Work Text:
Two Nations, arguably alike in dignity,
In (not so) fair London, where we lay our scene,
From ancient bickering break to new salinity
A pair of star-cross’d lovers become flirting machines.
Somehow, Lovino had managed to drag his idiot of a boyfriend to what had to be the one place in this godforsaken city that actually had good food. Seeing as they were currently in the heart of the only country who had multiple EU treaties banning him from the kitchen, the Italian counted this as a win. They were sat on the pavement, soaking up the first rays of sun they had seen all week and enjoying the lingering flavours of dessert. Their waitress came over to give them the bill - and Antonio said something to her in his dumb Spanish accent, probably flashed the poor girl those stupidly bright green eyes, too.
She giggled.
Not in the ‘You look like a generous tipper’ kind of way. Oh, no. She giggled in the ‘I get off at four, here’s my number’ kind of way.
Well.
He couldn’t let that pass now, could he?
Lovino leaned forwards and focused his attention on the girl. Using all of his innate Italian charm, he shot her that confident smirk that always turned the target’s legs to jelly.
“Don’t feel like you have to rush; we’ve still got some time, bella.” He let his voice drop a little and deepened his accent. Poor English girls, having to suffer without the charms the Romance countries had to offer.
She squeaked, blushing, and left - presumably to go calm down behind the counter.
“That wasn’t very fair of you, Lovi.” Antonio lazily reprimanded him.
“I couldn’t let you show me up, could I?” He retorted.
“Show you up?” He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone knows I’m the best at flirting, idiot.” He scoffed. “I had to defend my title.”
“Oh~? You forget, Lovi, that you are sitting across from the country of passion~ I’m sure I disagree~”
He could fucking hear those damn tildes.
“Come on. If that was ever true, it isn’t any more, idiot. You wouldn’t know passion if it slapped your -” stupidly perfect “- a- face.”
Antonio chuckled, ignoring his lover’s eye roll. “You don’t think I can be passionate?”
“Unless your definition of passionate is ‘happy-go-lucky moron who thinks tomatoes are the height of romance’, then no.”
Gold met green. A spark of challenge flashed between their eyes.
“And anyway; it’s obvious that I’m the better flirt. Who’s the one with the global reputation?” Lovino taunted.
“Ah, but Lovi, I’ve had much more experience.” Not to mention many dares with France and Prussia, but nobody needed to know about those. “I can out-flirt you easily.”
“Oh yeah?”
The Spaniard leaned across the table, dropping his voice to a sensual purr. “As sure as you are beautiful, mi amor.”
That was a weak opening shot.
Lovino stretched back comfortably in his seat, bolstering his return volley with his bedroom eyes. “Mmm… Could you say that again? I got distracted by your lips… I wonder how they would taste right now.”
Oh, it was on.
“If you came over here,” He shifted to indicate his lap. “You’d get to taste them - and anything you’d care to try~”
One eyebrow raised at that. Really, Tonio?
He smirked, equally shameless in his reply. “If it tastes anything like it did in the dream I had last night, I’d definitely enjoy myself.” He paused a second for the implication to set in. “Are you okay there, Tonio? You’re looking a little red.”
“This dream - what was going on it in?”
“Ah, but that would be telling~”
“…” The Spanish onslaught paused for a moment to rally and regroup. “You always scatter my thoughts so easily, Lovi. It’s impossible to think straightaround you.”
Had he not been in a serious competition with the idiot, Lovino would have groaned at that pun.
“Like you ever think, bastard…” He muttered, not yet conceding the match. After taking a deep breath, he leaned in close to straighten Antonio’s collar.
Lovino was halfway through telling Antonio exactly what he’d like to do to him, given time and a secluded corner, when he heard it.
There was only one person in the world with that fucking voice.
And he’d spotted them.
The Italian’s smoothness went down the drain, and he turned to face the snail-eater with a scowl.
“What could possibly be going on here~?” Francis already knew, Lovino could tell just from the damn aura of smugness the bastard was radiating.
“Lovi and I are having a flirting contest~!” The idiot beamed.
“No we are not!”
“Can I join in~?”
“Fuck no! Get lost, pervert!”
“Aren’t I the country of love? I could easily win any flirting competition~”
The poor waitress came back with their bill in the middle of what was almost a full scale war. She had been thinking of slipping both of the handsome foreigners her number, on the off chance that they’d call, but it looked like she’d dodged a bullet on this one…