daughter of the sea, oregano's first cousin- cook, your blood is quick as the soil;
title: Kiss the Cook
characters/pairings: Spain, Romano, Germany, Italy; Spain/Romano, slight Germany/Italy
rating: PG-13
summary: One day, a hungry Lovino turns up at Antonio’s house expecting to be fed. When it turns out that Antonio forgot to buy two key ingredients, lunch turns into a messy cooking lesson full of fail. [written for tanya_tsuki for the sparo_xchange.]
note: Human names used as per request.
☆kiss the cook
It was a sunny day; rain had washed the cold away, warmth stepped into place, dripping gold off the branches of trees, off gumshoe roofs of yawning houses...afternoon song skipping wheels; Lovino was standing, dispassionate and lazy in his posture, in the front courtyard of Antonio’s ridiculously large house. Had been standing there for fifteen minutes before he finally heard the click of the gate and saw the bastard coming through it- all messy hair, all messy heart, carrying a plastic bag and singing to himself- Antonio turned to lock the gate and Lovino cleared his throat.
Antonio turned back around a with a curious expression on his face; but on seeing Lovino, his eyes brightened and a smile broke like yolk over his face. “Lovino!” he exclaimed, walking toward him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you in...a week!”
“Get off me,” Lovino spat as Antonio smothered him in an embrace, but Antonio just ignored him.
“So? What brings you here, Lovi?” Antonio asked, grinning.
Lovino paused; pushed Antonio off and looked up to him, green on green- then he frowned. “Tch. I’m hungry- what else? Feed me, you bastard.”
Antonio let out a laugh. “Right, okay,” he answered, patting Lovino on the back as they headed to the front door. “Boss has just the thing, too!” he went on pointedly, “I learned how to make something new- pasta and tomatoes, just like you like- I just went out to buy some...”
Antonio unlocked the door (slow as usual, Lovino noted) and they stepped inside- the house, cool and empty, the kitchen similarly so, sinking into its own colors. Antonio set the bag on the island counter and chattered as he took out the food. “The cashier was so nice too, she had these tortoise-shell glasses and I really wanted a pair- they’d look good on you!”
Lovino scoffed. “I don’t even wear glasses, moron.”
“They’d still be cute,” Antonio pointed out, with that constant effervescent smile; he counted off the items in the bag as he took them out- “Okay, bueno. Garlic...lemons...pasta...pasta?” He looked through the bag hesitantly. “Hm. No pasta- uh, Lovino, looks like I forgot pasta!”
“Tch,” Lovino said, frowning, “Well, whatever. Don’t you have any here?”
“No- I didn’t-”
“No pasta! What kind of house is this!?” Lovino interjected incredulously.
Antonio laughed. “Okay, it’s okay, we’ll just have to do without it,” he said, waving it off; he took a carton of eggs out of a bag and set it on the counter. “Okay. Eggs, and of course, tomatoes!”
Another pause.
“Well?” Lovino asked.
Antonio said nothing.
Lovino frowned impatiently. “Well, if you have them, take them out!” he said, with a mysterious Italian hand movement.
“It- looks like I forgot them,” Antonio answered, slowly, as though his forgetting tomatoes, of all things, was a total impossibility. He looked up to Lovino, alarmed.
“You forgot tomatoes?” Lovino answered, just as slow, blinking in disbelief. Antonio nodded. “Wait- wait. You forgot tomatoes?”
“I think I did,” Antonio said, touching his hand to his chin in a thoughtful moment. A suspenseful, electric silence fell between them, white and wide as a gorge.
And then Lovino snapped. “Shit! You moron! Tomatoes!” he yelled, his fists curling white at his sides because it was sacrilege that either one of them should ever forget something as important as the gift of tomatoes. “You ingrate! Merry fuckin’ Christmas, huh! Shit! I’ll piss on this kind of house!”
“No, Lovino, wait! Let’s not be hasty!” Antonio cried, grabbing onto Lovino’s waist to prevent him from taking his mysterious Italian revenge, “It’s not too late! I have an idea- why don’t we go back to the grocery store?”
Lovino turned to Antonio with a dissatisfied frown. “Why didn’t you say that before! You have me all worked up and you coulda just fuckin’ said that!”
“I’m sorry- oh wait,” Antonio said, pausing thoughtfully. “I had made it just in time before siesta...so everything’s closed now.”
After an indecisive pause, Lovino started to struggle out of Antonio’s grasp again, this time really intent on pissing all over Antonio’s stupid pastaless tomatoless house. “No! Wait! There has to be another way to solve the problem!” Antonio cried out, and spent another ten minutes subduing the riotous anger of a hungry Southern Italian.
After effectively calming Lovino down and depositing him on the couch, Antonio came to the conclusion that waiting until everything opened again would be silly; and with that in mind, called up Feliciano to see if he had anything at his house that they could use. Well, he wasn’t at his house now, Feliciano said, but he was at Ludwig’s and they’d bring something right over. Antonio found that satisfactory, and sat down next to Lovino to wait until they arrived. Lovino wasn’t too keen on the idea of that stupid potato bastard coming over, but he’d have to deal with him than be hungry, so whatever.
Ludwig and Feliciano came by within the next half hour; Feliciano all smiles, obnoxiously fashionable, and Ludwig looking awkward and carrying a plastic grocery bag. Antonio greeted them at the door- “Ah, hey guys! Thanks so- ah, Feliciano- you look so cute!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself to catch Feliciano in a death-tight hug.
“Thank you! Ve, Antonio, I can’t breathe!” Feliciano chirped, hugging Antonio back. Ludwig felt a little uncomfortable in the face of all the- hugs and...affection...and other things that were markedly not German.
“Sorry, sorry,” Antonio laughed, and then turned off to lead them into the living room. “Thanks again- it was really nice of you, I’m sorry if I interrupted you guys or something-”
“Oh, not at all,” Ludwig answered.
“Fratello!” Feliciano yelled out, bounding over to the couch to throw his arms around Lovino and say a million endearments in rapid Italian.
“Yeah, yeah. Good to see you too...” Lovino said, patting Feliciano’s back. He looked up, shiftlessly; eyes swallowed with distaste when he saw Ludwig. “Oh, great.”
Ludwig’s expression withered. “Hello, Lovino,” he said.
“Piss off,” Lovino dismissed, “So? What the Hell are you standing around for? Did you bring shit or didn’t you?”
“Ah! That’s right! We did bring stuff!” Feliciano exclaimed, jumping up from his place to swipe the plastic bag that Ludwig’d been holding. He brought it back to Lovino, who took it and inspected its contents (after giving Ludwig a dirty look that basically said, “This better be good”).
There was a pause- a long pause, only marked by the sunlight that filtered by through the window. Ludwig looked anxious; Feliciano looked confused; and Antonio was still smiling.
Lovino paused. He looked up to the three of them. They looked back. He looked back into the bag. And then he said: “Potatoes. Fucking potatoes.”
