It's about bloody well time
WHO: Tomano & Antonion Romano & Antonio
WHEN: Thursday evening..ish?
WHERE: Centralia Apartment, specifically the closet of Antonio's room
WHAT: When you have to lock two people in a confined space for something to happen, you know the relationship is good.
RATING: Probably M15? For now? XD
( Toni and Lovi go in the closet. It's Reverse Psychology, I swear. )
WHEN: Thursday evening..ish?
WHERE: Centralia Apartment, specifically the closet of Antonio's room
WHAT: When you have to lock two people in a confined space for something to happen, you know the relationship is good.
RATING: Probably M15? For now? XD
( Toni and Lovi go in the closet. It's Reverse Psychology, I swear. )
Rising to his feet Romano gave a characteristic frown, taking two cautious steps towards his friend and stopping again. "The hell do you want?"
Unfortunately, it was then that the light decided to go out, leaving him to stand clueless and awkward in the middle of the closet. "What the-.." Oh this was just great. Stuck indefinitely in a small closet with a slightly-too-happy affectionate Spaniard, and the light dies.
Sighing Romano carefully reached out with his hands, shuffling his feet towards what he hoped would be a wall or line or clothes..or something.
It wasn't that he was afraid of the dark or anything- what could possibly go wrong in a small closet like this. He just didn't like all the creepily malformed figures and silhouettes his mind liked to form out of piles of unsorted clothes.
Well in the end he did hit something but not exactly what he wanted. His shin collided hard with a lower shelf and-much like Antonio had done earlier- Romano toppled back, mentally preparing himself for the collision with the ground or worse, another wooden shelf.
That collision never came, as he fell with a 'thud' onto something a little more soft. The Italian winced, praying that he was deceived in knowing exactly what had broken his fall.
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"You ok?" He asked happily, running a hand through Romano's hair and catching the curl in between his fingers. He raised an eyebrow, something at the back of his memory as to why he shouldn't pull. But for the life of him he couldn't remember and so just shrugged it off. His other hand was behind him, holding him up.
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And then the rough, work-worn fingers brushed over his curl, and Romano was filled with another stronger emotion of a more distinct nature. He jerked, pressing his head into Antonio's chest to quieten an almost inaudible murmur. Subconsciously his fingers grasped onto the other man's leg, silently cursing his own bad luck.
Unfortunately, this was all much more exaggerated in Romano's mind compared to reality, making it out to seem like he was still just recoiling in pain.
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"Mi italiano" He whispered gently, so soft that if Romano was even breathing to hard he would miss it. It wasn't as if the italian couldn't figure out what he had said. Honestly, anyone could figure out what he had said; Spanish knowledge or not.
Antonio shifted Romano in his lap so that his legs were around him and if he wanted too he could incase the smaller man in a tight hug. A tinge of guilt shot through him when he noticed the recoil and half of him screamed for him to stop his actions. However, he bit back the urge to stop and the urge to continue over rid anything else.
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Again and again it brushed beneath his fingers, and again and again Romano fought back the rising urge to just give in and surrender. As Antonio shifted Romano's hands left his pant leg to creep up to his shirt, resuming a stronger hold and pulling himself in (or Antonio forward) in a final struggle for endurance.
This was all Antonio's fault, he was sure of it. Antonio's fault that they were locked in the closet, that he was in this position, that the best part of him just wanted to cling and hold and grasp and take until this possessive feeling-no, need went away.
Bringing his knees closer to his body Romano turned to rest most of his upper body against the Spaniard's chest, hiding his face and closing the distance between them further.
This was wrong, so so wrong. He was ashamed and embarrassed and disgusted at himself, and in any other situation would have sooner fled to security behind a wall of violence and arrogance.
But too many things had happened to make this very, very different from any other occasion, and somewhere beyond the arousal and weakness, Romano was just happy to be loved.
And that part of him was quite content.
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Finally, he moved his hand out of Romano's hair and to the side of his face. Antonio gently put their foreheads together momentarily before tilting his head gently and bringing their lips together. He remembered what happened last time they had kissed, but he honestly didn't care.
