Sorted out for E's and Whizz(4/?)
anonymous
March 17 2011, 13:51:04 UTC
(I posted it in the wrong place, pardon my fail)
So no. He was not going to any club, specially not one where the potato bastard was going. It probably involved people dressed in leather with whips and moustaches and God knew what other perversions. He was drunk, but not that drunk, and he told Feliciano so.
And Feliciano resorted to what Lovino hated the most. He turned on the waterworks, telling Lovino between sobs how he hadn’t seen Ludwig for months and he didn’t want to go home yet and is only midnight and I swear is only for one hour or two, Lovino, sniff, I swear! The half incoherent rambling kept going on and on, and the older of the Italies noticed most people around them were staring at them by now. And he didn’t feel like going home either, he was a bit on the very-tipsy-a-bit-happy-what-the-hell-let’s-explore-side.
Justshutthefuckup it came out like a hiss, so he got up and downed his half full glass of wine -and at this time he’d realised that it was the fourth bottle; as Feliciano had asked for another one while he was spacing away thinking about Spain- when had he lost count?
“Where is this fucking place? Let’s just go.”
As if by magic the sobbing stopped and a bright wide smile appeared in Feliciano’s face and out of nowhere his arms were around Lovino, murmuring terms of endearment in his ear.
“Only for one hour, get it?”
“Yes, of course!”
Feliciano beamed at him. The stumbled their way up the stairs and out of the cozy wine bar, both of them noticing how much they’ve drunk once they started walking. They were next to the tube station and rode a few stops till Vauxhall, trying to sober up and failing, talking about inane things.
Sorted out for E's and Whizz(5/?)
anonymous
March 17 2011, 13:53:31 UTC
The address lead them to a nameless club under the arches of a railway bridge, if “club” could be used. It seemed that it was just one step above an illegal rave, judging by the looks of it. The bouncer gave them an up and down glance, but let them in. Much to Lovino’s relief there weren’t people dressed in leather, but even then him and Feliciano stood out like a sore thumb.
The music was similar to the one in that club, that time. Maybe it may had been a different genre, but to his ears all sounded like electronic thum-thum-thum. . It was far too loud and the place was far too packed. Lovino and Feliciano were the only ones dressed in “decent clothes” and Lovino worried about his Balenciaga shirt (finally a decent christmas present from that empty headed bastard, which had taken months of not so subtle convincing) getting all mucky or losing it’s buttons in the crowded club. Feliciano shouted in his ear how pleased he was that the place was not that big, as he just wanted to find Germany as soon as possible. And it was true, the place was small compared to that temple-like place in Ibiza. That was a relief because, Holy Christ, the Virgin Maria,all Saints in Heaven and the friggin sacred bleeding heart of Jesus, he didn’t want to stay long in this shithole. And he seriously should stop hanging around Spain so much as he was blaspheming as much as he did. Spain was a goddamned bad catholic, really.
Lovino pulled at Feliciano’s sleeve, pointing upwards, motioning him towards the stairs. The club was comprised of a huge dance floor with two bars at each side and a balcony-like smaller dance floor which probably would also have a bar, from where people could observe the main room and the other way around. If they wanted to spot anyone dancing it looked like the perfect view point.
He elbowed the crowd going up the stairs, thinking for the first time how amusing it would be seeing that frigid, stuck up, German dancing. Could he even dance at all? Maybe he could move to this cold, electronic beat,moving his body like a robot. Lovino snorted while he though about it. Even if he hated this kind of places the sight was going to be amusing at least. This place and Ludwig didn’t match at all. They fought their way through the crowd to the balustrade, stopping at the bar to order a bottle of wine. His request raised the barman’s eyebrows, not used to selling any of that fare, and he got presented with a bottle of cheap Australian Shiraz and two plastic cups.
Sorted out for E's and Whizz(6/?)
anonymous
March 17 2011, 14:02:01 UTC
It tasted like shit after the twenty fire pound Barolo, but at this point he didn’t care. Giving Feliciano a full cup he drank from the bottle, scanning the dance-floor below. A mass of bodies moved to the rhythm of the electronic beats. The air was damp, just like it had been in Ibiza, the temperature far too hot considering outside it was chilly English winter.
