WARNINGS: This contains rape. I do not, in anyway, intend to offend anyone and am not trying to be an insensitive asshole. If you are not comfortable with the said thing, please do not take the time to flame or bash or do anything in the name of hate towards me. They will be ignored.
Author's Note: I've had this for a few months now. This was originally going to be a multi-chaptered story, but I figured I won't have the time to write or even think of how the story is going to play out. My first Spamano fic (and second Hetalia fic to be posted)... I hope it's not that bad. I really tried my hardest in writing their characters but I think my Lovino and Antonio are not quite like the countries (yeah... a bit OOC), but then again this is a human AU. And lastly, I know the ending is a little bit... off? or something... I just hope it doesn't bother you too much.
Reviews are very much welcomed :) I don't remember ever editing this so feel free to point out mistakes. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or any of its characters.
Lovino struggled under the man's weight. His arms were pinned over his head by a single hand and a knee pressed just above his abdomen. He tries to tell himself this wasn't happening. Tongue brushed against his lips. He struggles, eyes closed. But the man wasn't letting him resist. The pressure of the knee became more that he couldn't help but let out a gasp, thus, giving the intruder the chance to invade his mouth. He could taste cheap cigarettes and beer. The bundle of muscle took its sweet time exploring the younger boy's mouth. Disgusted, he tried to lift his knee in an attempt to escape, but the heaviness over him left him immobile.
A free hand roamed under his shirt. Roughly caressing every patch of skin it comes in contact with. It went higher and higher, then tore the boys shirt completely off of him. The sudden exposure of his body gave Lovino goose bumps. Fingers brushed against his sensitive buds, earning the man a small reaction. He ran his fingers over them several times, playing and toying with them before having them between his index and thumb. Another restricted gasp came out from the Italian. This time, his mouth was set free. Fingers rubbed and flicked and teased. He bit down on his lips to keep from making a sound.
His own clothes were used to tie his hands. One hand was wrapped around his throat - not tight enough to choke but enough to keep him from screaming- and the other going lower and lower. He tried desperately to tear the fabric binding him off, but to no avail. He felt his pants along with his boxers being harshly pulled down and soon the whole of him was exposed to his captor.
"Such a lovely, lovely boy," the man murmured. His voice was husky and coated with lust. It sent shivers down Lovino's spine. His mossy green eyes were illuminated by the single light bulb lighting the abandoned warehouse. It frightened Lovino. They were the picture of greed and lust.
It was ironic, really, that Lovino was facing a large clear window as he was being violated - as if escape and freedom was in front of him yet he still couldn't grab it. He was trapped with the man in a building that stood in the unpopulated part of town.
The treacherous hand rubbed his member eagerly and pleasure slowly started to build up. As his captor did so, he trailed kisses on the boy. He kissed Lovino's cheeks, his lips, and his jaws. He sucked on the boy's jugular and left a small bruise.
"Ughh… sto – nghh…" The feeling was becoming more and more intense. Breathes became ragged and sweat rolled down his brows. He tried struggling but whenever he did, the pressure on his throat chokes him. The man moved faster sending the boy in a crazed hysteria. Not long after, Lovino's stomach was covered with the white sticky substance he has released.
"Hah… hah… let me go…" His voice was hoarse and teary. The hand on his throat was removed and he quickly brought his bound arms over his face to cover his tears. He heard shuffling of pants and instantly, he was consumed with more fear. He began to struggle again, attempting to lift himself but a fist was brought down on his chest making him lose a breath. "Shut it, you little slut!" He yelped and dared not move.
Lovino was so, so tired. If he knew this would happen, he would have taken up Matthew's offer to stay the night. He could have been safe sleeping in his friend's room if he weren't so stubborn then. His Spanish neighbour had warned him not to walk along at night. Why hadn't he listened?
He knew the answer though: pride. He hadn't wanted to seem so weak in front of Antonio. Despite the serious look and tone of voice the Spaniard had when he told Lovi this, the Italian just shrugged it off.
He was an idiot. Look where that silliness got him - trapped under a stranger and being violated.
He felt a finger push past his entrance. He screamed then. He had let out a shrill he never knew he could do. A hand was once again violently pressed down on his throat. Even then, he didn't stop. More entered him, scissoring and stretching. He screamed and screamed even though it hurt breathe now. The pain was unbearable. He was being torn in two.
