AN/ Heeey it's been a while! So first I was binge-watching One Piece, which meant I hardly had time to write; and then I got writer's block. :'D But I got over it and now you have a brand new chapter to enjoy! (Also the longest so far, I think.) Before it starts, a, um, warning? Nah, basically let you know that the characters' ages are nuts. Like, they have the age they need for the sake of the story. Just so you're aware. (If you want and kindly request it, I'll start the next chapter with a quick review of the characters' ages.) And that's it; hope you like the chapter!

TIGHT ROPE

Chapter IV

"Your neck is sunburnt."

Arthur groaned. He was leaning back against Antonio's broad chest, his friend reclined against a pile of pillows and holding him tightly against himself, and he was almost half-asleep when Antonio had spoken.

"Is it?" he mumbled, yawning.

Antonio hummed in confirmation and kissed a spot in Arthur's nape. "Not too badly, though. It's pinkish." He slid his thumb against the coloured skin, watching in fascination how it turned white for a few seconds. "It's a bit funny, don't you think?" he said after a while, chuckling. "A pirate that gets sunburnt?" he whispered into Arthur's ear, teasingly.

"Go to hell," Arthur grunted. "There's a reason why Gil and I will rather stay around the British Isles than in the Mediterranean."

"If it makes you feel better, I quite like your fair skin," Antonio laughed lightly, kissing Arthur's freckled cheek.

Arthur sighed and pressed back against Antonio, fitting his head in the crook of his neck. He wasn't in the mood for Antonio's games, but he didn't mind being held like that a little longer.

It was always Antonio who initiated the cuddling. Once he was done with Arthur (or Arthur was done with him, whichever happened), he'd wrap his arms around the other's body and hug him tight against himself, sometimes placing soft kisses wherever his lips reached. Arthur sometimes wondered if he behaved like that because it was him he was with, or simply because he just liked to cuddle after sex.

The thought always made him smile. Who would ever think that the infamous, feared pirate captain Antonio Carriedo was a cuddler?

Arthur was aware that Antonio had many faces, and he knew not many people had witnessed the one he got to enjoy. He also knew everyone would be surprised by how caring Antonio actually was. Sure, he liked being in control and everything had to be done his way, but he never did anything Arthur didn't like, always made sure both of them were enjoying it, worried about him once it was over.

All things considered, Antonio was Arthur's favourite lover.

He often wondered if the feeling was reciprocated.

"How long are you staying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Three nights," Antonio answered. His thumb started to trace circles on Arthur's chest, tickling him. "You?"

"I'll set sail one day after you." He twisted his neck so he could look at Antonio's face. "Will you come again tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

"And the day after?"

Antonio smiled and pecked his lips. "Definitely."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

His stomach growled again and Lovino threw his head back, groaning. The last time they had brought him any food had been the previous day, right before they docked; he wasn't sure how long it had been since then, but he was certain it was already well past noon. He was hungry, thirsty, and very pissed off. Had all the pirates really forgotten about him? Had he really survived a boarding by one of the deadliest pirate crews of the Mediterranean only to starve to death in a dirty brig?

"God-fucking-dammit," he cursed in Italian, curling up when his stomach protested again, resting his head on his knees. "Fucking, stupid pirates; assholes, sons-of-a-whore, curse them all to hell and back."

"I didn't understand a single word, yet I feel personally attacked."

Lovino's head shot up at the already familiar voice. Raúl was standing at the end of the stairs, an amused expression on his face and, more important than anything, a tray with food on his hand.

"I'm hungry," Lovino growled.

"Yes, I figured you'd be. That's why I'm here," Raúl smiled, unfazed by Lovino's bad mood, and finally walked to his side and left the tray by his side. "Take it easy," he chuckled when the boy started to devour everything, not even caring that he was still in shackles. "Here, I also got you some water," he said, dropping a small barrel next to him, "and you can have some of my rum if you want," he added, pulling a small bottle from his pocket.

