Secret secret
¡Feliz año nuevo a todos! Quería estrenar el año con una lista de metas sonsas pero... fallo tanto. He aquí mi regalo del Santa Secreto 2010 para latin_hetalia . Ahahaha. Ha.
En inglés, porque mi destinataria no es de estos lares. Espero que haya quedado bien ;;
Title: Four lives in which Martin and Luciano met each other (and one that gathered them all)
Fandom: latin_hetalia
Characters: Luciano (Brasil)/Martin (Argentina). Brief mention of others.
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for vasilina0946 , to whom I owe so many apologies for the lateness that I don't even... Special thanks to meia_krane for proof-reading and dealing with me being batshit in general.
The first time they met, they were children.
Although his father was hardly home and Martin sometimes felt he had been left to manage the house and take care of his cousins by himself, he could never quite say he was unhappy. The country house in which they lived was spacious, the fields great and full of green. It was, Martin had no qualms about saying, simply beautiful.
Martin had always had a good eye for things that were beautiful; things like the silvery glow of the nearby river, the powerful stride of his favorite mare and Sebastian’s eyes when he was happy and calm. In a way, all of these were things he knew were his and no one could touch. And for that, he thought, they were even more stunning.
Even though it was a lot of responsibility, Martin took pride in taking care of all of his precious things and knowing them the best. There was not a corner of the house he did not know about, nor was there even a single patch of grass in the whole property that he had not walked on. Yet there was, and this did hurt his pride admitting, a limit to his house terrains and to that which he possessed.
Up by the eastern limits of the property, there was a small forest. Martin had been forbidden to cross it by his father, for, as he had said, the land beyond it was not theirs to see or take. Even when Martin had tried to ignore his father’s orders and take a peek of what lied on the other side, he had never managed to get there. He was still too young, the bushes too thick and the trees too high to climb.
He’d always come back to the house exhausted, mud on his boots, and with a bitter taste rolling on his tongue. He knew there was something precious to be seen on the other side because he had heard it; sometimes like a whisper, sometimes so close he could almost swear he was one step away of finding out what it was. On the other side of those bushes, someone often laughed. It was a simple and silly laugh, really, nothing he would have normally taken an interest to, but it was warm and different and, for some reason, Martin found himself thinking it was beautiful. It was beautiful in an unknown way that was yet to be his, and Martin was not one to give up on things he wanted to have.
It was a rainy day when he finally discovered what was on the other side of the forest. Everything was slippery, his favorite linen shirt drenched, but Martin refused to head back to the house because he was so very close to finally crossing the forest that he could not turn back, not when he just had to dodge that branch and…
He slipped on a puddle of mud with a little yelp of surprise and fell down on his knees. There was a nasty scratch on his leg and Martin felt justified when he thought about cursing, but a voice startled him out of his thoughts.
“You alright?”
Martin yelped again, tried to get up, failed, and ended up falling down on his behind. The boy that had appeared from behind the bushes laughed a little, warm and silly, and, in that moment, Martin knew who he was. He then proceeded to scowl at him and say in his most dignified voice:
“Stop laughing like that, you sound stupid! And help me up!”
The other boy snickered and Martin was sure he looked stupid as he felt himself blush. The other boy, eyes sparkling with mischief, soon smiled and did as he was told.
“I’m sorry. You sure you are okay?”
“I’m sure I’m not, but I’ll live.”
Martin couldn’t help but wonder a little as he took the others hand to get up. He noticed how tanned the other boy’s skin was; how black his eyebrows were; how different he was from himself. A new, unknown itch of curiosity continued to grow as he observed the other boy as he started to talk once more.
“I’m Luciano” said the other. And then, after a pause “you look kind of silly, you know.”
“Why, thank you” Martin replied, sarcastic, as he tried to get the mud out of his clothes. A bit of hair fell on his face and he got mud on his cheek, too, as he tried to get it out. Luciano laughed again. “No wonder I always heard you…” he muttered to himself.
“Hm?” Luciano tilted his head, curious. Martin cleared his throat.
“I said, no wonder I always heard you. Laughing I mean. I always knew you were here somewhere; you laugh a lot.”
Luciano smiled again and Martin felt a little squirmy for no good reason. It was embarrassing, really. “I always knew you were here too.”
“I mean, never heard you,” continued the other boy, “but I found your footprints some time ago. They’re almost the same size as mine.”
