Fic: Downfall.
Title: Downfall.
Author: Jamaica-tan
Pairing: Various but focuses on Antonio/Lovino, past Antonio/Roderich
Genre: AU, Angst, Darkfic
Rating: R
Warning(s): Paedophilic thoughts and actions, very very slight nepiophilia thoughts, underage, non-con, drugging
Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers and its characters belong to Hidekazu Himaruya, I’m just borrowing them. Also I don’t really think Spain/Antonio is really a paedophile.
Spoilers: None
Note: If you are: under the Rating Age, of a fragile disposition or find the following issues raised in this fic offensive it would ill-advised to continue. You have been warned. Once again this story contains paedophilic thoughts and actions, very very slight nepiophilia thoughts, underage, non-con and drugging. I do not approve of or condone any of the paedophilic content in this story.
Thanks go to koholint for beta-ing
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It was Roderich’s fault, wasn’t it? Antonio had made himself clear when they settled down together, no children; he told him he didn’t think he could handle the responsibility and that he would be a horrible father. But Roderich never believed him, only took his hand and told him not to be scared, of course he would be a great father.
At some point what Roderich was saying started to make sense, and Antonio eventually convinced himself that he was only scared about fatherhood, there was nothing really wrong with him. Nothing wrong at all. When Antonio put his signature to the adoption papers, all those years ago, all he could remember was rubbing his thumb against the gold wedding band on his ring finger, thinking of his husband Roderich’s smile and their future family. A family, his family, his to love and protect. He could not fail himself.
He had always liked children, but sometimes he felt too aware of them, especially boys. He had always been warm and affectionate, but as he grew older his feelings seemed different to everyone else; while his friends started to like the girls in short skirts or the muscular arms on boys their own age, his eyes lingered over smooth legs and childish faces, the sweet mouths of little boys and what he wanted to do to them.
There was a word for people like him, pedophile. It sounded dirty, oily and unclean to any decent person’s ears. Antonio was not like those monsters you read about in the newspapers, he was an upstanding citizen; friendly, donated to child abuse charities, a self-made man who paid his taxes. He had only slipped once, and it was such a long time ago he wasn’t even sure if it still counted. He was still a teenager himself when it happened, and Rodolfo would have to eventually talk to him again at some point. At least he was not like those other people, the freaks that could get off on touching babies and toddlers. If he ever met one he’d kill a monster like that.
He once said the word, the word he knew applied to him, when he was alone and taking a bath while Roderich practiced in his music room. He had been sipping wine and reading a magazine, but eventually, because it had been playing on his mind, he found himself staring at the ceiling.
“Pedophile.” The word was almost drowned out by Roderich’s melody, but Antonio still found himself grasping the golden crucifix he always wore. God could forgive him for a lot of things; the drinking, the drugs he took as a teen, the man he married and loved, but never for thoughts of touching little boys. When Antonio was alone and thinking of little mouths and sweet thighs he took the cross off, and put it somewhere out of sight until he was done.
He knew it was sick, so he was always aware of feeling that his touches lasted a little too long, and eventually learned how to not even really look at boys. With his sons, he eventually almost ignored their casual childish nudity and the smell of them when he hugged his sons. He tried so hard to channel his sickness into his fatherly love. He thought he had beaten this.
The adoption process went on. Boy or girl? Would they accept siblings? None of that mattered, every child was perfect. All he could see in his mind’s eye was brushing his child’s dark curly hair in the morning, and in the evening teaching them the importance of good ingredients when preparing food. On weekends their child would sit by Roderich and learn the piano, and if they had another Antonio would teach them the guitar. On holidays, he and Roderich would hold hands and watch their little family build sandcastles on the beach in summer, and snowman in winter in their garden. The wait was unbearable.
Finally the news came, in a large manila envelope that dropped through their mailbox, their application was finally accepted. They would receive a pair of Italian siblings; a baby boy and his brother who was nearly four. Their parents had died in a car accident shortly after the baby was born, and their grandfather, their last living relative and carer, had died recently. The agency sent another letter detailing when they could meet the brothers, and there was a photo graph included with their letter. The boys were adorable, a laughing pink cheeked baby hugging his brother who looked a little annoyed, both with dark, slightly curling hair.
Antonio had cooed over their chubby cheeks and how the boys had hair like them, while Roderich had smiled and put the photo in an ornate frame. Every now and then Antonio would see his husband looking at the photo and smiling. Every kiss between them seemed sweeter, every touch warmer, it was if everything in their own lives were falling into place; a happy marriage, successful music careers, and now two beautiful boys were going to make their family complete.
The day that little Feliciano was put in his arms, Antonio knew what a father’s love meant. This little creature, this lively, squirming, helpless smiling little stranger would be his and Roderich’s responsibility. Then he saw movement, and looked up to see what it was. There was a small boy, the older one in the photo. Little Feli kicked and squealed happily in his arms, but the sight of his brother’s stubborn pouting face made Antonio’s stomach drop. The boy had been hiding behind one of the orphanage assistants’ legs but had apparently decided to make himself known to the new people that were holding his brother, and was now reluctantly approaching them. Antonio passed the baby to Roderich so he could crouch down to the toddler’s level.
“Hola, Lovino isn’t it? It’s nice to meet you at last.” His smile was not returned, the boy looked at him, then Roderich, then turned to the assistant and said something in Italian. The assistant, a young woman, laughed nervously.
“What did he say?” Roderich asked.
“He said he doesn’t like you two.”
Antonio laughed, “well, we’ll soon change your mind, we have a big playroom for you two full of toys, and kitchen full of tasty food, we’ll be a real family.”
For a while everything really was perfect. Through the late nights, tantrums, feedings and toilet training, their love for the boys only grew with every day. A few years later, it was becoming obvious that the love for their sons had outlived the dying love between Antonio and Roderich.
The breaking point in their marriage came when Lovino’s illness began. At first it seemed like he had a simple stomach ache with a slight temperature, nothing a few days in bed wouldn’t cure, and Roderich thought he was probably just trying to get out of school for a while. But after a week he was burning hot, nothing would settle in his stomach, he felt sore all over, and seemed to twitch. When he started to cry from the pain they rushed him to the hospital.
The doctor informed them after a day of tests that he had had strep throat that had developed into an infective fever, but it was caught in time before the infection could reach his heart and cause permanent damage, though he would need occasional checkups through his life and Feliciano would need to be tested as well. They were relieved, but Antonio knew that Roderich blamed him for not realising Lovi was seriously ill, though Antonio couldn’t but help but think if his husband stopped constantly doting on Feli he would have noticed himself.
Antonio stayed at the hospital while Roderich picked up Feli from the babysitter to bring him to the hospital for testing. He watched Lovi, pale and silent, sleep through the glass doors of his isolated room, and he decided then that Roderich could keep the house and little Feli. Lovino needed him, he would be better for him, to take him away and protect him, just the two of them.
After Feli’s blood test had cleared, Antonio told his husband he wanted a divorce.
Roderich was upset, he had actually shed tears and asked if there was any kind of chance for reconciliation, but Antonio had made up his mind. Eventually Roderich realised this and the divorce came through quickly. Antonio decided to just move to just far enough that it would be easier for the boys to see each other and take their Italian classes together without running into Roderich too often.