"I've never tried rum," Lovino said in between chews. "Is it too strong? I've only drunk wine."

Raúl snorted and mumbled "rich Italians", thankfully low enough for Lovino to hear. "It is definitely stronger than wine," he answered. "Want to give it a try?"

Lovino hesitated for a moment before shrugging. "Why not?" He put the tray aside and grabbed the bottle Raúl offered him. He took it to his lips and furrowed his nose when the strong smell reached him. For a moment, he considered giving it back, but then he decided he'd rather go ahead with it than standing the pirate's mocking comments, and without hesitation took a long, deep chug.

"Motherf—!" he cursed in Italian at the burning in his throat, interrupted by a violent coughing fit so loud he barely heard Raúl's laughter.

"Okay, that's enough," the pirate said, taking back the bottle and taking a sip himself. Then he sat back on the stairs and watched, amused, how Lovino fought to catch his breath. "First chug of rum — now you're a little more of a man," he cheered, raising the bottle as if for a toast.

"I already was a man," Lovino protested once he recovered, discretely drying his eyes with his sleeve, and immediately after focusing on the food again.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Raúl tilted his head to the side. "How old are you?" he inquired, realizing for the first time that he hadn't asked before.

"Seventeen."

"Huh." Younger than he had expected. "Are you married?"

Lovino shook his head. "I could be. It's not like I didn't have offers." He shrugged. "But my father wants to wait; he hopes that sometime soon he will arrange a marriage into a noble family. Why do you ask?" he frowned.

"I don't know. I thought you were older; had kind of assumed you were married. I got curious."

"Well, no I'm not," Lovino confirmed. "… I suppose you aren't, either," he added after a pause.

Raúl snorted. "God, no. No one in the ship is. Our profession isn't the best for building a family," he chuckled. "It's not like we want to, either. We all love it here—wouldn't trade it for anything!"

Lovino bit his lip and tried to focus on what was left of the food. The pirate's words had stirred something inside him.

As a child, he had loved belonging to a wealthy family. He had had maids and butlers always by his side, fixing every mistake he made; there was no problem his family's money couldn't fix; he got to enjoy the best meals Italy had to offer, in a big mansion that kept him warm during winter and cool during summer. But as he grew up, he had realized that not everything was as wonderful as it seemed.

He despised the idea of an arranged marriage. He always had. Ever since his father had first brought it up (around four years ago), Lovino hadn't stopped fighting him about it. Eventually he came to accept that he would have no choice in the matter, but he still had made sure to let everyone know how much he disagreed with it.

And that wasn't the only problem he had encountered. He had never had any real friends, just other kids who swam in money that only hanged around him because they were bound to be business partners in the future. He had never been allowed to join the commoners during festivals, no matter how much he wanted to dance and drink with them, get a taste of the fun they seemed to have. The rules of etiquette had been shackles; different from the ones that held him captive now, but just as real.

So when their new business partner in Spain had demanded that a Vargas travelled with the cargo, he had taken the chance. Convincing his father to let him go had been relatively easy (a stern "I need to prove myself as a worthy merchant" speech had made the trick); his mother had been tougher. But both had agreed, in the end, and never before had he felt freer than when the ship had left Naples. Those days sailing the sea had been the best in a very long time… until the pirates had attacked.

Lovino hated pirates. They were despicable men who plundered, pillaged, robbed and raped, with no regard for laws of any kind. The crew he had travelled (lived) with for weeks had been wiped out just so those men could afford a couple of days of women and alcohol. They destroyed lives and businesses with no shame whatsoever.

And yet, when Raúl shared anecdotes with him, with a clear, joyous voice and a lively glint in his dark eyes, Lovino couldn't help but envy them.

They were free in a way Lovino could never aspire to be.

It made him wonder if anyone was ever truly happy with what they had.

"Hey, Lovino," Raúl called, pulling him out of his thoughts and back into reality.