“So you were looking for me,” Martin said a bit skeptical and Luciano nodded. Martin wiped his right hand clean and ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, you found me. I’m Martin, by the way.”
Martin stretched his clean hand and Luciano shook it, only to notice a feral grin in the blonde’s face as he pulled him and made him fall into the mud.
“Now we are even!” laughed Martin as Luciano frowned at him from the ground. He was still laughing when a ball of mud missed his face only by a breath. It was Luciano’s turn to grin now.
“No, but we’ll be!” and thus, the chase began.
They were both laughing, a little breathless, a little sore, but Martin couldn’t help but think he had really been missing out on something. That and that Luciano was right; his footprints really were similar. He could see that now that he was chasing after him, after all.
*** ***
The second time, they met as rivals.
That is, of course, if you didn’t count the fact that Luciano had known about Martin since long before they actually met. The first time Luciano had seen him, Martin had been nineteen. Luciano had still been at school, still playing for the junior leagues, but had had his mind set on becoming pro since he had first touched a football when he was a child. Martin, on the other hand, had already been chosen as the newest, youngest acquisition of the Argentinean team; a born leader and star striker. Rumor had it that he would become captain before he turned twenty five.
Maybe it was a far stretch to call it a fixation, but Luciano certainly had had his mind set on playing against that man since he had first seen him on the field. Martin was a natural, all smug smirks, impeccable aim and strong strides, and Luciano wanted to prove himself that he could match that. He worked for years to earn the chance to do so.
They day they met officially, Luciano was already 20 and had just joined the Brazilian team as a midfielder with a lot good press and high expectations. On the other hand, Martin, true to past rumors, was 25 and already proud captain of the Argentinean team. Today, their teams met at a friendly match.
Football was, first and foremost, the main passion of Luciano’s life. It was also his pride, yes, and his career product of his hard work, but the excitement he felt bubbling in his stomach now that he was finally here, on the big leagues, was just the same as it had been when he had dreamt about it being a child. Only maybe tenfold, he thought as he stepped out of the locker rooms and heard the crowd cheering for his team, for his country and for himself. He thought he couldn’t smile any wider if he tried.
He crossed the field with his team, stood there waiting. And then he saw him.
Maybe he could smile wider, he reconsidered.
Martin marched up to them, leading his teammates, and both teams stood in front of each other. The players exchanged greetings and when it was his turn to shake Martin’s hand, the other smirked at him said:
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, kid. Make things interesting, alright?”
“Will do,” he said with a smirk of his own as Martin let go of his hand. The blonde smirked at him once more, looking amused, and continued to shake the hands of the other players.
Yes, Luciano, thought, feeling more than a little excited as he walked to position, he would make things interesting indeed.
--
After more than an hour of playing against him, Luciano had learned two things: one, that Martin was not all mighty; two, Martin was also the best player he had faced in his life.
That confident manner, that arrogant smile; Martin had earned the right to sport them because winning did not come as given to him any more than it did to anyone else. The way he would force himself to run that extra mile, his chest heaving with effort, and that he would keep the team together with confidence alone; all these were things that tapped matches and sports cards couldn’t quite show. Not like he had seen today. Maybe not at all.
Yet, this newfound knowledge did not mean Luciano and his teammates were falling behind. On the contrary, it just meant it was Luciano’s most exiting, best played match yet.
That day, their teams tied. And when Martín stood in front of him, a stubborn crease in his brow but offering him his hand, Luciano thought the things he had learned today were important. It was easy to admire two dimensional stars, but this was the first time he had actually seen Martin breathing and human. And, for the first time, Luciano felt his chest swell with pride for being able to look eye to eye with another man. Maybe, he thought, this was what feeling real respect and admiration for another person was like.
(And he could be wrong, but, just for a second, he could swear he saw something akin to respect flashing in Martin eyes, too.)
*** ***
Once, they met at a business trip.
And well, he was there on business, Martin guessed, even if liked to think of this congress more as an excuse for partying with business representatives from all over the world than anything else. Sometimes great employees like him needed to relax a bit. He also liked to think that his boss had caught up on that and wouldn’t mind if he took hold of the opportunity and gave himself a break. Being and entrepreneur was all about taking chances when one spotted them and such.