Some girls danced atop one of the platforms in what Lovino thought it was just bright coloured underwear. God’s he hated this place. Could anyone stand this noise if they weren’t on drugs? He watched the people around him and felt disgusted. Self-indulgent, hedonistic, so decadent.
He spent a good ten minutes scanning the dance floor, but there was no sign of the potato headed muscle man. He was about to pull Feliciano’s sleeve so he would follow him to have a walk around the club but he stopped in his tracks when he saw his brother’s expression.
Feliciano’s eyes were wide open, his lips slightly parted. From the close proximity they were in, he could see his bottom lip was trembling and his hands were holding the rail so hard his knuckles were visibly white, even in the changing lights of the club. Lovino followed his gaze, down to the packed dance floor, then he saw him.
He may had overlooked him before, as it was difficult to associate the guy dancing with the control freak screaming his lungs out in that morning’s meeting. He could only see his back, but he was almost sure that it was Germany, the muscled broad back and the blond hair giving him away. He was shirtless, a t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his jeans. His hair, even watching it from the back was not as it usually was. Not slicked back and perfectly styled. he could see it messily falling to the sides of his head, moving as he danced in a energetic way. Lovino looked back at his brother, about to question him about why wasn’t he rushing down and finally talking with the half naked oaf. God’s sake why did protestant countries had no sense of fucking modesty, seriously.
But Feli’s expression hadn’t changed. When he turned his head back from Feliciano to the dance floor he realised why. He was not sure if he hadn’t seen it or if it wasn’t there when he looked before, but there was a hand in the nape of Ludwig’s neck. Caressing it. Long fingers tangling with blond hair. Lovino couldn’t see the face or body of the hand’s owner as the broadness of Germany's back, the lights and the overall angle of Lovino’s position prevented him from seeing the person behind him.
Thanks a lot everyone for your comments! Anon1 : I hope so too! Anon2: Thanks! The lack of Portugal and Latin America makes me sad as well! And I would love to see some Argentina/Uruguay interaction with Spain and the Italies. (But I kind of like Ibiza's nightlife though!) Anon3: I'm sure England was dancing on a field all sorted for e's and whizz on the 90's... Anon4: Yes, he needs to! But if you go to both countries is remarkable how different the nightlife is, the italians are a lot more chilled out than the spaniards (I don't know of any other countries where people goes out for 8-9 hours at night and consider it "normal")
OP: Glad you like it! And yep, I think you can see from far away which pairing is going to be! :)
Re: Author Anon
anonymous
March 19 2011, 01:37:13 UTC
OP here! I love the update, and I'm so happy this seems to be going where I think is going -yes, I'm a bad person... -But I have to agree that your Lovino inner monologue is amazing, I'm loving it so much! Now you can have my internets and my babies too!
Re: Sorted out for E's and Whizz(6/?)
anonymous
March 25 2011, 05:00:25 UTC
A righteous anger surged through him. [i]That son of a bitch[/i]. That’s why he hadn’t invited Feliciano. The bastard was getting it on with someone, half-naked in some seedy nightclub.
He wanted to go down and bash his head in. He wanted to smash his face with a hard blunt object, -preferably with long spikes attached to it- till it was unrecognizable. Piece of shit. Damn Potato Eater Piece Of Shit.
He had gripped his bottle of wine after having a long swipe, prepared to go and crash it over the bastard’s head when Ludwig moved to let pass some stumbling person out of the dance floor, changing his position so Lovino could see his profile.
Time stopped.
The music suddenly felt sounded distorted, slower, a blur of underwater noise.
He could see the man dancing with the German now. The one dancing with Ludwig had his head tilted back, eyes closed whilst moving to the music, dancing effortlessly with a feline grace. Lovino knew which colour his eyes were, even if they were closed. They were bright green, like lush grass shining under the sun. Bright, cheerful, shining emerald eyes. He had dreamed about those eyes since he was a child, had wanted those eyes to look at him and only at him for the last five centuries. In his most sinful private fantasies he had wanted that muscular body above him, around him, taking him, making him scream. The body of a dancer, all lean muscles and soft contours, not as bulky as Germany was, much more graceful, muscles defined and sinuous, but yet incredibly powerful and strong; he had fantasized about it almost every night since he reached puberty.
