Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Kicking the Bucket List

seventeen

"You make me so hot
Make me wanna drop
It's so ridiculous
I can barely stop
I can hardly breathe
You make me wanna scream
You're so fabulous
You're so good to me"
— Hot by Avril Lavigne

"Lovi~! I got your lunch~!" Antonio jovially sings out, raising the Tupperware box of marinara pasta up for the twin to see. To be honest, he loved bringing Lovi his food everyday. It made him feel like they were actually together, and he was a doting lover, living the domestic life and bringing him lunch~.

"You don't have to do this, you know," the aforementioned Italian grumbles, momentarily glancing up from one of the props he was working on and taking the pasta anyway. Antonio is quick to make sure the tips of Lovino's nimble fingers brush over his hand. He feels all giddy inside. Every single touch sends his stomach lurching, his heart racing, and his body yearning for more.

"I know~!" The Spaniard chirps, beaming at the older Vargas brother.

Lovino cocks a single eyebrow up. "So why do you keep on doing it anyway?" He asks, setting the plastic box down beside him.

Antonio doesn't even have to think twice. "Because I want to!"

"But why?" The Italian presses on. "It's not like you're getting paid or anything, dammit—"

But getting to see you is reward enough~! Antonio's mind supplies. Instead, he smiles. "Because I want to get to know you, Lovi~."

"Yeah, but I don't," Lovino mumbles under his breath, but Antonio doesn't seem to hear.

And once again, they've fallen into this— this new routine, in addition to the old one, where Antonio would bring him lunch everyday. Lovino's tried getting Feliciano to stop making him food lest the stupid Spaniard get his dirty mitts on his brother's virginity, but to no avail.

Instead, he was lectured on how skipping meals was detrimental to a healthy diet, and how he should start eating healthy. By Feliciano, no less. Feliciano, who practically inhales pasta like it's oxygen. Feliciano, who eats a bar of chocolate a day, thanks to that bastard of a Spaniard's f-fucking Love Offerings. Ugh. Disgusting.

And Lovino found the lecture kinda insulting, to be honest. It wasn't like he was even on an actual diet or anything; he didn't mean to skip meals, dammit— it just kinda… slipped his mind a lot! Plus, he's been to freaking Fat Camp, for fuck's sake. He knows dieting. Real, gruesome, extreme actual hardcore dieting (Salami rehab, anyone?).

He's tried different diets for something that'd really work for him, and wound up drowning in carbs—'The Potato Diet', Jesus Christ— so he could burn all that energy by playing football and doing the Insanity Workout. Dio, in his opinion? He's had enough potatoes for one lifetime. The only food he could ever eat with potato as the main constituent would definitely be gnocchi (and the occasional binge eating session on french fries from Mickey D's or Burger King, but only when he was really drunk). Goddamn.

And if one thing's for sure, he never wants to go through that agonising process ever again.

Ever.

But anyways, whenever Antonio was around, trying to 'befriend' him, he couldn't help but grow a little more wary and suspicious of the Spaniard. Like hell Antonio wanted to be 'friends' with him. No one in their right mind would ever, ever want to befriend someone that has openly vituperated them time and time and time again. Even the nicest of people daren't do that. Let alone someone they've been in a (very public) brawl with. There was just something… two-faced about it. Like everything the Spaniard has ever done was all a façade, or had a sketchy ulterior motive.

Whatever motive the Spaniard has, Lovino could tell something was up. Something dubious. He calls bullshit on each and every single act of kindness Antonio has ever shown him. W-Well, save for that fucking "PEAS OFFERING" last week. And no matter what the bastard was up to, Lovino was pretty sure it had something— something— to do with Feliciano.

After all, it wasn't the first time someone's been nice to him just to get closer to Feli. It was terrible. There is no way in hell he'll ever let that happen again.

By the time Lovino realises he'd abruptly spaced out, Antonio was busy animatedly waving his hand in front of his face. Instinctively, his hand smacks Antonio's hand away like a cobra lashing out at its prey. He glares at the Spaniard. The latter is undeterred by the sharp look, coruscation of pure admiration evident in his emerald green eyes. Evident to everyone except Lovino, that is.

"Stop it." Lovino snaps, his lips curling down into his oft-worn scowl. "Asshole."

Antonio smiles at him. "What were you thinking about, Lovi?"

The Italian narrows his eyes even more. "Wouldn't you like to know, huh, bastard?"

A dreamy look crosses Antonio's face as he beams at the Italian. "Ooh~ Were you thinking about …me?"

Almost immediately, a deep red blush crosses his cheeks out of both frustration and embarrassment. Yes, he was thinking about the bastard, but not like that, dammit!

"S-Shut up!" He growls out, punching Antonio's arm. To his surprise however, the Spaniard took it in jest.