Yet, things weren’t going as smoothly as he had expected. For one, the bar was out of real wine, Argentinean wine (only had a bunch of those tasteless last-year wannabes) and Scotch was never quite the same when it came to taking the edge off a bad day. For another, his favorite smart burgundy shirt was wrinkled beyond repair and he’d had to improvise something else to wear for the first speech, which in turn had made him arrive late for breakfast and miss his mandatory cup coffee. He did look quite dashing in the black and green stripped shirt he’d settled up with, though, so he maybe could let the other things slide if things got better after lunch. He was yet to party at all, but he refused to give up on that hope.
These were little mishaps, he thought; his plan of having fun was not going to be foiled.
--
After eating, he decided that maybe his plans had been foiled after all.
Martin sat, waiting for the presentation about new marketing techniques to start, bored and more than a little put off by the poor choices the organizing committee had made for lunch (boiled chicken and vegetables? Really? How could they expect a young, healthy, not anorexic man to survive eating that?). He was yet to meet anyone interesting, let alone have plans for the night, and was wallowing on his misfortune, when an overweight balding man had waltzed into the room wearing a fur trimmed overcoat. Inside the building. In autumn. The hideous golden necklace he was wearing did not a thing in his favor.
“Why, hello there, sugar daddy. Looking like a pimp today, are we not?”
The snicker he heard coming from his side told him someone had caught his quiet comment.
“He does look like one, doesn’t he,” said a young, tanned man amiably as he took a seat next to him and smiled. Martin took notice that he was handsome, even if he had a silly air to him that probably made him look younger than he supposed he was. “I guess he always dresses kind of funny. Really fun guy, though.”
“You know him?” Martin said, turning a bit so he was able to see the newcomer properly. He looked at the man with the fur coat and then to the man next to him and raised an eyebrow slightly.
The other man nodded. “Yup. Made business with his company a couple of times. Partied with him afterwards, too.”
“Morbid,” said Martin, but he was clearly amused. The other man smiled.
“I’m Luciano, by the way. Luciano Da Silva.”
“Martin Hernandez,” he answered, and stretched out his hand. Luciano shook it good naturedly. “I don’t suppose you know Barbie over there, do you?”
Luciano laughed a little when he spotted the small, round, blond woman in pink that Martin was talking about. “Can’t say I do. Doesn’t she look more like bubble gum, though?”
Martin he smiled roguishly. “I think we’ll get along great,” he said, and the other man seemed to agree with a smile of his own.
It looked like his day had taken a turn for the better after all.
*** ***
On another life, they met dancing. Or, more exactly, they met when one of them was dancing in the streets.
Buenos Aires had a knack for surprising Luciano, it seemed, and he couldn’t say he didn’t like that. He hadn’t known exactly what to expect from Argentina when he had arrived there a few days ago, and he still didn’t, but the little cafés, busy streets and the curious sing-song way people there talked in were all charming in their own right.
So when he was walking down Florida Street, looking around while eating some chocolate, the unexpected sound of music coming from his right only made him smile. Tango, he recognized as soon has he could hear the music clearly. By the time he got to the source of it, a small circle of people had already formed around a couple of dancers. He took one last bite of his candy and made his way through the people to be able to get a clear view of the show.
Luciano was no stranger to dancing, but the sensuous, confident moves left him enthralled. The couple was pretty alluring in itself: a beautiful brunette with silky thighs one could see through the slit of her dress, and a tall, quite handsome blonde man. There was such passion in the way the blonde man moved, eyes blazing and unseeing of anything but his partner’s eyes, that undeniably made him the most attractive of the pair. Looks like he’s gonna eat her, Luciano thought, and smiled to himself.
He didn't know how much time had gone by, but suddenly, the song ended and the couple stopped dancing. The girl next to him let out a breath that she probably didn’t even know she’d been holding, and he smiled, amused.
It was curious, but he thought there was something different, very private about this way dancing, that he couldn't say he was used to. Even amidst a crowd that was staring at them, it felt like the two of them were in a world of their own. For Luciano, dancing, although intimate to some degree, was ultimately more about having fun.
“No hat or asking for change today, ladies and gentleman,” said the blonde man after a round of excited applause that erupted from the small crowd. “This is a free exhibition made by the new Hernandez Dance Studio, just down the block! Take some cards from my lovely lady friend, if you might. I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”
A new couple walked to the center of the circle and started a new performance as the brunette who had been previously dancing handed out cards. The blond man stood aside and opened a bottle of water. Luciano thought about saying something to him, but got distracted by the girl giving him a card.