Spain’s t-shirt was also tucked in the right back pocket of his jeans, his ripped torso glistening with sweat, the cross in his neck swinging with every one of his moves. With his eyes shut he smiled while he danced, far too close to Ludwig, with far too much abandon, a blissful expression on his face.
It was like the world had frozen. Like he was frozen, because he couldn’t move from that rail, couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. From them. Dancing together, grinding slightly against each other. He wanted to take Feliciano away, he wanted to go downstairs and tear them apart, to do something. ANYTHING, but somehow he felt like an spectator in the back of his own mind, just staring in morbid fascination. He just couldn’t take his eyes away from the two bodies below.
He stared when Ludwig’s hands moved to Antonio’s waist and leaned over to talk in his ear, which made the Spaniard’s eyes finally open savouringand look at him with a dazed smile. Stared when Antonio got something from his front pocket and and popped it onto Ludwig’s mouth. The probing fingers stayed in for far too long and Romano realised it was because they were being licked. Licked like Spain's fingers were some sort of candy, playfully them, and Spain seemed to think this was very amusing indeed, as he just laughed and gave Germany more digits to lick whilst looking at him with crinkled ayes. Lovino thought the action was disgusting but he couldn’t avert his gaze; in the back off his mind he wondered if Feliciano felt the same. Antonio’s other hand went to his left back pocket and offered Ludwig a bottle of water, and only then the other let go of his hand. The Spaniard’s now licked clean fingers went back to his trousers and took something for himself. They kept dancing, lost to the world, Antonio’s face back to that almost religious expression of bliss, Germany intently staring at him and smiling whilst moving energetically to the music.
Re: Sorted out for E's and Whizz(6/?)
anonymous
March 25 2011, 13:41:35 UTC
Oh man authoranon this is so hot and angsty <3 I got so unimaginably giddy when you mentioned Netherlands and Germany going to a club, and it all went up from there.
Re: Sorted out for E's and Whizz(6/?)
anonymous
March 25 2011, 15:49:42 UTC
I...wow...that description of Spain...guh...and this Romano is not so in denial, is he...unf, author anon, bring it on, bring more. I have a feeling Italy is all "hoshit that's hot :D"
Re: Sorted out for E's and Whizz(6/?)
anonymous
March 26 2011, 01:55:22 UTC
Wow. Wow. Wow. I feel like and asshole thinking how hot this Ludwing/Antonio scene is while Roma is looking at them in awe. I'm such a sucker for crack!pairs
Sorted out for E's and Whizz(7/?)
anonymous
April 7 2011, 13:22:14 UTC
Somehow they didn’t look like themselves, because Spain was always focused, passionate, he had an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Spaced out and oblivious, yes, but not in this way. Spain was not that man in the dance floor, all pliable in the other’s hands and lost to the world, and Germany was not that boy in the dance floor either. Boy, because without his suit, his glasses and his hair falling onto his forehead like that he looked so young, so very young.
And there was something else. The smile. An open, happy smile that Lovino had never seen in the German’s face, not even when he was with Feliciano. When he was with his brother Ludwig will curve the corners of his mouth up sometimes, an expression that will make Feliciano ecstatic, but he would never smile like this, not openly and warmly, with laughter in his eyes, the smile in his mouth reaching the rest of his face. As it to prove Lovino’s point, the music changed and Ludwig wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, making him jump with him to the first beats and laughed, just laughed with his face on the crook of Antonio’s shoulder. The moment passed and he wished he hadn’t seen it, that his brother hadn’t seen it, because it was strangely more intimate than Spain’s fingers on the other’s mouth, more intimate than them grinding against each other.
