Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
A/n1: Ah, I'm really tired lately… God, I can't stand it. Must be because of… well, this fic, of course, and because of school. It's not really going well at school at the moment. :( In fact, in about a few weeks, I'm forced to skip a week of updating, since I'll have to turn some very important papers in, which are, up to this point, still not finished. So I need some all-nighters. Ugh… I hope my work will be good enough to make it to the fourth year of school. I really can't handle any more obstacles right now. DX
A/n2: …sorry for that – depressing A/n is depressing. ^^;;; Still, don't worry: aside from school, I'm doing fine!~ To prove that, I've add some bonus-quasi-smut near the end. YAY!~
A/n3: Spain has been in the (bad) news again: looks like it's not going really smoothly over there. Unemployment, getting blamed for having dangerous germs on cucumbers and tomatoes (really – it already killed over 15 German people!), complaining students, demonstrations… Looks like Toni has got more to worry about than just his economy…
** Bottoms-Up! **
Chapter XXXVII:
Backside
(Skybe4ts)
I really didn't feel like getting glared at by some chivalrous American for the rest of the already ruined afternoon – of whatever what time it was – so I did what I did best, aside from frowning and cursing:
Yes. I ran away.
I just… took off, as hard as I could and as soon as I saw the opportunity to do so.
(…which happened to be the exact moment a very round, red-faced man came our way to ask America if he wanted to shoot a picture of him and his tumbling family – and of course America wanted to help his nameless best friend, so I took my chance)
I think America must have yelled something to me as he fidgeted with the camera, but I didn't pay attention to it and just fled to Antonio's House, kicking open the door and slamming it shut right after. Then I leaned my back against the hard surface and slid down to the floor, gasping for breath and gripping my sweaty face in confusion.
It was true. I wanted to know Antonio better. I wanted to know everything there was to know about him. So…
Was…
Was that what all of my trips were about?
To find out what made Antonio Antonio? What made Spain Spain? Really?
…
…gah. And here I was, thinking I was only doing it because I wanted to top him in bed…
…
But it makes sense. And, well, maybe I should be glad I secretly had a more sensible goal than sex all along. Yeah, maybe…
…
I…
I was scared, though.
Scared of Antonio's past. Scared of all of the things the other nations had told me about him over the past weeks. Scared of the things that had yet to be find out about him. Scared of a future with him. Scared of a future without him.
But I still wanted to know.
I still wanted to understand.
Because maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to become a worthier lover and better friend if I did.
xXx
Think I was safe behind the door of Antonio's House? Think again.
Because all of a sudden, some crazy idiot began to bang on the door like some motherfucking dipshit, and even though I might have jolted up a little bit when Antonio's poor front door was attacked like that (shit damn fucking insane hammering gave me the shittin' heebie-jeebies dammit), I had expected it.
After all, America wouldn't be America if he had let me escape from his grubby claws that easily. Bastard had come here all the way from America… no, wait, England, just to try to stop me from a trip I was going to make next Friday. It was Sunday now. Hell, then you know you're dealing with a persistent creep.
'Romano!' I heard the American yell in between his door-molesting activities, adding some rhythmic kicking to the already really loud slamming- and pounding noises he was making, '…open up! I know you're in here!'
I glared at the – still very much closed and locked – door and moved away from it.
'Wow, no shit you know I'm here – you saw me running towards the damn House, you dense moron!'
'No! You're the dense moron here! Why the hell would you run to the House, of all places!' America said – and gave the door another taste of boot.
'Because! There was no other fucking place to run to!' I yelled back.
I could almost hear his eyes, rolling.
'Pssh! Please. You could have, oh, I don't know… jumped in a car and race the hell away or something…'
I added some furious finger-pointing-to-the-door to my yelling, cringing slightly because of the mindless kicking on the other side.
'Yes! Yes, I could have done that! But! I… I didn't!'
…
Apparently, snapping at doors and annoying Americans/Europeans right behind them had made me lose the ability to form actual sentences. And to use my hands normally. You know, without the huge "huu-aagh!"-gestures and all.
…
It is a word, dammit!
…
Oh well…
XxX
Anyway, I think America was saying something to me – while happily continuing his assaults, dammit.