Another ten minutes were spent trying to subdue the vengeful rage of pissed-off, hungry Southern Italian.
And after those ten minutes, they were all in the kitchen, prepping and getting things ready for cooking. Ludwig was of course off-put by the general disorganization of the kitchen; Feliciano wasn’t really helping at all, just clinging onto Ludwig and not listening to anything he said. Antonio kept on smiling in the face of the adversity they found themselves against, and Lovino was sulking, irritated electricity running in his movements, his eyes.
“Don’t sulk, Lovi,” Antonio said, with a cheeky smile in his eyes that made Lovino want to punch him, “You’ll get all wrinkled if you frown too much!”
“Wrinkled my ass!” Lovino snapped, slamming his palm down on the counter, “What the Hell am I supposed to be happy about!? I’m hungry and you forgot to buy pasta and tomatoes, and on top of it this moron-” he made a wide-handed gesture to Ludwig- “brought potatoes! Into this house! Potatoes, of all things!”
Ludwig’s expression flattened in irritation. “Hey, now- you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to.”
“Listen you little-”
“It’s not so bad,” Antonio hummed, carrying the bowl of washed potatoes over to the island counter. Lovino snapped his eyes up, fixed him with competitive look that said Prove it; Antonio smiled determinedly. “I bet,” he said, pointing to Lovino, “That you’ll like what I’m making.”
“Go to Hell,” Lovino snapped, “I’ll never like potatoes.”
“You’ll like this- Boss knows you too well,” Antonio countered.
Lovino leaned across the counter, fist balling in frustation- “Yeah?” he asked, sharply, “How much you wanna bet?”
“Not money,” Antonio answered, waving his knife as though to punctuate his statement. Ludwig had a mini heart-attack and was about to say something about kitchen safety, but Lovino interrupted him.
“Fine, you bastard- if I don’t like this, I get to freeload off you for a month,” he said.
“Ve, this is so exciting!” Feliciano interjected, tugging on Ludwig’s sleeve, “It’s like a game!- Even though that’s not a good prize since fratello does that anyway.” Lovino turned a cherry shade of red and turned to his brother to tell him to shut up, but Feliciano kept on talking. “What do you want, Antonio?”
Antonio paused- his expression, a bit surprised, as though he sincerely hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular. Lovino rolled his eyes; Antonio lapsed into a thoughtful silence- and then looked up with a smile dripping sunshine. “Free kisses for a month!” he exclaimed.
Lovino stared at Antonio in a mixture of embarrassment and shock at his immense stupidity. Feliciano clapped and said it was a good prize. Ludwig’s expression completely deflated, as though to say, Couldn’t you have picked a prize that wouldn’t make me uncomfortable?
“F-fine,” Lovino said. He made a scoffing sound behind his teeth, and a smug smirk curved his mouth. “Tch! It’s not like you’ll win anyway. I’ll never like potatoes.”
“Ve, what are we making, Antonio?” Feliciano asked, tugging on Antonio’s shirt sleeve.
“Patatas alioli!” Antonio exclaimed, with such flash and bravado that you’d think he was saying “ole!”
After he was finished prepping everything, Antonio assigned them each jobs- he and Feliciano would peel and chop the potatoes, and Ludwig and Lovino would take care of peeling, mincing, and mashing the garlic (he seemed not to have noticed that Lovino couldn’t stand Ludwig). Well, Lovino would have done the garlic, but he stated plainly that “I would rather watch grass grow than help this loser.” Ludwig frowned and was about to say something, but Antonio just laughed and said, “Lo siento, Lovino’s just hungry- he gets snippy when he’s hungry.”
So Lovino hung out by the fridge as they worked, leaning against the counter with dark pickpocket posture- his hands fidgeted out of absentminded nervousness. “Not that I fucking care,” he said, brushing his hair out of his face, “But what the Hell is patatas alioli?”
“Ah- it’s fried potatoes with a garlic and olive oil sauce,” Antonio said, peeling the last potato, “It’s like patatas bravas- patatas bravas is the same thing, but with a tomato sauce. You’d like it better, but this is just as good!”
“Hell if I’d like it,” Lovino answered gloomily, “I hate all potatoes.” He glared at Ludwig pointedly. “And anything to do with potatoes.”
Ludwig sighed. “Look, no matter how subtly you put it, I’ll know when it’s directed at me.”
“Well maybe it wouldn’t be directed at you if you weren’t such a-”
“I’m done peeling these!” Feliciano chimed, “How should I cut them?”
Antonio looked over to the peeled potatoes on Feliciano’s side. “Ah, bueno! Such a good worker,” he chimed, giving Feliciano a small hug (Lovino frowned- what, did this bastard think he didn’t have eyes?) and then took a peeled potato to demonstrate with. “Here- cut it this way once-” he cut it lengthwise- “And then cut each piece that way again. Then cut it across so that you have four.”
“Oh- okay!” Feliciano answered, cheerfully. “Ve, if I don’t remember, I’ll just ask you,” he shrugged simply, and went back to cutting. “But, watch the first time so that I do it right!”
Antonio’s eyes brightened; he got that hopeless, goofy smile on his face, the one that signaled an explosion from cute, and Lovino’s eyes narrowed. “So- cute!” Antonio let out.
“Hey! Get back to cooking!” Lovino snapped, pointing accusingly at Antonio; Antonio looked up to him, eyes confused and asking. Lovino huffed over to the island counter. “I’ll make sure he does it right. You get back to work, lazy-ass. Do I have to do everything for you assholes?”
“You’re not doing anything,” Ludwig pointed out.
“Wh-what! Did I ask you to talk? Get back to the garlic, slave,” Lovino said.
Ludwig rolled his eyes and sighed heavily; he figured he wouldn’t push the issue further- Lovino was all talk, anyway. “I’m done peeling this- how would you like me to cut them?” Ludwig asked.
Antonio craned his head over the mountain of potatoes and looked over to Ludwig. “Oh- just mince them,” he said, “But make sure to do it thin so that you can mash it easier!”
“Alright,” Ludwig said with a curt nod, and went back to his handiwork.
A couple of quiet minutes passed as Lovino watched them work. The potatoes shone slick and clean, smooth as mussels, colored like a lemon pearl; potato peels and hard lone shells of garlic. The smell of earth, different tangs...Lovino was surprised that Feliciano hadn’t cut himself yet (although- it was annoying to admit it- Feliciano was better with his hands than he was).
His eyes drifted over to Antonio...he’d always liked watching Antonio cook (well, not like he’d say that, or even acknowledge it himself)- there was something about the way he moved his hands, with such familiarity and seamless ease, that showed you how much he actually enjoyed cooking. Antonio was like that- he showed such care about anything he liked...it was hopeless to ignore the stupid bastard. He cut half a potato into four pieces, and Lovino frowned- Antonio could even make potatoes look good-
Wait, “make potatoes look good?” And what was with all these rosy-hued thoughts about Antonio, of all morons? Lovino shook those thought from his head and turned his attention to stupid Ludwig. He rolled his eyes- the guy went through everything like he was fucking on some huge mission- meticulous, like he was building a bomb. Lovino paused, scrutinising him. Besides, he wasn’t even doing it right...it was all uneven and fuckin’...ugh, that was an insult to food! Stupid moron couldn’t even mince garlic...Lovino felt an irritation build gradually in him, until it snapped, like a rubber band.