'Dear God! Kill me! Kill me now! Please!'
OooO
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo typed furiously against his keyboard. The words flowed softly from his brain to his fingers. No filters, no edits, it was his purest thoughts. He knew that some parts of the article would be omitted, rephrased, or altered completely, but that's not his to worry about (though it was frustrating when they do that especially after telling them specifically not to without his permission). But that was how things worked and it wasn't like the changes were big enough to really bother the Spaniard. Still, it would be better if the author himself knew and not be surprised of the final article published in whatever medium he was supposed to write for.
He had once again managed to dawdle until the night of the deadline. It wasn't the first time and it also wasn't the first time his scolding himself and muttering that it will never happen again. If he were to choose what was the hardest thing being a writer, there's no doubt Antonio would pick keeping up with the deadline. It was his waterloo.
His editor, one of the most feared in the company he works for, will surely not be pleased. Elizaveta would surely reprimand him until his ears bled.
"Just a few more… this and that and this… and done!" He exclaimed. In less than eight hours, Antonio Carriedo finished a ten thousand word long commentary about healthy living conditions for growing teenagers. He sent the document to the Hungarian editor and happily shut his device off.
He stood from his office chair and lifted his long limbs up. As he stretched, he was sure bones and muscles were relaxing into their proper places now. He yawned and set his reading glasses on his desk.
The clock on his nightstand flashed '2: 15 AM'. Considering it an ungodly hour to bathe, he hit the pillows instead. Before he drifted fully into unconsciousness, he heard the slam of the door of his Italian neighbour.
'Must be Lovi in a bad mood…' he thought.
OooO
He sat on the cold tiled floor as he let the cold shower run over him. He hugged himself, gripping his shoulder tight. He couldn't even look at his own body though the smell of blood being washed was evident. Aside from the red liquid, white substance flowed from him. He couldn't help but feel the bruises and his scraped back.
It was disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting.
He was disgusting.
He was disgusting and alone.
He felt so fucking worthless.
'I could have fought harder. I could have stayed with Mattie. I could have… I could have…'
Then the tears wouldn't stop. His head hurt. His waist hurt. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
It was a miracle how he had dragged himself all the way home. The numbness had helped him greatly then. The feeling of emptiness and the overwhelming despair that blocked out his mind helped.
And perhaps, coming home to an empty apartment in a crappy building where no one cared nor talked nor greeted anybody helped.
He grabbed a handful of his hair and screamed as loudly as his spent voice can.
In reality, he was so, so messed up and nothing helped.
"You love this, don't you? Being taken up in the ass?"
No. He's wrong. He wanted it to stop.
"Look how lively your little man is."
He could feel the man's lips on him. He hated it.
"Hush, you insolent boy!"
He went faster and deeper hurting Lovino form within and all he could do was to scream and scream and scream until there was no voice left.
"Lovino Vargas - pretty name for a pretty face."
He lay there limp – whimpering - as the man rummaged through his bag.
"Oh who's this? A brother? He looks just like you. I wonder if he'll feel the same. Perhaps, better? What do you think?" The thought of the man touching his baby brother the way he did him made his blood boil. "FUCK YOU!" He managed to shout even in his rough voice.
It earned him a kick in the chest.
"You must be pretty rich to be going into this university –" he said, inspecting the school id "– Doesn't hurt to hit the ground every once in a while, does it?"
That fucking bastard didn't know anything.
Lovino Vargas had practically raised himself after being thrown out of the foster shit system. He's been on his own for long, relying on the help his brother's adopted parents are graciously giving and a little of his old man's inheritance.
He was on full scholarship studying to be a graphic designer. In addition, the professors were allowed to give him as many tasks as they need, being a scholar student and all that.
And right now, every little thing he worked so hard for is falling apart.
The shower was turned off, a towel wrapped around his waist. He tries to stand but ends up holding the wall for support. He takes a step and immediately recoils as pain shoots through his spine. He whimpers. In front of him, he sees himself in the mirror: hair loosely stuck to his face, eyes red, and lips bruised from biting. He hated it, hated himself, hated what happened to him, hated the man, hated the world, hated his parents for dying on them, hated his brother for being so much better than he is, hated those couples who looked at him with eyes full of contempt, and hated the people who abandoned him. Then all at once, it seems like every single thing he had desperately tried to ignore, tried to hide, and tried to deny came crashing down. It was as if gravity failed to work and everything that used to hang over his head came, tumbling, burying him in the sea of despair and damnation.