Antonio laughed. "Oh, Lovi, you're so cute~!"

Lovino was not amused. Instead of replying, he opted to return his attention to the neglected prop that needed repainting, muttering a string of expletives under his breath. All the while, he was trying to regulate his breathing; trying to resist the urge to punch a certain Spaniard dead in the fucking face and curling his fingers around the bastard's throat, squeeze squeeze squeezing the life out of the bag of shit who only probably wanted to use him to get to Feliciano—

Not surprisingly, Lovino got re-pissed about everything that had ever transpired between him and the Spaniard he was now growing increasingly hostile to with each and every second that passed. He was just mercurial like that. Wonderful~.

The Vargas twin draws and releases a long, exasperated breath, already irritated with Antonio's very existence. Just as he opened his mouth to spew forth a few scathing comments (the bastard's probably too stupid to understand them, anyway), he caught sight of perfection personified in the corner of his eye and forced himself to remain… c-calm. Yes. Calm. Very calm. No throttling the Spaniard. Not in front of Allistor, at least.

"'Ello, Lov; Antonio." The redhead says, walking over to them.

Antonio goes rigid upon hearing the very voice he'd grown to dislike, turning to face the redhead with a wry smile. "Hello~."

"Bringing Lov his lunch again, Ah see," the Scotsman comments, clearly amused.

Lovino's cheeks burn with embarrassment as he glowers the prop. "It's not like I'm a kid or anything, d-dammit—" he says. "I told Feli to stop, and yet he still makes lunch for me anyway."

Antonio internally smirked at that. Feli had mentioned that to him one day, yes, but it was upon Antonio's insistence that the younger Vargas continue anyway~. At least… until Lovi would actually give him a chance and talk to him, that is.

But with Allistor in the picture, things weren't looking so dandy at the moment. Or today, for that matter.

But it's fine. It's fine!

Really~!

Just as long as the Scotsman goes about his business far, far away from Lovino, everything will be okay.

"Will you look at that," Elizabeta mumbles, staring at the Italian, the Scotsman and the Spaniard. "That other dude is totally getting in the way of my OTP. They could've been, like, making out right now, but they can't because of— of…"

She makes a vague hand gesture towards the brunette.

"His name is Antonio, Liz," Bella says, frowning at the Spaniard who loomed over Lovi like a shadow. Then she pouts, turning to Elizabeta. "And I doubt that Lovi and Allistor would be making out here of all places, anyway. They haven't even held hands yet."

She reaches into the carton box of costumes that just came in and pulled one of the plastic-covered gowns for the female lead, a sigh of admiration escaping her lips. "Oh, wow. This dress is gorgeous," she gushes, ripping it out of its plastic cocoon and raising it up to eye-level to continue fawning over the delicate satiny dress the colour of rich crimson, running the tips of her fingers over the sequinned and embroidered bodice. She presses the slinky dress close to her ample bosom, a toned thigh peeking out from one of the long slits that trailed up one side.

"This dress is so Jessica Rabbit, I swear." She continues, gazing at it longingly. "I wanna get married in it. Like, in those Vegas chapels, with one of those Elvis Presley impersonators doing the ceremony. Then we get divorced in, like, a week. This is that type of dress."

"Well, you'll have to find your future ex-husband first." Liz says, finally prying her eyes off of Allistor and Lovino, the Spaniard having left. She fans herself hotly. "It's painful watching them. Everyone knows they like each other but themselves. I can feel the unresolved sexual tension from across the room."

"Skinny love." Then blond makes a face. "But you always feel unresolved sexual tension when it comes to your OTPs."

"No, this one is different!" The Hungarian argues. "Can't you see? They really, really like each other! Hell, they may even love each other. But they're too scared to make a move and ruin what they have!"

"Oh, come on. Maybe they just need more time," Bella says, setting the gown back in the box before lifting it up to the dressing room. "Work things out."

Elizabeta is hot on her heels, trying to get the blond to just— to just understand that something needed to be done. And fast! "Or maybe, we just need to give them a hand! Look at them! They're smitten! We need to do this! Hell, it's practically our duty since we're Lovino's friends!"

"Oh, Liz," the Belgian starts, grabbing a satin cloth hanger and hanging the crimson gown on it to be steam ironed later.

"Come on, Bel. We just need to give them one little push, is all! Don't you want Lovino to be happy?" Elizabeta's olive green eyes land on the dress. "Oh my God, it is pretty."

Then she smirks. "I have an idea~"

"Liz, no—"

"Liz, yes! Just— Just hear me out!"

And so, the girls began to connive in hushed whispers, even in an empty room. With what Elizabeta had in mind, it was better off it stayed that way.

