Chapter 17 : Penultimate Peril

"So... we're sinners now."

"Sì. So we are. What of it?"

Antonio let out a breathless, incredulous laugh.

"I never expected to hear that from you, Lovi..."

"You never expect anything at all," Lovino murmured into his neck. His voice was softer tonight, lacking its usual irritation. "Now shut up and let me sleep."

Antonio wasn't about to argue with that. Instead he ran one hand through Lovino's hair, brushing the damp brown strands from his flushed face, and trailed his way down to Lovino's neck and shoulder and arm. The Italian shivered as Antonio reached the long curved scar that still marked his side, but allowed him to touch it.

"You're not helping," he said, his voice thick.

"My only job is to be here with you and do whatever you like."

"Hm." Lovino pressed closer, the warmth of his bare skin sending tingles down Antonio's spine. He flung one arm tiredly over the Spaniard's shoulder. "Well, in that case... just... hold me."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

Antonio did so, and for a while they lay together under the blankets. He could hear Lovino's even breaths next to his ear, felt the steady beating of the Italian's heart, in unison with his own. Lovino's eyes were closed against the faint moonlight in the room, but Antonio knew that if he opened them they would be a clear, peaceful shade of hazel, the color that made his chest ache.

Gently he leaned closer and whispered an "I love you" against Lovino's lips, as naturally as if he had done so his whole life, and Lovino's eyes opened for a split second before he kissed back. Several blissful minutes later he drew away, but he was smiling—the first real, unshadowed smile Antonio had ever seen on him, like a ray of sunlight breaking through clouds.

"I guess I can't ever rest while you're around."

Antonio tightened his arms around him.

"I just... if I don't touch you, if I don't kiss you, I'm scared you might vanish at any moment."

He received a strange look from the Italian, an it won't happen, you must be dreaming look that only Lovino Vargas could accomplish while half-asleep, but it was muted by the softness in his gaze.

"I should be the one worrying, not you," he murmured, and crushed his lips against Antonio's. This time neither wanted to break the kiss. Lovino's fingers tangled in his hair, his other hand gripping Antonio's shoulder and drawing him closer, deeper. His lips said what he himself could not, in so many gentle movements—he needed Antonio, needed him in every way. The Spaniard readily obliged.

"I'm not going to leave anymore," he whispered next to Lovino's ear. "Not now, not ever, my love... I swear it."

Lovino's mouth curved into a smile, a smile that Antonio felt and shared, and his hands reached up to hold Antonio's face tenderly.

"I love you too," he breathed, and no more was said the rest of the night.

The next few days passed by in a blur, and Antonio thought himself the happiest man in the world. He could not get enough of the fact that every morning, when he awoke, Lovino would be right beside him, making no move to leave because this was where he belonged, where Antonio belonged—with each other and no one else.

Antonio in his bliss would have given up his work, but remembered at the last minute that he had yet to become a man with good standing. He also remembered something else, three nights later.

They were down at the water's edge then, sitting at the dock and gazing at the sea. The moon was full and brilliant, a sliver of it reflected trembling silver in the velvety dark waves. All around them were the twinkling lights of the heavens, that Antonio could not see for Lovino's eyes. He had never seen the Italian look so content as he did right then, his head thrown back to take in the breeze and the sky and the stars.

"Have you ever thought about... how small the world really is?" he said, his hair ruffling slightly, speaking more to himself than Antonio. "Sometimes I look up at the sky and I feel like... like something tiny and insignificant among all these stars. As if we're only two small pieces in the great chess game of existence." He sighed. "At least we're playing it right so far."

Antonio thought of himself and the dangerous game he had only just given up after thirteen years. "All the world's a stage," he said absently.

"And all the men and women merely players," Lovino finished, his eyes on Antonio's. "So you've read it too?"

"Yes... when I was younger."

A short silence fell, and then Lovino moved closer and leaned awkwardly against him, his fingers finding Antonio's in the darkness and squeezing them reassuringly. He was so warm, so warm and comforting and wonderful, and Antonio's heart suddenly felt very full.

"Will you be staying, Lovino?" he asked, his voice thin in the cool night air. The Italian shifted.

"What do you mean? Of course I am."

"I mean... there's probably people looking for you. Won't you have to go back...?"

"No," said Lovino fiercely, turning to him, his whole face alight. "Not unless it's with you. I can't have it any other way. You'll come with me, won't you? Or I'll stay with you here."

"But they'll find out—the men here, they probably suspect things between us already. Especially Alessandro—"

"Who gives a fuck about Alessandro," Lovino interrupted. "He can think whatever he wants, as long as you swear him to secrecy. And—" He paused. "I sent him back yesterday, with a message for Feliciano and Chiara. To tell them I'm with you. I'm sure they'll understand..." His voice trailed off, and Antonio could tell where his thoughts were heading.