“What are you doing, you stupid potato!” he exclaimed- Ludwig looked up, surprised. Lovino reached over and took the knife from Ludwig’s hand decisively, waved him out of the way, “I’ll do it, I’ll do it! This fucking guy...useless...tedeschi di merda...”
Ludwig’s eye twitched in irritation. “You know, I understand what that means,” he said.
“Shut up,” Lovino answered, “I’ll show you how to do it. It’s not often I give lessons to stupid morons like you, so pay attention.”
Antonio looked up from cutting a potato, wide green blinking; he laughed, ran a hand through his hair. “Aww, Lovino’s helping!” he exclaimed.
Lovino looked up at him fiercely. “I’d never help this dumbass,” he said, pointing at Antonio with the knife, “And you’d better remember that, bastard.”
Antonio laughed, bells of the sound shadowing Lovino’s words. “Ah, so cute,” he said, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the potatoes. Lovino’s hand tightened around the knife handle, but he figured he’d be generous and not kill Antonio today.
Seeing as he’d been booted out of the garlic station, Ludwig asked what he could do in the meantime. “Oh- could you- maybe take, hm, four eggs, mas o menos, and crack them- wait,” Antonio went on, running his hand through his hair, a thoughful frown on his face. “But don’t just crack them, separate the yolk from the white and put the yolk in a mixing bowl- oh but make sure it’s big enough that we’ll be able to put other stuff in it, too.”
“Alright,” Ludwig said, with that same curt nod that said “yes, sir, we’re on a mission.” He got the eggs from the fridge, and turned back to Antonio. “Where can I locate a bowl?”
“‘Where can I locate a bowl,’ he says,” Lovino scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Here’s where you can locate a bowl, right up my as-”
“In the cupboard above the toaster!” Antonio chirped, not even noticing Lovino’s little speech.
Ludwig nodded again and got a bowl with relative ease- but turned back to see them all staring at him. Lovino looked annoyed; Antonio looked surprised; Feliciano looked vaguely disappointed in himself. “Uhm- is there something- ?” he asked.
“-No, nothing,” Antonio said, shaking his head, wide-eyed, “You’re just- tall...”
Ludwig paused, confused, and then realized. “Oh...” he said, like a dog had just died.
“Well, whatever,” Lovino said, waving it off, “You might be tall but you’re still German.”
Lovino proceeded to make another German joke in Italian, to which Feliciano responded “TEDESKEN!” That little upset was settled, so, as Antonio and Feliciano were finishing the potatoes and Lovino was finishing the garlic, Ludwig went about separating the yolks into the mixing bowl (Feliciano looked on in wonder- “Ve, wow, Ludwig, that’s amazing!”).
“Oi, Boss, I’m done with this shit,” Lovino said, lazy out the side of his mouth, not catching himself call Antonio “boss” out of habit.
“Mm, good, good!” Antonio nodded, smiling- “Next mash it up, so it’s a- whaddyou call it- sticky and-”
“A paste, a paste, I get it,” Lovino answered, waving him off and going to the cupboards to get a mortar and pestle.
“Can you finish the rest for me, Feliciano?” Antonio asked with a sweet smile- Lovino looked up, feeling a flash of- something through his mind (who did that stupid bastard think he was, smiling like that?).
“Si!” Feliciano replied enthusiastically, and went on chopping the potatoes, humming small and low.
Lovino ground the garlic, gritting his teeth. “Hey, asshole,” he bit- against his conscious judgement, almost involuntarily- “Stop hitting on my brother!”
Feliciano looked up to Lovino, as though concerned. “Ve?”
Antonio blinked. “I’m not hitting on Feliciano,” he answered, waving a bottle of olive oil as though to punctuate that point.
-And it wasn’t so much a big deal, wasn’t anything that really bothered him- just Antonio’s cluelessness was enough to piss him off. “Well regardless I said don’t so don’t do it!” Lovino snapped, and turned to Ludwig angrily. “Hurry up with that so we can mix it you moron!”
“Why are you yelling at me?!” Ludwig asked, out of sheer surprise.
“Because you’re you! Now hurry up!”
“Alright, alright,” Ludwig sighed, “It’s done, anyway.”
Still confused, Antonio instructed them as to how to continue (whisk the eggs and garlic paste together- then pour in two cups of olive oil, slowly, combining it with the hand mixer); he heated some olive oil in a broad pan as Feliciano finished chopping the potatoes.
Some time passed without incident (well, with only minor incident: Lovino and Ludwig kept arguing about the olive oil- “Slower, slower, moron! And thinner! Not so much! What are you, stupid?” “Why did I have to work with you?”). A hot hiss and bubble sang through the kitchen as Antonio started to fry the first round of potatoes; Ludwig and Lovino managed to finish without starting a fistfight, and it was just then that- like a sudden snap- Feliciano let out a helpless yelp, and his knife clattered to the floor.
Antonio whirled around, eyes wide in surprise- Lovino looked up lazily, figuring Feliciano’s hand just slipped or somthing. Ludwig’s eyes shot up, quick as a dog’s, to Feliciano. “What’s wrong!” he near-shouted, and in a panicked flash was at Feliciano’s side.
“I- I- I cut my finger!” Feliciano wailed, tears rolling down his face- he threw his arms around Ludwig, crying into his shirt like his grandmother had been run over. Ludwig paused, and then his expression deflated.
“Idiots,” Lovino cursed under his breath.
“You got cut!?” Antonio asked, as though shocked that such a travesty should happen. “Que pobrecito!”
“I’ll- I’ll take care of it,” Ludwig said, appearing to be oppressed by an invisible cloud of fail, “Where can I find the necessary supplies?”
Lovino rolled his eyes at the overly-formal vocabulary. Antonio pointed down the hall- “There’s a closet right next to the bathroom,” he said- he touched his hand to his mouth, like an old lady- Lovino rolled his eyes- like it was really that bad.
Ludwig dragged a still-wailing Feliciano down the hall to the bathroom to take care of the cut. Lovino cursed the day he ever got involved with all these morons (which would technically be the day of his birth) and carried the bowl over to Antonio. “Hey, I’m done with this, bastard,” he said. The smell of the potatoes frying hit him full-on, an assault on the senses.
Antonio turned to him- took a moment to blink, and then said, “Oh!” like he was finally getting it. He dipped his finger in the bowl, swiped some of the sauce and licked it, eyes thoughtful.
“What the Hell, bastard,” Lovino said, frowning, “That’s unsanitary!”