Their new home was a large apartment that took up the entire floor in a townhouse, with big airy rooms, scrubbed dark wooden floors and large windows. The kitchen was large and friendly, and there was a room perfect for Antonio to write music and keep his guitars.
Lovino had his own room, complete with a bunkbed for when Feli stayed for weekends, and at first he seemed to be fine. Perhaps since the beginning of the separation he had been more sullen than usual but nothing more. But then, a few days before Lovino was supposed to start his new school, he fell ill again. At first it was mild, he had headaches and became more clumsy. Lovi always had a fiery temper but now he had full blown tantrums, and then came the seizures.
This time Lovino stayed in hospital for several weeks, the doctors had diagnosed Choreia and epilepsy. Antonio and Roderich stayed by Lovino’s bedside the entire time, taking turns to look after Feliciano. Again, it was silent but the blame was there, and Antonio decided he had to be the world’s best father to make up for Roderich’s neglect.
When Lovino was eight, he came to Antonio’s bedroom in the middle of the night. He had wet the bed, and he was upset and embarrassed, like all children his age were, but this time, everything he had been through seem to catch up with him at that moment and he began to cry. Antonio was more than a little surprised, that his brave, stubborn, pretty son would cry in front of him, but he held him close and whispered it would all be okay, accidents happened. Lovino was still crying after Antonio had carried him to the bathroom and crouched down to strip his wet clothing.
“Why me?? Goddamn s’not fair, I’m not a baby like Feli!” His chubby face was red from crying and embarrassment.
Antonio ignored the blasphemy, he’d have to ask where he picked that up from later. “Lovi, it’s not your fault.” He tousled his son’s hair before Lovino jerked his head away and balled his fists.
“Yes it is! I just woke up and I was...I was-“ He could see the tears starting to well up again. “D-dammit...” A pudgy fist went up to scrub away the tears.
“Lovi...”
And then it happened. Lovino looked at him, red faced and teary eyed, and threw himself into Antonio’s arms. He felt Lovino’s shoulders shaking, and he finally broke down, sobbing and clinging to his shirt as the boy cried his heart out.
Lovino was not a very affectionate child so he always cherished the few hugs he received, but right then at that moment, Antonio suddenly felt a lot less fatherly. The small, naked, smooth and childishly plump body pressed against his, warm red face pressed against his neck with hot, wet sobs and dark curls like some kind of Renaissance angel that smelled of everything that would destroy him.
Antonio was instantly harder than he had even been.
The thought came so quickly, coming from the small part of his mind he had been used to ignoring;
You should kiss him.
Of course Antonio had always been affectionate, he showered his boys with kisses whenever he could, but the emotion that thought brought with it was not that of fatherly feeling. The thought was clear and very unfatherly; turn your head, lift his chin and kiss him on the mouth. Part his lips and taste his mouth, then take his cock (take it gently, oh so gently, he’s so small and delicate) and put your lips on it.
Antonio froze, unable to do anything except stay kneeling on the bathroom floor and hold his upset son. He could not say anything; any word or movement now could only lead to hurting his precious boy. No one could hurt him, he was the only one who could care for him. Antonio would die for his beautiful boy.
Eventually, Antonio tightened his hug and buried his head in his son’s curly hair, breathing the smell of innocence and temptation, and knew he would be thinking of this moment later while he stroked his cock and wished it was Lovino’s hand instead of his own.
“Oh my sweetheart... everything will be fine.”
.
Of course, if he was being really honest with himself, this was not the first time he had thoughts like this towards Lovino. It would not be the last time either.
He had also started to have thoughts about Feliciano as well, from when the boy was five and fell and scraped his knee and asked Antonio to kiss the hurt better through his cartoon-print band-aid plaster. He, smiling, obliged, and the tingle of his little smooth leg stayed on Antonio’s lips, as well as the sight of the upraised leg almost leading him to look up his shorts, for days. But that was different and a little nauseating because Feli was his son and while Lovino (oh Lovi, love) was his son as well, Antonio was almost certain that he was in love with him and had been for years, even since the first moment they met. He had spoilt the boys, treats and sweet things when Roderich was away or out of the room, but only Lovino got away with an extra sweet, allowed to be a little rude to Antonio or mess around in the house.
Feli was so sweet he never complained but Antonio still told him he loved them the same, even if he knew it was not true.
Now that it was only the two of them, Lovino was his little prince. Antonio would sigh and tut at his boy’s tantrums, rudeness and laziness, because he knew that Lovino knew he was the only one there for him, and that was enough.
Once he had kissed his son on the mouth and his softness, the taste, nearly killed him.
Nowadays sometimes Lovino would sit on his lap, not just for when they were watching TV but at the dinner table. Antonio had told him that he was not to do that with any other adult, even his other father, this was their special secret. The thought of Lovino being taken advantage of was almost too much to bear, but when Lovino sat on his lap, sharing his meal from the same plate while Antonio mostly drank coffee and savoured the feeling and did nothing else, it was fine. It was enough.
Once he had almost gone too far. Antonio was making dinner while nine year old Lovino was in the bath after football practice. He finished and left the food to keep warm in the oven while he went to talk to Lovino about his behaviour; he’d gotten into a fight with his teammates again. Antonio was kneeling by the bathtub, fingers of one hand skimming the water while he asked what had happened. There had been no talking to him before, but now Lovino (face slightly flushed red either from the fight or the bath water’s heat) admitted one of the older boys tried to rip off his shorts in the locker room to embarrass him, so he kicked the boy in the balls and that was how the fight started.
Antonio wasn’t happy to say the least, he knew boys like that (he used to be like that a long time ago) and just knew that they could have taken advantage of his son, humiliating him and using him for their childish lusts. He told Lovi then, leaning in and speaking in a pleasant but low voice, that no boy should ever grab him like that again, they would hurt him and use him and make him like a girl. Later Antonio could not even remember if what he said then even made sense, but all he remembered was Lovino jumping slightly and flushing dark red, and looking down to see his hand had gone into the water and was now touching, stroking Lovi’s beautiful little penis.
He stared for a moment, at the distorted view of his hand and the rolling feeling of something so beautifuldirtywongRIGHT before almost calmly pulling his hand out of the water before standing up. He didn’t look at Lovino’s face.
“I’ll leave your dinner in the kitchen, I’m going to uncle Francis’s for a few hours, you have my number right?” He quickly left the bathroom without waiting for an answer. It only took a few minutes for Antonio to take dinner from the oven, get his keys and jacket and leave, but for the entire time he didn’t hear Lovino at all. As he was pulling the front door shut he heard the slosh of his son getting out of the bath and pulling the plug.
Antonio spent a miserable few hours watching films with Francis and his sullen British boyfriend. They spoke in Spanish and caught up and joked in the living room while boyfriend (he’d been around for nearly a year but Antonio still couldn’t bother to remember his name because boyfriend was such a miserable bitch) mostly drank tea and glared at him from the doorway to the kitchen. Boyfriend didn’t speak Spanish so Antonio, feeling so spiteful, was over-affectionate to Francis all night and even kissed him goodnight on the lips.
When he came home, the hallway mirrors were broken. One of Lovino’s footballs was nearby, obviously he was playing in the house again, he really should tell him to stop that. When he checked on him his son was asleep in his room, bed sheets curled tightly over him almost like a protective cocoon.