"You're not going to leave them, are you?"

"No, but—" Lovino sounded as if he were grasping for straws. "I can't give you up simply because they say so. I can't. And I don't fucking care if anyone thinks this is wrong, because—" His voice caught. "Because you're—you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Antonio..."

Antonio reached out and pulled him close, holding Lovino securely as he trembled. It was so easy to think, in this moment, that out here at sea they could be far from all boundaries and restrictions and ridiculous customs, all the strange and meaningless rules of men. That, even if they were disobeying all the laws of nature, throwing caution to the wind, they could still live life happily and together.

He caressed Lovino's cheek, seeing in the dimness the expressive hazel eyes, saddened now, the Italian's straight nose, the soft shape of his mouth. There could not be a more handsome, more noble man to walk the face of the earth. And there could not be a luckier man than Antonio, to love and be loved by him so truly.

"We'll make it work," he whispered, and as the Italian gave a small nod against his shoulder, Antonio tilted his face up and kissed him passionately, never wanting the moment to end.

He was walking through land that had once been dotted with small houses here and there. But the ground was barren and cracked, the houses abandoned wooden husks, ringed by the skeletal limbs of lifeless trees. The sun glared down on everything like a sentinel without mercy. And Lovino, turning this way and that, almost didn't realize where he was—until he spotted the faded spires of the distant yet still familiar city.

Venice.

With a sinking feeling he approached. It seemed to take forever, and yet almost suddenly he was there, among shells of buildings and abandoned canals. Everything was eerily silent. No one lingered in the shadows, no merchants in the marketplace called out their wares. The water was strangely devoid of gondolas and their merry crew.

"Hello?" Lovino heard himself call, his voice echoing. No reply.

His feet went on, one step in front of the other, as if being pulled forward by some unseen force. Every nerve in him was screaming to turn back, to avoid the well-known street that would lead him home; some warning voice inside him spoke ominously, in words he could not understand. His body would not obey his mind, and unstoppably, inexorably, he neared.

The great villa met his eyes. Deserted; ruined.

"Fratello!" he shouted, his heart sinking as he darted forward. "Sorella! Are you in there?"

No answer. Lovino rushed to the gates. They hung open like the jaws of a great dead animal, without any guards to flank them. Upon entering the courtyard Lovino discerned the general disrepair of the place. Clearly the villa had not been lived in for days, perhaps even weeks.

"Fratello!" he shouted again. "FELICIANO! CHIARA!"

"Lookin' for the lord an' lady?" inquired a gravelly voice and Lovino spun around, to find himself face-to-face with an old man dressed in rags.

"Who are you and why are you here?" Lovino demanded, ignoring the nervous feeling rising inside him. "Where is everyone? Tell me!"

"They left," said the man, his crooked grin exposing toothless gums. "You didn't hear? Where have you been, young sir? Do you not live near enough to know? There's been a—" He broke off, coughing painfully. Lovino grabbed him by the shoulders before he could get away.

"What did you say?" A note of panic crept into his voice. "What has there been?"

The man's eyes rolled in his head and he laughed, a horrible croaking sound. "There's been—there's been—"

"TELL ME!"

"Something horrible," the sly voice taunted, seeming to come from all around him now. "Something horrible... and you weren't here to save them... Who knows, your precious Spaniard might be next, if you aren't careful..."

"No..." There was no way he could know about Antonio. And Antonio was all right, had to be...

"He's not—" the man laughed. "He's not here! And if you stay here you will die!"

"No!" The word seemed torn from his lips. "You lying bastard—Antonio is all right! He's coming for me! Isn't that right, Antonio—Antonio!"

But to this too there was no answer.

"Antonio!" he shouted, his voice rising and cracking. "Feliciano—Chiara! You're all just doing this to torment me, aren't you? Fucking come out! It's not funny anymore!"

"You have brought it upon yourself," said a sepulchral tone. Lovino quickly turned, with half a mind to attack the old man; but somehow he had vanished, and the Italian found himself in a spinning wall of darkness.

"What—what the hell is this?" He tried groping his way through, but to no avail. A laugh echoed in the air around him.

"If you are not careful, you will never see them again."

"No! No! It can't be..."

But the weight of the statement seemed to bear down upon Lovino; his legs buckled and at once he was falling, falling... The same high cackle reverberated, rising almost to a wail.

"You will never—!"

"NO!" he cried, but it was too late and he could not, for the life of him, find his way out when he was still tumbling, the monstrous darkness closing upon him...

