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I.
“You don’t have to put me to bed anymore, damn it.” Lovino struggled against the hold around his wrist, watched as Antonio’s hand slid from wrist to hand, holding it with gentle ease. He pulled Lovino along easily, even when Lovino did his best to struggle against Antonio’s hold, going so far as to dig his heels into the ground and make his body deadweight.
“But if I don’t do that then my cute little Lovi has nightmares and ends up wetting the bed,” Antonio said cheerfully, and his expression was all sunshine and smiles and Lovino almost killed him for that look, so chipper as he outlined Lovino’s everlasting humiliation at the hands of his idiot boss. Honestly. What kind of bastard said something so easily and without shame (even if it was Lovino’s shame)?
Lovino, naturally, protested loudly. “You damn idiot! I’m not a kid anymore, I don’t do that kinda shit!”
It’s true that Lovino had grown, in the last few years. He was starting to shoot up—still a little shorter than his brother, but not by much. His face was losing its childlike roundness, and his limps—lanky, unadjusted—were almost of a noodle-quality. He was far from being an adult, or anywhere as tall as Antonio, but Lovino held out secret hope that someday he’d be taller and stronger than even Antonio and then he could shove that idiot off a cliff or something for the endless years of annoyance he suffered at his hands.
The protests continued, even as Antonio ignored them all. He pulled Lovino to the bed, and once close enough, he happily scooped Lovino up and deposited him almost lovingly into the bed. Lovino shouted out some curses and tried to get up. Antonio, in his customary fashion, wasn’t listening anymore or just didn’t get it. He shoved Lovino back onto the bed and started stripping him, humming to himself. As a child, this was no cause for concern, but feeling Antonio’s hands brush over his shoulders and chest made Lovino feel as if he was about to faint from his body’s simultaneous mission to filter all the blood in his blushing face ever southward.
“Fuck!” Lovino cursed, and head butted Antonio.
He’d grown, the last few years. He was no longer a child, but even so, Antonio either hadn’t realized or decided that treating Lovino like a little child in a dress was an acceptable option. It was more than frustrating, since Lovino was faced with the ever looming reality that he found the bastard attractive.
Which was fucking stupid because it was Antonio, and finding Antonio attractive was like finding a brick wall attractive. Only the brick wall was less rage-inducing when trying to have a conversation.
“Ow,” Antonio whined, as he rubbed at his head.
“Bastard! Go away! I can take care of myself!” Lovino shouted, and burrowed under the covers, face bright red and aroused just from Antonio undressing him—something he’d always done.
Antonio, instead of being insulted or wounded, just laughed. “So shy. So cute… “
“GO. AWAY.”
II.
Lovino couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as he dipped his partner, his eyes traced the way Antonio occupied the space. Breathing heavily, Antonio’s entire body moved as he led his own partner gently, cradling her with arms wrapped around her slender body protectively. His face set in determination as he completed the steps, his green eyes burned with such a fire that Lovino almost stumbled when those green eyes happened to flash to Lovino’s own eyes.
Antonio embodied the music, seemed to become the dance as he glided from foot to foot, hips swiveling, chest heaving, and legs pulsing along with the woman’s skirts. Hair fell into his eyes haphazardly and he whipped his head to the side as he pulsed along with the music. Her leg slid up his own, flashing a calf—then a thigh as Antonio’s hand splayed across her flesh, holding the leg up against his hip as he twirled her around, dipping her. Their mouths came dangerously close to connecting but with an almost coy smile, Antonio pulled away.
Lovino became aware that his own movements had become rather stark and awkward. He held his partner at arm’s length and when he finally managed to tug his eyes around from Antonio’s passionate display, Lovino’s partner was glaring at him.
She looked away with her eyebrows furrowed, now that Lovino was looking to her. “I think I am done with dancing.”
Lovino looked back to Antonio, who still moved with his partner. He looked back at the woman he was dancing with, whose expression darkened further as she pulled herself away from him rather abruptly.
“I have never been so insulted,” she said angrily as she stomped away.