Antonio grinned. “My hands are clean!” he said, showing Lovino his palms. Lovino rolled his eyes, and Antonio nodded. “It’s really good! Just needs a little salt,” he added. “You guys did good!”
“Tch- I did good,” Lovino answered, “That useless German didn’t do shit.”
Antonio laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not very nice- he’s pretty helpful,” he said. “Can you get me the rest of the potatoes?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Lovino said, taking the cutting board from the island counter and placing it on the stove.
“Gracias,” Antonio chirped, with that same old stupid smile.
Lovino leaned on the stove, watching Antonio turn over the potatoes (“sigue,” he sang, like cheering them on, “you can do it, Señores!” “Shut up.”), checking to see if they were good on all sides. He cracked his knuckles, feeling- not really any way except weird. “Hey, uhm. Lissen,” Lovino started, the words slipping heavy and awkward off his tongue. “Before about uhm. Stupid Feliciano. -I don’t really fucking care, so don’t get it in your head that I care. Just- you know. Uhm...ugh. Forget it, moron!” he finished- saying the last bit under his breath, already embarrassed that he was making it such a big deal.
Antonio paused; the hiss of the oil filled the pause as Antonio blinked in confusion. Then the lightbulb seemed to go on, and he smiled. “Ohhh, that!” he said. “About me hitting on him, right?”
“I said I didn’t care so drop it!” Lovino snapped.
Antonio chuckled. “Que cosas tienes!” he said- the tone of his voice low as he leaned forward and kissed Lovino on the arch of his cheekbone.
Lovino felt himself redden (he never really blushed- blushing was pink, and he just turned red, like a fucking tomato); he frowned. “S-save it, moron!” he said.
Antonio paused and then grinned, like he’d just gotten the best idea ever. “Si- I’ll save it for when I win,” he answered.
Lovino paused. When he won...?- The realization hit him quick; he’d gotten so wrapped up in their kitchen misadventure that he hadn’t even remembered their stupid bet. His frown deepend indignantly. “Tch! Fuck you, you’re not winning shit,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
Antonio laughed. “We’ll see- this is just about done, anyway!” he chirped, turning off the stove and positively skipping as he emptied the pan. He plated the potatoes, and Lovino transferred the sauce to a clay bowl. Ludwig and Feliciano came back from the bathroom; Feliciano was all smiles and flowers, telling everyone that Ludwig was such a good friend and had saved his life, and Ludwig just looked drained.
They didn’t bother with cleaning up before they started eating- Lovino and Feliciano were both too hungry to bother, Antonio was too wrapped up in how cute Lovino and Feliciano were when they were hungry to remember, and Ludwig- although he felt a nervous tick at seeing a disorderly kitchen- managed to supress his urge to tear through the mess like Mr. Clean.
“You try it first!” Antonio urged, pushing a fork into Ludwig’s hand- firstly, because Ludwig wasn’t a normal guest, so it was only polite, and secondly because Ludwig obviously knew the most about potatoes, and Antonio was eager to hear his opinion.
“-Al...right,” Ludwig said, a little confused at Antonio’s enthusiasm, and went to try one of the potatoes.
“With the sauce!” Antonio interjected.
“Okay,” Ludwig answered. He chewed it over thoughtfully, and then made a short sound of approval and nodded. “Hm, it’s good.” Antonio’s smile brightened like he had just won a prize (well, recognition by the King of Potatoes in making a potato dish was sort of a prize).
“Tch,” Lovino said, “If he likes it, I’m sure as shit not gonna like it.”
Ludwig frowned. “Listen, you-”
“Ve, ve, let me go next!” Feliciano said, taking Ludwig’s fork with alacrity. He popped a potato in his mouth and could barely supress his enthusiasm. “That’s so good!” he exclaimed, and Antonio laughed and thanked him (although, it wasn’t really too much of an accomplishment for Feliciano to think a dish was good).
Antonio looked at Lovino next, confidence and excitement bubbling over. “You next!” he said, barely able to contain his sense of oncoming triumph.
Lovino frowned. “Forget it, I’m not that hungry-”
“Here’s the fork,” Feliciano said through a mouthful.
“Che cazzo! Get me another fork, I’m not going to eat off the same as him!”
“Here you go!” Antonio said, practically flinging a fork into Lovino’s hand.
Lovino’s frown deepened. He narrowed his eyes at Antonio. “Fine, bastard,” he said, “But don’t get your hopes up.”
Feliciano and Antonio held their breaths in anticipation, and Ludwig observed quietly, curious as to how it would turn out. It seemed to be the moment of truth- Lovino took his damn-ass time, stabbing a potato almost hatefully and dipping it in the sauce (“So it won’t taste like a stupid potato anymore”). He brought it slowly to his mouth, as though it pained his joints to do so; figured that he’d just eat the whole thing in one shot, just in case it was too disgusting to do in parts.
Feliciano and Antonio leaned in. Lovino chewed it over- expression illegible- he himself seemed confused, and it was hard to tell whether his reaction was negative or positive. Chewed, chewed, and then swallowed.
Another long pause. Feliciano stopped holding his breath because Ludwig whispered that if he kept on doing so he would probably die or something, but Antonio couldn’t contain his curiousity. “-So?” he asked.
Lovino didn’t look at him. He just started, as though out of a daze- and then he skewered another potato, dipped it in the sauce, and popped it in his mouth.
Antonio’s smile lit- actually, had enough electricity to light all of the houses of Europe for at least a year; Feliciano let out a surprised laugh- and Ludwig blinked, sincerely surprised that Lovino liked it- or seemed to like it.
As Lovino chewed over the third potato, his face reddened gradually- from a light dust of red to a deep, angry tomato red- and a fucking scowl came onto his face as he ate. “Lovi? What’s wrong?” Antonio asked, touching his arm.
“YOU BASTARD!” Lovino shouted, startling them all with the sudden violent volume of his voice, and without warning whipped around and started to stomp off, fists balled at his sides, mind red with anger. Anger because- because Antonio had ruined his integrity as a tomato-loving Southern Italian- because Antonio must be a fucking witch or something if he could make potatoes taste good- because Antonio had caused him to cheat on tomatoes and he had enjoyed it- and, finally (he couldn’t tell if this was the worst part), because he’d probably be wearing a sandwich sign that said “Besos Gratis” for the next month- and all this fucking disaster because of stupid Antonio, stupid fucking Ludwig, and stupid fucking disgusting potatoes (but mostly stupid Antonio).
NOTES;;
1] There’s a good recipe for patatas alioli here.
2] Translations
tedeschi di merda = shitty German
TEDESKEN! = the Italian word for German is “tedeschi,” and apparently Italians say “tedesken” to Germanify it and make fun of Germans XD
Que pobrecito! = like saying “You poor thing.”
Sigue, you can do it, Senores! = Come on, you can do it, Misters!
Que cosas tienes! = This is not really easy to translate. Literally it’s “you have such things,” sort of like- “You get the funniest ideas,” something like that.
Che cazzo! = What shit!