"Lovino, Lovino! Wake up!"

Someone was shaking him, someone with a firm grip and a familiar tone. Lovino let out a gasp, and then his eyes flew open. Hovering over him was none other than the Spaniard, his green eyes wide with worry like a child's.

"Lovino... it's just a dream... it's all right."

For a second Lovino stared at him, uncomprehending, still caught in fear. And then he finally realized where he was. He pulled Antonio down and clutched onto him as tightly as he could.

"Lovino," he heard the Spaniard whisper, comfortingly, and felt arms going around his back to hold him. "Was it a really bad dream?"

"Fuck." Lovino let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "It was horrible. I thought I lost you and my siblings and everyone else..."

"Don't worry, mi amor. I'm still here. I'll always be here."

At least his lips on Lovino's were real enough, and they awakened him completely from the nightmare, as did the blinding sunlight from the open window. The Italian sighed and forced himself to breathe evenly.

"I must have been making a hell of a racket. I'm sorry... Shouldn't you be working?"

"Not today."

"Not today?" Lovino was about to ask more, but Antonio had suddenly started trailing kisses down his jaw and he forgot for a moment what he had planned to say. He could only flail weakly at the Spaniard. "F-fucking stop that—it's too early for this—"

"But Lovi..." Antonio breathed against his shoulder, his lips brushing Lovino's skin. "We didn't have time on the other days..." The Italian gasped as his fingers trailed lower.

"Antonio, wait, what if—ah—"

There came a loud knock at the door and Lovino pushed him away so hard Antonio fell over the other side of the bed. Quickly Lovino pulled the blankets up to his chin, in case someone entered. No one did; but an awkward ahem passed through the closed door.

"Alessandro?" he hissed, wondering exactly how much the man had heard.

"... Yes, sir, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come so early, I didn't mean to interrupt..." Already they could hear him turning and practically running down the stairs.

A moment of perfect silence; and then Lovino sprang up and threw on his clothes as fast as he could. He knew his face was burning, and seeing Antonio slowly getting up wasn't helping matters much.

"Hurry the fuck up!" he shouted to the wall instead. "He's probably got a message of some sort, and now we..." He swallowed uncomfortably. "I'll deal with... that... later, okay?"

"As you wish," answered Antonio. Catching his barely hidden smile, the Italian punched his arm for good measure. There were still so many threats he had not carried out. But that was Antonio's fault, damn him.

They went downstairs, Lovino still unable to keep the color out of his face. Alessandro was waiting outside, carefully expressionless; he seemed quite willing to pretend he had heard nothing a few minutes ago. Something else in his eyes, however, unnerved Lovino and he could not help but ask.

"Did they write back? How was it at home?"

After a long moment of staring at the ground, Alessandro shook his head, gravely.

"They didn't..."

A sudden unwanted suspicion arose in Lovino's mind.

"What do you mean, they didn't? Are they all right?"

The younger Italian gulped and looked away. "I..."

"Tell me! Are they—are they at home? Did they... leave?"

"... I think so, sir. The villa... it was empty. No one answered at the gates."

A beat. The words sank in.

"It can't be..." Lovino whispered, and then suddenly shouted. "You're lying! You're fucking lying, aren't you?" He grabbed Alessandro by the shoulders and shook him. "You're just making this up for us to worry—"

The other man freed himself with difficulty, his face pale. "I am not—I am telling you the truth! They're not there! One of the neighbors told me he was leaving too—because it arrived in Venice a week ago and people have been dying—"

"What arrived?"

Lovino didn't think he could bear to hear the answer. But Alessandro spoke two words.

"The plague."

The plague.

Lovino's heart plummeted and he had to brace himself against the wall. He could barely hear Antonio's hurriedly whispered words of reassurance. There was a roaring in his ears. He could not breathe, he could not think.

"Alessandro," the Spaniard was saying, urgently. "Don't say anything more. Can you get us a horse? Or someplace on a ship? Please. And quickly."

The young man nodded and vanished around the corner. Lovino did not notice him, did not pursue him. He could only stand there, frozen in Antonio's arms, with the same words ringing in his head over and over.

Feliciano.

Chiara.

The plague.

And he had not been there—

He had not been there.

x X x

Historical Note: The plague in Italy lasted from 1629-1631, and was brought in by German and French troops from the Thirty Years' War. Mantua was the first city affected by the plague, and Venetian troops later carried the disease into other parts of northern and central Italy. Milan and Venice were among the hardest-hit; Venice lost 46,000 people in a population of about 140,000.

As you can probably tell by now, I have a soft spot for plot twists.

And if I'm pushing the T rating please let me know and I will happily change it ahah yes I am sorry kids.