Lovino followed after her. “How—”
“That entire time you were dancing you were looking at another girl!” she snapped. “If you did not want to dance with me, I would have understood but instead you insult me!”
Lovino blinked and almost corrected her about how he hadn’t been looking at another woman but a man—and his caretaker at that. He froze at the realization fully settled on him and he realized the weight of that reality. He looked away, brow furrowed and face igniting in a hot heat. He was usually so good with women, and it wasn’t that his dance partner wasn’t attractive and a nice woman—
But Antonio arrested all attention. And he shouldn’t because it was that idiot of all people. Hardly worth anything to get hot and bothered over. But Lovino was, much to his endless shame.
Lovino lifted his eyes after a long moment, arms folded over his chest, as he turned his eyes back towards the dancers. But, as always, his eyes fell away to the way Antonio moved—the way, for just a few moments, Antonio didn’t look like a dimwitted idiot and actually seemed to embody the passion for which his country was famous.
The dance reached its end soon enough, however, the music bubbling down. Antonio dipped his partner one final time, curling over her and planting a kiss across her sternum, green eyes smoldering and looking only at her—how could it be that this idiot had better luck with the women than Lovino? What did those women see in that idiot? (For that matter, what did he see in that idiot?) Antonio and his partner remained like that for a moment, breathing heavily, before Antonio pulled back, righted his partner, captured her hand, and pressed an appreciative kiss across her knuckles. She smiled and thanked him.
Antonio turned his head and found Lovino’s eyes. He grinned over at the Italian and Lovino knew that he was utterly doomed, his face flushed and his legs almost shaking.
Antonio made his way towards him, making an overly enthusiastic bee-line.
“Loviiiii,” he called out when he was close enough.
Lovino felt his eyebrow twitch and he looked away with a huff. He really had to question his own taste sometimes.
“Your face is so red,” Antonio said in greeting once he was close enough, hand touching Lovino’s back as he leaned over to inspect Lovino’s face. “Aaah, just like a—”
“Don’t even say it,” Lovino barked, and slapped the arm away from him.
Antonio laughed, as always refusing not to be insulted by Lovino’s actions—seriously, how could this idiot be so dense and cheerful?—and just continued to smile widely at him.
“A tomato,” Antonio finished with a laugh and ducked when Lovino went to punch him in the face. He kept laughing. “Loviiii, noooo.”
Antonio captured one of Lovino’s cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and tugged, smiling absently.
“H-hey—!”
“Not as much of a tomato as when you were younger, though, ha ha. You’re starting to grow out of your baby face, Lovi,” Antonio cooed with a bubbling laugh. “So cute! It’s only a matter of time before you become quite the lady killer, isn’t it?”
“W-what the hell are you talking about, asshole?” Lovino shouted, and tried to pull his face away from Antonio’s fingers. Antonio held on stubbornly. Bastard. “The women already like me.”
“Oh, do they?” Antonio bubbled. “That’s great, Lovi. I’m so proud.”
The idiot looked like he was about ready to smother Lovino to death. Lovino blushed and tried to pull away from Antonio.
“Though before, senorita Josephina seemed rather unhappy while you were dancing,” Antonio continued and Lovino’s blush increased. His struggles renewed.
“She was angry,” Lovino muttered. He eyed Antonio and looked away. “She thought I was looking at other women.”
“That is rather rude,” Antonio said with a sage nod, hand finally falling away from Lovino’s cheek and grasping his shoulder, as if in sympathy. He didn’t want this idiot’s sympathy.
Lovino blistered and sputtered. “Shut up! It wasn’t like that.”
“So my cute Lovino was looking at the ladies,” Antonio laughed, acting as if he hadn’t heard Lovino’s protest. “You really are growing up.”
“S-shut up,” Lovino muttered. But at the same time, he couldn’t help think that it was about time the moron realized he was growing up.
“But you need to learn how to be more gentlemanly and aware. Come now, Italians are supposed to be very romantic, yes? Good lovers!”
Lovino kicked at him. Antonio laughed and grabbed Lovino’s ankle before the kick landed.
“How would you know anyway?” Lovino shouted.
“I can tell because of the way Lovino behaves,” Antonio said softly.