Yeah… Too bad I couldn't hear shit of what the stupid American blond was shouting at me, since those freaky tourists (who were still wandering around aimlessly around the garden oh sweet god WHY for some fucked-up reason) had come over to him and started to chatter with him. All of a sudden. Just like that.
In… like, 10,000,000 languages!
…
Okay, maybe only five of them. Whatever. Still sounded like 10,000,000 different ones.
Dialects and all. You know.
Yeah…
I actually almost felt sorry for him when I heard America was desperately trying to convince the excited photo-snapping fatties to please get the fuck out of his way (without really telling them to get the fuck out of his way, 'cause like wussy Lithuania, politically-correct America didn't swing that way).
So instead of simply elbowing those fat bastards away, he started pleading. Well, maybe not downright pleading, but I already know that's what I'll be telling Antonio later anyway, just to make him think I was being totally cool and badass for laughing at America's misery behind the locked door all cowardly and bratty and shit.
…
…even though Antonio would probably not really see the greatness of it.
…
Neither would I, actuall—
Oh, fuck it.
'Hey! Ouch – watch it, people! I don't feel like getting trampled toda—OW!' America yelped, probably slowly getting smothered by all those sun-burnt Spain-fans, 'Mister! Yeah, you! With the burly mustache! Keep your hands to yourself, thankyouverymuch! And—YOUCH! Who's leg is this!'
I didn't know to be either amused or disturbed by the aggressive jabbering I heard from outside (and in so many different languages, too!) the door, but I stayed put and looked around me, searching the hall for some heavy things I could place in front of the door in case the babbling American rambled his way in.
No luck so far… ugh. I cursed and ran a hand through my hair.
'Dammit…'
Wait, that cabinet… hmmmm.
Meanwhile, America still had a hard time controlling the European continent outside.
'Ow, ow! What… no, miss – hey, a nametag! – De La Bourbon, which is a very crazy name, haha, I won't take a picture of you and the naked ass-sculpture over there! Can't you see I'm busy right now?'
…
…what the fuck did he call that sculpture?
'He's lying, Miss From-The-Land-Of-The-French-Fuckface, he totally wants to take pictures of you and the pretty statue! Of ALL the pretty statues!' I impulsively shouted through the door, 'cause that's right, nobody spews around shit about motherfucking ART and gets away with it when I'm around, dammit! NOBODY!
Naturally, Miss From-The-Land-Of-The-French-Fuckface – at least I think it was her – squealed and clapped her hands in enjoyment… which made America gasp.
'What the… Shut up, you Italian jerkass – NO! Don't believe him, miss… Bonbon-something! OUCH! Take that camera out of my face, mister – nametag, nametag – De Bruin… god, what the hell is up with that name… OOF! Get off my foot, I need to get inside!'
'Like I'd let you!' I said, and pushed the large cabinet in front of the door. Ha! Hahahahaha!
America made a growling noise and started shaking the door – don't know how he did that, but boy, did that door started to shake all of a sudden.
'Open up, Romano! Open up! You're making a big mistake if you're going to England! You know you are!'
A nauseous feeling welled up in my stomach and I gripped the sides of the cabinet as I pushed it even more against the door, the legs of it screeching over the hard floor.
'S-shut up, you fucking asshole, you don't know what I know!'
'I won't shut up!' The larger nation bonked on the door again, the noise louder than the babbling tourists around him, '…and neither will I leave this country, at least not until I've managed to convince you to keep away from Iggy!'
I squeezed my eyes shut and lowered my head, molars pressing down hard on molars as I kept pushing the stupid cabinet.
'Just g-get lost already! You can't convince me anyway! Give it up!'
The American snorted haughtily at that. 'Me, giving up? Phah! Never! I'm a hero, after all – and heroes don't give up or get distracted by minor –OW! Now, that's IT, I've had enough of your… ngh, show me that damn nametag of yours, mister… mister… Jones?'
'Hero or not – you will give up this time! Get lost already!' I snarled.
'Your last name is Jones, mister? Really?' America started to laugh. 'Whoa! Amazing! So is mine!'
I blinked with my eyes and peeked from behind the cabinet to glare at the door. Bastard was having a sudden talk with one of the tourists. What the…
'Yes! Indeed! Mine's Jones, too! What a coincidence! So, what are you doing in Spain? On vacation with the wife and kids, hmm?'
…
On vacation with the wife and kids?
On vacation with the fucking wife and kids?
HMM?