The guilt kept Antonio awake most of the night, but he dared not to touch himself. It was over a week before he would let himself imagine pulling Lovino’s mouth away from his cock just in time for a ribbon of come to streak across his full, candy lips.
It was hardest when Antonio had to go on tour- there were days when he would fantasize, that he only worked in the day and came home to Lovi, who didn’t go to school anymore because he was only for Antonio’s bed-but he knew that could never happen. He loved the buzz of performing on stage, and the price was to be away from his boy for a while.
When he was away, he would take someone different to bed almost every night, trying to pretend he was hard because his partners ordinary adult-sized body instead of the thought of sneaking into Lovino’s little bed as he slept and raping him. But of course he would never do that, rape was evil, only monsters raped little boys.
A few months after Antonio touched his son in the bath, it was Lovino’s tenth birthday party. They had the party at Roderich’s, their old home, because he had a large garden and wanted to make cakes for his elder son. Roderich, normally so reserved and formal, hugged Lovino and kissed him on the forehead, wishing him a very happy birthday. Antonio didn’t like that Lovino let Roderich hug him so freely, and looked past his ex-husband to see Gilbert was already in the garden trying to put up the piñata. He was about to ask why Gilbert was here so early when Francis arrived (sour boyfriend in tow) and it was soon forgotten.
A few hours into the party, the kids were giddy on sugar and excitement, running around and playing on the bouncy castle Antonio had hired. Antonio was sitting with the adults; chatting, drinking wine, enjoying an occasional cigarette and the sunshine. He felt young again, when there was nothing to worry about.
Eventually Roderich went to the kitchen to light the birthday candles and bring it out as a surprise., and a few minutes later Gilbert disappeared to get more beer. After about fifteen minutes Antonio went to check on them.
He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. There with the sunlight streaming in on them like it was some kind of scene from a romantic film, was his ex-husband and Gilbert, Roderich’s cousin and one of Antonio’s best friends, kissing. Gilbert had pressed Roderich into the corner of the counter and it looked like they had been at it for a while. The cake seemed forgotten next to them, only a few candles had been placed on the cake while the others and the box of matches lay next to the cake.
Antonio would have been annoyed, but then he remembered Gilbert had always liked his sloppy seconds, even if now he was now resorting to incest to do so.
“Having fun?”
The pair broke apart, Roderich flustered and Gilbert looking as if he didn’t give a shit about what Antonio thought.
“Yeah,” he kissed the still-cornered Roderich on the neck. “D’ya mind?”
“Just get the cake to Lovi before his birthday is over.”
.
Little Feliciano was staying one weekend, a chattering ball of sunshine that could not stay still. On Saturday the boys were colouring pictures at the kitchen table while Antonio cooked.
“Lovino~, Lovi, Lovi, Lovino~”
“What?”
“I’ve got a secret, wanna hear it?” Little legs swinging excitedly.
“Tch, why would I wanna hear, it’d probably be something stupid about that dumb-potato bastard.”
“Lovi, language,” Antonio chided, he was concentrating on preparing lunch but looked at Lovino to make sure he knew he was serious.
“Tch!”
“Big bro~!”
“Okay okay! What is it?”
Feliciano looked around conspiratorially, as if he was about to whisper a state secret. Antonio winked when Feliciano looked at him, and his younger son smiled and turned around to lean forward until his forehead was touching his brother’s to whisper his very important secret in his childish Italian.
With their heads together, the two boys errant hair curls made a heart.
Antonio put his things down and went outside for a few minutes.
.
Antonio met Roderich for the first time when went he went along to his fifteenth birthday party. Gilbert had been ordered to go and dragged him along to meet his ‘boring’ Austrian cousin, and to really keep Gilbert company when they snuck out for a smoke and to share the hipflask full of vodka one of them had smuggled in, while Roderich opened his presents and played childish games with his friends. Roderich didn’t seem to like Antonio’s type at all; he was almost plain with his glasses, mousy brown hair, immaculate clothes and prissy attitude. But when Antonio saw Roderich blush almost prettily whenever Gilbert made a dirty joke, then took in that the Austrian boy still had some of his childish baby fat and made the sweetest face when he took a bite from his birthday cake, he found himself staying close for the rest of the night. Before Antonio left he kissed the birthday boy in the kitchen and asked for his phone number.
A month later, when they had sex for the very first time it just seemed so right. They had been teenage virgins in each others arms and it seemed so pure and so right. Not like that night a year before, when Antonio was fifteen and his younger brother Rodolfo was eight and they were fooling around when their parents were away. Antonio thought he used enough spit but it wasn’t enough, and Rodolfo cried until Antonio covered his mouth and when he finished and pulled out his spunk was tinged pink and Oh God Rodolfo was bleeding and Antonio still felt rock hard at the sight of it and wanted to go at it again, and did. That night felt so far away when he held Roderich in his arms for the first time, sweat cooling on their skin as they fell asleep. A year ago didn’t count at all.
.
When the weather was turning colder, Lovino caught a cold. He probably caught it off one of his classmates or anywhere else, but because of his past medical problems Antonio took extra care. While Lovino was wrapped up in his blankets and watching cartoons in the living room Antonio went to the pharmacy to get some supplies. He bought medicines and a few sweets to keep his son happy, but as he went to the pay something caught his eye. Rectal thermometers. Lovino was by far old enough for oral...oral thermometers, but, he had heard they were better and surely it was better to be safe than sorry.
At home, Lovi complained but he was too weak, tired and shivery to storm away, so he ultimately gave in. Antonio tried to ignore how his hands shook, with his son across his lap with his pyjama bottoms and underwear pulled down, as he spread lubrication (lotion, he had told Lovi) across his fingers. Still, trembling, his hand went slowly, slowly down and began to part Lovino’s buttocks, revealing something very secret. His prize, so small and innocent, it was all Antonio could do not to put his head down and kiss it, reverently drawing his tongue across the opening. Instead, he exhaled softly as he gently worked a finger inside.
He felt Lovino stiffen (the tension inside-Oh God) and turn to look at him.
“That hurts! Do you have to put your finger in all the way?”
“It’ll hurt otherwise Lovi, just relax and watch your show, I won’t hurt you.”
Grumbling, Lovino did so, and eventually he felt him gradually relax as he focused on his latest favourite cartoon. Antonio’s hand was trembling; he felt incredible, even better than what he imagined. His free hand started to work gentle circles on his son’s back, whispering soothing words while he tenderly moved his finger in and out, like he had done before with other inexperienced lovers, a parody of what he really wanted to do.
Rip the pyjamas all the way off, unzip himself and shove Lovi down on his cock, hear him scream so loud-
He took his finger out and replaced it with the small thermometer, but repeated the slight thrusting motions.
He could feel Lovino begin to squirm, very gently. The room was getting hotter. Suddenly Antonio’s hand slipped and the thermometer went in deeper than he intended, and Lovino’s head shot up with a yell.
“What the fuck was that!?”
“Language!”
Lovino looked like he was blushing, “that thing just...it hit something that felt weird.”
He had probably hit his prostate. Antonio swallowed. “Sorry, it was an accident.” He pulled out the thermometer. “Your temperature is okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, higher than normal but not...high.”