By the time lunch had come to an end, they got Feliks and Michelle in on it too.

Antonio jogged down the steps of the Performing Arts Department building, his expression distressed and the muscles along his neck drawn taut in worry. He felt so helpless in a way. He didn't know whatto do. He didn't know how to woo Lovi, when just talking to him had proven difficult enough.

A-And the thing that takes the cake is that even though he would normally have a pick-up line, or a great conversation starter in mind before he talks to Lovi, scenarios of their would-be conversation running rampant through his mind, all of that just goes away the moment he sees the Italian. Like, completely away. His mind becomes even blanker than usual.

So all those pick-up lines (ravioli, ravioli~ let me be your one and only~)?

All those great conversation starters (I love tomatoes~)?

Yep~! Gone~. All gone.

A sigh escaped his lips. "Why am I such an idiot?" He groans out, coming to a halt and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"I find myself asking that same question all the time." A familiar voice says from behind him.

Antonio gulps, turning to face one of his exes. The first one he had the moment he started classes in Evergreen Hollows University, actually.

"Roderich. Hi."

The piano virtuoso raises an eyebrow at the Spaniard, expression wary.

Antonio offers his ex a sheepish grin (grimace). "Heh. I haven't seen you in a while. You've been pretty busy, huh?"

"No more than you've been." The Austrian says indifferently, shifting the black portfolio tucked under one arm to the other. "I suppose what differs is how I've spent my time and you with yours."

"I guess?" Antonio supplies awkwardly. To say that he wasn't on good terms with Roderich (or any of his exes, for that matter…) would be an understatement.

"I best get going now. You've taken up far too much of my time. Again." Roderich says, frowning in distaste as he glances down at his watch. And with that, the pianist Antonio once loved walked away without another word.

But never mind that.

Because right now, Antonio needed a way to get to talk to Lovi again.

Maybe he could ask Feli— no, he needs to do this on his own! How can he win Lovino's heart if he keeps on depending on Feliciano's sandwiches to bridge the gap between them? Antonio didn't want their future relationship to be built on ciabatta and focaccia bread! But maybe…

Maybe it could be built on tomatoes..?

Ah, well, at least until Antonio's gotten to know Lovino better.

The brunette's spirits renewed, he decides to get Lovi some tomatoes from the market near his apartment after class and maybe… he could walk Lovi home, right?

Antonio is giddy with excitement at the mere thought, wondering what Lovino's hands would feel like in his.

It's time for practise after class hours. Bella and the squad were now in the dressing room, busying themselves with generally tidying up the area in preparation for more of the costumes and worn props.

"Lovi~! Lovi, look!" The Belgian says, motioning to a crimson dress with the nozzle of her steam iron. "Isn't this dress absolutely gorgeous?"

The Italian glances up from his job of untangling the many old plated gold chains in a small box and stares at the dress. "Yeah. I guess."

She tugs the dress off the rack and walks over to him. "Look at the embroidery. It's really pretty."

He sets the tangled ball of tarnished gold down, taking a closer look-see at the handiwork. "It's nice." The Italian concurs. "Chances are, it's handwoven. Must've cost a lot to have a dress like this finished this quickly. Everyone here is always in such a rush."

Bella casts a quick glance at Michelle and Feliks over the Italian's shoulder. The two immediately walk out as Elizabeta lingers near the door, taking slow, languid steps.

"Lovi?" She asks, in that coy tone that usually got him to do lots of stuff for her. He glances up from the dress and their eyes meet.

His expression screams: OH SHIT, WHAT NOW

She tilts her head to the side slightly, ghosting her fingers along the line of his shoulders. Her gaze follows her fingertips. "I really need your help."

Bella's read this online before. Apparently, if you ask someone for help instead of requesting a favour, chances are, they'll oblige. Ho-hey manipulation~!

"Wh-what, dammit?" He asks, but his voice is strained.

The Belgian slowly glances up at him, an almost sultry pout on her lips. He gulps.

Shit, Lovino can't help but think. This must be some Super Huge Favour or something, goddammit—

"You know what I would really love for you to do?" She says, a mischievous glint in her eye.

More intimidating silence continues as she runs her fingers down his chest, prompting him to shiver.

"Tell me already then, dammit!" Lovino demands, lest he begins to asphyxiate out of sheer suspense. "What do you want from me?!"

She raises the hanger up, turning her pout on full blast. This was really abusing her power and influence over him to its limits. She is going to push the envelope.

"Please, Lovi?"

His jaw goes slack in mortification, eyes widening to saucer-like proportions. Was she serious?! "Oh, hell no—"

And it was at that moment where Elizabeta locked the door behind her.

Bella pushed the envelope.

