Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or any of its characters. Those belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

Summary: 52nd Street—the entertainment club run by a shady Russian, whose two top 'dancers' happen to be a pair of Italian twins. What can one poor Spanish grocer do? : Adult-life AU, Spamano main, slight GerIta & EngRoma. : Language, BL, prostitution, sex

Title: 52nd Street

Chapter One: (We're gonna have a) Little Show Parade

Word Count: 4,865

Page Count: 9

Anime: Hetalia
Pairing(s) in this chapter: Spain/Romano/Spain, slight Germany/Italy/Germany, explicit England/Romano/England, implied Romano & Italy/Nameless 'Patrons'

Warning: Language, BL, prostitution, sex

Author: Kita Kitsune (Call me Fox!)
Date: Tuesday, January 11, 2011 [ 1/1/11! :D ]

Miscellaneous notes: Because I want to write, and have ideas for the next chapter of "Empire", but I want to let those ideas percolate for another week or so before I write them down. And this seemed like a fun/pointless writing exercise to do in the meantime~ x3 [ …Don't judge me for naming this fic what I did. It just… fit. ._. ;;; ( Forever love for Billy Joel songs~! ) ]

For the record, I don't know how the England/Romano happened, either. It just sort of… did that. x/x And I do not endorse prostitution. …Just for the record. ._. ;;

The songs were from random shuffle on my mp3 player. Repeated each one endlessly, for the time I wrote that section. Check out the lyrics, though—seriously. The connection between all of them made me laugh. And look, I made a coherent one-shot instead of random drabbles, as most people do with this mp3-player meme-or-whatever-it-is~! ;3 [ Does that make me (somewhat) original? xD ;; Haha~ ]

[1] – "Broken Hearts Parade" by Good Charlotte

[2]"52nd Street" by Billy Joel

[3]"Blue Bird", by Ayumi Hamasaki

[4] – "Unbalance na Kiss wo Shite (Tabata remix)", a Yuu Yuu Hakusho Ending Theme

[5]"T.M.T.", by Snow Patrol

[6]"Stay in Shadow", by Finger Eleven

[7]"Steady As She Goes", by the Ranconteurs

[8]"Michelle", by the Beatles

[9] - "Born to Make You Happy", by Britney Spears

[ Most of these are songs I've never really listened to, funnily enough~! Although 2-5 are definitely indicative of the types of music I usually listen to—just not these specific songs~! xD ;;; ]

I find it amusing how much they influenced what I was writing while listening to them, though. :3

[ Pointless Note To Self: NEVER start a new fic at 3:30 AM on a Monday when I have to get up at 9:00 AM for class, because I won't end up heading to bed until around 6:00 AM. And then I'll be thinking about the fact the fic is unfinished, ALL DAY. …And won't get around to actually starting to finish it until after midnight on Tuesday, or something. Argh. x/x So tired, only three hours of sleep, still (it's after 2:00 AM on that same Tuesday, now… j~j ;; )! ]

Hope you guys enjoy~! ( It's probably more than a bit disjointed and blah, but… x/x~ I had fun, sorta. :3 )

[ Posting edit (2:11 AM) : ZOMG FIRST (utterly new, not a continuation) FANFIC POST OF THE NEW DECADE AND IT'S ON 1/11/11! :DDD! Ahahahahaha~~ *_* :: ...Tired, obviously. :: ]

[ More edit (3:30 AM): Oh, and Adela (diminutive Adelina) is Portugal. :D (I'm thinking the girlish Portugal with the short hair Himaruya-sensei was thinking on, a while back, here~)

...Haha, it's been exactly a day since I started this fic and now it's posted. xD ;;; ]

: : : : : : :


Lovino stood nervously in front of the large house, a small sparse bouquet of bedraggled flowers clutched in his hands, his stylish white fedora propped under his arm. Dare he knock? He felt like a teenager. Certainly, he was past those days—b-but still. They'd had an argument. What had it been over, again? He couldn't even remember. But Antonio had gone unnaturally quiet on their ride home from the disaster of a date night, stonily dropping him off at his house and speeding away before Lovino could even turn around to try and talk to him.