Antonio wouldn't realize until later, but probably the only reason Romano hadn't hit him yet was guilt over what had happened recently. He would feel incredibly bad but right now those dots didn't connect in his head and he was blissfully wrapped up in what he was doing.
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Perhaps it had been jail, or perhaps it had begun much earlier than that- the acknowledgment of a symbolic wall between himself and the rest of the world. Antonio had always been there, always caring and worrying about him, as had his brother, but Romano had never really connected with either of them. He hardly knew anything about them, and never bothered to try. He was detached in a way, and had always believed the world was content with excluding him.
But sitting there, Antonio's arms around him and breath against his skin, Romano came to really understand how much the other had really been reaching out to him. Even when the Italian had deemed himself a lost cause.
Antonio hadn't lost faith in him, while he had lost faith in all of society.
Their foreheads were brought together and eyes met, Romano searched emerald hues for a reason- some means of personal profit, debt, anything. Something to excuse Antonio for not having given up already.
Mi Italiano.. Why? Why was the Spaniard so possessive, so determined to keep him connected to this world, to him? Surely there must be an alternative motive, a reason that-out of everyone everywhere, he'd chosen him.
But in his eyes and in his kiss, insecurity and unshed tears were met with nothing but determination, and a devotion that could outlast time itself.
It must've been the curl-abuse or confined space that brought Romano to accept the kiss, as a trembling hand moved to grip at the Spaniard's shoulder and balance him upright.
The feeling was indescribable, and not one Romano would want to consider. But for once, and just for that second, he was almost convinced that the world still had a place for him.
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He'd imagined this moment for the longest time, but no matter how hard he tried it had always ended up with his getting hit or cussed out and Romano stomping off. Now that it was actually happening, one of two things could happen but hadn't yet. He continued the kiss lightly once more before leaving a gentle trail of them down the other's neck. The hand on the side of Romano's face moved to the Italian's side and stayed there.
Antonio was almost afraid to touch Romano, having realized just how rough his hands were. Having grown up on a farm and basically working all of ones life will do that to you. Compared to the italian in his lap, who was planning on one day living a life with agriculture, his hands probably felt like sandpaper and that was probably not pleasant against his skin.
The spanish man stopped his kissing for a moment, pulling back ever so slightly and forcing himself to hesitate. He opened his eyes once more and met Romano's eyes once more. He had seen that searching, almost desperate, look in the others gaze and he was determined to show Romano that he cared and that this wasn't just some game.
Despite the fact that Antonio was exhausted beyond belief and everything had been seeming to go wrong the past week now, he finally felt as if there was a chance. A chance that maybe, just maybe he was getting somewhere, though there had never been a question of if it was all worth it.
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Yes, he was afraid. Afraid of what this meant and where it may take him, but most of all, afraid of losing Antonio. It was foolish to think that of someone who was so devoted and attached to him, but there was no other way Romano could explain this feeling of wanting- needing- to be close to him, or this newborn will that allowed him to continue.
Tentatively Romano lifted his other arm to match the first, looping loosely around Antonio's neck and letting his head hang. He hardly moved, hardly reacted, as if his body had become nothing but a dead shell. The only life remained in his eyes, which still searched and wandered without giving any implication that this information was being relayed back to the brain.
It wasn't that he was lifeless, or dead to the world. In fact this was probably the closest Romano had come to breaking down the isolating wall around him. Behind those eyes ran every instance, every moment they had been together like a film with no sound.
Almost without intention his fingers trailed down the larger man's chest, until they rested on where he knew a gash had been made in his side.
That was his fault too.
And it was that, that made the life and emotion surge back into him.
Romano swallowed, trying to fight back tears that shouldn't have existed. Why was he crying? Why was any of this happening?
God, why was he so hopeless? Every time he'd left the house something terrible had happened, and Antonio had stood there to withstand it all with him.
Romano choked, sniffed and leaned forward, wrapping his arm around the Spaniard in possibly the first embrace he had ever initiated. Muffled into his chest he muttered 'sorry.'
