Damn, he was fine.

Lovino turned in front of the mirror, craning his neck around so he could ogle his own ass. The short black skirt fit perfectly—just loose enough that he could move freely, just snug enough that nothing was left to the imagination. He knew that Gilbert only bought it for him as a joke, but like hell was he going to let that beer drinking bastard get the upper hand.

He still owed him for the leather shorts, after all. It was an offhanded comment born from a night of one too many moonlit shots. Lovino hadn't meant for him to act on it, that pervert. So he was going to get his revenge, and damn if Gilbert wouldn't be singing his praises out his ass for a month.

Lovino was Italian; he had a reputation to uphold.

Downstairs, the front door slammed and a familiar gruff voice grunted out a tired greeting, snapping Lovino out of his thoughts and into a panic. Gilbert was home already. He wasn't supposed to get off work for another hour.

Fuck.

"You could've called, you bastard!" he cried, pulling on a lacy camisole and kicking his previous outfit under the bed. He cringed at the thought of his precious designer clothing left in a wrinkled heap. He'd punish him for that later, too, Lovino decided with a huff. But for now he was out of time, and it wasn't without a small pang of disappointment that his eyes skimmed over the makeup he had assorted on the nightstand. When Lovino went all out, he went all out. "And you fucking owe me!" Or owed himself, really, but that was his loss. Lovino felt better justifying it like that anyway.

From his position below, Gilbert scoffed. He nudged open the fridge and started digging past jars filled with sauces and creams and who knew what else his lover and concocted. There was beer in there somewhere, and he was a man on a mission. "Owe you for what?" he asked the silent kitchen. "I just got home, stupid."

"Who're you calling stupid, asshole?"

Gilbert jumped. He hadn't expected an answer so close. He hadn't expected an answer at all. The man turned—

—and stared.

And blinked.

And kept staring.

He didn't even notice when his prized beer slipped from his fingers and went crashing to the floor, bathing it in rich amber liquid and shards of glass. No, he was too busy watching his lover watch him, propped up against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and a triumphant smirk in place of his near-perpetual scowl. His hip jutted out, tanned skin peeking through where his top rode up and his skirt pulled down. Gilbert couldn't decide whether he wanted to let his gaze fall to that tormenting patch of flesh or continue to be captured by smouldering hazel eyes.

He was certain he'd never seen anything sexier in his life.

The corner of Lovino's mouth quirked up further. "Gilbert."

Gilbert swallowed.

"You're going to clean that up."

"E-eh?"

Lovino hummed. He stepped forward, avoiding the mess and reaching up to press a finger to the stunned Prussian's lips. A soft laugh rolled past his own as Gilbert shivered beneath his touch. No need for him to know how panicked Lovino had been a few minutes before. Now it was about keeping character and winning the game and the faint blush that dusted Gil's cheeks and warmed his face. "Listen, Gilbert."

Gilbert's breath hitched. This Lovino—this confident, sassy, sexy Lovino—was only for someone who had won his absolute trust. Only for him. A warm feeling of pride blossomed in his chest between the lust that burned through his veins and the shock that clouded his mind.

"You're not listening."

"Oh." Gilbert blinked, focusing his thoughts once more on the man in front of him. "Yes…?"

"I said you're going to clean this up." When had Lovino moved so close that he could feel his breath send goosebumps across his skin?

"S-says who?"

"I do." Lovino hooked a finger in Gilbert's collar and pulled him down, then patted his cheek. That same playful smirk formed on his lips again and he said, "And when you're done doing that, you're going to get your ass upstairs and fuck me already, you slow bastard. Quickly too, before I get bored and have to deal with things myself."

Lovino walked out after that, leaving his stunned lover where he stood. He was halfway up the stairs when Gilbert let out a particularly harsh curse in German. "Hell yeah, you're gonna fuck me," the Italian gloated to himself, moving faster so that he'd be ready in wait on their bed by the time Gilbert got there.

The desperate, raw lust on the Prussian's face had been a good start, but Lovino had always been insatiable. If he used Gilbert's terminology, he would've said he was simply horny as fuck. But they had the whole night ahead of them to fix that, and Lovino had been taught from a very young age the value of reveling in the spoils of victory.