Soon Antonio found himself sitting in his bedroom, willing his erection away. He had...he nearly...but then Lovino didn’t respond. No little erection, of course not, he was too young.
If he had responded, then what?
.
Just before he went to bed that night, Antonio checked on Lovino. The boy was fast asleep but was drenched in sweat, soaked through his clothes and bedsheets. He quickly shook him awake and checked his temperature again, still not very high but higher than before bedtime. He telephoned the Health Line and they told him it was probably a side-effect of the flu, but to keep an eye on him during the night.
He woke Lovino and told him to take a shower and sleep with him tonight while he stripped the bed, he would warm up some milk to help him fall asleep again.
He heard the shower start as he put the milk on the hob. Antonio went to the jar on top of the cupboard where he kept his cigarettes and emergency matches.
He lit one up, and as he smoked he tried not to think. His son needed him now, depended on him, only him. He was unwell, he didn’t need his father thinking about him naked in his big bed, hot and feverish-
Antonio slammed his fist on the counter. No! Why...why was it so difficult now to resist? Every moment Lovi was around Antonio needed to resist touching and tasting that candy mouth that spoke like a whore.
He needed control.
He needed release.
He needed to be locked away forever.
He needed Lovino.
Lovino.
Antonio realised there was a weight in the right pocket of his dressing gown, and when he pulled the item from his pocket he saw it was his bottle of sleeping tablets. It was half-empty, left over from the nights when he couldn’t sleep for several nights in a row. He looked at it for a long time, turning it slowly in his hand and hearing the faint rattle of the pills moving inside the small bottle.
There was a sizzle and a burning smell, when he looked up he saw the milk boiling over, burning rapidly on the outside of the pan and splashing on the cooker’s surface. He turned it off, and a few seconds later he heard the shower stop. His eyes stayed on the cooling milk remaining in the pain while he heard the rustle of a towel, then Lovino’s footsteps moving from the bathroom to his father’s bedroom. Lovino in his bed, flushed with fever, tired and naked. He wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t know...so it didn’t happen.
He put out his cigarette in the ash tray.
Later Antonio was not sure why he decided to do it that night, why he let his deceitful hands slowly unscrew the bottle’s cap and take out a small white tablet. One hand put the tablet on the kitchen work surface while the other pulled out a spoon, and used the bowl of the spoon to carefully crush the tablet. The powder was put into the spoon, and then stirred it into the milk. Antonio almost wondered if he imagined his hands doing such a foul thing. He stirred the milk gently, then remembered that Lovino loved sweet things so added a pinch of cinnamon to the liquid before getting his son’s favourite cup and pouring in the white liquid.
Lovino drank it all in one go, such a greedy boy. Antonio tucked him in and lay next to him, hands trying not to shake as he pretended to read while listening for Lovi’s breath to even out into deep sleep. Eventually Antonio put down the book and turned off the bedside lamp. He stared at the ceiling, the shadows the streetlamps cast.
An hour passed.
Two hours.
Lovino barely stirred, but his soft breathing seemed to be the loudest thing Antonio had ever heard.
Finally, he looked over.
Dark brown curls, dusky lashes resting against pale, chubby cheeks. The rest was hidden, like it was meant to be, or like a present waiting for him.
Antonio rolled over, so gently, until he was nearly on top of Lovino, but the child didn’t stir. He moved the bed sheets aside, so, so slowly, until the boy’s body was fully exposed to him and he could look for as long as he could.
He swallowed heavily, his heart was pounding so loudly, as he slowly learned down to kiss Lovino.
A father should not know how his son tastes.
An adult should not know how a child tastes.
He tasted like everything he should never know about and he needed more.
In his fantasies, Lovino would be ready and eager, kissing him back sloppily but eagerly while spreading his lithe thighs, already marked with finger-shaped bruises and cum. He would ask what they could do next and Antonio would grin and-
But this was not a fantasy.
Once he had started, Antonio could not have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He kissed and licked and nipped his beautiful boy all over, even running his tongue over the tiny, puffy nipples. He kissed Lovino while he pulled out his erection and began to pump savagely, could not stop touching him. This was all he had wanted, his entire life had been building up to this moment with this boy meant for him, and no one else. His other hand drifted down to that secret opening and began to rub and tease it.
Would he fit in? Would he hurt him? One finger fit before, and when he hit that spot before Lovi had made that noise and of course he would fit in, Lovi was made for him, could take him in and Oh God embrace him until he felt-he would be so tight Antonio would break inside him and OhGodOhGod OhGod-
“...Wha..?”
Antonio jolted up at the sound as if he had been burned, but his hand on his cock never stilled.
Lovino’s eyes were opened slightly. Antonio nearly stopped, nearly came apart, before he realised the boy’s eyes were still clouded over with sleep, fever and the drug. He couldn’t stop.
“I’m sorry...sorry, go back, hah, to sleep, this...a-a dream.”
Lovino’s kiss swollen lips moved, he was starting to scowl from the effort to talk.
“...Da-“
His words were slurred. Antonio couldn’t look away, his hand sped up.
“Go back to sleep...I love you.”
“a...ddy...”
“I love you so much.”
Antonio’s body spasmed, white hot heat.
When his breath came back, realised that he had bitten his lip until it bled from the most intense orgasm of his life.
His son, Lovino...his son, had seen him. Lovino’s clouded eyes were closing. He...the results of Antonio’s orgasm was splattered across his son’s stomach and thighs.
His ten year old son.
Antonio could not move at first, hand still fisted around his cock while his other was...
Oh God.
Oh God.
Antonio just managed to reach the toilet before he threw up. After he had thrown up what little he had in his stomach he lifted his head and stumbled back onto the cold tiled floor. He was shaking and tears were sliding down his cheeks. Dirty dirty monster, he had nearly raped his son. Eventually he crawled into the tub and turned on the tap to scalding and began to scrub himself. He scrubbed until the water began to tinge pink, and he sat in the tub and sobbed until the pinkish water turned cold and the sun began to creep in through the windows.
Monster.
Monster.
Monster.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Additional notes: In case you didn’t already guess, Rodolfo - Portugal
Once again, I don’t believe Spain/Antonio is really a paedophile, I just needed him to be for this one story.
I suppose you could say Lovino’s acting out, rudeness etc. Is kind of a sign that on some level he know what his dad does or acts towards him is wrong, but as a child he doesn’t know what to do, or really how to interpret it, so his bad habits are his tiny pieces of having some control.
;~;
Well...I always said to myself I wanted to write a variety of subjects, to experiment...so this is different, I’ve definitely noticed that when I write dark!fic it goes right to the dark side. To be honest, I wrote the outline of this maybe a year ago, then dropped it like a bag of cold shit, then I recently read a story that dealt with the viewpoint of a paedophile and it spurred me on to finishing this. It was almost cathartic. Someone very important to me was abused by a family member, I found out a few years ago and believe me, the rage and nausea still kinda eats away at me (hence why ‘A Crown of Snow’ is on hold, I realised the setup was too familiar in a way to what my important person went through and I had a mental shutdown). But because of this, plus of recent issues in my life, I’m trying to clean out my issues so I can move forward in my life...writing is my best outlet so I shut myself away, blasted my misery music to help me and here we are *pats Dir en grey and Massive Attack CDs*
Please let me know what you think of the story.