“You should come, darling. You look like a natural,” she said winking.
“I do?”
“Don’t mind her,” interrupted the blonde, “you look like her type, that’s what she’s trying to say.”
Luciano smiled at the girl, flattered, but the blonde man ushered her away. She stuck out her tongue at the man, he blew her a kiss, and she just shook her head and continued with her work.
Luciano snickered. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“That brat? No way.” The tone in which he said it, though, was affectionate.
The blonde drank some water and watched her handing out cards. “Imagine what a waste it would be if I were taken; all those poor girls, heartbroken. No, I couldn’t do that to the world.”
Luciano laughed and continued watching the show. “I like the look in their eyes,” he said at length.
“Of course you do, that’s what tango is all about. The Doisneau effect, if you might.”
“Hm?”
“The Doisneau- Have you ever seen that photo, the one of the couple kissing?”
“I don't think so, no.”
“Well, you should. Never mind that it’s French; the idea still stands.”
Martin put the cap back on the bottle of water and tossed it over to the girl, who was already out of cards and had started talking to group of boys. She caught it just in time.
“Tell you what,” he said suddenly “stop by the studio and I’ll show you the photo. We have a copy framed; very inspirational.”
Luciano took a look at the card and then smiled at the blond man. “Maybe I will. Aren’t you gonna tell me that I look like a natural, though?”
This time, the blonde was the one to laugh.
“Well,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “now that you mention it, maybe you do.”
“I’m Martin, by the way,” he said after a while. Both of them had been distracted by a particularly daring move the dancing couple had made.
“Luciano,” he said as he put the card on his pocket.
He looked up as the dancing girl did a final twirl, and the couple ended up impossibly close, thighs hooked, a breath away from kissing.
“I think I’ll be looking forward to the lessons.”
And really, Buenos Aires always seemed to be surprising him, but that didn’t bother him. Not really. Not at all.
*** ***
“…THREE! …TWO! …ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
The whole party erupted into cheers and champagne flew all around. Martin hugged the person closest to him (good ol’ Mario, the waiter; what a nice, chubby old man) and was patted in the back by almost everyone.
“Brilliant year, people!”
“Brilliant? I’ll drink to that positive attitude of yours and may the next year be truly brilliant this time!”
Everyone gave a good natured laugh. The guests continued to toast to anything and everything they could think of and Martin was well into his fourth glass of champagne when he heard his cellphone ringing.
“You’ve reached the fabulous Martin Hernandez. Happy new year, lucky person!”
“Feliz ano novo,” said an amused, familiar voice on the other of the line.
“Samba man! You couldn’t wait to talk to me this year, could you?”
Luciano snorted lightly. “Just thought you might be bored. You don’t know how to party and all that.”
“Oh, shut up. You are just jealous because you had to kiss your lady president at midnight. Tough luck, buddy; we can’t all be winners.”
This time, Luciano did laugh. “So, you coming over this year?”
“Honestly, you make it sound like I always do.”
“Don’t you?”
“…Shut up.”
Someone (who may or may have not been his secretary) gave Martin another glass of champagne.
Luciano laughed again and Martin finished his cup in one gulp. He would’ve felt a bit more irritated with himself for his lame comeback, really, but there was already a pleasant buzz at the back of his mind from all those drinks. Now that he thought about it, he might have to be a little more careful with that.
“So you are coming.”
“Wouldn’t want to break your heart if I didn’t, right?”
“Right. I’ll see you around, then.” Martin could practically hear the smile on Luciano’s voice. Smug bastard.
“Yeah.”
As he put his phone away and handed his empty glass over to a waiter, Martin wondered how many years he’d known Luciano for already; how many lives had already gone by. He snorted at himself for his corniness a second later and greeted a few more people before going for his car keys.
Really, being a nation meant he had lived longer than anyone; they had met countless times through the course of their lives and he was sure they would meet many more in centuries to come. It was silly to be wondering things like that, they were hardly important.
Besides, he thought as he stepped out of the party, he had this nagging feeling that even in another world, another life, that smug, funny speaking idiot would've found him anyway. No one could convince him otherwise.
Final notes: The picture Martin was talking about in the fourth meeting was The Kiss by Robert Doisneau. It's a very famous photo and it's said to represent how time stops for people who are together and in love. I just... couldn't help myself.