"Damn it." He muttered in a raspy voice.
Then he just lost it. Grabbed the bar of soap and threw it against the mirror with vehement force.
The shattering it did as the soap made contact with the glass irked Lovino. He huddled in the corner not minding the water seeping through his towel, put his arms over his ears, and shrieked for the nth time that night, though there can't be doubts that it was much worse that he already had done. His voice was cracking and his throat hurt from overuse yet he continued to let out the gut wrenching sound as if his life depended on it.
OooO
At the sound of the crash, Antonio Carriedo jolted awake. He ran out of his bed still wearing what he had had a few hours ago. He had been bordering sleep and consciousness trying to listen better at the commotion next door. It wasn't until that loud, disturbing sound of crashing glass that he confirmed something was wrong.
Though his Italian neighbour was rarely a person of sunshine and rainbows, Lovino Vargas never ever lashed out, especially not on his properties.
He knocked a few times calling out Lovino's name as loudly as he could without drawing more attention from his neighbours. But he was more or less convinced than no one else would bother with the boy. On the fourth attempt to knock without answer he went back to his room.
He swept papers here and there uncaringly in desperate attempt to find a pin.
"This would work better." Antonio turned his head to the owner of the voice. There stood Arthur Kirkland aka the land lord's brother who also lived on the unit beside Lovino's.
"Go check on your Italian before my stupid American decides to barge in. and I'm not doing this for you or the rude kid I just want everything in order. Got it?" Antonio could only nod though he was really, really grateful for the man. It was thoughtful of him considering neither was very fond of each other. He was very grateful even if Arthur insisted that it was for his own selfish reason.
He went straight to the room. What he saw there horrified him. His face paled and anger coursed through his veins.
Lovino's pants were stained with dried blood. It lay discarded on the floor just beside the clump of cloth that was once a shirt.
He pounded on the bathroom door. When no reply came he broke the door down not thinking of the possible consequences.
That moment, he swore he felt his heart splinter. The sight of the brunette hurled in the corner in fetal position and passed out broke him. But seeing the large bruise on his chest, the hand prints on the wrist and neck, the bruise the waist, and small but plentiful scratches on Lovino's back… it killed Antonio.
"Oh Dios mio… Dios mio… Lovi… Lovi…"
He was careful not to step on any glass as he carried the younger boy to the bed. He cradled him in his arms, murmuring comforting words yet crying all the same.
"Lovi… Lovi… my sweet, sweet Lovi…"
Antonio pressed his lips on the Italian's forehead before laying him in the bed. He grabbed a new set of pajamas and clothed the other male, uncaring of what the normal outburst would have been if it weren't the situation.
After making sure that Lovino was comfortable in his bed, the Spanish man cleaned the mess that was left on the tiled floor. It wasn't until sunrise that he was all set to stay by Lovino's side.
He held the younger man's hand as he took the space beside him. Neither sleep nor peace will come to him, he was sure. His brain can't seem to grasp the severity of the situation yet. It seemed so impossible and unreal. Even with the evidence, it was hard to accept the fact that something very unpleasant happened.
OooO
The pain won't leave him.
He could practically feel the man's breathe on his neck.
Wait, something is indeed there.
Hands were tangled with his and a weight was around his waist.
He was trapped again. Under the man, he was powerless. No matter how hard he fought he was weak against him.
Mossy green eyes haunted him matching the devious sneer and taunting laughs.
"ARGHHH!"
Lovino sat up and froze from the pain coming from his lower back. He arched his body in an attempt to reduce the sickening feeling. Then, hands were put around his shoulder trapping him in another man's chest.
"No, no, no, no, no, please, no more… stop…"
He was yet again in another state of hysteria.
The gentleness and care in Antonio's movement were left unnoticed as the memory from the previous night plagued him.
Lovino tried to push away the chest, to break free from the grasp. But the hold only tightened, but still enough space to be considered tolerable.