"What?" he mumbled. The pirate was staring at him in curiosity, surely wondering what had kept him silent and downcast for so long, and for a moment Lovino feared that he would pry.

But then Raúl leant forward and his lips twisted into an amused smile when he asked: "Have you ever been with a woman?"

Startled, Lovino dropped the tray (already empty, thankfully) and opened and closed his mouth as he tried to come up with a witty answer.

"I'll take that as a no," Raúl laughed. "I've never seen anyone blush like that!"

"I—You—Oh, shut up," Lovino finally growled, crossing his arms and looking away, embarrassed.

He wasn't prepared for when the pirate, turning his smile into a mischievous smirk, said: "If you want to call yourself a man, we'll have to remedy that, don't you think?"

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lovino asked yet another time. "If they discover us—"

"They won't," Raúl interrupted. "Look around: everyone's too busy having fun to bother looking twice at a couple of passers-by."

Lovino's amber gaze danced around himself in paranoia, in fear that some other member of Carriedo's crew would recognize him. However, after a while he had to admit that Raúl was right: nobody paid them any mind. The pirate, clearly in his element, guided him through the streets of Ibiza with confidence, as if he didn't care one bit about the consequences of freeing a prisoner, and something in that attitude made Lovino believe that they were safe.

Still, he couldn't help worrying. "We'll be in trouble if someone finds out," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'll be in way more trouble than you, so stop worrying. Besides, to find out you're gone, someone would actually have to go back to the ship… which, believe me, won't happen," he chuckled. "And the people on the streets will only think something's odd if you run away from me — which you aren't going to do," he concluded.

"Oh yeah? And how do you know that?"

"Because," Raúl said, throwing his arm around Lovino's shoulders and pulling him close, "for better or for worse, I'm your only ally on this island. And you're not stupid," he smiled, friendly patting his chest.

No, Lovino wasn't stupid. The thought of running away had not once crossed his mind: in a town like Ibiza, it would be his doom, he knew it. He may manage to escape El Diablo, but what then? He'd be alone in a lawless city. The chances of landing somewhere worse were high; that, if he did manage to outrun Raúl, which he doubted. And he didn't want to anger the man in charge of feeding him (his only ally, as the pirate himself had said).

Maybe, just maybe, Lovino kept objecting because he was nervous. Because when he had agreed to Raúl's proposition, he had believed the pirate was joking. And he still wasn't sure he wanted to do it. I could still ask him to take me back to the ship, he thought, biting his lip. He'll probably make fun of me, though…

Too lost in his internal dilemma, he barely noticed when Raúl announced: "Here we are!" What brought him back to reality was being pushed through a door into a small, poorly illuminated hall, facing a counter behind which a tough-looking woman sat.

"Here again?" she said to Raúl, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Didn't you have enough last night?"

"I don't think anyone can have enough of your girls, Eli," Raúl replied, a charming smile on his face. "But I'm not here for me," he quickly added, pushing Lovino forward as if that explained everything.

"That's Miss Elizabeta to you," she corrected before leaning over the counter to study the boy. She had long, brown hair and olive eyes; she was very pretty, but — Lovino noticed many wrinkles — a bit too old to still work as a prostitute. Managing the brothel was probably her way of remaining in the business, and Lovino instantly knew she was good at it. He had met few businessmen with such determination in their eyes. "What's with this pretty boy of yours?" she asked. Her words were decorated with a foreign accent, but Lovino couldn't place it. "You know I don't employ men."

"It's not that," Raúl burst out laughing. "We need to make a man out of him — you know what I mean." He leant closer to her, as if to tell her a secret. "Maybe get him one of the nice girls, yes?"

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Elizabeta replied, pushing his face away. Then turned her attention back to Lovino, scanning him as she tapped her chin, pondering. After what felt like an eternity, she finally turned and yelled: "EMMA!"