"Hi, Lovi, I brought you some tomatoes~!" Antonio says to himself, inspecting each and every one of the red fruit before setting the really nice ones into a plastic bag in the basket to be weighed. "I know we just saw each other during lunch, but I decided to drop by and give you some tomatoes— no, wait. I already said that!"

A sigh escapes his lips. Why did this have to be so difficult? He clears his throat and tries again. "Hi, Lovi~! I know we just saw each other during— during lunch, but I decided to, um, to give you some tomatoes and stop by~"

He works it out a few more times as he heads for the checkout counter. Once he's got the tomatoes, he stares up at the road, knowing that Evergreen Hollows University would be at the very end. It was quite a long way back, since the organic market and deli was a bit farther than his own apartment.

Hopefully, Lovi will like it though~!

And so, the Spaniard began to make his way back to the campus.

"I cannot believe you two," Lovino says, glaring at the Hungarian and the Belgian. He points a finger at Elizabeta. "God, you— you fucking corrupted her with your evil mind! You've tainted her with your bat-shit crazy ideas!"

Eliza opens the door behind her and steps out, grinning. "Well, you're wearing it now, aren't you?"

"Be careful with that," Bella has the audacity to say, looking at him sheepishly.

"'Be careful' my ass! I'm dressed in drag!"

She winces. "Sorry, Lovi~ Really! It's for the best!"

"No," Lovino argues, "It's not for the best! Liz gets off of this kinda stuff. I'm probably satisfying some of her sick homosexual fantasies right fucking now. God, Bella. You are so naïve."

He slams his hands on the dressing table and glares at his reflection in the mirror lit up by lightbulbs, shuddering in disgust. "Ugh, look at me. I'm as gay as Feliks now. There's no turning back."

"You have nice legs though." She comments, stepping back near the door. It's true~! He does have really nice legs, albeit all his gangling about.

He gawks at her via reflection in the mirror. "Shut up. This— This is not okay. This is so not okay."

"Allistor!" Michelle says, tugging at his sleeve as he intently watched the actors and actresses going over their lines.

He does a double take; then he finally turns to face her and Feliks. "Yes?"

"You— You have to go to the dressing room. Right now." She urges, expression grave.

His face scrunches up in confusion. "Wha'? Why? Ah'm not in charge of th' costumes—"

Feliks rolls his eyes before tersely shaking the Scotsman's shoulder. "It's Lovino. He needs your help right now."

'Lovino' was obviously the keyword, since Allistor's eyes immediately widened in alarm. "Oh, God. Wha' happened? Is he alright? Is he hurt?"

He takes long strides towards the dressing room, passing a grinning Elizabeta, who flashed him a thumbs up. He scrunches his brows together as he hurries to the room, his shoulder narrowly missing the rack of fuscous lumpen-proletariat clothing for the minor roles.

He has to stand aside by the doorway as Bella scurries out, nervously glancing up at him before following Elizabeta down the hall.

"We'll leave you two alone," the Hungarian suggestively coos, waggling her eyebrows.

The redhead stands at the doorway, eyeing a familiar brunette's back, wearing… wearing a dress?

"Lov?" He says softly, taking a few steps into the room, and the Italian flinches.

"What are you doing here?!" Lovino shrieks in mortification, deftly avoiding meeting the Scot's inquisitive (and probably appalled) gaze. "Oh, God. Get out. Don't look at me. This is so embarrassing."

Allistor steps closer, clearly paying Lovino's orders no heed.

Just as Lovino is about to run for the changing area, the Scotsman steps forward and gently grabs the Italian's wrist.

Lovino turned away from him, his face burning a bright red. "Shit! Fuck, no, I—"

The Scot finally gets a thorough look-see at Lovino and his heart skips a beat. "Lov, yeh— yeh look stunning."

The brunette was stunned to the point of speechlessness. Did he really just..?

"W-What?!" Immediately, Lovino manages to snap out of his trance, pulling his arm out of the redhead's grasp. "No, no! Don't you dare say shit like that, d-dammit—"

His breath hitches in his throat, the words he'd wanted to say suddenly lost.

A-Allistor was right in front of him.

Staring him dead in the eye.

Oh, God.

Perfection personified leant in slowly, oh-so slowly, taking Lovino's chin in his hand. The Italian's heart was beating so hard against his chest, he felt like it'd burst out any second. He could practically hear his heart pulsating.

…And time crawled to a halt.

Their eyes grew half-lidded with every inch they grew closer, hazel eyes meeting forest green ones before Allistor's lingered upon the Italian's lips. They looked soft. Inviting.

The redhead was the one to close the gap between their needing lips, their mouths already slightly parted in anticipation. His mouth lingered, tasting the Italian's. Lovino parted his lips a fraction, Allistor swiping his tongue along Lovino's bottom lip before their tongues brushed together.