Lovino didn’t know how long he had been staring at them at this point. They danced, one gracefully and lost in the sound, the other methodically going with the beat of the music, following his dance partner’s movements with hooded eyes, his hands always in contact with the other’s body. Germany’s finger roamed the small of Spain’s back and even from here Lovino could see that his fingers were inside Antonio’s waistband, fingers probably touching the curve of Antonio’s ass, feeling his warm skin. Lovino felt even more dazed and numb when after a while -maybe minutes, maybe hours- Spain looked up and captured Germany’s lips with his own in a playful gesture. Germany pulled the slightly shorter man flush against his chest, getting deeper into the kiss, both of them still moving to the music as if this was something they were used to, something completely normal. There wasn’t any shyness, any awkwardness between them; it was like a well rehearsed performance both men had learnt a long time ago.
The kiss was long and slow even if they were still somehow dancing, and Antonio’s fingers were in the nape of Ludwig’s neck. Just how Feliciano had first seen them.
This was enough to wake him up and Lovino did what he was best at. He ran.
Sorted out for E's and Whizz(8/?)
anonymous
April 7 2011, 13:25:15 UTC
He grabbed his brother’s hand and headed for the stairs, the wine bottle still in his hand, making his way through the human crowd elbowing and pushing. When they got to the ground floor he felt Feliciano stopping; he tugged, wanting to leave this hell hole, but he didn’t move. He still felt like someone else in his own skin, detached, numb, stuck in a endless nightmare and not being able to wake up, and moved his head towards Feliciano wanting to shout at him but there were no sounds coming out of his throat. Something was lodged in there, something huge and raw, blocking him from making any sounds, something that was asphyxiating him, chocking him, constricting his chest and burning his insides.
In the midst of the smoke and the strobe lights he saw what his brother was watching; Spain leading Germany away to the back of the club, hand in hand. A thought crossed his mind: probably going to the toilets. He felt nauseous.
Something imploded inside him, so hard that he actually felt physical pain in his chest and he just tugged harder, and this time Feliciano followed.
They requested a cab from the guys and the entrance. The five minutes waiting, the ride, the hotel’s entrance, the lift up the stairs, the anger, the despair. It was all a blur.
Both brothers sat in the hotel room, in Lovino’s twin bed, still holding each other’s hand, without speaking. Feliciano was the first one to crack up. His sobs started softly and got louder with each minute and Lovino hated how they could be so empathic sometimes because he realised now how much he wanted to cry as well. But he let his brother wail and grab him and pour snot and tears all over the goddamned Balenciaga shirt. He wasn’t going to cry. Maybe his stupid, moronic brother could but he couldn’t. Because if he broke down Feliciano wouldn’t have anyone to cry against and even if he tried his best to pretend he didn’t care about the wailing mess his brother was, he loved the northern part of the country more than anyone in the world, apart from the man that was probably having sex right now with Ludwig.
He adored Feliciano, but he wanted to stop his bawling. As much as he wanted to protect and be strong for his brother he also wanted to punch his lights out to shut him up. Because how could he know what love was? How could he know the pain of longing after someone for so long? He had made friends with Germany -and fucked up big time by the way because of him- about a hundred years ago.
So no. He was not going to any club, specially not one where the potato bastard was going. It probably involved people dressed in leather with whips and moustaches and God knew what other perversions.
He was drunk, but not that drunk, and he told Feliciano so.
And Feliciano resorted to what Lovino hated the most. He turned on the waterworks, telling Lovino between sobs how he hadn’t seen Ludwig for months and he didn’t want to go home yet and is only midnight and I swear is only for one hour or two, Lovino, sniff, I swear!
The half incoherent rambling kept going on and on, and the older of the Italies noticed most people around them were staring at them by now. And he didn’t feel like going home either, he was a bit on the very-tipsy-a-bit-happy-what-the-hell-let’s-explore-side.
Justshutthefuckup it came out like a hiss, so he got up and downed his half full glass of wine -and at this time he’d realised that it was the fourth bottle; as Feliciano had asked for another one while he was spacing away thinking about Spain- when had he lost count?
“Where is this fucking place? Let’s just go.”