Holy goddamn fuck!
'Hey asswipe!' I snapped, feeling strangely neglected, '…you better not be ignoring me again, you lousy basta—'
'Can I befriend you on Facebook, "mister Jones"? Hahahahaha! Nice! Yeah, thanks!' America chattered, too busy to pay attention to my shrill yet manly shouting.
'America! HEY!'
'Ah! Your wife's English? You don't say!'
Out of sheer frustration, I dug my fingers in the sides of the wooden furniture in front of me.
'That's IT, I'm SO fucking releasing the HOUNDS now, dammit! I'm—'
My sentence was cut off as two hands were suddenly pressed down on the cabinet, on either side of my own hands – and I could feel a warm, tall(er) body standing behind me, even though it was barely touching me.
I knew those slightly bigger, slightly calloused hands. I knew them very well.
…
Looks like Antonio had heard me.
XxX
'Lovino…'
Antonio sighed and moved his hands on mine.
'…why are you moving my stuff and shouting things about releasing "hounds", my love…'
'Because of that fucking American douchebag!' I sneered without even looking over my shoulder at him, nodding at the door instead. I could have pointed to the damn thing, of course, but it would be a pity if I'd shrug his hand off just to do that. Because…
…
I don't fucking know, alright? Sheesh…
'America? He's still here? Ah, how annoying…' Antonio heaved another sigh and took his hands off my own, gently grabbing my hips to turn me around, so he could face me.
'You bet he's still here – cut it out, I'm pissed!' I continued, pushing his hands off me, '…he won't go away! He says he's staying here! In Spain!'
Then, as I watched him a bit better, I noticed how exhausted the Spaniard looked, looking at me with a pale face and a somewhat hurt expression… and I instantly swallowed every word I wanted to say, quickly grabbing his arms again and wrapping them back around my waist.
'Lovi…?' I heard him say in surprise.
'S-sorry, dammit… sorry…' I grumbled and hesitantly stroke his (very cooperative) arms, too fucking embarrassed and ashamed of the easiness in which the apologies rolled off my tongue to look at him – so I stared the other way instead.
He was quiet for a while, but then he chuckled softly and pulled me closer.
'Ah, I wanted to tell you this earlier, but, well… you have become nicer, Lovi. Feli said so as well. You're… ah, kinder, I guess. More approachable.'
'I'm not, dammit…' I muttered weakly and rested my face against his broad chest for a little bit, '…I-I'm still as harsh as always, you ass…'
Antonio laughed. 'I like it a lot. The way you keep denying your sweetness, the way you keep on scowling and frowning while hugging and holding me… ah, I like it very much. It what makes you special.'
I gripped his shoulders, my eyesight getting somewhat blurry. I can't believe his compliments still had this effect on me.
'I'm not fucking special.'
'You are.'
'I-I'm no—'
'You are, Lovino.' He gave me a light squeeze.
'U-ugh…' I increased the pressure of my forehead against his stupid nice torso, '…s-stubborn asshole…'
'You're not easy to deal with either.'
'Will you shut up already?' I grunted, pulling away from him, '…and what the hell are you doing, frolicking around the house like a stupid little bitch! I thought I told you to go to bed!'
'You did! And I was planning to do so!' Antonio nodded, letting me go, '…but I had to call my friends first, remember?~ Ah, they sounded so glad to hear I was back in my House! Francis even said he'd might pay me a visit later to show me his appreciation for me!'
…
I fought the natural desire to slam my head against the wall.
France? Wanting to show Antonio his "appreciation" for him, huh? That couldn't be as innocent as that gullible idiot had probably interpreted it to be, judging on his cheerful tone.
I mean, gosh. I sure wondered how the fucking French bastard wanted to show his appreciation. It couldn't be something pervy, could it. No, it couldn't. Ooh.
I raised an eyebrow, silently encouraging him to go on.
'Ahaha! He was talking about a "lovestick"!~' the Spanish nation explained.
There you go.
Ugh. I guess I should lock all of the doors, windows and chimneys later.
'Did you also call Belgium?' I decided to ask the Spaniard, ignoring everything he had said about the French fuckface because that horny asshole didn't deserve to be mentioned again.
'Femke? Oh yes, I've called her. She was happy to hear of me.' He frowned. '…she didn't really understand Russia's greetings to her, though.'