Allistor tasted like cinnamon and menthol cigarettes. It drove Lovino over the edge.

Several seconds pass and Allistor pulls away, subconsciously licking his lips. He chuckled, "Sorreh, Ah couldn't 'elp m'self. Yeh taste absolutely delectable, it's intoxicating me."

Lovino's heart skipped a beat in exaltation, something akin a soft whimper escaping his lips. Quickly, he reaches up and finally— finally— runs his fingers through the Scotsman's scarlet locks, as he'd always wanted to do, and pulled him in for another exhilarating kiss. It was transcendental; every touch sent tingles down his spine, the rapid beating of his heart hasn't slowed down once, and he felt oh-so lightheaded.

Allistor deepened the kiss, tightly wrapping his arms around Lov's body, pulling him in closer and closer 'til the only thing in between them were the fabric of their clothes.

The redhead pulls away for a bit so he can kiss down Lovino's slender neck, the latter exposing one side so the former could get better access as he sunk his teeth into the soft, sweet skin, nipping; sucking.

A ragged moan escaped Lovino's lips. He's been wanting this so much for so long. It was surreal.

Allistor groans in response, abruptly pulling away to feverishly press his lips against the Italian's. Immediately, the brunette wraps his arms around the redhead's neck, having to stand on his toes just to hold him better.

The action doesn't go unnoticed.

The room feels like it's a hundred degrees as Allistor presses flush against him, blindly guiding the both of them to the general direction of the dressing table.

Two strong pale hands hike the crimson dress up as Allistor lifts the Vargas onto the table by the back of his thighs, two svelte, creamy legs on either side of the Scotsman's waist. Lovino hooks his legs together, pulling Allistor in closer.

Their lips are still locked; Lovino coyly bites the redhead's bottom lip before gently sucking on it, earning a satisfying gasp from the latter. The former then coaxes Allistor's tongue into his mouth using his own.

Allistor's hands are shaking as they slide up, up, up Lovino's legs, tenderly massaging his thighs.

Pure lust is heady in the air as they find themselves soon growing short of breath. Briefly, they pull away a fraction so they can catch their breath, the redhead resting his forehead against the brunette's momentarily before he pulls away.

"Dammit, Lov," Allistor gasps out, cupping the Italian's chin and raising it up so he could gaze into beautiful hazel eyes— half-lidded and clouded with longing and desire— mirroring his own.

Lovino looks absolutely breathtaking right now. His sun-kissed face is flushed a deep red, and his now-puffy lips are swollen and slightly parted.

This boy is divine, Allistor thinks, deciding they'd had enough time to rest and going in for another kiss.

Antonio wove his way through the many Performing Arts students lingering outside the building, deftly making his way to the fourth theatre. He immediately heads backstage. Over the past few days, he's learnt to find Lovi on his own. He didn't want to ask Allistor for help, if possible. Because whenever he did, Allistor and Lovi would start talking. They would talk a lot, and Antonio wouldn't have a chance to get a word in.

The Spaniard walked over to the area he'd seen Lovino earlier during lunch, only to no avail. So he decided to look around some more. What if the Italian had already gone home? Or somewhere else..?

Lovino wriggles a bit closer to the Scotsman, who in return, lifts him up a fraction to press him against the mirror of the dressing table, sending bottles of perfume and cosmetics tumbling and clattering noisily to the floor as things started to heat up— and fast.

A bottle of perfume or something, maybe two, had shattered upon impact, permeating the room with the scent of magnolias. The two paid it no heed, too caught up in their osculations to care about… about anything else, really.

Antonio walked down one of the corridors that led to the dressing room, only to be stopped by a brunette with wavy hair and caramel skin. He'd seen her before. She was one of Lovino's friends, right..? He didn't know her name, though.

"I wouldn't go there if I were you. You'll thank me in the long run." She says, giving him a playful wink before sauntering off.

Don't go where? Antonio found himself thinking. Why? What would I thank her for?

As he half-heartedly fought off his curiosity, it had gotten the better of him and he succumbed to it anyway.

He started to make his way down the narrow hall, random boxes and racks of clothing scattered about the area. And— And what is that awful smell? Was this what the girl was warning him about?

Ugh, it smelt like someone had marinated themselves in old people perfume. Eww, eau de grandparents…

His face scrunches up in slight distaste and confusion as he reaches the dressing room near the end of the hall. The door is wide open, and he heard noises in there. Something clattered to the ground, followed by several more articles. The Spaniard slowed down his footsteps, carefully peeking into the room.

His heart sunk to the bottom of his chest.