Author: Jamaica-tan
Pairing: Various but focuses on Antonio/Lovino, past Antonio/Roderich
Genre: AU, Angst, Darkfic
Rating: R
Warning(s): Paedophilic thoughts and actions, very very slight nepiophilia thoughts, underage, non-con, drugging
Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers and its characters belong to Hidekazu Himaruya, I’m just borrowing them. Also I don’t really think Spain/Antonio is really a paedophile.
Spoilers: None
Note: If you are: under the Rating Age, of a fragile disposition or find the following issues raised in this fic offensive it would ill-advised to continue. You have been warned. Once again this story contains paedophilic thoughts and actions, very very slight nepiophilia thoughts, underage, non-con and drugging. I do not approve of or condone any of the paedophilic content in this story.
Thanks go to koholint for beta-ing
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It was Roderich’s fault, wasn’t it? Antonio had made himself clear when they settled down together, no children; he told him he didn’t think he could handle the responsibility and that he would be a horrible father. But Roderich never believed him, only took his hand and told him not to be scared, of course he would be a great father.
At some point what Roderich was saying started to make sense, and Antonio eventually convinced himself that he was only scared about fatherhood, there was nothing really wrong with him. Nothing wrong at all. When Antonio put his signature to the adoption papers, all those years ago, all he could remember was rubbing his thumb against the gold wedding band on his ring finger, thinking of his husband Roderich’s smile and their future family. A family, his family, his to love and protect. He could not fail himself.
He had always liked children, but sometimes he felt too aware of them, especially boys. He had always been warm and affectionate, but as he grew older his feelings seemed different to everyone else; while his friends started to like the girls in short skirts or the muscular arms on boys their own age, his eyes lingered over smooth legs and childish faces, the sweet mouths of little boys and what he wanted to do to them.
There was a word for people like him, pedophile. It sounded dirty, oily and unclean to any decent person’s ears. Antonio was not like those monsters you read about in the newspapers, he was an upstanding citizen; friendly, donated to child abuse charities, a self-made man who paid his taxes. He had only slipped once, and it was such a long time ago he wasn’t even sure if it still counted. He was still a teenager himself when it happened, and Rodolfo would have to eventually talk to him again at some point. At least he was not like those other people, the freaks that could get off on touching babies and toddlers. If he ever met one he’d kill a monster like that.
He once said the word, the word he knew applied to him, when he was alone and taking a bath while Roderich practiced in his music room. He had been sipping wine and reading a magazine, but eventually, because it had been playing on his mind, he found himself staring at the ceiling.
“Pedophile.” The word was almost drowned out by Roderich’s melody, but Antonio still found himself grasping the golden crucifix he always wore. God could forgive him for a lot of things; the drinking, the drugs he took as a teen, the man he married and loved, but never for thoughts of touching little boys. When Antonio was alone and thinking of little mouths and sweet thighs he took the cross off, and put it somewhere out of sight until he was done.
He knew it was sick, so he was always aware of feeling that his touches lasted a little too long, and eventually learned how to not even really look at boys. With his sons, he eventually almost ignored their casual childish nudity and the smell of them when he hugged his sons. He tried so hard to channel his sickness into his fatherly love. He thought he had beaten this.
The adoption process went on. Boy or girl? Would they accept siblings? None of that mattered, every child was perfect. All he could see in his mind’s eye was brushing his child’s dark curly hair in the morning, and in the evening teaching them the importance of good ingredients when preparing food. On weekends their child would sit by Roderich and learn the piano, and if they had another Antonio would teach them the guitar. On holidays, he and Roderich would hold hands and watch their little family build sandcastles on the beach in summer, and snowman in winter in their garden. The wait was unbearable.
Finally the news came, in a large manila envelope that dropped through their mailbox, their application was finally accepted. They would receive a pair of Italian siblings; a baby boy and his brother who was nearly four. Their parents had died in a car accident shortly after the baby was born, and their grandfather, their last living relative and carer, had died recently. The agency sent another letter detailing when they could meet the brothers, and there was a photo graph included with their letter. The boys were adorable, a laughing pink cheeked baby hugging his brother who looked a little annoyed, both with dark, slightly curling hair.
Antonio had cooed over their chubby cheeks and how the boys had hair like them, while Roderich had smiled and put the photo in an ornate frame. Every now and then Antonio would see his husband looking at the photo and smiling. Every kiss between them seemed sweeter, every touch warmer, it was if everything in their own lives were falling into place; a happy marriage, successful music careers, and now two beautiful boys were going to make their family complete.
The day that little Feliciano was put in his arms, Antonio knew what a father’s love meant. This little creature, this lively, squirming, helpless smiling little stranger would be his and Roderich’s responsibility. Then he saw movement, and looked up to see what it was. There was a small boy, the older one in the photo. Little Feli kicked and squealed happily in his arms, but the sight of his brother’s stubborn pouting face made Antonio’s stomach drop. The boy had been hiding behind one of the orphanage assistants’ legs but had apparently decided to make himself known to the new people that were holding his brother, and was now reluctantly approaching them. Antonio passed the baby to Roderich so he could crouch down to the toddler’s level.
“Hola, Lovino isn’t it? It’s nice to meet you at last.” His smile was not returned, the boy looked at him, then Roderich, then turned to the assistant and said something in Italian. The assistant, a young woman, laughed nervously.
“What did he say?” Roderich asked.
“He said he doesn’t like you two.”
Antonio laughed, “well, we’ll soon change your mind, we have a big playroom for you two full of toys, and kitchen full of tasty food, we’ll be a real family.”
For a while everything really was perfect. Through the late nights, tantrums, feedings and toilet training, their love for the boys only grew with every day. A few years later, it was becoming obvious that the love for their sons had outlived the dying love between Antonio and Roderich.
The breaking point in their marriage came when Lovino’s illness began. At first it seemed like he had a simple stomach ache with a slight temperature, nothing a few days in bed wouldn’t cure, and Roderich thought he was probably just trying to get out of school for a while. But after a week he was burning hot, nothing would settle in his stomach, he felt sore all over, and seemed to twitch. When he started to cry from the pain they rushed him to the hospital.
The doctor informed them after a day of tests that he had had strep throat that had developed into an infective fever, but it was caught in time before the infection could reach his heart and cause permanent damage, though he would need occasional checkups through his life and Feliciano would need to be tested as well. They were relieved, but Antonio knew that Roderich blamed him for not realising Lovi was seriously ill, though Antonio couldn’t but help but think if his husband stopped constantly doting on Feli he would have noticed himself.
Antonio stayed at the hospital while Roderich picked up Feli from the babysitter to bring him to the hospital for testing. He watched Lovi, pale and silent, sleep through the glass doors of his isolated room, and he decided then that Roderich could keep the house and little Feli. Lovino needed him, he would be better for him, to take him away and protect him, just the two of them.
After Feli’s blood test had cleared, Antonio told his husband he wanted a divorce.
Roderich was upset, he had actually shed tears and asked if there was any kind of chance for reconciliation, but Antonio had made up his mind. Eventually Roderich realised this and the divorce came through quickly. Antonio decided to just move to just far enough that it would be easier for the boys to see each other and take their Italian classes together without running into Roderich too often.