'Sucks to be her, then.' I rolled my eyes. I had always thought Belgium was smarter than she looked, and that she could take a hint or two, but it seemed like I was wrong at that.
…
Call me a soft-hearted wuss, but at some level, I hoped she'd get it in time.
'Anyway!~' Antonio suddenly called out, smacking his hands together and beaming a huge smile at me, '…calling the others didn't take much time, and after I had informed them of my well-being, I really wanted to go to bed! But then I remembered you said you'd be joining me!'
'Might! Might be joining you!' I sputtered right away, face flushed.
'And so, I was like, "okay, let's just make the bed and get it all nice and comfortable for Lovino and me!", ahahaha!~' he carried on.
I gave him a suspicious glance. 'Nice and comfortable, huh?'
Antonio's face grew red. 'For sleeping, Lovi, for sleeping only!'
Since it worked so fucking well, I repeated some of his last sentence again.
'For sleeping only, huh?'
Antonio was silent for a bit, but then smiled coyly, rubbing his arm.
'…ah… well, we could always do other things in bed as well if you insist…'
'Oh, shut it.' I couldn't help but laugh at that. '…predictable moro—'
'…but really, Lovino, you have to believe me… I really only… um, only want to… you know, sleep with you. As in sleeping. With you. Together, as a couple. Just that.'
Antonio's voice was soft as it interrupted me, and the flustered bastard was fumbling and twiddling and fidgeting with his thumbs and fingers stupidly as he gave me a loving look – that immediately sniper'ed the grin off my face and made room for a feverish blush.
'Oh.'
…was all I could say.
I cleared my throat and did my best to make a light frown appear on my forehead. It didn't really work out, though: that a-annoying bastard was just being way too fucking kind and sweet and freakishly adorable to deserve something as lousy as a frown, d-dammit…
'So…' Antonio took a step forward and quickly pecked me on the cheek, '…will you… ah… join me to the bedroom, Lovi?'
'U-um…'
I hastily looked from the cabinet to Antonio to the cabinet again to Antonio again, so damn hastily that it felt like I was fucking swirling my brains around.
'What is it?' Antonio asked, blinking.
'W-what about America…' I stammered, not-protesting as Antonio slowly took my hand in his, '…h-he's still outside with those crazy tourist-friends of his… don't you think it's stupid to go have a siesta while that idiot is roaming free in the garden?'
Antonio shook his head lazily. 'As long as he stays in the garden, I couldn't care less, Lovi. And that's one tough cabinet. It'll do.'
'You sure are awfully calm about this.' I observed dryly.
'Ah, I am! That's because I'm tired. And besides, what can I do? You won't let me fetch one of my axes anyway.'
I gave him a sharp glare. 'Damn straight I won't let you grab that shit!'
He pouted. 'But Lovi, what else am I supposed to do n—'
'Just put some more stuff in front of the door – then I'll go make sure all other entrance-possibilities are locked and secured. Maybe I'll even put some electricity on them! Oh YES!'
'But…' Antonio said, confused as he released my hand, '…isn't that a bit harsh? America hasn't done anything wrong, has he?'
'Says the guy who was happy to smash that same America's skull in just a few moments ago. With a freakin' halberd.' I reminded him with narrowed eyes, walking away, '…and who said I was talking about being harsh to America?'
That's right! I'd fucking fry a certain fuckfaced Frenchman if he dared to get his fifthly French mitts on these doors, dammit – and his friggin' lovestick, too!
Appreciate that!
xXx
So.
After that one wacky day full of tourists, half-assed siestas and creepy fuckfaced nations frying themselves on the doors/windows/chimneys, the rest of the week passed by rather… normally, I suppose.
…
Well, sure, America camping in the garden with the flag of his nation as a tent for the past few days wasn't exactly what I called "normal".
Neither was his strange habit to walk around on the grass drowsily while only wearing (BRIGHT PINK WHAT HE FUCK) boxers after waking up, but still, it could have been… weirder. Yeah, I was pretty sure of that. I'm a (half) nation, after all – I've seen stranger things than that.
…
But oh my GOD, how ANNOYING it was to open up the curtains every single day (with a whining Antonio clinging to my waist and effortlessly begging me to keep them shut) and to be greeted with the sight of a butt-scratching, teeth-brushing (in front of the small fountain), PINK-BOXER-wearing American – who always chose exact that particular moment to turn around and wave at me like a brainless idiot.