But, now—what else could he do? Lovino raised a hand, fist shaking a bit in the air before he tapped the door so quietly he was almost sure it wasn't heard. Biting his lip, he waited a moment—then, knocked a little harder. Feeling the adrenaline begin to pump, his mind drew back to all those near-sleepless nights spent staring at his ceiling (p-perhaps waiting for a call or text, but the hours just got away from him, that's all!), and then the foggy mornings afterward where Feliciano would have to practically drag him out of bed. It only worked when his brother would threaten to cook sausage for breakfast… Lovino shuddered at the thought, knocking even harder for the umpteenth time in the past few minutes. The door flew open and he jumped, biting back an unmanly squawk of surprise as the unhappy face of Adela greeted him, her long skirt swishing around her calves. Lovi tried a nervous, shaky smile, quickly dropping his knocking hand and opening his mouth to— She cut at the air with her hand, narrowing her eyes at him.

"No, I do not want to hear it! You stupid, immature little brat, get out of here before I—"

"Adelina? Who is—" Antonio's younger half-sister turned around, snapping at him in Spanish. Lovino couldn't see or hear much over her anger, so he shrank back in fear when he heard silence after what sounded like a rather-heavily-insult-endowed version of his name. Triumphant brown eyes landed on him as she sneered, voice sing-song through the mean grin.

"He doesn't want to see you! Get lost!" Feeling tears sting at his eyes as his heart shriveled up inside his chest, Lovino just threw the sad-looking flowers on the ground, grinding his heel into the plastic covering them, as well as the blossoms and stems (and smearing the card he'd forgotten about with their plant-juices).

"W-Well, fine! S-Stay that way, then! I don't care!" Lifting his head high, the Italian turned around, proudly dropping his hat back on his head and stomping away into the misty near-twilight, brushing some imaginary dust off the shoulders of his matching grey-and-white-striped suit as though ridding himself of the entire matter. Adela snorted to herself as he walked away, folding her arms across her chest and leaning bodily on one side of the threshold. As the sound of Lovino's roaring Vespa faded, her older brother slowly advanced towards the door, until he was standing just behind her. She cast him a cautious glance, not at all happy to see the forlorn gaze he had settled on the pathetic bouquet mucking up their doorstep. He began to bend, and she snapped a little, turning with an angry march to head back to the kitchen.

"Oh, perfect! Go ahead and forgive the little slut again—this wouldn't be the first time he tried to buy you off with a cheap, no-effort gift!" She bumped his shoulder, viciously, but otherwise left him to his idiocy. Honestly, she tried to protect her brother from himself, but there was a limit! If he wasn't going to take her advice, then let him be hurt! That little Italian brat was just like his brother! Sleeping around, no bother for anyone else as long as he got some tail! Adela's blood boiled, and she slammed an empty, stainless-steel bowl down on the counter.

She didn't notice Antonio kneeling at the open door, trembling fingers fishing out the small envelope—stained green and pink and orange by the flowers—with his name written on it in a familiarly elegant, slanted script. He helplessly tried to smooth out the stains, but to no avail. The Spanish man's head bowed, shoulders shaking softly as he clutched the ruined card to his front.

: : :


Lovino growled in annoyance in the back of his throat as Raivis pulled his black corset tight, black-gloved hands tightly clutching the edge of his vanity mirror in the dressing room he shared with Feliciano.

"Gah! Goddamnit, pull har—!" A relieved cry interrupted him.

"D-Done!" Lovino wisely held his breath until Raivis tapped him on the shoulder, signaling that all the ties were done up properly. After that, he breathed out, slowly, wincing a little at the constriction and casting a glare over his shoulder at the nervous boy. He narrowed his eyes at him, barking out an order.

"Well! Go get Feliks, then, I still need make-up! And find Elizaveta! Like hell I'm starting the next number in this get-up!" The Latvian boy yelped and nodded, practically tripping over himself as he raced out the door. Lovino huffed softly—the best he could do—and turned back to glare at himself in the mirror as his brother's airy voice floated in the door.

"Veeee, big brother, you don't have to be so mean~" White-gloved hands that matched his own—up past the elbow and satin, the only difference was the color—slid under his bare shoulders and onto his chest. Lovino grumbled, head tipping upward to allow his brother room to nuzzle his neck. His eyes slid back to meet Feliciano's in the mirror. The other Italian smiled goofily at him, kissing under his chin as white gloves traveled down the black corset to settle around his waist. Lovi's eyebrows furrowed, a black-gloved hand sliding backward and finding the tight silk shorts already clinging to his brother's thigh. He slipped his other hand back for confirmation, both hands momentarily gliding down then back up. No, even Feli's chest was covered with the fake-modest 'angel' costume they needed him to wear for the next act. Lovi snorted, turning around and putting his hands on his brother's upper arms, pushing him gently away to scrutinize him—he squinted at his face.