Their new home was a large apartment that took up the entire floor in a townhouse, with big airy rooms, scrubbed dark wooden floors and large windows. The kitchen was large and friendly, and there was a room perfect for Antonio to write music and keep his guitars.
Lovino had his own room, complete with a bunkbed for when Feli stayed for weekends, and at first he seemed to be fine. Perhaps since the beginning of the separation he had been more sullen than usual but nothing more. But then, a few days before Lovino was supposed to start his new school, he fell ill again. At first it was mild, he had headaches and became more clumsy. Lovi always had a fiery temper but now he had full blown tantrums, and then came the seizures.
This time Lovino stayed in hospital for several weeks, the doctors had diagnosed Choreia and epilepsy. Antonio and Roderich stayed by Lovino’s bedside the entire time, taking turns to look after Feliciano. Again, it was silent but the blame was there, and Antonio decided he had to be the world’s best father to make up for Roderich’s neglect.
When Lovino was eight, he came to Antonio’s bedroom in the middle of the night. He had wet the bed, and he was upset and embarrassed, like all children his age were, but this time, everything he had been through seem to catch up with him at that moment and he began to cry. Antonio was more than a little surprised, that his brave, stubborn, pretty son would cry in front of him, but he held him close and whispered it would all be okay, accidents happened. Lovino was still crying after Antonio had carried him to the bathroom and crouched down to strip his wet clothing.
“Why me?? Goddamn s’not fair, I’m not a baby like Feli!” His chubby face was red from crying and embarrassment.
Antonio ignored the blasphemy, he’d have to ask where he picked that up from later. “Lovi, it’s not your fault.” He tousled his son’s hair before Lovino jerked his head away and balled his fists.
“Yes it is! I just woke up and I was...I was-“ He could see the tears starting to well up again. “D-dammit...” A pudgy fist went up to scrub away the tears.
“Lovi...”
And then it happened. Lovino looked at him, red faced and teary eyed, and threw himself into Antonio’s arms. He felt Lovino’s shoulders shaking, and he finally broke down, sobbing and clinging to his shirt as the boy cried his heart out.
Lovino was not a very affectionate child so he always cherished the few hugs he received, but right then at that moment, Antonio suddenly felt a lot less fatherly. The small, naked, smooth and childishly plump body pressed against his, warm red face pressed against his neck with hot, wet sobs and dark curls like some kind of Renaissance angel that smelled of everything that would destroy him.
Antonio was instantly harder than he had even been.
The thought came so quickly, coming from the small part of his mind he had been used to ignoring;
You should kiss him.
Of course Antonio had always been affectionate, he showered his boys with kisses whenever he could, but the emotion that thought brought with it was not that of fatherly feeling. The thought was clear and very unfatherly; turn your head, lift his chin and kiss him on the mouth. Part his lips and taste his mouth, then take his cock (take it gently, oh so gently, he’s so small and delicate) and put your lips on it.
Antonio froze, unable to do anything except stay kneeling on the bathroom floor and hold his upset son. He could not say anything; any word or movement now could only lead to hurting his precious boy. No one could hurt him, he was the only one who could care for him. Antonio would die for his beautiful boy.
Eventually, Antonio tightened his hug and buried his head in his son’s curly hair, breathing the smell of innocence and temptation, and knew he would be thinking of this moment later while he stroked his cock and wished it was Lovino’s hand instead of his own.
“Oh my sweetheart... everything will be fine.”
.
Of course, if he was being really honest with himself, this was not the first time he had thoughts like this towards Lovino. It would not be the last time either.
He had also started to have thoughts about Feliciano as well, from when the boy was five and fell and scraped his knee and asked Antonio to kiss the hurt better through his cartoon-print band-aid plaster. He, smiling, obliged, and the tingle of his little smooth leg stayed on Antonio’s lips, as well as the sight of the upraised leg almost leading him to look up his shorts, for days. But that was different and a little nauseating because Feli was his son and while Lovino (oh Lovi, love) was his son as well, Antonio was almost certain that he was in love with him and had been for years, even since the first moment they met. He had spoilt the boys, treats and sweet things when Roderich was away or out of the room, but only Lovino got away with an extra sweet, allowed to be a little rude to Antonio or mess around in the house.
Feli was so sweet he never complained but Antonio still told him he loved them the same, even if he knew it was not true.
Now that it was only the two of them, Lovino was his little prince. Antonio would sigh and tut at his boy’s tantrums, rudeness and laziness, because he knew that Lovino knew he was the only one there for him, and that was enough.
Once he had kissed his son on the mouth and his softness, the taste, nearly killed him.
Nowadays sometimes Lovino would sit on his lap, not just for when they were watching TV but at the dinner table. Antonio had told him that he was not to do that with any other adult, even his other father, this was their special secret. The thought of Lovino being taken advantage of was almost too much to bear, but when Lovino sat on his lap, sharing his meal from the same plate while Antonio mostly drank coffee and savoured the feeling and did nothing else, it was fine. It was enough.
Once he had almost gone too far. Antonio was making dinner while nine year old Lovino was in the bath after football practice. He finished and left the food to keep warm in the oven while he went to talk to Lovino about his behaviour; he’d gotten into a fight with his teammates again. Antonio was kneeling by the bathtub, fingers of one hand skimming the water while he asked what had happened. There had been no talking to him before, but now Lovino (face slightly flushed red either from the fight or the bath water’s heat) admitted one of the older boys tried to rip off his shorts in the locker room to embarrass him, so he kicked the boy in the balls and that was how the fight started.
Antonio wasn’t happy to say the least, he knew boys like that (he used to be like that a long time ago) and just knew that they could have taken advantage of his son, humiliating him and using him for their childish lusts. He told Lovi then, leaning in and speaking in a pleasant but low voice, that no boy should ever grab him like that again, they would hurt him and use him and make him like a girl. Later Antonio could not even remember if what he said then even made sense, but all he remembered was Lovino jumping slightly and flushing dark red, and looking down to see his hand had gone into the water and was now touching, stroking Lovi’s beautiful little penis.
He stared for a moment, at the distorted view of his hand and the rolling feeling of something so beautifuldirtywongRIGHT before almost calmly pulling his hand out of the water before standing up. He didn’t look at Lovino’s face.
“I’ll leave your dinner in the kitchen, I’m going to uncle Francis’s for a few hours, you have my number right?” He quickly left the bathroom without waiting for an answer. It only took a few minutes for Antonio to take dinner from the oven, get his keys and jacket and leave, but for the entire time he didn’t hear Lovino at all. As he was pulling the front door shut he heard the slosh of his son getting out of the bath and pulling the plug.
Antonio spent a miserable few hours watching films with Francis and his sullen British boyfriend. They spoke in Spanish and caught up and joked in the living room while boyfriend (he’d been around for nearly a year but Antonio still couldn’t bother to remember his name because boyfriend was such a miserable bitch) mostly drank tea and glared at him from the doorway to the kitchen. Boyfriend didn’t speak Spanish so Antonio, feeling so spiteful, was over-affectionate to Francis all night and even kissed him goodnight on the lips.
When he came home, the hallway mirrors were broken. One of Lovino’s footballs was nearby, obviously he was playing in the house again, he really should tell him to stop that. When he checked on him his son was asleep in his room, bed sheets curled tightly over him almost like a protective cocoon.