Thanks for reading! :D
characters/pairings: Spain, Romano, Germany, Italy; Spain/Romano, slight Germany/Italy
rating: PG-13
summary: One day, a hungry Lovino turns up at Antonio’s house expecting to be fed. When it turns out that Antonio forgot to buy two key ingredients, lunch turns into a messy cooking lesson full of fail. [written for tanya_tsuki for the sparo_xchange.]
note: Human names used as per request.
☆kiss the cook
It was a sunny day; rain had washed the cold away, warmth stepped into place, dripping gold off the branches of trees, off gumshoe roofs of yawning houses...afternoon song skipping wheels; Lovino was standing, dispassionate and lazy in his posture, in the front courtyard of Antonio’s ridiculously large house. Had been standing there for fifteen minutes before he finally heard the click of the gate and saw the bastard coming through it- all messy hair, all messy heart, carrying a plastic bag and singing to himself- Antonio turned to lock the gate and Lovino cleared his throat.
Antonio turned back around a with a curious expression on his face; but on seeing Lovino, his eyes brightened and a smile broke like yolk over his face. “Lovino!” he exclaimed, walking toward him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you in...a week!”
“Get off me,” Lovino spat as Antonio smothered him in an embrace, but Antonio just ignored him.
“So? What brings you here, Lovi?” Antonio asked, grinning.
Lovino paused; pushed Antonio off and looked up to him, green on green- then he frowned. “Tch. I’m hungry- what else? Feed me, you bastard.”
Antonio let out a laugh. “Right, okay,” he answered, patting Lovino on the back as they headed to the front door. “Boss has just the thing, too!” he went on pointedly, “I learned how to make something new- pasta and tomatoes, just like you like- I just went out to buy some...”
Antonio unlocked the door (slow as usual, Lovino noted) and they stepped inside- the house, cool and empty, the kitchen similarly so, sinking into its own colors. Antonio set the bag on the island counter and chattered as he took out the food. “The cashier was so nice too, she had these tortoise-shell glasses and I really wanted a pair- they’d look good on you!”
Lovino scoffed. “I don’t even wear glasses, moron.”
“They’d still be cute,” Antonio pointed out, with that constant effervescent smile; he counted off the items in the bag as he took them out- “Okay, bueno. Garlic...lemons...pasta...pasta?” He looked through the bag hesitantly. “Hm. No pasta- uh, Lovino, looks like I forgot pasta!”
“Tch,” Lovino said, frowning, “Well, whatever. Don’t you have any here?”
“No- I didn’t-”
“No pasta! What kind of house is this!?” Lovino interjected incredulously.
Antonio laughed. “Okay, it’s okay, we’ll just have to do without it,” he said, waving it off; he took a carton of eggs out of a bag and set it on the counter. “Okay. Eggs, and of course, tomatoes!”
Another pause.
“Well?” Lovino asked.
Antonio said nothing.
Lovino frowned impatiently. “Well, if you have them, take them out!” he said, with a mysterious Italian hand movement.
“It- looks like I forgot them,” Antonio answered, slowly, as though his forgetting tomatoes, of all things, was a total impossibility. He looked up to Lovino, alarmed.
“You forgot tomatoes?” Lovino answered, just as slow, blinking in disbelief. Antonio nodded. “Wait- wait. You forgot tomatoes?”
“I think I did,” Antonio said, touching his hand to his chin in a thoughtful moment. A suspenseful, electric silence fell between them, white and wide as a gorge.
And then Lovino snapped. “Shit! You moron! Tomatoes!” he yelled, his fists curling white at his sides because it was sacrilege that either one of them should ever forget something as important as the gift of tomatoes. “You ingrate! Merry fuckin’ Christmas, huh! Shit! I’ll piss on this kind of house!”
“No, Lovino, wait! Let’s not be hasty!” Antonio cried, grabbing onto Lovino’s waist to prevent him from taking his mysterious Italian revenge, “It’s not too late! I have an idea- why don’t we go back to the grocery store?”
Lovino turned to Antonio with a dissatisfied frown. “Why didn’t you say that before! You have me all worked up and you coulda just fuckin’ said that!”
“I’m sorry- oh wait,” Antonio said, pausing thoughtfully. “I had made it just in time before siesta...so everything’s closed now.”
After an indecisive pause, Lovino started to struggle out of Antonio’s grasp again, this time really intent on pissing all over Antonio’s stupid pastaless tomatoless house. “No! Wait! There has to be another way to solve the problem!” Antonio cried out, and spent another ten minutes subduing the riotous anger of a hungry Southern Italian.
After effectively calming Lovino down and depositing him on the couch, Antonio came to the conclusion that waiting until everything opened again would be silly; and with that in mind, called up Feliciano to see if he had anything at his house that they could use. Well, he wasn’t at his house now, Feliciano said, but he was at Ludwig’s and they’d bring something right over. Antonio found that satisfactory, and sat down next to Lovino to wait until they arrived. Lovino wasn’t too keen on the idea of that stupid potato bastard coming over, but he’d have to deal with him than be hungry, so whatever.
Ludwig and Feliciano came by within the next half hour; Feliciano all smiles, obnoxiously fashionable, and Ludwig looking awkward and carrying a plastic grocery bag. Antonio greeted them at the door- “Ah, hey guys! Thanks so- ah, Feliciano- you look so cute!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself to catch Feliciano in a death-tight hug.
“Thank you! Ve, Antonio, I can’t breathe!” Feliciano chirped, hugging Antonio back. Ludwig felt a little uncomfortable in the face of all the- hugs and...affection...and other things that were markedly not German.
“Sorry, sorry,” Antonio laughed, and then turned off to lead them into the living room. “Thanks again- it was really nice of you, I’m sorry if I interrupted you guys or something-”
“Oh, not at all,” Ludwig answered.
“Fratello!” Feliciano yelled out, bounding over to the couch to throw his arms around Lovino and say a million endearments in rapid Italian.
“Yeah, yeah. Good to see you too...” Lovino said, patting Feliciano’s back. He looked up, shiftlessly; eyes swallowed with distaste when he saw Ludwig. “Oh, great.”
Ludwig’s expression withered. “Hello, Lovino,” he said.
“Piss off,” Lovino dismissed, “So? What the Hell are you standing around for? Did you bring shit or didn’t you?”
“Ah! That’s right! We did bring stuff!” Feliciano exclaimed, jumping up from his place to swipe the plastic bag that Ludwig’d been holding. He brought it back to Lovino, who took it and inspected its contents (after giving Ludwig a dirty look that basically said, “This better be good”).
There was a pause- a long pause, only marked by the sunlight that filtered by through the window. Ludwig looked anxious; Feliciano looked confused; and Antonio was still smiling.
Lovino paused. He looked up to the three of them. They looked back. He looked back into the bag. And then he said: “Potatoes. Fucking potatoes.”
Another ten minutes were spent trying to subdue the vengeful rage of pissed-off, hungry Southern Italian.