I never waved back.
Antonio did, though.
Yeah.
Easygoing moron had got used to him pretty quickly after we found out that America really wasn't going to leave this place until he had got his way. And even though the Spaniard was utterly confused of America's being here in Spain and all (America didn't tell him anything about my -and his own- plan, which, admittedly, made him a bit less douchebaggery), Antonio was still fine with having him over: party because he still thought America had brought him those (now gone) nice, rich tourists to patch up his economy, partly because America had promised to stay outside (and look after the garden) and partly because Antonio just… liked having people over.
…
Oh god, it seemed so fucked-up. First swishing around an axe at the blond freak, then all of a sudden being downright glad with his presence? What the hell?
…
Well, as for me, I blamed his personality. Here's my theory:
See, some nations are always annoyingly happy (Feliciano), some are always batshit insane (Russia), and some are always flipping between batshit insane and annoyingly happy (say, oh, Antonio). Now, these nations simply didn't know any other state of mind than their own standard-ones.
So, if Antonio wasn't allowed to bash America's brains in (=his batshit insane side), there was only one logical option left: be thrilled to have him over (=his annoyingly happy side)!
And there you have it!
…
Oh.
Oh my god, that theory was good. No, that theory was fucking brilliant.
Man, why didn't I ever go to college? Damn, I'm so fucking smart, it's not even funny! I should totally write a book about my findings and call it "The Tomato Theory" – by Lovino Romano Vargas (Ph.D.).
HELL YES!
…
…but who'd want to read that shit.
…
Oh well – it was a nice thought.
But anyway, putting that aside…
I… well, I had to give the crazy American in the garden some credit for what he was doing.
Because, like me, he was willing to go to great lengths to protect/support his lover. Constantly being here, away from his English boyfriend, ready to tackle me to the ground if I had the guts to cross the garden in order to go to England…
…man, that's showing you care!
…
But it wasn't enough to convince me to change my plans.
I was still going to see England this Friday, like the both of us had agreed to.
And that meant I was going to tell Antonio I was planning to do that as well.
No camping or tackling American who could prevent me from doing that, because…
…because I also cared, dammit.
XxX
Right…
It was already Wednesday-evening when I repeatedly told myself I should tell Antonio what I was going to do on Friday.
I purposely didn't want to wait for Thursday to tell him, because… well, that would be too late for my liking – and that would be yet another reason for Antonio to get angry (or angrier) with me, which I really didn't want to happen.
So I chose to do it on Wednesday. When we were lying in bed, in our PJ's.
I was reading a book, he was watching a stupid Spanish cartoon on TV.
Yes. Like an old (un)married couple.
Disappointed? Expected more action? Yeah, in that case, be prepared for this: we had more sexless days than you'd think!
I mean, of course we didn't have sex every single day – oh please god no, my poor butt wouldn't survive that! No, we usually had a… um, sex-break of a day, before we'd jump each other again. Sometimes two days, if he had been really, really rough with me. And sometimes, on really rare occasions, I didn't get any for three fucking months – nudge nudge wink.
…
…b-but sure, it also happened that we simply skipped the sex-breaks and happily sexed around for three days in a row, without ever leaving the bedroom… but those horny days were extremely uncommon. We only did it that much if we both were extremely in the mood. And even then it was extremely exhausting. Days after, we'd still not be able to walk normally – yes, that goes for Antonio, too: he once almost let his bladder explode because he refused to go to the bathroom, saying it "hurt too much" to pee.
Fucking wuss.
But I digress.
…
Um. So yeah, today, it was Wednesday.
And if I had calculated it right, tonight was one of our regular sex-days.
…wh-which normally meant, in this case, that Antonio and I would probably read and watch TV for just a little while longer, before the sexual tension would finally become too much for us to handle, and then some glances would be exchanged and eventually, books and pants would be flying across the room very stylishly.
…
But if I was honest, I wouldn't mind it to happen right now, actually.
Since… since Antonio and I hadn't done it anymore after that last one time in Italy (thanks to that America asshole spying on us), I currently was pretty much trembling in excited anticipation. My fingers were so restless, I couldn't even flip the fucking pages of my goddamn book, for God's sake.
W-was Antonio also feeling this way?
I sneakily gave the Spaniard next to me a sideway look.