The guilt kept Antonio awake most of the night, but he dared not to touch himself. It was over a week before he would let himself imagine pulling Lovino’s mouth away from his cock just in time for a ribbon of come to streak across his full, candy lips.
It was hardest when Antonio had to go on tour- there were days when he would fantasize, that he only worked in the day and came home to Lovi, who didn’t go to school anymore because he was only for Antonio’s bed-but he knew that could never happen. He loved the buzz of performing on stage, and the price was to be away from his boy for a while.
When he was away, he would take someone different to bed almost every night, trying to pretend he was hard because his partners ordinary adult-sized body instead of the thought of sneaking into Lovino’s little bed as he slept and raping him. But of course he would never do that, rape was evil, only monsters raped little boys.
A few months after Antonio touched his son in the bath, it was Lovino’s tenth birthday party. They had the party at Roderich’s, their old home, because he had a large garden and wanted to make cakes for his elder son. Roderich, normally so reserved and formal, hugged Lovino and kissed him on the forehead, wishing him a very happy birthday. Antonio didn’t like that Lovino let Roderich hug him so freely, and looked past his ex-husband to see Gilbert was already in the garden trying to put up the piñata. He was about to ask why Gilbert was here so early when Francis arrived (sour boyfriend in tow) and it was soon forgotten.
A few hours into the party, the kids were giddy on sugar and excitement, running around and playing on the bouncy castle Antonio had hired. Antonio was sitting with the adults; chatting, drinking wine, enjoying an occasional cigarette and the sunshine. He felt young again, when there was nothing to worry about.
Eventually Roderich went to the kitchen to light the birthday candles and bring it out as a surprise., and a few minutes later Gilbert disappeared to get more beer. After about fifteen minutes Antonio went to check on them.
He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. There with the sunlight streaming in on them like it was some kind of scene from a romantic film, was his ex-husband and Gilbert, Roderich’s cousin and one of Antonio’s best friends, kissing. Gilbert had pressed Roderich into the corner of the counter and it looked like they had been at it for a while. The cake seemed forgotten next to them, only a few candles had been placed on the cake while the others and the box of matches lay next to the cake.
Antonio would have been annoyed, but then he remembered Gilbert had always liked his sloppy seconds, even if now he was now resorting to incest to do so.
“Having fun?”
The pair broke apart, Roderich flustered and Gilbert looking as if he didn’t give a shit about what Antonio thought.
“Yeah,” he kissed the still-cornered Roderich on the neck. “D’ya mind?”
“Just get the cake to Lovi before his birthday is over.”
.
Little Feliciano was staying one weekend, a chattering ball of sunshine that could not stay still. On Saturday the boys were colouring pictures at the kitchen table while Antonio cooked.
“Lovino~, Lovi, Lovi, Lovino~”
“What?”
“I’ve got a secret, wanna hear it?” Little legs swinging excitedly.
“Tch, why would I wanna hear, it’d probably be something stupid about that dumb-potato bastard.”
“Lovi, language,” Antonio chided, he was concentrating on preparing lunch but looked at Lovino to make sure he knew he was serious.
“Tch!”
“Big bro~!”
“Okay okay! What is it?”
Feliciano looked around conspiratorially, as if he was about to whisper a state secret. Antonio winked when Feliciano looked at him, and his younger son smiled and turned around to lean forward until his forehead was touching his brother’s to whisper his very important secret in his childish Italian.
With their heads together, the two boys errant hair curls made a heart.
Antonio put his things down and went outside for a few minutes.
.
Antonio met Roderich for the first time when went he went along to his fifteenth birthday party. Gilbert had been ordered to go and dragged him along to meet his ‘boring’ Austrian cousin, and to really keep Gilbert company when they snuck out for a smoke and to share the hipflask full of vodka one of them had smuggled in, while Roderich opened his presents and played childish games with his friends. Roderich didn’t seem to like Antonio’s type at all; he was almost plain with his glasses, mousy brown hair, immaculate clothes and prissy attitude. But when Antonio saw Roderich blush almost prettily whenever Gilbert made a dirty joke, then took in that the Austrian boy still had some of his childish baby fat and made the sweetest face when he took a bite from his birthday cake, he found himself staying close for the rest of the night. Before Antonio left he kissed the birthday boy in the kitchen and asked for his phone number.
A month later, when they had sex for the very first time it just seemed so right. They had been teenage virgins in each others arms and it seemed so pure and so right. Not like that night a year before, when Antonio was fifteen and his younger brother Rodolfo was eight and they were fooling around when their parents were away. Antonio thought he used enough spit but it wasn’t enough, and Rodolfo cried until Antonio covered his mouth and when he finished and pulled out his spunk was tinged pink and Oh God Rodolfo was bleeding and Antonio still felt rock hard at the sight of it and wanted to go at it again, and did. That night felt so far away when he held Roderich in his arms for the first time, sweat cooling on their skin as they fell asleep. A year ago didn’t count at all.
.
When the weather was turning colder, Lovino caught a cold. He probably caught it off one of his classmates or anywhere else, but because of his past medical problems Antonio took extra care. While Lovino was wrapped up in his blankets and watching cartoons in the living room Antonio went to the pharmacy to get some supplies. He bought medicines and a few sweets to keep his son happy, but as he went to the pay something caught his eye. Rectal thermometers. Lovino was by far old enough for oral...oral thermometers, but, he had heard they were better and surely it was better to be safe than sorry.
At home, Lovi complained but he was too weak, tired and shivery to storm away, so he ultimately gave in. Antonio tried to ignore how his hands shook, with his son across his lap with his pyjama bottoms and underwear pulled down, as he spread lubrication (lotion, he had told Lovi) across his fingers. Still, trembling, his hand went slowly, slowly down and began to part Lovino’s buttocks, revealing something very secret. His prize, so small and innocent, it was all Antonio could do not to put his head down and kiss it, reverently drawing his tongue across the opening. Instead, he exhaled softly as he gently worked a finger inside.
He felt Lovino stiffen (the tension inside-Oh God) and turn to look at him.
“That hurts! Do you have to put your finger in all the way?”
“It’ll hurt otherwise Lovi, just relax and watch your show, I won’t hurt you.”
Grumbling, Lovino did so, and eventually he felt him gradually relax as he focused on his latest favourite cartoon. Antonio’s hand was trembling; he felt incredible, even better than what he imagined. His free hand started to work gentle circles on his son’s back, whispering soothing words while he tenderly moved his finger in and out, like he had done before with other inexperienced lovers, a parody of what he really wanted to do.
Rip the pyjamas all the way off, unzip himself and shove Lovi down on his cock, hear him scream so loud-
He took his finger out and replaced it with the small thermometer, but repeated the slight thrusting motions.
He could feel Lovino begin to squirm, very gently. The room was getting hotter. Suddenly Antonio’s hand slipped and the thermometer went in deeper than he intended, and Lovino’s head shot up with a yell.
“What the fuck was that!?”
“Language!”
Lovino looked like he was blushing, “that thing just...it hit something that felt weird.”
He had probably hit his prostate. Antonio swallowed. “Sorry, it was an accident.” He pulled out the thermometer. “Your temperature is okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, higher than normal but not...high.”
