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The holiday season is never quiet for them. There's parties and people all around, drinking and singing galore (the two not always exclusive). There’s errands to run and a whole manner of last-minute things to be taken care of before either of them can afford to take the time off for themselves. There's always something going on, and the idea that this year might be different was simply ludicrous to Gilbert.
At first.
Now, he's sitting in front of a crackling fire, nestled under a heavy quilt, and feeling so very warm and cozy. The thought of doing anything else is the laughable one.
He also feels something else: fondness, affection for the man in the kitchen, who he can hear stirring the hot chocolate that he'd (whined) asked for. It isn’t every day that Lovino spoils him the way Gilbert does for him. Gilbert absolutely adores when he does.
He hears footsteps, and then Lovino is there, sticking a mug out at him that's piping hot.
"Take it," he says, and take it Gilbert does. And when Lovino sits back down on his left, Gilbert makes sure to give him a smooch to show how much he appreciates being waited on. A smile curves his lips when Lovino grumbles under his breath, then Gilbert is attacking his cheek with kisses that range from barely-there to childishly messy.
“Ugh, stop!” Lovino says, this time being the one to whine. His effort of leaning away from Gilbert’s lips is half-hearted at best.
Gilbert ignores him, naturally , and quickly sets the mug down before pulling Lovino up into his lap, never letting up on his kissing.
“Shush. You like it,” he murmurs.
“I didn’t like it back when Aunt Maria did it twenty years ago,” Lovino counters, using his hands now to block the incoming attack. “I definitely don’t like it now.”
The cuckoo clock above the mantel wakes up for its hourly ritual that Gilbert finds cute but drives Lovino absolutely insane. It didn’t help matters that Ludwig had given it to them two Christmases ago as a housewarming gift of sorts. But Lovino isn’t paying attention to it now. Instead, he’s rolling his eyes at him, an even more regular occurrence in the household.
“Really, Gil? Pouting doesn’t work on me, you know that.”
“Pouting? Who’s pouting? Not me, surely.”
There’s a beat before Gilbert sees Lovino opening his mouth to retort and cuts him off, “I’m putting , you see. Completely different thing.”
The look of bewilderment on Lovino’s face is so endearing, Gilbert can’t help but give him a quick kiss to his nose. Like the background cuckoos! , it goes ignored. Lovino goggles at him. His expression goes from confused to wary while Gilbert sips his drink with a practiced air of casualness.
“Putting? Gil -- ”
“Putting you in your place, babe,” Gilbert says. His smile is shit-eating, and judging by Lovino’s quickly contorting expression, he’s achieved the desired result. Before Lovino can snap, however, he slides his hand into his hair and kisses him.
It’s sweet but not entirely chaste. Far too short for his liking, but Gilbert’s got to be fast now. He pulls back and sees with no small amount of satisfaction that Lovino is moving with him, chasing his lips only to scowl when he finds them out of reach.
“If anyone is putting someone in his place tonight, it’s me putting you in yours,” he warns.
Gilbert smirks. “By all means, bring it on.”
Lovino rolls his eyes again, moves as if to kiss him only to headbutt his cheek instead. It’s gentle and doesn’t hurt. What it does is serve as fuel for the fire that is one of Gilbert’s irreplicable laughs.
“You’re such a dumbass.”
“Yeah? And who picked this dumbass, hmmm?”
Lovino sighs, long-suffering. He knows Gilbert won’t drop it until he gives him what he wants.
“I did. I picked your dumb ass.”
”That’s right! You picked this ass, babe. Never forget it.”
“All right already! Stop throwing it in my face!” He’s moving off his lap and grabbing for a pillow to hit him with. Gilbert, already prepared for as much, puts his hot cocoa safely out of range of the battlefield before Lovino can start hitting him, which he does with an energy that’s admirable in these cold times.
“I hope your ass is ready for a kicking!”
“It always is, but you like it! Mmph!”
Lovino gets him right in the kisser with his weapon. He never fights fair. Gilbert is forced to defend himself with the quilt, putting it over Lovino’s head.
“You can’t deny it, Lovi. Say you like it!”
An angry slur of Italian is what he gets in response, along with some blind kicking -- the pillow is already on the other side of the room -- and fists swinging wildly.
“Sorry, I don’t speak spaghetti. What was that?” he asks and considerately lets go of the quilt so that Lovino can breathe.
These arguments could go on for a time, and they often do, but Lovino’s stopped fighting and is laughing that beautiful laugh of his, the one Gilbert could listen to well into his graying years.
“Oh, my god. ”
“’Strue, isn’t it?” Gilbert asks, grabbing Lovino’s still-flailing leg to save himself a kick. He uses it to pull the man closer to him again. “You do love it, don’t you?”
It isn’t every day that he can coax a full smile out of Lovino. Sometimes he’s simply too stubborn or all in a foul mood from work that not even Gilbert’s incorrigible charm can do the trick.
But it’s there now. It’s there as clear to see as the frost on their windows or the steam coming up from his abandoned drink, and it’s all for him.
“I do,” Lovino agrees, still smiling, looking positively gorgeous for it with the addition of those flushed cheeks from his near-smothering.
His words are almost too sweet, though. Alarm bells go off in Gilbert’s mind just before he continues, “Too bad it’s the only part of you that I like.”
And there he goes, fighting dirty again.
Gilbert groans as Lovino laughs more, but he’s smiling himself.
“Oh, babe…that’s a low blow even for you.”
His one wish for the new year is that he’ll always remember this moment. How Lovino’s laugh sounds and how the corners of his eyes crinkle when he’s smiling too much from their combined antics. How happy he feels to start the new year off right with the one he loves most.
How Lovino looks at him in a way that lets Gilbert know he feels the same way, even if he just has to get in the last word.
“I know. It’s what you get for calling my mother tongue ‘spaghetti,’ you uncultured ass cream.”
“Now, Lovi, it’s too cold for ice cream,” Gilbert chides, sending them both into childish laughter.
He picks up his mug again to drink while Lovino leans against him comfortably. Gilbert can see fresh snow falling outside, further blanketing the ground already covered in it. They’ll be snowed in by sunrise.
His thought gets voiced aloud at some point: “That’s going to be a bitch to shovel.”
“Mm,” Lovino agrees from below. He doesn’t look particularly alert, but he does seem blissful in the way he nuzzles his face into Gilbert’s sweater and neck.
They lapse into a comfortable quiet that isn’t broken until the clock goes off again. Midnight.
Then Lovino’s hand is on his cheek, turning his face away from the window to kiss him.
He doesn’t know what all the new year holds, but it doesn’t matter much to Gilbert. As long as he has Lovino with him, he’ll be all right. Any other thought is pushed aside as he kisses back, perhaps with a bit too much gusto, but that’s okay. He’s just making sure they both remember this moment.