At first glance, he seemed to be not bothered by the feverish atmosphere at all: he was just snickering and giggling at the dumb cartoon, sitting on his legs like a child.
But when I looked a bit closer, I could see he was giving me looks at me as well, his eyes hooded and his smile a bit less broad when he noticed my own nervous, hopeful glances.
It made me blush and I quickly focused on the pages of my book again, feeling my heartbeat increase and my mouth getting dryer when I realized the kid in front of the TV was quietly switching places with the lover, the man.
God, did I love to see that. I couldn't get enough of watching that cheerful idiot getting serious. It was so… so freakishly hot.
And he knew.
As Antonio turned the TV off, I tried to keep up my act of reading (even though I can't recall a single word I've read), in- and exhaling a bit more hurried when I peeked over the book again and saw him approaching me on hands and knees.
'Lovino?'
'W-what?' I mumbled, letting myself sink in-between the sheets of the bed and not-looking away from the page.
'How about putting away that book of yours, hm?~'
He reached out a hand to the book and swiftly lifted it out of my hands.
'H-hey, I was reading that!' I said, pointing out the obvious.
'Ah, really?' Antonio looked at my burning face and squirming body and chuckled. '…then tell me – what was the last word you read before I grabbed your book?'
I… I stared up at him and didn't know what the hell to say.
I know, I could have said something simple like "it", "her" or even "a", but right at that moment, nothing came to mind.
Antonio smiled when I kept silent and looked into the book in his hands, carefully folding the side of a page.
'You were at page 17-18. Just so you know.'
'O-okay…' I heard myself breath out.
Oh crap, I had to tell him about Friday. I still had to tell him. Fuck fuck fuck.
He put the book on my nightstand, "accidentally" placing his full hand into my groin as he leaned over me. I gave a soft, needy whine in return.
'A-Antonio…'
'I know, I know…' Antonio laughed gently and lay down on top of me and the sheets, hands and thumbs caressing my cheeks as he gave me a firm, hard kiss.
'…it's been a few days already, right?' he panted right after, wiping some of my hair out of my face, '…ah, too long… way too long…'
I gulped and did my best to keep my voice steady. 'Antonio… w-wait, dammit, that… that American can probably—'
'Hear us? Ah, yes. Probably. So?~'
Antonio sat up, gripped the sheets and tugged them off me – taking my pants off with them in the process.
All of my pants!
Holy shit!
'Gah!' I gasped, squeezing my suddenly naked legs together in a reflex, '…y-you fucking ass, why did you do that for!'
'Ahaha… silly Lovi, to speed things up a little bit, of course!~' Antonio simply stated, getting rid of his huge nightgown and flopping back on my shivering body even before his oversized PJ's hit the ground.
'I…I… ah…' I started, but had to swallow a moan when his tongue flicked up and down my chest, his hands holding up the upper part of my PJ's.
Shit, fuck, shit, fuck, a-at this rate I was never going to tell him, dammit…
'Relax, my love… why are you so tense?' Antonio sounded a bit surprised and stopped slipping his tongue in and out the dip that was my belly button to look at me with a worried frown – wh-which looked a bit weird, considering my awkwardly bend legs were on either side of his head.
'I… I just need to tell you something…' I choked out, immediately grabbing my chance since it would probably the only chance I'd get tonight.
'Ah…' The Spaniard leant his chin on my tummy, eyes spread open playfully. '…something with the d-word, perhaps?~'
I blushed, scowled and thought about squishing his head between my thighs for a second, but decided to ignore that last comment of his.
'No, dammit, it's not a d-word… it's a… um…' I took a deep breath, '…an E-word, actually.'
Antonio's whole face instantly flushed a darker shade of red as well.
'Y-you have another pet-name for me, Lovi? Starting with an E? Really?~ Oh, you're spoiling me…'
'It's not a pet-name. I'm talking about… about England, Antonio.'
'…England, Lovino?'
The cheerful glint in his eyes was immediately consumed by a hidden darkness and he stared at me, lifting himself off me a bit.
'…what about him?'
Quick Lovino, continue, quick quick quick, like ripping off a bandage, quick and relatively painless!
'I'm… I'm going to visit him on Friday. W-we have an appointment.' I managed to say.
…
I had expected all kinds of things to happen after I had said that.