He saw Lovi and… and Allistor, kissing. His stomach churned in jealousy, trying to resist the urge to make his presence known and— and rip the Scot off of the Italian's body, and—

Was Lovi wearing… a dress? He licked his lips, watching in a fucked up mix of horror, mortification and i-interest as Allistor slid his hand up and down Lovino's side, the Scot's lips gently kneading against the Italian's before he pulled away and started to nip at the latter's neck.

Lovino was quick to take the redhead's hand and guide it to his soft, soft-looking thigh, his eyes half-lidded in lust before fluttering close completely.

Antonio's breath quickened. His mouth had gone dry and he felt nauseated and sick watching him— Allistor— just touch Lovi like that, yet he couldn't bring himself to budge an inch. He was transfixed; too transfixed with the Vargas twin's expression of utter bliss. Bliss that Antonio, too, could make Lovino feel if he would just fucking let him.

He wanted to be the one to touch Lovino like that. Oh, God. He wanted to touch him so badly. To kiss him, hold him, taste him, dominate him, take him— it's too much, oh God, it's too much—

Without completely realising it, there was this heat that started to pool beneath his stomach. Was this… actually beginning to turn him on?

Oh God.

Allistor pulled away so Lovino could adjust his position on the dressing table a little better, the former's hands returning to the Italian's slender waist, before the latter leant up to kiss him again. Their tongues danced, tangling together, as a moan escaped Lovino's lips when Allistor began to run his hand up and down Lovino's bare leg, using the other hand to balance himself on the dressing table.

No.

No.

Antonio finally got a grip on himself to look away but inadvertently stumbled back into the rack of clothing, the hangers clattering against the wall.

Immediately, the happy couple pulled apart, their lips making an audibly (painful)wet smack~! as their eyes darted to the source of the noise. The Spaniard, whose pants were somewhat tighter, whose face was flushed red in anger and embarrassment and shame, quickly ran off, all thoughts of giving Lovi his tomatoes having left his mind.

In his panic, he ran away— out of the theatre, out of the building, out of the campus, and all the way to his own apartment. His lungs were burning with the need for oxygen— oxygen— and his heart ached terribly with jealousy and distraught.

He wasn't good enough for Lovi. Not when Lovi won't give him a chance—

An incredulous yell escaped his lips.

W-Why was he still hard?! God fucking dammit!

After— After this…

He quickly made his way to the bathroom and leant against the cool tile wall, his eyes half-lidded as he remembered every detail of Lovino's expression, his face— o-oh, God, that beautiful face— and the way he looked at Allistor in desire—

Allistor.

The Spaniard burned in envy and frustration, hot angry tears stinging the back of his eyes. Deep, ragged breaths escaped his lips as he tried to beat off every single instinct in his body to take what was rightfully his and show the Scotsman that he was a force to be reckoned with.

But he couldn't.

Like, what bearing did he have— could possibly have— on someone like… like Lovino?

Lovino, of all people.

Someone who was too far up for him to even reach.

Oh God.

L-Lovi…

Santa Maria, those legs. If he could close his eyes, he could imagine Lovino getting hot and bothered for him and him only. He could envision Lovino's face flushed in ardent desire, the sheen of the thin layer of sweat on his skin illuminated by the dim lights. And that moan. Unf.

He licked his lips. He wanted him. He wanted to touch him.. Because nothing is more tempting than someone you can't have.

Face still flushed in shame, he began to unzip his jeans. They were getting far too tight for comfort.

Allistor quickly turns away from the Italian, his face nearly as red as his hair. Lovino was no better. Their breath had grown heavy and uneven; their clothes were rumpled; hair dishevelled; bodies slick with sweat. Lovino shakily slid off of the table though his legs felt wobbly, eyes trained to his feet as he tried to make sense of it all.

His face heated up like crazy. Someone had actually seen them. Oh God. What would they think now? Who even were they? And they were too caught up to close the goddamn door, fucking hell—

Allistor had his back turned on him, hands on his hips as he tried to catch his breath; process what had just happened.

God, it was— it was amazing. Kissing Lovino was like doing a drug that drove him over the edge. He'd never been so forward in his life before, no; not until Lovino came in the picture. After trying not to succumb to the Italian's charms for so long, he had finally caved. He gave into the temptation.

And it was so, so worth it.

A breathless laughed escaped the Scot's lips, and Lovino laughed in return. It was a weird type of awkward yet relieved laugh, really. After all this time, they'd finally— finally kissed.

"Ah suppose Ah should be getting back now. Before they send anyone else to come looking for us." He starts, heading for the door. Then he stops, turning to face the Vargas. "Um, wait for me. A-After this… yeah?"

Lovino manages a small smile. "Yeah."