As if by magic the sobbing stopped and a bright wide smile appeared in Feliciano’s face and out of nowhere his arms were around Lovino, murmuring terms of endearment in his ear.
“Only for one hour, get it?”
“Yes, of course!”
Feliciano beamed at him. The stumbled their way up the stairs and out of the cozy wine bar, both of them noticing how much they’ve drunk once they started walking. They were next to the tube station and rode a few stops till Vauxhall, trying to sober up and failing, talking about inane things.
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The music was similar to the one in that club, that time. Maybe it may had been a different genre, but to his ears all sounded like electronic thum-thum-thum. . It was far too loud and the place was far too packed. Lovino and Feliciano were the only ones dressed in “decent clothes” and Lovino worried about his Balenciaga shirt (finally a decent christmas present from that empty headed bastard, which had taken months of not so subtle convincing) getting all mucky or losing it’s buttons in the crowded club.
Feliciano shouted in his ear how pleased he was that the place was not that big, as he just wanted to find Germany as soon as possible. And it was true, the place was small compared to that temple-like place in Ibiza. That was a relief because, Holy Christ, the Virgin Maria,all Saints in Heaven and the friggin sacred bleeding heart of Jesus, he didn’t want to stay long in this shithole. And he seriously should stop hanging around Spain so much as he was blaspheming as much as he did. Spain was a goddamned bad catholic, really.
Lovino pulled at Feliciano’s sleeve, pointing upwards, motioning him towards the stairs.
The club was comprised of a huge dance floor with two bars at each side and a balcony-like smaller dance floor which probably would also have a bar, from where people could observe the main room and the other way around. If they wanted to spot anyone dancing it looked like the perfect view point.
He elbowed the crowd going up the stairs, thinking for the first time how amusing it would be seeing that frigid, stuck up, German dancing. Could he even dance at all?
Maybe he could move to this cold, electronic beat,moving his body like a robot. Lovino snorted while he though about it. Even if he hated this kind of places the sight was going to be amusing at least. This place and Ludwig didn’t match at all. They fought their way through the crowd to the balustrade, stopping at the bar to order a bottle of wine. His request raised the barman’s eyebrows, not used to selling any of that fare, and he got presented with a bottle of cheap Australian Shiraz and two plastic cups.
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Some girls danced atop one of the platforms in what Lovino thought it was just bright coloured underwear. God’s he hated this place. Could anyone stand this noise if they weren’t on drugs? He watched the people around him and felt disgusted. Self-indulgent, hedonistic, so decadent.
He spent a good ten minutes scanning the dance floor, but there was no sign of the potato headed muscle man. He was about to pull Feliciano’s sleeve so he would follow him to have a walk around the club but he stopped in his tracks when he saw his brother’s expression.
Feliciano’s eyes were wide open, his lips slightly parted. From the close proximity they were in, he could see his bottom lip was trembling and his hands were holding the rail so hard his knuckles were visibly white, even in the changing lights of the club. Lovino followed his gaze, down to the packed dance floor, then he saw him.
He may had overlooked him before, as it was difficult to associate the guy dancing with the control freak screaming his lungs out in that morning’s meeting. He could only see his back, but he was almost sure that it was Germany, the muscled broad back and the blond hair giving him away. He was shirtless, a t-shirt tucked into the waistband of his jeans. His hair, even watching it from the back was not as it usually was. Not slicked back and perfectly styled. he could see it messily falling to the sides of his head, moving as he danced in a energetic way.
Lovino looked back at his brother, about to question him about why wasn’t he rushing down and finally talking with the half naked oaf. God’s sake why did protestant countries had no sense of fucking modesty, seriously.
But Feli’s expression hadn’t changed.
When he turned his head back from Feliciano to the dance floor he realised why. He was not sure if he hadn’t seen it or if it wasn’t there when he looked before, but there was a hand in the nape of Ludwig’s neck. Caressing it. Long fingers tangling with blond hair.
Lovino couldn’t see the face or body of the hand’s owner as the broadness of Germany's back, the lights and the overall angle of Lovino’s position prevented him from seeing the person behind him.