Lovino’s stiffened and his eyes narrowed.
“Though, Lovi is also kind of grumpy. He could stand to be cuter. That way, he’d be even luckier with women,” Antonio said with a sigh, then dodged away with a fluid movement that could have been a dance move when Lovino tried to kick him again. “So shy,” Antonio cooed, laughing softly. “So cute, Lovi…”
“I can handle girls just fine, idiot,” Lovino snapped, restraining the urge to punch Antonio in the face as he continued to laugh. “It’s not my fault.”
“It isn’t?” Antonio’s laughter continued, and as he sat down at a table he grabbed Lovino’s hand and pulled him down to sit beside him. Lovino huffed but didn’t protest otherwise. For once.
“No!” Lovino shouted, face huffing up and turning red. “I know how to treat women just fine! I’m just—”
“Just?” Antonio prompted, when Lovino didn’t continue.
Lovino looked away with a scowl. “It’s not my fault, if my attention is elsewhere.”
Antonio looked surprised for one moment, before his smile returned, bright and cheery and nauseating. Lovino scowled.
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Antonio protested.
“I don’t care!” Lovino shouted.
They sat in a silence for a while, listening to the hum of music. Lovino glared at the ground, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Antonio watching the dancers as they returned to the dance floor, his eyes sweeping over, undoubtedly, all the women. Trying to figure out who it was that had caught Lovino’s eye—and he never would know, because he was stupid.
“Whose fault is it?” Antonio asked after a moment, and almost seemed strangely serious.
Lovino looked up and eyed him with a closed-off expression. “… I’m dealing with an idiot.”
“So mean!” Antonio protested and for a split second, Lovino feared Antonio had actually realized what he’d meant. But Antonio continued, “You shouldn’t be so mean about girls.”
Lovino heaved a heavy sigh and looked away. “Idiot. I’m never mean to girls.”
“That’s good,” Antonio said with a grin, completely missing what Lovino was saying.
III.
He tried. Oh, how he tried—to forget his feelings, forget the way Antonio made him feel, despite himself. It was wrong, it was all wrong. Excusing the fact that Antonio was an incurable, infuriating idiot—he was a man, and his caretaker.
He tried to ignore it, tried to tell himself that it wasn’t there.
It was much harder than it looked.
The sun was high up by the time Lovino finally decided it was probably time to wake his boss up. He swallowed thickly, leaning the broom against the wall—not that he’d even attempted to clean, he was worthless at that—and made his way up the stairs. He moved slowly, wishing to avoid waking the idiot up—
He stopped outside his door. And stared.
“Hey,” he said to the door, loudly. “Wake up, moron!”
Nothing happened.
Lovino stood in silence, and felt his anger rise. “Damn it—!”
He threw the door open.
“Bastard, wake the hell up!” he shouted.
Antonio snored on peacefully, that dopey smile on his face even in sleep. He didn’t even shift when Lovino stomped his way towards him. He kicked at the mattress, tried to pull the covers away—but nothing. Antonio was dead to the world.
Moody, Lovino frowned and scowled and carried on, trying to think of a way to wake the bastard up without actually having to touch him. He couldn’t stand to touch Antonio anymore, because if he did then he knew he would never be able to stop. And that was hardly helpful at all, considering that Antonio was a stupid bastard who would never realize Lovino’s feelings and why the hell did Lovino even have these feelings—
They weren’t feelings he was meant to have.
He stomped to the window and threw the curtains open. The room flooded in light, but still Antonio did not stir.
Lovino glared.
“Bastard.”
He stomped over to him again, stared down at him as Antonio snored quietly, his chest rising and falling evenly with his breaths. Lovino’s face twisted up in annoyance.
And then sagged.
His shoulders slumped.
“Bastard…”
He took a step closer, still staring down at him.
Suddenly, it felt hard to breathe. His heart lodged into his throat.
He leaned over, pushed back the hair from Antonio’s forehead, and pressed his lips against Antonio’s. He kissed him for a long moment before pulling back, his heart constricting in his chest. He rested his forehead against Antonio’s, breathing the same air. Antonio’s sharp nose pressed against Lovino’s round nose and Lovino shook his head, brushing his nose against Antonio’s, their breath lining up and foreheads resting together.