"How the hell are you already dressed and polished? Feliks hasn't even done my foundation, yet…" Feli smiled happily at him and began to gesticulate in an attempt to convey the extent of his joy.

"Ludwig has every costume really organized! And Kiku is the best at make-up~!" Lovi rolled his eyes, fighting a frown at the mention of the two idiots. Frowns caused wrinkles, and in his profession that spelled an 'early retirement'. A knock on the open door startled them both. Lovi eyed Elizaveta's smile with wariness. She giggled, pulling the 'devil' costume out from behind her back with a beam.

"Sorry to interrupt the 'sibling love' going on around here, but we've got to get you dressed, Lovino~! Feliks is finishing up with Yong-Soo, but he'll be here soon!"

: : :


He fiddled where he stood, unsure. The doorman didn't like him, and the man furrowed those intimidating brows at him over the ticket he inspected. It was a little wrinkled, and a little worse for the wear, b-but still readable, right? Antonio tried an awkward smile as the Brit frowned at him, handing back his ticket and unclipping the VIP entrance, grumbling something about how 'anyone could get a ticket, these days'. The Spanish man tried to laugh it off, sliding inside and letting the bouncy American usher guide him to his seat. Really, it was all a little pretentious for a strip club… The man—'Alfred', his nametag said—smiled winningly at him and provided him with a free bottle of vodka.

"On the house~!" He practically cheered, before zipping away to tend to other guests seated in the VIP section—the section closest to the stage. Antonio glanced around, feeling rather out-of-place as he spotted a prim-looking gentleman with a mole at the side of his mouth. When he noticed him staring, the man gave him a sharp glance from behind his glasses. The Spanish man smiled and shuffled his gaze away, feeling even more out-of-place in his moderately-casual clothes at the other man's black tuxedo. The other patrons around here practically reeked of money and wealth… and corruption, he couldn't deny that one, he thought grimly.

The lights overhead dimmed, and he blinked as a single beam of illumination pierced the darkness of the stage.

Antonio's eyes widened as the spotlight shone off the black leather shorts practically painted onto Lovino's thighs, stopping only halfway up the slender legs. He didn't notice that he leaned forward, eyes following the fishnet stockings held up by a skull-decorated garter on each leg down to the painful-looking ebony high heels. The high-collared, black leather vest hugged his slim form, small metallic garnishes glimmering in the sudden light. An over-sized silvery zipper went up the center of the vest. Atop each of Lovino's shoulder blades was a smallish, black bat's wing—Antonio could see that, even from here. In addition to the small black devil's horns on his head, a knee-length devil's tail swished around behind Lovino as he began to move. It was only then that Antonio realized Feliciano was on the stage, too.

His costume mirrored but differed from Lovino's in every way. Instead of horns he had white cat ears, and a sweet kitty tail flinging out behind him, the same length as his brother's. His clothes were different, too—they wore the same tight shorts, but Feli's white ones glimmered brightly (as opposed to the dull shine on Lovi's) as though made of silk instead of leather. Angel wings sprouted from his shoulder blades, his stomach and abs left bare and his upper chest covered by a thin layer of white fabric. High-heeled white boots instead of garters crawled up his legs, leaving the short space between his knee and halfway up his thigh completely bare. The top half of the costume had a strip of cloth hanging off either of his shoulders, and a choker with a single golden bell adorned his throat.

And they danced together. Wound around each other, gasped and rocked and smirked—no, wait, was that only Lovino? Something began to broil in Antonio's gut the longer he watched this. Watched Lovino dance across the stage as something dangerous and predatory, watched as he 'hunted' his brother, running his teeth along his neck, sliding hands under his shirt whenever they came close enough. Feli played his part well, too—not being afraid, but standing up only to have his courage sapped by a dark look from near-identical eyes. And Antonio watched. Watched, as Lovino sold himself and his brother on stage, for the enjoyment of all those gathered in the audience. High-class or not, it was still a house of human sale. False love for sale, to anyone who would pay the price. Because getting a night with Lovino or Feliciano—or both of them at once!—was costly. The hoots and catcalls from around him at every particularly sexual scene made his heart clench. Why had Lovino wanted him to come watch this? Antonio knew what he did for a living, knew what his job entailed, and he hadn't cared. Of course, he'd never seen it, but—