And after those ten minutes, they were all in the kitchen, prepping and getting things ready for cooking. Ludwig was of course off-put by the general disorganization of the kitchen; Feliciano wasn’t really helping at all, just clinging onto Ludwig and not listening to anything he said. Antonio kept on smiling in the face of the adversity they found themselves against, and Lovino was sulking, irritated electricity running in his movements, his eyes.
“Don’t sulk, Lovi,” Antonio said, with a cheeky smile in his eyes that made Lovino want to punch him, “You’ll get all wrinkled if you frown too much!”
“Wrinkled my ass!” Lovino snapped, slamming his palm down on the counter, “What the Hell am I supposed to be happy about!? I’m hungry and you forgot to buy pasta and tomatoes, and on top of it this moron-” he made a wide-handed gesture to Ludwig- “brought potatoes! Into this house! Potatoes, of all things!”
Ludwig’s expression flattened in irritation. “Hey, now- you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to.”
“Listen you little-”
“It’s not so bad,” Antonio hummed, carrying the bowl of washed potatoes over to the island counter. Lovino snapped his eyes up, fixed him with competitive look that said Prove it; Antonio smiled determinedly. “I bet,” he said, pointing to Lovino, “That you’ll like what I’m making.”
“Go to Hell,” Lovino snapped, “I’ll never like potatoes.”
“You’ll like this- Boss knows you too well,” Antonio countered.
Lovino leaned across the counter, fist balling in frustation- “Yeah?” he asked, sharply, “How much you wanna bet?”
“Not money,” Antonio answered, waving his knife as though to punctuate his statement. Ludwig had a mini heart-attack and was about to say something about kitchen safety, but Lovino interrupted him.
“Fine, you bastard- if I don’t like this, I get to freeload off you for a month,” he said.
“Ve, this is so exciting!” Feliciano interjected, tugging on Ludwig’s sleeve, “It’s like a game!- Even though that’s not a good prize since fratello does that anyway.” Lovino turned a cherry shade of red and turned to his brother to tell him to shut up, but Feliciano kept on talking. “What do you want, Antonio?”
Antonio paused- his expression, a bit surprised, as though he sincerely hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular. Lovino rolled his eyes; Antonio lapsed into a thoughtful silence- and then looked up with a smile dripping sunshine. “Free kisses for a month!” he exclaimed.
Lovino stared at Antonio in a mixture of embarrassment and shock at his immense stupidity. Feliciano clapped and said it was a good prize. Ludwig’s expression completely deflated, as though to say, Couldn’t you have picked a prize that wouldn’t make me uncomfortable?
“F-fine,” Lovino said. He made a scoffing sound behind his teeth, and a smug smirk curved his mouth. “Tch! It’s not like you’ll win anyway. I’ll never like potatoes.”
“Ve, what are we making, Antonio?” Feliciano asked, tugging on Antonio’s shirt sleeve.
“Patatas alioli!” Antonio exclaimed, with such flash and bravado that you’d think he was saying “ole!”
After he was finished prepping everything, Antonio assigned them each jobs- he and Feliciano would peel and chop the potatoes, and Ludwig and Lovino would take care of peeling, mincing, and mashing the garlic (he seemed not to have noticed that Lovino couldn’t stand Ludwig). Well, Lovino would have done the garlic, but he stated plainly that “I would rather watch grass grow than help this loser.” Ludwig frowned and was about to say something, but Antonio just laughed and said, “Lo siento, Lovino’s just hungry- he gets snippy when he’s hungry.”
So Lovino hung out by the fridge as they worked, leaning against the counter with dark pickpocket posture- his hands fidgeted out of absentminded nervousness. “Not that I fucking care,” he said, brushing his hair out of his face, “But what the Hell is patatas alioli?”
“Ah- it’s fried potatoes with a garlic and olive oil sauce,” Antonio said, peeling the last potato, “It’s like patatas bravas- patatas bravas is the same thing, but with a tomato sauce. You’d like it better, but this is just as good!”
“Hell if I’d like it,” Lovino answered gloomily, “I hate all potatoes.” He glared at Ludwig pointedly. “And anything to do with potatoes.”
Ludwig sighed. “Look, no matter how subtly you put it, I’ll know when it’s directed at me.”
“Well maybe it wouldn’t be directed at you if you weren’t such a-”
“I’m done peeling these!” Feliciano chimed, “How should I cut them?”
Antonio looked over to the peeled potatoes on Feliciano’s side. “Ah, bueno! Such a good worker,” he chimed, giving Feliciano a small hug (Lovino frowned- what, did this bastard think he didn’t have eyes?) and then took a peeled potato to demonstrate with. “Here- cut it this way once-” he cut it lengthwise- “And then cut each piece that way again. Then cut it across so that you have four.”
“Oh- okay!” Feliciano answered, cheerfully. “Ve, if I don’t remember, I’ll just ask you,” he shrugged simply, and went back to cutting. “But, watch the first time so that I do it right!”
Antonio’s eyes brightened; he got that hopeless, goofy smile on his face, the one that signaled an explosion from cute, and Lovino’s eyes narrowed. “So- cute!” Antonio let out.
“Hey! Get back to cooking!” Lovino snapped, pointing accusingly at Antonio; Antonio looked up to him, eyes confused and asking. Lovino huffed over to the island counter. “I’ll make sure he does it right. You get back to work, lazy-ass. Do I have to do everything for you assholes?”
“You’re not doing anything,” Ludwig pointed out.
“Wh-what! Did I ask you to talk? Get back to the garlic, slave,” Lovino said.
Ludwig rolled his eyes and sighed heavily; he figured he wouldn’t push the issue further- Lovino was all talk, anyway. “I’m done peeling this- how would you like me to cut them?” Ludwig asked.
Antonio craned his head over the mountain of potatoes and looked over to Ludwig. “Oh- just mince them,” he said, “But make sure to do it thin so that you can mash it easier!”
“Alright,” Ludwig said with a curt nod, and went back to his handiwork.
A couple of quiet minutes passed as Lovino watched them work. The potatoes shone slick and clean, smooth as mussels, colored like a lemon pearl; potato peels and hard lone shells of garlic. The smell of earth, different tangs...Lovino was surprised that Feliciano hadn’t cut himself yet (although- it was annoying to admit it- Feliciano was better with his hands than he was).
His eyes drifted over to Antonio...he’d always liked watching Antonio cook (well, not like he’d say that, or even acknowledge it himself)- there was something about the way he moved his hands, with such familiarity and seamless ease, that showed you how much he actually enjoyed cooking. Antonio was like that- he showed such care about anything he liked...it was hopeless to ignore the stupid bastard. He cut half a potato into four pieces, and Lovino frowned- Antonio could even make potatoes look good-
Wait, “make potatoes look good?” And what was with all these rosy-hued thoughts about Antonio, of all morons? Lovino shook those thought from his head and turned his attention to stupid Ludwig. He rolled his eyes- the guy went through everything like he was fucking on some huge mission- meticulous, like he was building a bomb. Lovino paused, scrutinising him. Besides, he wasn’t even doing it right...it was all uneven and fuckin’...ugh, that was an insult to food! Stupid moron couldn’t even mince garlic...Lovino felt an irritation build gradually in him, until it snapped, like a rubber band.