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Anon1 : I hope so too!
Anon2: Thanks! The lack of Portugal and Latin America makes me sad as well! And I would love to see some Argentina/Uruguay interaction with Spain and the Italies. (But I kind of like Ibiza's nightlife though!)
Anon3: I'm sure England was dancing on a field all sorted for e's and whizz on the 90's...
Anon4: Yes, he needs to! But if you go to both countries is remarkable how different the nightlife is, the italians are a lot more chilled out than the spaniards (I don't know of any other countries where people goes out for 8-9 hours at night and consider it "normal")
OP: Glad you like it! And yep, I think you can see from far away which pairing is going to be! :)
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I love the update, and I'm so happy this seems to be going where I think is going -yes, I'm a bad person... -But I have to agree that your Lovino inner monologue is amazing, I'm loving it so much! Now you can have my internets and my babies too!
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Anon, you win many, many internets. I loooove how your writing is almost like Romano's stream-of-conciousness. He is so awesome, I love him XD
More soon, please! =D
*bookmarks*
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[i]That son of a bitch[/i]. That’s why he hadn’t invited Feliciano. The bastard was getting it on with someone, half-naked in some seedy nightclub.
He wanted to go down and bash his head in. He wanted to smash his face with a hard blunt object, -preferably with long spikes attached to it- till it was unrecognizable. Piece of shit. Damn Potato Eater Piece Of Shit.
He had gripped his bottle of wine after having a long swipe, prepared to go and crash it over the bastard’s head when Ludwig moved to let pass some stumbling person out of the dance floor, changing his position so Lovino could see his profile.
Time stopped.
The music suddenly felt sounded distorted, slower, a blur of underwater noise.
He could see the man dancing with the German now. The one dancing with Ludwig had his head tilted back, eyes closed whilst moving to the music, dancing effortlessly with a feline grace. Lovino knew which colour his eyes were, even if they were closed. They were bright green, like lush grass shining under the sun. Bright, cheerful, shining emerald eyes. He had dreamed about those eyes since he was a child, had wanted those eyes to look at him and only at him for the last five centuries. In his most sinful private fantasies he had wanted that muscular body above him, around him, taking him, making him scream.
The body of a dancer, all lean muscles and soft contours, not as bulky as Germany was, much more graceful, muscles defined and sinuous, but yet incredibly powerful and strong; he had fantasized about it almost every night since he reached puberty.
Spain’s t-shirt was also tucked in the right back pocket of his jeans, his ripped torso glistening with sweat, the cross in his neck swinging with every one of his moves. With his eyes shut he smiled while he danced, far too close to Ludwig, with far too much abandon, a blissful expression on his face.
It was like the world had frozen. Like he was frozen, because he couldn’t move from that rail, couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. From them. Dancing together, grinding slightly against each other. He wanted to take Feliciano away, he wanted to go downstairs and tear them apart, to do something. ANYTHING, but somehow he felt like an spectator in the back of his own mind, just staring in morbid fascination. He just couldn’t take his eyes away from the two bodies below.
He stared when Ludwig’s hands moved to Antonio’s waist and leaned over to talk in his ear, which made the Spaniard’s eyes finally open savouringand look at him with a dazed smile. Stared when Antonio got something from his front pocket and and popped it onto Ludwig’s mouth.
The probing fingers stayed in for far too long and Romano realised it was because they were being licked. Licked like Spain's fingers were some sort of candy, playfully them, and Spain seemed to think this was very amusing indeed, as he just laughed and gave Germany more digits to lick whilst looking at him with crinkled ayes.
Lovino thought the action was disgusting but he couldn’t avert his gaze; in the back off his mind he wondered if Feliciano felt the same.
Antonio’s other hand went to his left back pocket and offered Ludwig a bottle of water, and only then the other let go of his hand.
The Spaniard’s now licked clean fingers went back to his trousers and took something for himself. They kept dancing, lost to the world, Antonio’s face back to that almost religious expression of bliss, Germany intently staring at him and smiling whilst moving energetically to the music.