Allistor swallows, then sighs in relief. "Good. An' Ah fink it's best if yeh… change back into yer other clothes? Before anyone else sees. Yeh might get in trouble for tha', but Ah won't tell anyone. Don't worry."

The Vargas nods blankly, still overwhelmed with what's happened.

The Scot quickly walks over and gives Lovino a chaste parting kiss before hurriedly walking away, busily fixing his button down and his hair.

Lovino can't help but smile to himself, grabbing his clothes and hurrying to the changing area.

The moment Lovino exits the changing room in his regular clothes, the entourage is already there, waiting for him.

"So?" Elizabeta starts, grinning at him suggestively. "How was it? Was it amazing or was it ah-ma-zing?"

Lovino's face flushes a deep red. He scoffs. "I don't kiss-and-tell."

She smirks, tapping at a spot near the nape of his neck. "I don't need no kiss-and-tell when I've already seen enough to prove me right!"

His eyes widen in shock as he hurries over to the dressing table— which still reeked of magnolia perfume, by the way— and gawked at the several dark hickeys adorning the area around his neck. "Shit." He hisses, lightly ghosting the tips of his fingers over the contusions. He's blushing so hard, even the tips of his ears are red. "That bastard."

His head drops in shame as he tries to fix his shirt to hide whatever of them he can.

Feliks rolls his eyes. "Oh my God. You're helpless. Come here!"

Lovino stops and stares at the Pole. "Why?"

"Duh, I have concealer. Now come here!"

With a laboured sigh, Lovino begrudgingly trudges over to the blond. The latter fishes his glittery makeup kit out of his Chanel bag and pulls a triangular makeup sponge and a narrow tube of concealer out. Then he turns to inspect the damage on Lovino's neck.

His eyes widen in surprise. "Like what the hell. Are you sure you didn't make out with, like, a vacuum cleaner or something? Because these are way too dark to be hickeys. Honey, I wouldn't be surprised if you started bleeding or something."

Bella starts to make slobbery hoovering noises and the Vargas grits his teeth together, trying to will the embarrassment to fuck off. "Shut the fuck up."

The Belgian bursts out laughing.

Liz steps forward and looks at the love bites herself. Then she nods in agreement. "I guess he got too eager. Eager beaver. I'll bet he likes it rough; Scottish fire and all. Rawr~"

Lovino scowls at her. "'Rawr~' my ass, Héderváry. Drop it."

She places her hands on her hips in disbelief. "You're supposed to be happy about this! You just made out with the love of your life!" She pats his shoulder— though a bit too hard. He winces. "Cherish it. Treasure this moment."

Feliks eases up the collar of Lovino's shirt a bit and dabs spots of concealer on it, blending it into his skin with the makeup sponge. "This'll have to do since you're, like, gonna go home anyway. And if you're gonna keep this up, you might as well get, like, a cover stick from Maybelline or something. That or invest in, like, a bajillion turtleneck sweaters. Remember. Ugly sweaters are only excusable for family gatherings during Christmas, Hanukkah, or Thanksgiving. And that's if only you're absolutely forced to wear one. Stick to basic colours."

"Gee, thanks. I'll keep that in mind," the Vargas says, sarcasm dripping off his tone, yet his heart fluttered at the mere thought of… of y'know. Kissing some more.

It definitely wasn't the first time he's kissed someone and he really hoped it wouldn't be the last.

After practise had come to an end, as promised, Lovino waited for Allistor to finish. He couldn't help but be really, really nervous. This was going to be a huge step for him. Honestly, he'd never been in a relationship before. And with the way he was, it was a huge surprise someone as amazing and perfect as Allistor wanted him. Wanted to be with him. (R-Right?)

That, in itself, was the most terrifying thing for Lovino ever.

He could only hope that he would be good enough for the Scot and make him stay. He really didn't want to fuck this up. God knows he's ruined enough; and even then, he didn't have to try.

"Hey, Lov," Allistor says quietly, walking up to the Italian and bashfully kissing his forehead. Lovino melted inside. "Yeh ready ta go?"

The Italian nods, and they walk in silence out of the campus, both lost in each of their own thoughts.

"W-Where are we going?" Lovino forces himself to speak; break the silence.

"Um," says Allistor, at a loss for words himself. "Uh. How about th' park?"

Lovino nods. "Sure."

Allistor spread his palm out in front of the Italian. The latter, confused, cast a curious glance at the Scotsman before placing his own (smaller) hand on top of it. To his surprise, Allistor laced his fingers with his before dropping it down to his side, a satisfied and cheeky smile on his face.

Lovino couldn't help but flush a bright red. Oh, God. They were holding hands. They were really going to do this whole relationship thing. Allistor's hand is so warm. And their fingers fit perfectly, like that was where they had always belonged.

