his brain, but for once that oblivious brain of his was making use of the oxygen his heart feverishly pumped into it, and his cheeks were gladly accepting the impending flow of blood.

This no-name angel with a strange but endearing wayward curl on his head had left his mark deep in his heart, and carved his heavenly image into Antonio's small portion of permanent memories.

Sure, all the Italian had done was lend him a tissue (with a look of disgust that the Spaniard chose to omit from his love story) after he sneezed in the station while waiting for his train to arrive, but details-shmeetails! Antonio was nothing if not a determined man, and he knew that nothing would stop him from seeing that enticing Italian beauty again.

All this unusual thinking was abruptly paused, as the train announced its arrival at Antonio's destination.

Hopping off with a jubilant skip in his step, the curly-haired brunette made his way to his best friend Francis' house, brimming with the excitement of his encounter and the anticipation of the plans he and his friends would make to ensure the success of his love life.

—¥—

Lovino Vargas was not a patient man, and this new client was making that so painfully obvious. The bumbling idiot couldn't get to the fucking point already, and he was clearly new as he didn't know that flattery will get you absolutely in the fucking middle of nowhere with Mr. Vargas.

"—and, um, you l-look like you k-know what you're talki—"

"Yes, Mr. Thompson, I assure you I do. That's why I'd love it if you'd be so kind as to tell me what you're looking for rather than what you're currently looking at." Lovino cut his client off with a curt reply, redirecting the conversation in a more professional direction.

God he hated these idiots! As the customer finally got the hint and started blabbing on and on about his ideas and desires, Lovino's mind drifted to a topic that would both worry and calm him down: his sweet baby brother Feliciano. He had dropped Feli off at daycare this morning, and of course the social butterfly practically flew into the room—undoubtedly towards his potato-head best friend Ludwig—so Lovino knew he didn't need to worry so much about his whereabouts. He also knew however, that Feliciano is the world's most adorable airhead, and as long as a sketchy man with a pedo-moustache promised he was a 'friend' (and a piece of candy would help), his helplessly idiotic fratellino would skip happily into their pedo-truck and drive off to his doom.

These thoughts continuously harassed Lovino's worn-out mind, yet his adorable little Feli was also the most calming presence in his tired head. Lovino could count on one hand the number of people in his so-called 'inner circle' and Feliciano was always—and would always be—number one.

With a much calmer disposition, the Italian's hazel eyes focused on his client once again, as the 'stupid bastard' wrapped up his little speech on interior design.

Knowing that he heard none of the customer's requests, Lovino put on a deceivingly charming smile and asked, "I like to do my job thoroughly, so would you send me your full request and any changes by email? It would help me execute your wishes successfully; you have my card."

"Y-yes! Absolutely! Thank you so much for your time Mr. Vargas," the man stuttered, cheeks flushing at the sight of the beautiful man in front of him.

Easy as pizza pie Lovino scoffed in his head. Dismissing the client on good terms, he heaved a relieved sigh. Jesus, why does he have to get all the stupid pervert bastards who waste half an hour fawning over him or staring at his ass?!

The feisty Italian is surprisingly one of the top interior designers in his firm, due to his highly skilled interpretations and decisions, as well as his professional stability and composure in front of the clients. Lovino is known as the angel-in-disguise, and he lives up to the name every day. He knows just what each client thinks of him and exactly how to manipulate them to snatch up contracts left and right. As long as it puts food on the table for his beloved fratellino, he's fine with dealing with perverted old farts for a living.

As his mind wanders to his cute little Feli again, Lovino's phone buzzes in his coat pocket. Reaching inside and digging out his new iPhone (okay, so his job does a bit more than just putting food on the table), He sees a text from his friend Gilbert.

Probably another play date, Lovino thinks as he checks the time on his office clock while simultaneously unlocking his phone to see the message.

POTATO-FUCKER: Hey, un-awesome bitch! Since I just happen to be so awesome, I'll take Feli off your hands while you go get laid for once!

Just as he suspected. The 'Prussian' bastard had a weird way of putting it, but basically Feliciano had begged poor Ludwig for another play date at his house. Chuckling to himself at the thought of Feli throwing himself on the socially retarded German, Lovino replied.

MAFIOSO BITCH: Alright Potato Bastard, when should I drop him off?

POTATO-FUCKER: Nowhere! The awesome me is going to pick him and Luddy up from daycare while you go spread your pretty legs for gay Spanish men!

MAFIOSO BITCH: Are you taking him today? When should I pick him up?

POTATO-FUCKER: Yes today, otherwise I wouldn't be wasting my awesome time talking to the not-as-awesome you! And you keep avoiding the topic of getting the best sex of your life!

MAFIOSO BITCH: Alright when should I pick Feli up?

POTATO-FUCKER: You are being SO un-awesome right now! It's a sleepover so go get your ass pounded into the mattress of some shady motel! Pick him up when you wake up with an awesome hangover!

MAFIOSO BITCH: Okay I'll pick him up tomorrow. Now I can caught up on my work. This new client is annoying as fuuuck!

POTATO-FUCKER: The only fuck you should be concerned about is the awesome one you'll get if you go to my friend's bar tonight! Free drinks for awesome people, and if you go I'll put a word in~!

MAFIOSO BITCH: … gimme the address.

As Lovino waited for the albino's reply, he thought over his decision. Lately he'd been so swamped he could barely get any alone time with his friend Mr. Dildo, let alone a real man. Yes, Lovino was about one hundred percent gay, but so what if he liked it up the ass? It felt too damn good to care. With how stressed he'd been lately, and with a break finally opening up in both his work and Feli schedules, he supposed it was about damn time to get a good fuck in. He wasn't going to go so far as to hunt for any decent guys (Lovino is pretty picky since he can afford to be), but if anyone promising showed up at this bar Gil was introducing, he'd be more than willing—especially with a few drinks.

Feeling refreshed and filled with renewed energy, Lovino glanced at the clock again, sighing in relief as he started gathering up his things to finally go home.

Just as he slid his phone into his coat pocket, standing up to leave, the silky-haired Italian felt the familiar buzz of an incoming text message. Pulling the phone back out, he glanced at the lit up screen and smiled down in anticipation at the address displayed.

Lovino Romano Vargas was going to get laid tonight.

—¥—

Unbeknownst to the little Italian, a Frenchman, a Prussian, and a Spaniard were cheering and celebrating with a six-pack of beer, as their 'Operation Italian Ass' (named by Gilbert of course) commenced.