: : :


Near the end, when he had sat through almost all of it—some electric techno remixed tune echoing over the speakers, or something trashy like that—he stood, vaulting over the barrier and striding forward, breaking the routine as he violently ripped Feliciano off Lovino just as they were about to kiss, hands already wandering. Lovino glared a warning at him as Feli tumbled to the floor with a squeak—Antonio hadn't been gentle. He grabbed Lovi's arm before he could rush to his brother. Completely out of his field of vision, a tall blond rushed onto the stage to assist Feli.

"Don't stop!" An angry voice called out from the audience, making the Spanish man's rage grow. He shook Lovi, hissing at him.

"Is this what you wanted me to see? How you sell yourself every day, every night, and you don't even seem to care how I—" The anger momentarily ebbed, tears collecting in an eye and trickling down one side of his face. Antonio looked away, towards the back of the stage so the audience couldn't see his expression. His voice had fallen, sounded hurt and vulnerable.

"I already know… you'll sleep with anyone who pays enough. I'm not judging you!" That last outburst was in a choked, vehement whisper as he felt Lovi about to interrupt him. Antonio's reddening face lifted to look at him, again, the firm hand around the Italian's arm dropping down to hesitantly grasp his wrist, instead. Although teary, his eyes were earnest.

"I know I can't offer you everything you could ever want, I'm just a grocer, but Lovi… I thought… I thought you felt something?" Antonio choked back a sob, eyes shutting tightly and so unable to see the way Lovi's gaze flickered for a moment, uncertain.

"All your lies, until I found out—I never cared, I figured you had your reasons… but this… I just want to be by your side, Lovi, but if this is the way it will be, I can't—I can't, it's too painful—!" At last he released the dancer's arm and put a hand to his messy face, throat constricted rather unattractively. The next whisper was short, but with another flicker of anger covering sorrow.

"Y-You're nothing! Don't come to my house, Adela won't let you in! This is our last night together, Lovino…" Both hands shot out, suddenly, to grab the sides of Lovi's shocked face, dragging him in for a kiss even though Antonio's eyes were yet soundly shut. It felt wobbly and unreal, beneath the hot lights and the Italian's cheeks burned with rage at the Spaniard for making such a scene, interrupting their performance—but… His breath went ragged as Antonio pulled back, his cheek feeling wet from where the other man's tears had rubbed off. Lovi's own eyes were dry.

They remained dry even as Antonio turned around, rubbing his sleeve into his messy face, and walked back off the stage from whence he had came. Lovi couldn't move as he watched the forlorn figure move through the parting wave of patrons and out the door. His fingers moved upward, ghosting over the touch of sadness lingering in that kiss.

: : :


Antonio wandered back home, abandoning his car where it was parked outside the club. He fished out a still-lit cigarette from an ashtray along the way and took a drag, quietly. He'd quit years ago, but he still remembered how. He hadn't smoked in a while, Adela didn't like it. But right now—he just looked up at the night sky, mind numbing out the drunk collapsed in the gutter at the end of the corner mumbling to himself. He just kept walking, sure he'd reach home.

Antonio tried not to think about the first time he'd caught Lovino sleeping with someone else.

Was that why the British doorman hated him? Because Antonio had burst through the Vargas' door with a bright smile and a plan to hang out with Lovino that night—only to find the man he was infatuated with moaning obscenely as a cursing Brit pounded him up against the high table in the entryway. They didn't even stop, didn't even notice as Antonio sank to his knees in the open doorway, the movie tickets fluttering despondently to the ground.

Feliciano had wandered downstairs a few moments later—a towel around his waist—for some food and it was only his cheerful greeting that caused Lovi and the British man's heads to swivel hastily in Antonio's direction. Lovi had blushed and cursed, trying to shove the other man off by hitting on his shoulders and the Brit had yelled right back, clearly unhappy at being interrupted—but, after what seemed like forever, he finally haphazardly gathered his clothes and marched out. Lovino wouldn't meet his eyes, only ducked out of the room while Feliciano came over with a comforting smile to try and jerk Antonio back to reality.