And that's that, people. THANK YOU AND HAPPY NEW YEAR ;A;.
En inglés, porque mi destinataria no es de estos lares. Espero que haya quedado bien ;;
Title: Four lives in which Martin and Luciano met each other (and one that gathered them all)
Fandom: latin_hetalia
Characters: Luciano (Brasil)/Martin (Argentina). Brief mention of others.
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for vasilina0946 , to whom I owe so many apologies for the lateness that I don't even... Special thanks to meia_krane for proof-reading and dealing with me being batshit in general.
The first time they met, they were children.
Although his father was hardly home and Martin sometimes felt he had been left to manage the house and take care of his cousins by himself, he could never quite say he was unhappy. The country house in which they lived was spacious, the fields great and full of green. It was, Martin had no qualms about saying, simply beautiful.
Martin had always had a good eye for things that were beautiful; things like the silvery glow of the nearby river, the powerful stride of his favorite mare and Sebastian’s eyes when he was happy and calm. In a way, all of these were things he knew were his and no one could touch. And for that, he thought, they were even more stunning.
Even though it was a lot of responsibility, Martin took pride in taking care of all of his precious things and knowing them the best. There was not a corner of the house he did not know about, nor was there even a single patch of grass in the whole property that he had not walked on. Yet there was, and this did hurt his pride admitting, a limit to his house terrains and to that which he possessed.
Up by the eastern limits of the property, there was a small forest. Martin had been forbidden to cross it by his father, for, as he had said, the land beyond it was not theirs to see or take. Even when Martin had tried to ignore his father’s orders and take a peek of what lied on the other side, he had never managed to get there. He was still too young, the bushes too thick and the trees too high to climb.
He’d always come back to the house exhausted, mud on his boots, and with a bitter taste rolling on his tongue. He knew there was something precious to be seen on the other side because he had heard it; sometimes like a whisper, sometimes so close he could almost swear he was one step away of finding out what it was. On the other side of those bushes, someone often laughed. It was a simple and silly laugh, really, nothing he would have normally taken an interest to, but it was warm and different and, for some reason, Martin found himself thinking it was beautiful. It was beautiful in an unknown way that was yet to be his, and Martin was not one to give up on things he wanted to have.
It was a rainy day when he finally discovered what was on the other side of the forest. Everything was slippery, his favorite linen shirt drenched, but Martin refused to head back to the house because he was so very close to finally crossing the forest that he could not turn back, not when he just had to dodge that branch and…
He slipped on a puddle of mud with a little yelp of surprise and fell down on his knees. There was a nasty scratch on his leg and Martin felt justified when he thought about cursing, but a voice startled him out of his thoughts.
“You alright?”
Martin yelped again, tried to get up, failed, and ended up falling down on his behind. The boy that had appeared from behind the bushes laughed a little, warm and silly, and, in that moment, Martin knew who he was. He then proceeded to scowl at him and say in his most dignified voice:
“Stop laughing like that, you sound stupid! And help me up!”
The other boy snickered and Martin was sure he looked stupid as he felt himself blush. The other boy, eyes sparkling with mischief, soon smiled and did as he was told.
“I’m sorry. You sure you are okay?”
“I’m sure I’m not, but I’ll live.”
Martin couldn’t help but wonder a little as he took the others hand to get up. He noticed how tanned the other boy’s skin was; how black his eyebrows were; how different he was from himself. A new, unknown itch of curiosity continued to grow as he observed the other boy as he started to talk once more.
“I’m Luciano” said the other. And then, after a pause “you look kind of silly, you know.”
“Why, thank you” Martin replied, sarcastic, as he tried to get the mud out of his clothes. A bit of hair fell on his face and he got mud on his cheek, too, as he tried to get it out. Luciano laughed again. “No wonder I always heard you…” he muttered to himself.
“Hm?” Luciano tilted his head, curious. Martin cleared his throat.
“I said, no wonder I always heard you. Laughing I mean. I always knew you were here somewhere; you laugh a lot.”
Luciano smiled again and Martin felt a little squirmy for no good reason. It was embarrassing, really. “I always knew you were here too.”
“I mean, never heard you,” continued the other boy, “but I found your footprints some time ago. They’re almost the same size as mine.”
“So you were looking for me,” Martin said a bit skeptical and Luciano nodded. Martin wiped his right hand clean and ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, you found me. I’m Martin, by the way.”