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I got so unimaginably giddy when you mentioned Netherlands and Germany going to a club, and it all went up from there.
Totally can't wait for more!
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Spain was not that man in the dance floor, all pliable in the other’s hands and lost to the world, and Germany was not that boy in the dance floor either. Boy, because without his suit, his glasses and his hair falling onto his forehead like that he looked so young, so very young.
And there was something else. The smile. An open, happy smile that Lovino had never seen in the German’s face, not even when he was with Feliciano. When he was with his brother Ludwig will curve the corners of his mouth up sometimes, an expression that will make Feliciano ecstatic, but he would never smile like this, not openly and warmly, with laughter in his eyes, the smile in his mouth reaching the rest of his face.
As it to prove Lovino’s point, the music changed and Ludwig wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, making him jump with him to the first beats and laughed, just laughed with his face on the crook of Antonio’s shoulder.
The moment passed and he wished he hadn’t seen it, that his brother hadn’t seen it, because it was strangely more intimate than Spain’s fingers on the other’s mouth, more intimate than them grinding against each other.
Lovino didn’t know how long he had been staring at them at this point. They danced, one gracefully and lost in the sound, the other methodically going with the beat of the music, following his dance partner’s movements with hooded eyes, his hands always in contact with the other’s body.
Germany’s finger roamed the small of Spain’s back and even from here Lovino could see that his fingers were inside Antonio’s waistband, fingers probably touching the curve of Antonio’s ass, feeling his warm skin. Lovino felt even more dazed and numb when after a while -maybe minutes, maybe hours- Spain looked up and captured Germany’s lips with his own in a playful gesture. Germany pulled the slightly shorter man flush against his chest, getting deeper into the kiss, both of them still moving to the music as if this was something they were used to, something completely normal. There wasn’t any shyness, any awkwardness between them; it was like a well rehearsed performance both men had learnt a long time ago.
The kiss was long and slow even if they were still somehow dancing, and Antonio’s fingers were in the nape of Ludwig’s neck. Just how Feliciano had first seen them.
This was enough to wake him up and Lovino did what he was best at. He ran.
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He still felt like someone else in his own skin, detached, numb, stuck in a endless nightmare and not being able to wake up, and moved his head towards Feliciano wanting to shout at him but there were no sounds coming out of his throat.
Something was lodged in there, something huge and raw, blocking him from making any sounds, something that was asphyxiating him, chocking him, constricting his chest and burning his insides.
In the midst of the smoke and the strobe lights he saw what his brother was watching; Spain leading Germany away to the back of the club, hand in hand. A thought crossed his mind: probably going to the toilets. He felt nauseous.
Something imploded inside him, so hard that he actually felt physical pain in his chest and he just tugged harder, and this time Feliciano followed.
They requested a cab from the guys and the entrance. The five minutes waiting, the ride, the hotel’s entrance, the lift up the stairs, the anger, the despair. It was all a blur.
Both brothers sat in the hotel room, in Lovino’s twin bed, still holding each other’s hand, without speaking. Feliciano was the first one to crack up. His sobs started softly and got louder with each minute and Lovino hated how they could be so empathic sometimes because he realised now how much he wanted to cry as well. But he let his brother wail and grab him and pour snot and tears all over the goddamned Balenciaga shirt. He wasn’t going to cry. Maybe his stupid, moronic brother could but he couldn’t. Because if he broke down Feliciano wouldn’t have anyone to cry against and even if he tried his best to pretend he didn’t care about the wailing mess his brother was, he loved the northern part of the country more than anyone in the world, apart from the man that was probably having sex right now with Ludwig.
He adored Feliciano, but he wanted to stop his bawling. As much as he wanted to protect and be strong for his brother he also wanted to punch his lights out to shut him up. Because how could he know what love was? How could he know the pain of longing after someone for so long? He had made friends with Germany -and fucked up big time by the way because of him- about a hundred years ago.
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Oh man, Romano is really get in the part of the older brother this time, poor guy. I really have no idea how is this going to end.
I knew there was going to be a mention of Spain's glorious ass. I feel so bad for noticing that above all xD
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