"So, um," Lovino began the moment they walked into the park. A chuckle laden with disbelief escapes his lips. And together, they laugh.

Allistor had abruptly stopped walking and swung his arms around Lovino's torso, hugging him tightly. The Italian's arms pinned to his sides, he could do nothing more but awkwardly (and l-lovingly) pat him on the back. He buried his face into the redhead's chest, just taking in the smell of coffee and cigarettes that always seemed to linger on him.

It was nice. Really, really nice.

They stay like that for a while before pulling away and sitting on one of the benches, just taking in the quiet. They held hands.

"I've never done this before, so…" Lovino says, breaking the silence. He drew and exhaled a shaky breath. Then he glanced up at Allistor, searching in his breathtaking forest green eyes for something— something— that could possibly tell him that the Scot did care too, and wanted what he wanted. "What are we now?"

Allistor grins, and Lovino can't help but laugh again, covering his face out of embarrassment. "God. Sorry, I just— I can't—" A sigh. "I don't know how to do these things, okay? I don't know the fucking MO for— for this."

"'Th' fucking MO'," Allistor echoes, amused.

And Lovino nods. "Yes. The fucking modus operandi. So cut me some slack, okay? This shit ain't easy. This shit is not easy."

The Scot shifts in his seat a bit to turn to Lovino. "What do yeh fink we are then, Lov?"

The latter scowls. "I don't know. Like I said, I don't know how these things… o-operate."

This time, it's Allistor's turn to laugh. "Oh, Lov. It's not a machine or anyfink like tha'." He gingerly cups the Italian's cheek with his other hand. "Do yeh want ta be wif me? Like, in Tha' Way?"

Lovino averts his gaze. "I wouldn't not want to… Do you?"

"Of course Ah would," Allistor says, laughing as he leant in a bit closer, stroking Lovino's cheek with the pad of his thumb. "Will yeh 'ave me, Lov?"

"Fuck yes," Lovino says, and the redhead pulls him in for a chaste kiss and a hug. He rubs big warm circles onto Lovino's back.

"Does this mean we're together now?" The latter couldn't help but stupidly ask, immediately cursing himself for his derpiness.

Allistor laughs, pulling away so he can look at Lovino. The corners of his eyes are crinkling with joy. "Of course we are, Lov."

And again, they began to kiss.

The next morning, Antonio waits outside the Vargas twins' apartment again. He felt weary, honestly, and he hadn't slept well.

Lovino was the first one out of the building, whose hazel eyes glazed over him in indifference. He didn't care. He wasn't good enough for Lovino to care. The Italian snorts in amusement, a wry smirk on his face. "You look like shit. Just saying."

"Yes, and I feel like shit too~!" Antonio wants to retort, but he doesn't. He reins in his emotions. He bites his tongue.

He looks the other way since it hurt too much to see the person he liked wearing a hoodie in such hot weather. The more he tried to hide his love bites, the more it became obvious.

Even for a fool like Antonio.

He swallows, glancing at the ground and frowning as he dug his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Feliciano quickly followed. Upon noticing the Spaniard's dishevelled state, he knit his eyebrows together in concern. "Ve~ What's wrong, Toni? Are you alright?"

Antonio could only slowly shake his head, forcing a smile on his face. He's certain that the light doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm fine," he says, even as his heart was breaking. "Perfectly fine~."

Translations:

Dio - God (It.)

Let me tell you what you are probably already thinking.

"This shit went from normal to creepy as fuck real fast smh"

"WELL THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY"

"Wtf is this"

If your reaction was along these lines, I wholeheartedly agree with you. Even now, I'm not sure what the ding dang doodly happened either. But to be honest, I've planned this cross-dressing thing long before I've even published the fifth chapter, so this scene was pretty much set in stone. What wasn't set in stone, however, was Toni getting a little, uh… voyeuristic.

Plus, this fic will be really heavy on bacchanalian pleasures and indulgences, as well as dark themes anyway, if Lovino's list wasn't indication enough.

I'm starting to go easy on Allistor's accent, and I'm starting to phase out the usage of foreign language in this some. Expect that Lovi and Feli will still call each other fratello, though. And I can't really stop using double apostrophes since it'll kinda lose consistency with the story so far. I kinda have this idiosyncrasy where I don't like to tamper with my story chapters once they've been published, save for a skim for the occasional grammatical error that may have slipped through during proofreading.

Regarding the stereotypical Tumblr poetry thing, I don't know whether to laugh or to cry because that was exactly what I was going for. I guess I hit the bulls-eye (honhon motherfucker). I'll work on it. As well as the awkwardness of the dialogue as well. Hahaha~

~jellydonut16~

P.S. For Nyla :3 (AKA Kawaii Dream)