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Lovino looks at the Spanish man seated next to him on the couch and frowns. He’s at Antonio’s for a quiet evening in, and they’re watching football. Antonio keeps yelling at the television and nudging Lovino excitedly, and Lovino would be more into it if he could tear his eyes away from Antonio’s lips for just one second.
Antonio notices Lovino looking his way, and he grins at him. “Is something wrong, Lovino?” he says, and grins just a little too cheerfully, and Lovino’s face automatically turns deep red. “You haven’t been swearing at the TV as much as you usually do!”
“N-no, nothing’s wrong!” Lovino says, a little too defensively, and holds his hands up to block Antonio’s view of his face. “You bastard,” he adds, just as a precaution.
“If you say so!” Antonio smiles at him and places his hand on Lovino’s knee, which makes Lovino tense up and his head loses any and all sense of thought. Antonio turns back to the television without noticing, but his hand stays put.
Lovino’s gaze returns again to Antonio’s lips, and the Spaniard’s hand on his knee doesn’t help at all; in fact, it almost feels as if it’s egging him on, encouraging him. Lovino gulps and closes his eyes, trying his best to gather courage from every place in his body, every place in the world. He opens his eyes then, and clears his throat.
“An...Antonio.” His voice is cracking.
Antonio turns to look at him, his smile ever-present. “Yes?”
And without a second thought, Lovino grabs Antonio by his shirt and pulls him close, pressing his lips against the Spaniard’s. The kiss is sloppy, and Lovino clearly doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it’s his doing, his move.
Antonio’s smile never falters, and he cups Lovino’s face before Lovino quickly pushes away, his face dark dark red. Antonio looks at him with concern, opening his mouth to say something, but Lovino jumps off of the couch and rushes out of the room and down the hallway, stumbling over his own feet before reaching the bathroom and locking himself inside.
“Lovino!” Antonio calls out, hopping to his feet and following Lovino’s frantic running. He reaches the bathroom right after Lovino slams it, and he tries opening the door only to find it locked. “Lovino, please open up!”
“Fuck no!” Lovino yells back, his voice breaking as he leans against the door, as if he’s another barrier between himself and Antonio. He slides down to the ground and folds himself up against his knees; his face is deep crimson, and he can tell just by the heat of it. “Go away, you stupid fucking bastard!”
He’s embarrassed, and Antonio knows it. He’s curious about what drove Lovino to kiss him, but he’ll definitely say that he’s happy that he did so. Antonio leans against the wall opposite the bathroom and crosses his arms over his chest, a small, happy smile on his face.
It’s hours later when Lovino opens the door, a dark blush still deeply set in his cheeks. He scowls at Antonio, who instantly springs to life with a bright grin on his face.
“Don’t you dare say a word, asshole,” Lovino mutters, avoiding Antonio’s eyes like the plague.
“I won’t,” Antonio says, beaming at the Italian.
And without warning, Antonio steps forward and catches Lovino’s lips in a soft kiss, so unlike Lovino’s hasty one earlier. Lovino freezes and panics, but before he can think about anything else, he’s kissing Antonio back, and they’re moving in a slow, perfect rhythm, and Lovino can still feel Antonio smiling against him.