“What are you doing, you stupid potato!” he exclaimed- Ludwig looked up, surprised. Lovino reached over and took the knife from Ludwig’s hand decisively, waved him out of the way, “I’ll do it, I’ll do it! This fucking guy...useless...tedeschi di merda...”
Ludwig’s eye twitched in irritation. “You know, I understand what that means,” he said.
“Shut up,” Lovino answered, “I’ll show you how to do it. It’s not often I give lessons to stupid morons like you, so pay attention.”
Antonio looked up from cutting a potato, wide green blinking; he laughed, ran a hand through his hair. “Aww, Lovino’s helping!” he exclaimed.
Lovino looked up at him fiercely. “I’d never help this dumbass,” he said, pointing at Antonio with the knife, “And you’d better remember that, bastard.”
Antonio laughed, bells of the sound shadowing Lovino’s words. “Ah, so cute,” he said, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the potatoes. Lovino’s hand tightened around the knife handle, but he figured he’d be generous and not kill Antonio today.
Seeing as he’d been booted out of the garlic station, Ludwig asked what he could do in the meantime. “Oh- could you- maybe take, hm, four eggs, mas o menos, and crack them- wait,” Antonio went on, running his hand through his hair, a thoughful frown on his face. “But don’t just crack them, separate the yolk from the white and put the yolk in a mixing bowl- oh but make sure it’s big enough that we’ll be able to put other stuff in it, too.”
“Alright,” Ludwig said, with that same curt nod that said “yes, sir, we’re on a mission.” He got the eggs from the fridge, and turned back to Antonio. “Where can I locate a bowl?”
“‘Where can I locate a bowl,’ he says,” Lovino scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Here’s where you can locate a bowl, right up my as-”
“In the cupboard above the toaster!” Antonio chirped, not even noticing Lovino’s little speech.
Ludwig nodded again and got a bowl with relative ease- but turned back to see them all staring at him. Lovino looked annoyed; Antonio looked surprised; Feliciano looked vaguely disappointed in himself. “Uhm- is there something- ?” he asked.
“-No, nothing,” Antonio said, shaking his head, wide-eyed, “You’re just- tall...”
Ludwig paused, confused, and then realized. “Oh...” he said, like a dog had just died.
“Well, whatever,” Lovino said, waving it off, “You might be tall but you’re still German.”
Lovino proceeded to make another German joke in Italian, to which Feliciano responded “TEDESKEN!” That little upset was settled, so, as Antonio and Feliciano were finishing the potatoes and Lovino was finishing the garlic, Ludwig went about separating the yolks into the mixing bowl (Feliciano looked on in wonder- “Ve, wow, Ludwig, that’s amazing!”).
“Oi, Boss, I’m done with this shit,” Lovino said, lazy out the side of his mouth, not catching himself call Antonio “boss” out of habit.
“Mm, good, good!” Antonio nodded, smiling- “Next mash it up, so it’s a- whaddyou call it- sticky and-”
“A paste, a paste, I get it,” Lovino answered, waving him off and going to the cupboards to get a mortar and pestle.
“Can you finish the rest for me, Feliciano?” Antonio asked with a sweet smile- Lovino looked up, feeling a flash of- something through his mind (who did that stupid bastard think he was, smiling like that?).
“Si!” Feliciano replied enthusiastically, and went on chopping the potatoes, humming small and low.
Lovino ground the garlic, gritting his teeth. “Hey, asshole,” he bit- against his conscious judgement, almost involuntarily- “Stop hitting on my brother!”
Feliciano looked up to Lovino, as though concerned. “Ve?”
Antonio blinked. “I’m not hitting on Feliciano,” he answered, waving a bottle of olive oil as though to punctuate that point.
-And it wasn’t so much a big deal, wasn’t anything that really bothered him- just Antonio’s cluelessness was enough to piss him off. “Well regardless I said don’t so don’t do it!” Lovino snapped, and turned to Ludwig angrily. “Hurry up with that so we can mix it you moron!”
“Why are you yelling at me?!” Ludwig asked, out of sheer surprise.
“Because you’re you! Now hurry up!”
“Alright, alright,” Ludwig sighed, “It’s done, anyway.”
Still confused, Antonio instructed them as to how to continue (whisk the eggs and garlic paste together- then pour in two cups of olive oil, slowly, combining it with the hand mixer); he heated some olive oil in a broad pan as Feliciano finished chopping the potatoes.
Some time passed without incident (well, with only minor incident: Lovino and Ludwig kept arguing about the olive oil- “Slower, slower, moron! And thinner! Not so much! What are you, stupid?” “Why did I have to work with you?”). A hot hiss and bubble sang through the kitchen as Antonio started to fry the first round of potatoes; Ludwig and Lovino managed to finish without starting a fistfight, and it was just then that- like a sudden snap- Feliciano let out a helpless yelp, and his knife clattered to the floor.
Antonio whirled around, eyes wide in surprise- Lovino looked up lazily, figuring Feliciano’s hand just slipped or somthing. Ludwig’s eyes shot up, quick as a dog’s, to Feliciano. “What’s wrong!” he near-shouted, and in a panicked flash was at Feliciano’s side.
“I- I- I cut my finger!” Feliciano wailed, tears rolling down his face- he threw his arms around Ludwig, crying into his shirt like his grandmother had been run over. Ludwig paused, and then his expression deflated.
“Idiots,” Lovino cursed under his breath.
“You got cut!?” Antonio asked, as though shocked that such a travesty should happen. “Que pobrecito!”
“I’ll- I’ll take care of it,” Ludwig said, appearing to be oppressed by an invisible cloud of fail, “Where can I find the necessary supplies?”
Lovino rolled his eyes at the overly-formal vocabulary. Antonio pointed down the hall- “There’s a closet right next to the bathroom,” he said- he touched his hand to his mouth, like an old lady- Lovino rolled his eyes- like it was really that bad.
Ludwig dragged a still-wailing Feliciano down the hall to the bathroom to take care of the cut. Lovino cursed the day he ever got involved with all these morons (which would technically be the day of his birth) and carried the bowl over to Antonio. “Hey, I’m done with this, bastard,” he said. The smell of the potatoes frying hit him full-on, an assault on the senses.
Antonio turned to him- took a moment to blink, and then said, “Oh!” like he was finally getting it. He dipped his finger in the bowl, swiped some of the sauce and licked it, eyes thoughtful.
“What the Hell, bastard,” Lovino said, frowning, “That’s unsanitary!”
Antonio grinned. “My hands are clean!” he said, showing Lovino his palms. Lovino rolled his eyes, and Antonio nodded. “It’s really good! Just needs a little salt,” he added. “You guys did good!”