Martin stretched his clean hand and Luciano shook it, only to notice a feral grin in the blonde’s face as he pulled him and made him fall into the mud.
“Now we are even!” laughed Martin as Luciano frowned at him from the ground. He was still laughing when a ball of mud missed his face only by a breath. It was Luciano’s turn to grin now.
“No, but we’ll be!” and thus, the chase began.
They were both laughing, a little breathless, a little sore, but Martin couldn’t help but think he had really been missing out on something. That and that Luciano was right; his footprints really were similar. He could see that now that he was chasing after him, after all.
*** ***
The second time, they met as rivals.
That is, of course, if you didn’t count the fact that Luciano had known about Martin since long before they actually met. The first time Luciano had seen him, Martin had been nineteen. Luciano had still been at school, still playing for the junior leagues, but had had his mind set on becoming pro since he had first touched a football when he was a child. Martin, on the other hand, had already been chosen as the newest, youngest acquisition of the Argentinean team; a born leader and star striker. Rumor had it that he would become captain before he turned twenty five.
Maybe it was a far stretch to call it a fixation, but Luciano certainly had had his mind set on playing against that man since he had first seen him on the field. Martin was a natural, all smug smirks, impeccable aim and strong strides, and Luciano wanted to prove himself that he could match that. He worked for years to earn the chance to do so.
They day they met officially, Luciano was already 20 and had just joined the Brazilian team as a midfielder with a lot good press and high expectations. On the other hand, Martin, true to past rumors, was 25 and already proud captain of the Argentinean team. Today, their teams met at a friendly match.
Football was, first and foremost, the main passion of Luciano’s life. It was also his pride, yes, and his career product of his hard work, but the excitement he felt bubbling in his stomach now that he was finally here, on the big leagues, was just the same as it had been when he had dreamt about it being a child. Only maybe tenfold, he thought as he stepped out of the locker rooms and heard the crowd cheering for his team, for his country and for himself. He thought he couldn’t smile any wider if he tried.
He crossed the field with his team, stood there waiting. And then he saw him.
Maybe he could smile wider, he reconsidered.
Martin marched up to them, leading his teammates, and both teams stood in front of each other. The players exchanged greetings and when it was his turn to shake Martin’s hand, the other smirked at him said:
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, kid. Make things interesting, alright?”
“Will do,” he said with a smirk of his own as Martin let go of his hand. The blonde smirked at him once more, looking amused, and continued to shake the hands of the other players.
Yes, Luciano, thought, feeling more than a little excited as he walked to position, he would make things interesting indeed.
--
After more than an hour of playing against him, Luciano had learned two things: one, that Martin was not all mighty; two, Martin was also the best player he had faced in his life.
That confident manner, that arrogant smile; Martin had earned the right to sport them because winning did not come as given to him any more than it did to anyone else. The way he would force himself to run that extra mile, his chest heaving with effort, and that he would keep the team together with confidence alone; all these were things that tapped matches and sports cards couldn’t quite show. Not like he had seen today. Maybe not at all.
Yet, this newfound knowledge did not mean Luciano and his teammates were falling behind. On the contrary, it just meant it was Luciano’s most exiting, best played match yet.
That day, their teams tied. And when Martín stood in front of him, a stubborn crease in his brow but offering him his hand, Luciano thought the things he had learned today were important. It was easy to admire two dimensional stars, but this was the first time he had actually seen Martin breathing and human. And, for the first time, Luciano felt his chest swell with pride for being able to look eye to eye with another man. Maybe, he thought, this was what feeling real respect and admiration for another person was like.
(And he could be wrong, but, just for a second, he could swear he saw something akin to respect flashing in Martin eyes, too.)
*** ***
Once, they met at a business trip.
And well, he was there on business, Martin guessed, even if liked to think of this congress more as an excuse for partying with business representatives from all over the world than anything else. Sometimes great employees like him needed to relax a bit. He also liked to think that his boss had caught up on that and wouldn’t mind if he took hold of the opportunity and gave himself a break. Being and entrepreneur was all about taking chances when one spotted them and such.