After a few seconds, the door behind her opened and a blonde head peeked out from behind it. "No need to scream, Eli, darling, I'm not deaf," the woman said sweetly. "What is it?"

"I own the place; I'll scream as I please," Elizabeta stated. Then pointed at Lovino and said: "Customer."

"Oh?" She walked out the room and around the counter, and Lovino blushed and looked away when he saw her almost see-through clothes that left little to the imagination. Emma noticed and smiled at him, amused. "How long?" she asked.

"Half an hour," Raúl answered. "It's his first time."

Emma raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Really? A pretty boy like him?" she chuckled. Then she moved closer to Lovino, her voice a soft purr when she whispered into his ear: "Let's take this upstairs to somewhere more private, shall we?"

Blushing even redder, Lovino could only nod and follow Emma as she took his hand in hers and guided him to the stairs. Before going up, he gazed back at the hall: Elizabeta was snickering; Raúl gave him a tumbs-up. It didn't ease his nerves.

He didn't say a word as they walked through the brothel, all his energy focused on not collapsing and ignoring the moans, screams and creaking beds he could hear behind closed doors. It felt like an eternity until they finally stepped inside a small, empty room.

"Welcome to the love chamber," Emma said, closing the door behind them and sitting on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. "A bit unpleasant to the eye, I'm afraid."

Lovino swallowed. "N-No, it's fine," he managed to say, although he refused to meet her eyes.

"So you can talk," Emma snickered. "You really are nervous, aren't you?" She eyed Lovino with something akin to pity. It wasn't hard to see that the boy was young (He could be my son, she realized), inexperienced, and scared. "Come here," she said, patting the empty space on the bed next to her. Lovino obeyed slowly and hesitantly. "Do you really want to do this?"

"I—um…" he stuttered. Truth be told, he didn't know what he wanted. He was the heir of a wealthy (very wealthy) family, and the prospect of sleeping with a prostitute in the Mediterranean haven of vulgar delinquents didn't sound like the most appealing setting for his first time. If his father ever found out, he'd be disowned on the spot. Then again… He had agreed to Raúl's proposition, and he had followed him all the way there. Shily, he looked up at Emma and, for the first time, really looked at her. He took in her blonde shoulder-length hair, her sparkly green eyes, her red lips and rosy cheeks, her generous curves. "You're very pretty," he blurted out before he could refrain himself.

Taken by surprise, Emma's eyebrows shot up and she remained silent for a couple of stunned seconds. Then she let out an amused—yet still flattered—laugh. "Thanks!" she smiled, charming. "You're very handsome yourself. But…" she moved closer, "you haven't answered my question."

Lovino barely hesitated for a couple of seconds before gathering up all his courage, throwing all his doubts out the window, and kissing her.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

A knock on the door startled Antonio awake. He groaned when he realized he had fallen asleep in the tub; the water was cold and his neck was stiff. This is what happens when you don't get enough sleep at night, he mentally scolded himself. Then again, it was hardly his fault — no one could resist Arthur's green eyes when they darkened and silently asked for a second round. Or a third.

There was another knock, this time followed by a voice: "Antonio? Are you there?"

It was Francis. Antonio sighed and yelled a 'yes' as he left the tub and started to look for a towel.

"Great," Francis said, entering the room. "I wanted to—fuck, Antonio, you could have told me to wait," he protested when he saw his captain walking around the room stark naked.

"Oh, come on," Antonio waved his hand. "It's not like it's the first time you've seen me naked."

"For some reason, it's only appealing when I'm the one who has undressed you," he replied casually. "You were with Arthur last night, right?"

Antonio, who had already found a towel, stopped drying himself for a moment to glance at Francis. "Yes," he answered. "Are we too obvious?"

"No, what you are is loud," Francis corrected, rolling his eyes when Antonio smiled proudly at him. He grabbed a clean shirt that laid on the bed and tossed it at him. "Do me a favour and get dressed."

"Alright, alright. Did you come just to mother me?"

