Values Dissonance (2/13?)
anonymous
May 14 2010, 05:24:21 UTC
Antonio had been surprised at the steel in the king’s voice, but after thinking about it for a moment, he had to admit that he understood; Queen Isabella had only so recently died. Maybe their marriage had been political, but after so many years of such closeness, the king had developed sincere feelings for her.
“Declare war,” the king had repeated. Antonio nodded his head. He would. “And marry the boy,” he added. “Politically unite yourselves, at the very least. We need this.” He, too, was worried about France.
It had been an order. So Antonio had done it. Romano had scowled throughout the whole service but as soon as he was able he reached up and kissed Antonio with an enthusiasm that shocked him. Pleased him. But… but Romano was never one for such displays; not even after living so closely for so long. So Antonio was also rather perplexed.
It was only that night, when Romano was to sleep in Antonio’s room for the first time, ostensibly at least, (if only the castle knew of how many nights a young boy had dashed in, in the wake of a storm, complaining about his bed being too big and hogging all the sheets) that the Spanish nation began to regret his decision.
Antonio had removed his embroidered tunic and long boots, rooting around for suitable clothing to wear to bed. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Romano do the same; and his gaze lingered on slowly broadening shoulders, flawless tanned-brown skin, the first vestiges of lean muscle. He felt a distinct greed for the land in front of him, but he also knew that he could wait. He could wait forever.
Could he?
That resolve was tried about one quarter of a second later when Antonio found himself with an armful of half-naked Italian, clumsily and sloppily kissing his face.
“Lovi… mmm….” mumbled Antonio, trying to get a word in edgewise, but Romano had a vise-like grip on the back of his head, as if determined to hang on until Antonio submitted.
He really, really wanted to submit.
But he didn’t. Because that would be bad. With great mental difficulty, he pried Romano’s fingers out of his hair and pinned his hands in one of Antonio’s own. Romano struggled, but finally broke the kiss, glaring at Antonio.
“What was that for, bastardo?” He was breathing heavily and blushing cutely, but he was cute, that was the thing - not sexy or appealing. At least not yet.
“Lovi, we aren’t doing this tonight,” Antonio asserted firmly, pecking the Italian on the cheek. The younger grimaced and glared as harshly as he could - which was pretty scathingly, Antonio had to admit. He felt his heart pang a little. Now his little Lovi was angry at him! But it was necessary. “We’re not going this,” he repeated.
“Declare war,” the king had repeated. Antonio nodded his head. He would. “And marry the boy,” he added. “Politically unite yourselves, at the very least. We need this.” He, too, was worried about France.
It had been an order. So Antonio had done it. Romano had scowled throughout the whole service but as soon as he was able he reached up and kissed Antonio with an enthusiasm that shocked him. Pleased him. But… but Romano was never one for such displays; not even after living so closely for so long. So Antonio was also rather perplexed.
It was only that night, when Romano was to sleep in Antonio’s room for the first time, ostensibly at least, (if only the castle knew of how many nights a young boy had dashed in, in the wake of a storm, complaining about his bed being too big and hogging all the sheets) that the Spanish nation began to regret his decision.
Antonio had removed his embroidered tunic and long boots, rooting around for suitable clothing to wear to bed. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Romano do the same; and his gaze lingered on slowly broadening shoulders, flawless tanned-brown skin, the first vestiges of lean muscle. He felt a distinct greed for the land in front of him, but he also knew that he could wait. He could wait forever.
Could he?
That resolve was tried about one quarter of a second later when Antonio found himself with an armful of half-naked Italian, clumsily and sloppily kissing his face.
“Lovi… mmm….” mumbled Antonio, trying to get a word in edgewise, but Romano had a vise-like grip on the back of his head, as if determined to hang on until Antonio submitted.
He really, really wanted to submit.
But he didn’t. Because that would be bad. With great mental difficulty, he pried Romano’s fingers out of his hair and pinned his hands in one of Antonio’s own. Romano struggled, but finally broke the kiss, glaring at Antonio.
“What was that for, bastardo?” He was breathing heavily and blushing cutely, but he was cute, that was the thing - not sexy or appealing. At least not yet.
“Lovi, we aren’t doing this tonight,” Antonio asserted firmly, pecking the Italian on the cheek. The younger grimaced and glared as harshly as he could - which was pretty scathingly, Antonio had to admit. He felt his heart pang a little. Now his little Lovi was angry at him! But it was necessary. “We’re not going this,” he repeated.
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