Yet, things weren’t going as smoothly as he had expected. For one, the bar was out of real wine, Argentinean wine (only had a bunch of those tasteless last-year wannabes) and Scotch was never quite the same when it came to taking the edge off a bad day. For another, his favorite smart burgundy shirt was wrinkled beyond repair and he’d had to improvise something else to wear for the first speech, which in turn had made him arrive late for breakfast and miss his mandatory cup coffee. He did look quite dashing in the black and green stripped shirt he’d settled up with, though, so he maybe could let the other things slide if things got better after lunch. He was yet to party at all, but he refused to give up on that hope.
These were little mishaps, he thought; his plan of having fun was not going to be foiled.
--
After eating, he decided that maybe his plans had been foiled after all.
Martin sat, waiting for the presentation about new marketing techniques to start, bored and more than a little put off by the poor choices the organizing committee had made for lunch (boiled chicken and vegetables? Really? How could they expect a young, healthy, not anorexic man to survive eating that?). He was yet to meet anyone interesting, let alone have plans for the night, and was wallowing on his misfortune, when an overweight balding man had waltzed into the room wearing a fur trimmed overcoat. Inside the building. In autumn. The hideous golden necklace he was wearing did not a thing in his favor.
“Why, hello there, sugar daddy. Looking like a pimp today, are we not?”
The snicker he heard coming from his side told him someone had caught his quiet comment.
“He does look like one, doesn’t he,” said a young, tanned man amiably as he took a seat next to him and smiled. Martin took notice that he was handsome, even if he had a silly air to him that probably made him look younger than he supposed he was. “I guess he always dresses kind of funny. Really fun guy, though.”
“You know him?” Martin said, turning a bit so he was able to see the newcomer properly. He looked at the man with the fur coat and then to the man next to him and raised an eyebrow slightly.
The other man nodded. “Yup. Made business with his company a couple of times. Partied with him afterwards, too.”
“Morbid,” said Martin, but he was clearly amused. The other man smiled.
“I’m Luciano, by the way. Luciano Da Silva.”
“Martin Hernandez,” he answered, and stretched out his hand. Luciano shook it good naturedly. “I don’t suppose you know Barbie over there, do you?”
Luciano laughed a little when he spotted the small, round, blond woman in pink that Martin was talking about. “Can’t say I do. Doesn’t she look more like bubble gum, though?”
Martin he smiled roguishly. “I think we’ll get along great,” he said, and the other man seemed to agree with a smile of his own.
It looked like his day had taken a turn for the better after all.
*** ***
On another life, they met dancing. Or, more exactly, they met when one of them was dancing in the streets.
Buenos Aires had a knack for surprising Luciano, it seemed, and he couldn’t say he didn’t like that. He hadn’t known exactly what to expect from Argentina when he had arrived there a few days ago, and he still didn’t, but the little cafés, busy streets and the curious sing-song way people there talked in were all charming in their own right.
So when he was walking down Florida Street, looking around while eating some chocolate, the unexpected sound of music coming from his right only made him smile. Tango, he recognized as soon has he could hear the music clearly. By the time he got to the source of it, a small circle of people had already formed around a couple of dancers. He took one last bite of his candy and made his way through the people to be able to get a clear view of the show.
Luciano was no stranger to dancing, but the sensuous, confident moves left him enthralled. The couple was pretty alluring in itself: a beautiful brunette with silky thighs one could see through the slit of her dress, and a tall, quite handsome blonde man. There was such passion in the way the blonde man moved, eyes blazing and unseeing of anything but his partner’s eyes, that undeniably made him the most attractive of the pair. Looks like he’s gonna eat her, Luciano thought, and smiled to himself.
He didn't know how much time had gone by, but suddenly, the song ended and the couple stopped dancing. The girl next to him let out a breath that she probably didn’t even know she’d been holding, and he smiled, amused.
It was curious, but he thought there was something different, very private about this way dancing, that he couldn't say he was used to. Even amidst a crowd that was staring at them, it felt like the two of them were in a world of their own. For Luciano, dancing, although intimate to some degree, was ultimately more about having fun.
“No hat or asking for change today, ladies and gentleman,” said the blonde man after a round of excited applause that erupted from the small crowd. “This is a free exhibition made by the new Hernandez Dance Studio, just down the block! Take some cards from my lovely lady friend, if you might. I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”
A new couple walked to the center of the circle and started a new performance as the brunette who had been previously dancing handed out cards. The blond man stood aside and opened a bottle of water. Luciano thought about saying something to him, but got distracted by the girl giving him a card.
“You should come, darling. You look like a natural,” she said winking.