Soon Antonio found himself sitting in his bedroom, willing his erection away. He had...he nearly...but then Lovino didn’t respond. No little erection, of course not, he was too young.
If he had responded, then what?
.
Just before he went to bed that night, Antonio checked on Lovino. The boy was fast asleep but was drenched in sweat, soaked through his clothes and bedsheets. He quickly shook him awake and checked his temperature again, still not very high but higher than before bedtime. He telephoned the Health Line and they told him it was probably a side-effect of the flu, but to keep an eye on him during the night.
He woke Lovino and told him to take a shower and sleep with him tonight while he stripped the bed, he would warm up some milk to help him fall asleep again.
He heard the shower start as he put the milk on the hob. Antonio went to the jar on top of the cupboard where he kept his cigarettes and emergency matches.
He lit one up, and as he smoked he tried not to think. His son needed him now, depended on him, only him. He was unwell, he didn’t need his father thinking about him naked in his big bed, hot and feverish-
Antonio slammed his fist on the counter. No! Why...why was it so difficult now to resist? Every moment Lovi was around Antonio needed to resist touching and tasting that candy mouth that spoke like a whore.
He needed control.
He needed release.
He needed to be locked away forever.
He needed Lovino.
Lovino.
Antonio realised there was a weight in the right pocket of his dressing gown, and when he pulled the item from his pocket he saw it was his bottle of sleeping tablets. It was half-empty, left over from the nights when he couldn’t sleep for several nights in a row. He looked at it for a long time, turning it slowly in his hand and hearing the faint rattle of the pills moving inside the small bottle.
There was a sizzle and a burning smell, when he looked up he saw the milk boiling over, burning rapidly on the outside of the pan and splashing on the cooker’s surface. He turned it off, and a few seconds later he heard the shower stop. His eyes stayed on the cooling milk remaining in the pain while he heard the rustle of a towel, then Lovino’s footsteps moving from the bathroom to his father’s bedroom. Lovino in his bed, flushed with fever, tired and naked. He wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t know...so it didn’t happen.
He put out his cigarette in the ash tray.
Later Antonio was not sure why he decided to do it that night, why he let his deceitful hands slowly unscrew the bottle’s cap and take out a small white tablet. One hand put the tablet on the kitchen work surface while the other pulled out a spoon, and used the bowl of the spoon to carefully crush the tablet. The powder was put into the spoon, and then stirred it into the milk. Antonio almost wondered if he imagined his hands doing such a foul thing. He stirred the milk gently, then remembered that Lovino loved sweet things so added a pinch of cinnamon to the liquid before getting his son’s favourite cup and pouring in the white liquid.
Lovino drank it all in one go, such a greedy boy. Antonio tucked him in and lay next to him, hands trying not to shake as he pretended to read while listening for Lovi’s breath to even out into deep sleep. Eventually Antonio put down the book and turned off the bedside lamp. He stared at the ceiling, the shadows the streetlamps cast.
An hour passed.
Two hours.
Lovino barely stirred, but his soft breathing seemed to be the loudest thing Antonio had ever heard.
Finally, he looked over.
Dark brown curls, dusky lashes resting against pale, chubby cheeks. The rest was hidden, like it was meant to be, or like a present waiting for him.
Antonio rolled over, so gently, until he was nearly on top of Lovino, but the child didn’t stir. He moved the bed sheets aside, so, so slowly, until the boy’s body was fully exposed to him and he could look for as long as he could.
He swallowed heavily, his heart was pounding so loudly, as he slowly learned down to kiss Lovino.
A father should not know how his son tastes.
An adult should not know how a child tastes.
He tasted like everything he should never know about and he needed more.
In his fantasies, Lovino would be ready and eager, kissing him back sloppily but eagerly while spreading his lithe thighs, already marked with finger-shaped bruises and cum. He would ask what they could do next and Antonio would grin and-
But this was not a fantasy.
Once he had started, Antonio could not have stopped himself even if he wanted to. He kissed and licked and nipped his beautiful boy all over, even running his tongue over the tiny, puffy nipples. He kissed Lovino while he pulled out his erection and began to pump savagely, could not stop touching him. This was all he had wanted, his entire life had been building up to this moment with this boy meant for him, and no one else. His other hand drifted down to that secret opening and began to rub and tease it.
Would he fit in? Would he hurt him? One finger fit before, and when he hit that spot before Lovi had made that noise and of course he would fit in, Lovi was made for him, could take him in and Oh God embrace him until he felt-he would be so tight Antonio would break inside him and OhGodOhGod OhGod-
“...Wha..?”
Antonio jolted up at the sound as if he had been burned, but his hand on his cock never stilled.
Lovino’s eyes were opened slightly. Antonio nearly stopped, nearly came apart, before he realised the boy’s eyes were still clouded over with sleep, fever and the drug. He couldn’t stop.
“I’m sorry...sorry, go back, hah, to sleep, this...a-a dream.”
Lovino’s kiss swollen lips moved, he was starting to scowl from the effort to talk.
“...Da-“
His words were slurred. Antonio couldn’t look away, his hand sped up.
“Go back to sleep...I love you.”
“a...ddy...”
“I love you so much.”
Antonio’s body spasmed, white hot heat.
When his breath came back, realised that he had bitten his lip until it bled from the most intense orgasm of his life.
His son, Lovino...his son, had seen him. Lovino’s clouded eyes were closing. He...the results of Antonio’s orgasm was splattered across his son’s stomach and thighs.
His ten year old son.
Antonio could not move at first, hand still fisted around his cock while his other was...
Oh God.
Oh God.
Antonio just managed to reach the toilet before he threw up. After he had thrown up what little he had in his stomach he lifted his head and stumbled back onto the cold tiled floor. He was shaking and tears were sliding down his cheeks. Dirty dirty monster, he had nearly raped his son. Eventually he crawled into the tub and turned on the tap to scalding and began to scrub himself. He scrubbed until the water began to tinge pink, and he sat in the tub and sobbed until the pinkish water turned cold and the sun began to creep in through the windows.
Monster.
Monster.
Monster.
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Additional notes: In case you didn’t already guess, Rodolfo - Portugal
Once again, I don’t believe Spain/Antonio is really a paedophile, I just needed him to be for this one story.
I suppose you could say Lovino’s acting out, rudeness etc. Is kind of a sign that on some level he know what his dad does or acts towards him is wrong, but as a child he doesn’t know what to do, or really how to interpret it, so his bad habits are his tiny pieces of having some control.
;~;
Well...I always said to myself I wanted to write a variety of subjects, to experiment...so this is different, I’ve definitely noticed that when I write dark!fic it goes right to the dark side. To be honest, I wrote the outline of this maybe a year ago, then dropped it like a bag of cold shit, then I recently read a story that dealt with the viewpoint of a paedophile and it spurred me on to finishing this. It was almost cathartic. Someone very important to me was abused by a family member, I found out a few years ago and believe me, the rage and nausea still kinda eats away at me (hence why ‘A Crown of Snow’ is on hold, I realised the setup was too familiar in a way to what my important person went through and I had a mental shutdown). But because of this, plus of recent issues in my life, I’m trying to clean out my issues so I can move forward in my life...writing is my best outlet so I shut myself away, blasted my misery music to help me and here we are *pats Dir en grey and Massive Attack CDs*
Please let me know what you think of the story.