“Damn it,” he whispered, lips grazing against Antonio’s as he spoke. “Damn it all…”
He pushed his hand through Antonio’s hair, smoothed his fingers across his face.
“Why…?” he whispered and pulled away from Antonio, who slumbered obliviously on. “Why did it have to be like this?”
He backed away from Antonio, felt his hands curl into fists. He shook his head absently before inhaling sharply, stepping forward and shoving at Antonio’s shoulder. He kept shoving and shaking him, his face bright red. It took a few minutes, but finally Antonio snorted and rolled over. Blinking groggily, he swiveled his head to look up at Lovino. He licked his lips and yawned loudly.
“Hm, Lovi?” Antonio said through his yawn, rubbing at one eye as he sat up. “What is it?”
“Wake up, dumbass,” Lovino yelled and then stomped away.
IV.
It was a bright, sunny day. The backyard was stretched far into rolling hills, and the clothesline shivered between the house and the trees it was lined up against. The air was warm, but not humid, and the rustling breeze would help the laundry dry.
It’d been an unsuccessful day for Lovino, though. He’d tried to find a place where he could find confession, where he could find solace (or damnation, more likely) under God. But there was no one he could speak with, because no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to express his words, his sins, in anything but his own language. His tongue was too heavy when he tried to speak Spanish. He was too lost, in this land. Even after all these years, he was not fluent.
Antonio hummed cheerfully to himself, unaware of Lovino’s trials, the damnation of his soul. Lovino frowned at Antonio as the other man worked, hanging up the clothing to dry and smiling at Lovino when he saw their eyes lock. Lovino looked away.
“Lovi?” Antonio asked, suddenly.
“What do you want, bastard?” Lovino asked, and thinking it must be a criticism of his lack of work, hung up a pair of trousers sloppily. They ruffled in the breeze.
“Are you alright?” Antonio asked, and Lovino nearly dropped the basket of clothing he held. He stared at him in shock.
“… I’m fine, bastard.”
“Ah,” Antonio said, then grinned. “I’m glad, then.”
Antonio leaned over and picked up a long sheet, letting the white linen ruffle in the breeze, before he draped it pleasantly over the clothesline. The linen between them blocked his view of Antonio’s face, and for that, Lovino was thankful. He closed his eyes, breathed in sharply.
“Hey…” he began.
“Hm?” Antonio chirped.
Lovino hesitated, watching the way Antonio’s hands smoothed out the sheet. He prayed that Antonio would not move. He spoke, finally:
“What would you do, if you realized that someone you hadn’t expected had somehow become precious to you?”
Antonio’s hands grasped the linen and when it looked like he was going to step around it, Lovino shoved him back into place, with the sheets between them. Antonio chuckled and hissed a bit in surprised pain, but didn’t protest Lovino’s insistence.
“What do you mean?” he asked, instead.
Despite how much of an idiot the Italian knew that Antonio was, Lovino didn’t want to go into too much detail. It was better not to risk it. Antonio had his strange moments of insight, and his feelings for Antonio were not something he wanted the bastard to have insight into.
“Someone you didn’t expect to think as important,” Lovino continued. “Someone you’re not supposed to feel this way for.”
“Forbidden love?” Antonio asked quietly, his voice surprisingly thoughtful and careful.
Lovino laughed bitterly. “I don’t know if I’d call it that. Maybe just that it’s a pain in the ass this way. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way.”
“Lovi?”
“…What?” Lovino muttered.
Through the sunlight hitting the linen, Lovino could just make out Antonio’s outline through the laundry. He had to look away, down towards Antonio’s feet, bare in the warm grass of his backyard.
“Are you happy here?”
“What the hell—what kind of question is that? That has nothing to do what we’re talking about.”
“Just answer.”
Lovino muttered to himself and looked up at the blue sky above their heads. “You’re a pain in the ass, but… it could be worse. I guess.”
Antonio didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was soft. “I’m glad.”