“I do?”
“Don’t mind her,” interrupted the blonde, “you look like her type, that’s what she’s trying to say.”
Luciano smiled at the girl, flattered, but the blonde man ushered her away. She stuck out her tongue at the man, he blew her a kiss, and she just shook her head and continued with her work.
Luciano snickered. “Is she your girlfriend?”
“That brat? No way.” The tone in which he said it, though, was affectionate.
The blonde drank some water and watched her handing out cards. “Imagine what a waste it would be if I were taken; all those poor girls, heartbroken. No, I couldn’t do that to the world.”
Luciano laughed and continued watching the show. “I like the look in their eyes,” he said at length.
“Of course you do, that’s what tango is all about. The Doisneau effect, if you might.”
“Hm?”
“The Doisneau- Have you ever seen that photo, the one of the couple kissing?”
“I don't think so, no.”
“Well, you should. Never mind that it’s French; the idea still stands.”
Martin put the cap back on the bottle of water and tossed it over to the girl, who was already out of cards and had started talking to group of boys. She caught it just in time.
“Tell you what,” he said suddenly “stop by the studio and I’ll show you the photo. We have a copy framed; very inspirational.”
Luciano took a look at the card and then smiled at the blond man. “Maybe I will. Aren’t you gonna tell me that I look like a natural, though?”
This time, the blonde was the one to laugh.
“Well,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “now that you mention it, maybe you do.”
“I’m Martin, by the way,” he said after a while. Both of them had been distracted by a particularly daring move the dancing couple had made.
“Luciano,” he said as he put the card on his pocket.
He looked up as the dancing girl did a final twirl, and the couple ended up impossibly close, thighs hooked, a breath away from kissing.
“I think I’ll be looking forward to the lessons.”
And really, Buenos Aires always seemed to be surprising him, but that didn’t bother him. Not really. Not at all.
*** ***
“…THREE! …TWO! …ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
The whole party erupted into cheers and champagne flew all around. Martin hugged the person closest to him (good ol’ Mario, the waiter; what a nice, chubby old man) and was patted in the back by almost everyone.
“Brilliant year, people!”
“Brilliant? I’ll drink to that positive attitude of yours and may the next year be truly brilliant this time!”
Everyone gave a good natured laugh. The guests continued to toast to anything and everything they could think of and Martin was well into his fourth glass of champagne when he heard his cellphone ringing.
“You’ve reached the fabulous Martin Hernandez. Happy new year, lucky person!”
“Feliz ano novo,” said an amused, familiar voice on the other of the line.
“Samba man! You couldn’t wait to talk to me this year, could you?”
Luciano snorted lightly. “Just thought you might be bored. You don’t know how to party and all that.”
“Oh, shut up. You are just jealous because you had to kiss your lady president at midnight. Tough luck, buddy; we can’t all be winners.”
This time, Luciano did laugh. “So, you coming over this year?”
“Honestly, you make it sound like I always do.”
“Don’t you?”
“…Shut up.”
Someone (who may or may have not been his secretary) gave Martin another glass of champagne.
Luciano laughed again and Martin finished his cup in one gulp. He would’ve felt a bit more irritated with himself for his lame comeback, really, but there was already a pleasant buzz at the back of his mind from all those drinks. Now that he thought about it, he might have to be a little more careful with that.
“So you are coming.”
“Wouldn’t want to break your heart if I didn’t, right?”
“Right. I’ll see you around, then.” Martin could practically hear the smile on Luciano’s voice. Smug bastard.
“Yeah.”
As he put his phone away and handed his empty glass over to a waiter, Martin wondered how many years he’d known Luciano for already; how many lives had already gone by. He snorted at himself for his corniness a second later and greeted a few more people before going for his car keys.
Really, being a nation meant he had lived longer than anyone; they had met countless times through the course of their lives and he was sure they would meet many more in centuries to come. It was silly to be wondering things like that, they were hardly important.
Besides, he thought as he stepped out of the party, he had this nagging feeling that even in another world, another life, that smug, funny speaking idiot would've found him anyway. No one could convince him otherwise.
Final notes: The picture Martin was talking about in the fourth meeting was The Kiss by Robert Doisneau. It's a very famous photo and it's said to represent how time stops for people who are together and in love. I just... couldn't help myself.
And that's that, people. THANK YOU AND HAPPY NEW YEAR ;A;.