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What was the italian thinking? The way his posture was, the way he was acting was completely foreign to Antonio. When he suddenly had arms wrapped around him his eyes went wide and the shock was evident no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Never had the italian done something like this and so Antonio's world was thrown off its axis for a moment.
Thankfully, his body moved for him and he immediately wrapped his arms around Romano. Tight enough to let the Italian know he was there but gentle enough so that he showed just how much he cared. Finally, his brain caught up with his body and he digested the fact that Romano was in fact crying against his chest. Actually crying.
For a moment, Antonio was worried he had done something wrong. The gently 'sorry' was enough to banish this thought as quickly as it had come and the Spaniard hugged Romano slightly tighter.
"Por favor. Don't apologize to me" He whispered gently against Romano's ear, still basically engulfing the Italian in a warm embrace. Antonio didn't need to hear Romano apologize. Yes, it was nice to hear. But the way he said it just pulled at his heart strings and filled him with such a sadness that he didn't know if he could bear it.
That just wasn't his Lovi.
In the back of his mind, Antonio knew that Romano was on the edge of tearing down that wall and letting him in. He even wanted this to happen, but he knew just how hard this was on Romano and that if it did happen things would probably change between them.
For the better of for the worse.
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Antonio's sexuality, or the implications of lying there in his arms, meant nothing to him. Romano was comfortable and anything beyond that was too much to think about at that moment. But comfortable and content did not come hand in hand, and deep down beyond what anyone else would consider an affectionate embrace, frustration was gnawing away and him and preventing him to really relax.
Romano had no idea where it had come from, or what he was frustrated about, but the feeling was there and it's unexcused presence only made him more irritated.
The arm wrapped around the Spaniard latched onto his shirt and clenched, as Romano made a feeble attempt to bury his head further into his chest.
Why couldn't he just relax? Why couldn't he curl up and fall asleep until they somehow got out? His free arm was brought down to hide his face, wedging in between his body and Antonio's to form an unintentional bridge.
"..God dammit.."
It was more than evident; a very fervent part of him was fighting to retain the wall, and it was the conflict of interests that began to drive him insane.
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Without a moments hesitation, the spanish man pulled one arm from around the Italian. It brought them apart for a few moments but it was for the greater good. He then gently wrapped rough fingers around the wrist between them and tugged lightly.
"Please. Stop pushing me away" He said gently, beneath his breath. He knew Romano would hear it. He knew that he would know exactly what he meant. He slipped his fingers in between Romano's, bringing their palms together gently.
Because the Italian's face was buried in his chest, instead Antonio focused his gaze on their hands. His eyes had adjusted enough so that he could see the outline of the two hands and he couldn't help but laugh lightly. They were so different. The italian's hands were smooth and on the more average side, where as the spanish man's hand was rough and one of the digits even bent where it had been broken previously.
He drew his gaze back to Romano however and he looked down at the man's head. Ever so gently, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on the top of the head, whispering a gentle I love you.
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He felt vulnerable, open and not at all like himself. But Antonio was there to hold his hand and guide him, to give him someone to depend on.
"Please. Stop pushing me away"
Romano tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes drawn upwards to try and catch a glimpse of the Spaniard's expression. He still couldn't understand why Antonio loved him, and regardless of how many times he was told, probably never would. But knowing why didn't really matter any more. Not as much as knowing that he did.
And hearing it, hearing those three words..he had never heard Antonio be so sincere. Leaning back to study Antonio's face, Romano searched his eyes again for that something he'd been missing. That something that would make everything make sense..and he found it.
Nothing.
There was no other motive, no sly means for personal gain or humiliation. Nothing but warmth, love and devotion. In a world where Romano believed everyone had their own greedy needs and desires, nothing but the Italian's own distrust had caused him to suspect Antonio of being anything else than simply caring.
Tentatively Romano brought his outstretched arm back towards them, fingers lightly tracing the Spaniard's jawline to rest upon his lips where they faltered a moment, before withdrawing his hand back into himself.
He sighed and swallowed again, trying to hold back tears of a different nature. This was a turning point, a time when he was expected to react. But Romano didn't know how. He was unaware any decision had already been made, and he was simply left to come to terms with the consequences.
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