“Tch- I did good,” Lovino answered, “That useless German didn’t do shit.”
Antonio laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not very nice- he’s pretty helpful,” he said. “Can you get me the rest of the potatoes?”
“Yeah, whatever,” Lovino said, taking the cutting board from the island counter and placing it on the stove.
“Gracias,” Antonio chirped, with that same old stupid smile.
Lovino leaned on the stove, watching Antonio turn over the potatoes (“sigue,” he sang, like cheering them on, “you can do it, Señores!” “Shut up.”), checking to see if they were good on all sides. He cracked his knuckles, feeling- not really any way except weird. “Hey, uhm. Lissen,” Lovino started, the words slipping heavy and awkward off his tongue. “Before about uhm. Stupid Feliciano. -I don’t really fucking care, so don’t get it in your head that I care. Just- you know. Uhm...ugh. Forget it, moron!” he finished- saying the last bit under his breath, already embarrassed that he was making it such a big deal.
Antonio paused; the hiss of the oil filled the pause as Antonio blinked in confusion. Then the lightbulb seemed to go on, and he smiled. “Ohhh, that!” he said. “About me hitting on him, right?”
“I said I didn’t care so drop it!” Lovino snapped.
Antonio chuckled. “Que cosas tienes!” he said- the tone of his voice low as he leaned forward and kissed Lovino on the arch of his cheekbone.
Lovino felt himself redden (he never really blushed- blushing was pink, and he just turned red, like a fucking tomato); he frowned. “S-save it, moron!” he said.
Antonio paused and then grinned, like he’d just gotten the best idea ever. “Si- I’ll save it for when I win,” he answered.
Lovino paused. When he won...?- The realization hit him quick; he’d gotten so wrapped up in their kitchen misadventure that he hadn’t even remembered their stupid bet. His frown deepend indignantly. “Tch! Fuck you, you’re not winning shit,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
Antonio laughed. “We’ll see- this is just about done, anyway!” he chirped, turning off the stove and positively skipping as he emptied the pan. He plated the potatoes, and Lovino transferred the sauce to a clay bowl. Ludwig and Feliciano came back from the bathroom; Feliciano was all smiles and flowers, telling everyone that Ludwig was such a good friend and had saved his life, and Ludwig just looked drained.
They didn’t bother with cleaning up before they started eating- Lovino and Feliciano were both too hungry to bother, Antonio was too wrapped up in how cute Lovino and Feliciano were when they were hungry to remember, and Ludwig- although he felt a nervous tick at seeing a disorderly kitchen- managed to supress his urge to tear through the mess like Mr. Clean.
“You try it first!” Antonio urged, pushing a fork into Ludwig’s hand- firstly, because Ludwig wasn’t a normal guest, so it was only polite, and secondly because Ludwig obviously knew the most about potatoes, and Antonio was eager to hear his opinion.
“-Al...right,” Ludwig said, a little confused at Antonio’s enthusiasm, and went to try one of the potatoes.
“With the sauce!” Antonio interjected.
“Okay,” Ludwig answered. He chewed it over thoughtfully, and then made a short sound of approval and nodded. “Hm, it’s good.” Antonio’s smile brightened like he had just won a prize (well, recognition by the King of Potatoes in making a potato dish was sort of a prize).
“Tch,” Lovino said, “If he likes it, I’m sure as shit not gonna like it.”
Ludwig frowned. “Listen, you-”
“Ve, ve, let me go next!” Feliciano said, taking Ludwig’s fork with alacrity. He popped a potato in his mouth and could barely supress his enthusiasm. “That’s so good!” he exclaimed, and Antonio laughed and thanked him (although, it wasn’t really too much of an accomplishment for Feliciano to think a dish was good).
Antonio looked at Lovino next, confidence and excitement bubbling over. “You next!” he said, barely able to contain his sense of oncoming triumph.
Lovino frowned. “Forget it, I’m not that hungry-”
“Here’s the fork,” Feliciano said through a mouthful.
“Che cazzo! Get me another fork, I’m not going to eat off the same as him!”
“Here you go!” Antonio said, practically flinging a fork into Lovino’s hand.
Lovino’s frown deepened. He narrowed his eyes at Antonio. “Fine, bastard,” he said, “But don’t get your hopes up.”
Feliciano and Antonio held their breaths in anticipation, and Ludwig observed quietly, curious as to how it would turn out. It seemed to be the moment of truth- Lovino took his damn-ass time, stabbing a potato almost hatefully and dipping it in the sauce (“So it won’t taste like a stupid potato anymore”). He brought it slowly to his mouth, as though it pained his joints to do so; figured that he’d just eat the whole thing in one shot, just in case it was too disgusting to do in parts.
Feliciano and Antonio leaned in. Lovino chewed it over- expression illegible- he himself seemed confused, and it was hard to tell whether his reaction was negative or positive. Chewed, chewed, and then swallowed.
Another long pause. Feliciano stopped holding his breath because Ludwig whispered that if he kept on doing so he would probably die or something, but Antonio couldn’t contain his curiousity. “-So?” he asked.
Lovino didn’t look at him. He just started, as though out of a daze- and then he skewered another potato, dipped it in the sauce, and popped it in his mouth.
Antonio’s smile lit- actually, had enough electricity to light all of the houses of Europe for at least a year; Feliciano let out a surprised laugh- and Ludwig blinked, sincerely surprised that Lovino liked it- or seemed to like it.
As Lovino chewed over the third potato, his face reddened gradually- from a light dust of red to a deep, angry tomato red- and a fucking scowl came onto his face as he ate. “Lovi? What’s wrong?” Antonio asked, touching his arm.
“YOU BASTARD!” Lovino shouted, startling them all with the sudden violent volume of his voice, and without warning whipped around and started to stomp off, fists balled at his sides, mind red with anger. Anger because- because Antonio had ruined his integrity as a tomato-loving Southern Italian- because Antonio must be a fucking witch or something if he could make potatoes taste good- because Antonio had caused him to cheat on tomatoes and he had enjoyed it- and, finally (he couldn’t tell if this was the worst part), because he’d probably be wearing a sandwich sign that said “Besos Gratis” for the next month- and all this fucking disaster because of stupid Antonio, stupid fucking Ludwig, and stupid fucking disgusting potatoes (but mostly stupid Antonio).
NOTES;;
1] There’s a good recipe for patatas alioli here.
2] Translations
tedeschi di merda = shitty German
TEDESKEN! = the Italian word for German is “tedeschi,” and apparently Italians say “tedesken” to Germanify it and make fun of Germans XD
Que pobrecito! = like saying “You poor thing.”
Sigue, you can do it, Senores! = Come on, you can do it, Misters!
Que cosas tienes! = This is not really easy to translate. Literally it’s “you have such things,” sort of like- “You get the funniest ideas,” something like that.
Che cazzo! = What shit!
Thanks for reading! :D