"Shh… Lovi… it's me… it's just me… no one's gonna hurt you… love… Lovi… it's me…"
At the sound of the voice, he calmed. Slowly, he lifted his face to meet Antonio's. And then it was okay. It was okay to be weak. It was okay to cry. It was absolutely fine to let it all out because it is Antonio.
The anguish sobs that wracked his whole body was a knife that repeatedly cut through the older male.
He was hugging and clinging to man harder than how he had tried to break away.
Antonio was there. He wouldn't leave. He wouldn't hurt. He'd make things fine. He was there. He won't leave Lovino alone. He wouldn't. He really won't.
It wasn't until half past one in the afternoon when Antonio decided to get up. He's been awake since the boy's outburst earlier. He was only getting up because he knew Lovino would eventually need to eat. He'd rather be prepared than not.
OooO
"Look, staring at me with such a serious expression wouldn't change my mind. If it weren't for this food, I'd have your butt out of this apartment in a heartbeat." Lovino took another spoonful of whatever Spanish dish his neighbor had cooked for him. "You know this is trespassing, bastard. I can sue you and Eyebrows."
"Oh so you're saying that you'd rather sue me and Kirkland for trying to help than to tell the police of the man. I can really see the logic there, Lovino." Antonio didn't even use his pet name as he spoke with such seriousness, eyes hard and jaws tight.
The Italian said no more after that. When he stood, the man was already beside him, guiding him and keeping him from falling. There was a noticeable limp in his walk and uneasiness when it comes to other people's touch – even if it was Antonio.
"Lovi," Antonio said his voice back to its calm, gentle, and warm demeanor, "let me carry you to your bed. It hurts, doesn't it? You can just close your eyes or something."
"No." Lovino didn't even blink.
Though it was a little reassuring that Lovino retained most of his self, it riled the Spaniard that he was still as stubborn as ever even though it was painfully obvious he needed help. Every time he walked, he'd suddenly stop in his tracks and he'd be out of his self before snapping awake from his reveries in a scare.
"I can walk, you bastard. Go back to your office and write whatever shit you need to. I'm fine."
Fine is the last thing Lovino Vargas is that moment and Antonio wasn't just going to stand by.
Before leaving the apartment that afternoon, he left a duplicate key of his apartment on Lovino's bedside while the said boy slept.
The anger he'd been trying to restrain only got the best of the brunette when he was sitting on his chair desperately trying to start on the new article he was asked to write. For moments he stared blankly at the blank document in front of him. He had tried and failed continuously to form a coherent sentence. "What does one say about healthy and happy living conditions?" He murmured to himself in a flat monotonous tone.
"There are many different kinds of –" he stops and presses the backspace until all the words were deleted "– Living in a healthy… –To be happy … – In an environment where… ––"
Lovino. Lovino. Lovino.
Everything comes back to Lovino.
Lovino. Lovino. Lovino.
The time flashes 8:00 PM. Lovi goes to bed around ten. Antonio contemplated on checking up on him. He knew he wouldn't get his work done anyway and the article isn't due until next week. The Spanish man was almost completely sure his life would be revolving around the grumpy Italian.
The laptop was shut down and papers, stacked on the table as neatly as the man could. "I wonder if he's had dinner," he said to no one as he locked his door.
Using the spare key he got from Kirkland, Antonio entered the apartment when no one answered his knocks.
The place was in the same condition as when he had left earlier. The dishes were undone though the table was clean. In the living room, he found Lovino curled uncomfortably on the couch; a thick blanket covered him, still, he shook.
There were tear tracks on his cheeks and his breathing, ragged. Antonio does not know just how many times he felt his shatter then, in that less than thirty six hours.
Ha carried him to his room with utmost care and the shorter male curled loving into his chest. Slowly, the crease on his forehead disappeared. As he set the boy down on his bed and prepared to leave, Lovino's arms wrapped around his arms tightly.
Thinking it wouldn't do any harm to stay a while longer, Antonio hopped into bed. He hugged the boy closer and for a few minutes, he laid there caressing Lovino's face. He gave a small peck on the forehead. Unintentionally, his eyes grew heavy and before he knew it, he was sleeping soundly.
For the second time, Antonio spent his night beside Lovino, though the situation wasn't any better, he felt more at ease.