I had expected him to get mad, to climb off me and order me to get the hell out of his sight, to get sad, to get depressed or maybe even to get sick.
But…
Miraculously enough, the only thing he did was heaving a deep sigh and resting his head on my stomach again, running a hand through his hair.
'Ah. An appointment, you say…'
I nodded – and now I did close my legs around him some more, if only to prevent him from getting away from me.
He looked at me suspiciously. 'The same kind of appointment you've made with… those other countries you've been going to? Is England part of… that?'
'Y-yes! Yes, indeed!' I said right away, sitting up some more, '…j-just like Austria and Russia!'
I very wisely decided not to mention the Netherlands.
'Why, Lovino?' Antonio then softly asked, sighing again.
'U-um…' I looked away from him. '…I… I can't tell you that. But it's… it's important. I want to ask him things. That's all.'
'Ask him things…' Antonio laughed, but it sounded more like a whimper to me. '…h-how nice, you're going to ask him things…'
'Antonio.'
I frowned and poked his head, making him look up.
'Look, I know you don't like that idea. I know you'd rather tell me to stay away from him. But… but this is important. I need to do this. Do you understand?'
He stared at me, long and thoroughly, as if he was desperately trying to look for some answers behind my eyes, before giving me the smallest of nods.
'Ah, I think I understand, yes…'
'Do you…' I bit my lower lip. '…do you trust me, then?'
'I do.' he said resolutely, causing a small, relieved smile to appear on my face.
'Then… then there's nothing you should be worried about.'
'I guess not… so, this Friday, huh… ah, but Lovino!' He jolted his head up, '…can you promise me to get back home on time this Friday?'
I eyed him weirdly. 'Um, yeah, I… think so. Why?'
Finally, he smiled a fairly bright smile at me and pressed a kiss on my tummy, patting it affectionately.
'I want to ask you something.'
My heart skipped a beat.
'…a-ask me something…?'
'Ask you something, yes.'
'U-um, um… you… you can also ask me… now, you know…' I stammered, voice oddly croaked.
Antonio chuckled and shook his head, pushing me back down on the mattress.
'Ah, oh no, you'll have to wait till Friday-night, my love – it has to be Friday-night…'
'What's so special about fucking Friday-night!' I huffed, '…can't you at least give me a… a hint of what you're going to say?'
All of a sudden, Antonio, who ignored my question, placed his hands in the crooks of my knees and pushed my legs backwards, further and further, until my butt was sticking up in the air.
I hadn't seen it coming and yelped, grasping at the mattress below me, feeling embarrassed and turned on at the same time when I saw Antonio glancing down at me – from between my (still very awkwardly) bend legs.
'The… the hell are you doing, d-dammit…' I said hoarsely, face getting painfully red from the weird position.
'I think I'd like to have some rough sex with you tonight, Lovino. To relief some of the tension, you know?~' he said.
"Tension"?
I glared daggers at him. 'Yeah right – to get back at me for going to England, you mean.'
Antonio shrugged, still holding back my legs. 'Well, can you blame me?'
'…not really.' I admitted.
I mean, I would've got back at him as well if he told me he wanted to visit, um, let's say, Germany without telling me why.
'So… you okay with it?' Antonio asked.
I rolled my eyes. 'God, Antonio – if you're planning to do it rough and if I'm aware of that and not kicking you in the face, then of course I'm okay with it. Stop ruining the atmosphere with your stupid questions, d-dammit…'
'Ooh. So you'd like it rough as well?~'
'…u-um.' I nervously licked my lips.
'I won't hold back then.'
One of Antonio's hands slid up my legs, back to my ass, softly pushing my cheeks apart.
…
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god.
W–w-w-w-what the fucking fuck was he planning to do… t-there? W-with what?
Antonio noticed my little panic-attack and smiled reassuring at me.
'Calm down, Lovi – it's only normal to prepare you good, really good before showing you all the corners of the room…'
'Y-yeah, b-b-but not with… d-don't you… I don't…' I blabbered, clenching the fabric underneath me even firmer.
'Ah, I wonder why I haven't ever done this with you before…' Antonio mused, looking down at… at that, smacking his lips, '…I bet you taste wonderful…'
Then he pressed his face forwards and made me scream so damn loudly that if that American in the garden wasn't already aware of what we were doing up here before, he sure as hell would be aware of it now.