"Actually, no. I came to tell you about the letters to the Vargas family."

"What about them?"

"Well, I've only found one person who was willing to deliver a letter, and I have my doubts he'll finish the job."

"So?" Antonio shrugged, nonchalant. "You wrote three copies for a reason. We can send the other two from another port."

"I guess you're right," Francis sighed. He hadn't expected Antonio to care much about the letters, but he had decided to inform him anyway. At least he hadn't suggested that they got rid of Lovino and all the trouble it was keeping him with them.

"Of course I am," Antonio smiled, smug. He sat on the bed, turning his back on Francis, and began putting on his boots. "It's part of my job as captain — I'm always right."

"You wish," Francis replied, climbing on the bed behind him. "If it weren't for me, you would have died years ago."

"That's not—auch!" Antonio protested. Francis had taken a hairbrush out of nowhere and had started to comb his very tangled and knotted mane. "What the f—agh! Francis! Stop it!"

"There's no way I'm letting you go out with this hair. You have a reputation, cheri."

"I swear, Francis, you're the only—ay!—person in this goddamn island who gives a shit about that."

"And, lucky you, I also happen to be your best friend. Hey—stop squirming! Antonio!"

Ten minutes of fighting and bickering later, Francis finally deemed Antonio's hair to be decent enough to go outside. The captain, who hadn't stopped complaining throughout the whole process, muttered what Francis assumed to be curses directed to his mother as he threw on his coat.

"You'll pay for this," he warned, his index finger pointing at him in threat.

"Oh, I'll be waiting," Francis smiled. He knew Antonio would never lay a single finger on him. It wasn't the first time he had received death threats; nor would it be the last. "Are you going where I think you're going?" he asked, changing the topic as he followed Antonio out of the room.

"Probably, yes."

"I'll go with you. Shall we fetch Gilbert?"

"Oh yes."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"You hadn't mentioned you were Italian."

Lovino blushed madly as he rebuttoned his shirt. At some point, too lost in the pleasure, he had forgotten how to speak Spanish and had ended up whispering fervently in Italian. Emma seemed to have found that incredibly amusing.

"Hm," he muttered, too embarrassed to form a proper sentence.

Sex had been easy. Emma, obviously much more experienced and skilled than him, had guided him throughout the entire act, and Lovino had liked it. God had he liked it.

But then, once it was over, all that was left was a cocktail of emotions he didn't know how to handle. He felt equally euphoric and ashamed; he was just as calm as he was nervous. He didn't even know if he regretted having come or not.

"Hey, big boy!" Emma called.

Lovino flinched, startled, and realized he had already finished dressing but had been lost in thought for a while. He glanced at the prostitute, who was standing next to the open door.

"I'd love to have you here longer, darling, but you have to pay for that," she said, a playful tone in her voice.

"Uh—Sorry," Lovino mumbled. He rushed to the door and walked out, trying to ignore his burning cheeks.

Before he could run away, Emma threw an arm around his shoulders and forced him to walk at her (slow) pace. "That wasn't bad, you know?" she smiled. "Not bad at all. Am I going to see you again?"

Lovino was certain that his cheeks were glowing red. "N-No, I don't think so," he stuttered. I so hope I never set foot on this island ever again. "B-But I too think it was… nice."

Emma giggled and kissed his cheek. "Well, at least we both get a good memory."

Lovino managed a shy smile.

And then, just when they were starting to walk down the stairs, he was suddenly yanked away from Emma and smacked against the wall. He gasped when all the air was knocked out of him; before he could complain, a hand was pressed to his mouth to shut him up.

"Keep quiet," Raúl whispered. He looked nervous.

Frowning, Lovino threw his hands up in exasperation, but complied and didn't say a word. Raúl would explain soon, or so he hoped.

Emma raised an eyebrow and stared funnily at them for a couple of seconds before shrugging, deeming it wasn't her business, and continuing on her own.

Lovino heard her steps walking down the stairs, heard how they stopped abruptly right before they reached the end; and then heard Emma's excited, happy scream:

"Antonio!"

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

After picking up a much less hungover than Antonio expected Gilbert from his room, the captain and the two first-mates had left The Black Snake and walked straight to the brothel. There were many in Ibiza, but that one had always been, by far, their favourite.

Antonio had barely been fifteen the first time Alistair had brought him there, and since then he hadn't bothered visiting another place. He wasn't sure about his friends, but he knew the three of them visited it for the same reason: there was an irreplaceable person there.

Elizabeta's eyes gleamed when they walked in. "Antonio Carriedo! It's been a while," she said in greeting. "Emma is busy right now, but she'll finish soon. Ah, and look who's here, as well — Francis Bonnefoy himself!"

Francis smiled, charming. "My dear Eliza, of course I'm here! I tend to be where my idiotic captain is. Is Jeanne available?" he asked before Antonio could get offended.

"Yes." She pointed upstairs. "Usual room."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed in French. "See you later, guys," he chirped before rushing upstairs.

Finally, Elizabeta turned her attention to the last one. "Beilschmidt," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You don't know when to give up, do you?"

"Uh—Toni, what did she say?" he asked, confused.

Amused, Antonio translated.

Gilbert had been trying to seduce Elizabeta for years, but the strong-headed woman never seemed to give in to his very lame attempts at seduction. Francis and Antonio had long ago lost count of the times Gilbert had been rejected; according to Arthur, it was easily over a hundred.

Still, Antonio didn't believe that they had never ever slept together. Gilbert was stubborn, yes, but to the point of chasing the same (seemingly uninterested) woman for years? Antonio doubted it. Also, he knew his friend would brag about it the moment he made it to Elizabeta's bed, but he knew as well that Gilbert would keep his big mouth shut if asked to. Even more if it was Elizabeta herself who asked.

He had never understood Gilbert's fixation with Elizabeta, but his albino friend was probably the most stubborn person he knew (excluding himself). He refused any criticism ("Isn't she a bit old for you?" "Emma is older than you, too." "Yes, by four years—not fourteen!") and always claimed that, for better or for worse, they were sworn to each other.

Maybe, he mused, it was futile to try and understand those two.

Perhaps it was a bit naïve to apply the rules of regular people to Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Antonio started to pace around the hall. A few girls walked by, but none talked to him. After his first few visits, they had learnt that he was only interested in Emma, and had stopped offering themselves. Antonio was glad for that.

Bored, he tried to eavesdrop Gilbert and Elizabeta's conversation. They were speaking German, which he didn't understand, but maybe he could read the tones of their voices.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before he heard a voice he knew very well calling his name:

"Antonio!"

And the next moment, Emma had run to his side and was hugging him tightly. He laughed and returned the hug, lifting her off the ground. She yelped and demanded, between fits of laughter, to be put back on her feet.

"Oh, I'd missed you," she purred, pulling apart so she could look at his face. "Let's go upstairs?"

"Of course," he smiled. "Hey, Eli? I'm going to borrow Emma for an hour," he said to the manager, interrupting her chat with her admirer.

"And a half," added Emma, cheeky.

"An hour and a half," Antonio corrected. A pause, and then: "Maybe two."

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow and looked at the couple: Emma was standing on her tiptoes so she could rest her face against Antonio's, both her arms around his neck, and he was holding her against him by the waist. "Are you sure?" she asked. "You just finished with another client."

"So? I don't mind, and neither does he," Emma relpied. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I don't mind."

"He doesn't mind."

The manager shrugged. "Okay, then. As you please." And she resumed her conversation with Gilbert.

With a cat-like smile on her face, Emma grabbed Antonio's hand and, without a word, guided him upstairs.

AN/ I don't know why, but I'm afraid Francis steals the show in every chapter. He's such a mother~ Anyway, thanks for reading. Review? :3