When Lovino came back out, he was showered and dressed, and Antonio and Feliciano were sitting on the couch, the movie tickets lying on the table in front of them. Lovi nodded to Feli, and his brother scampered away after a soft pat to Antonio's shoulder. The older Italian leaned over to pick up the tickets—he wasn't even sore?—perusing them critically before glancing towards the still-shell-shocked Spaniard staring at the floor beneath the space of his interlinked hands.

"Well, you stupidly bought them, so are we going or not?" Antonio's head had snapped up in surprise, eyes wide with hurt and hope, all in one. Lovino snorted at him, glaring and waving the tickets in front of his nose. "Well? Or am I going to have to take Feli, so they don't go to w—"

And just then, Antonio had jumped up and hugged him for all he was worth, peppering his face with kisses and relieved laughter.

If Lovi was uncomfortable (due to the perhaps-less-than-optimal state of his ass) sitting in the same spot in a darkened movie theater for two hours (with no making out), he certainly didn't complain as Antonio's hand wriggled its way into his own about five minutes in. Throughout the entire movie, Lovino didn't budge. And as the ending credits began to roll, he leaned over and kissed Antonio's cheek. As the lights came on, he caught a glimpse of Antonio's surprised face as the other man held a hand to the pecked spot, staring at him. Lovi grumbled something and looked off, face feeling warm, but light laughter was all that greeted his ears as Antonio took his hand and kissed the back of it, smiling as Lovi hissed and jerked it back, practically flailing at him in the middle of the row as the other patrons filed out around them.

: : :


Eventually, Lovi and Feli were quickly ushered off the stage, Elizaveta fluttering around Feli and checking him for any bruises or bumps. The entire mood of the night had been broken—Lovi snapped at anyone who came near him, just stripped off his costume the moment the door to his dressing room closed and emerged minutes later in a stylish pair of black silken slacks and a matching button-up shirt under a white vest that practically shone in contrast. He cast a dark look out from under the white driving cap he'd grabbed as an afterthought, pulling down the front as he stormed out of the establishment, thoughts turning as icy as the chill of the wind that bit into his fine clothes.

The streets around here were safe enough, and Lovi knew what spots to stay away from. Besides, there was only one parking lot. With any luck, Antonio would be just sitting in his car, staring at the—

His black-and-white shoes stopped. Antonio's car. Was right there. He took a slow breath, then walked forward, rapping smartly on the dark glass.

"Oi, bastard! Open up! You can't just interrupt a performance like that, idiota, you—" It took him only a moment to realize that no one was in there, and Lovi fumed silently before hissing to himself and plucking out his lock-picker, squatting a bit to try and work it into the keyhole. With a satisfied grin, it popped open, and he opened the door, clicking the button to pop the hood. In the manner of much practice, he had the engine running in mere minutes, shut the hood, and slid into the front seat, not bothering with the seat belt as he shut the door, turned on the lights and slowly backed out. Stupid Antonio. Making a scene like that, then wandering off into the night? Ksh! When Lovino caught up to him, he'd run the bastard over!

: : :


Antonio watched the river run, from his place on the bank. He was close to the Vargas' house. How had that happened? It was much further to here than to his home… He sighed, running a hand back through his hair as he stared up at the night sky, melancholic. When had this happened? Everything had been so wonderful, but it seemed as though, tonight, it was all falling apart…

Should he just keep going, then? Forget about Lovino, and—and just run away?

A small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. Lovi would never be only his, anyway. Had it been foolish of him to think he could win him over, if he just kept trying? But he couldn't help but think of him and Lovino, in the coming years, somehow managing something out, living together, Lovi cursing at him but kissing him and not having to work at that strip club anymore, Antonio would get him out of it and into a proper job—

A weak laugh hit the air. It almost sounded like a sob. Antonio squatted on the dewy grass, folding his arms over his wobbly, balancing knees and brushing at the wetness that'd suddenly sprung from his eyes, telling himself it was only the morning chill. M-Maybe he should go home, call Francis and Gilbert up and the three of them would head far, far away from here…

Or maybe he should just go alone.

"This is our last night together, Lovino!"

He winced at the echo of the night's earlier shout, burying his face into his knees as he at last dropped to a full seat on the damp ground. He didn't care that he'd been out all night without a jacket. Lovino would never be his, didn't want to be only his—a-and he could tell, it would only get worse, after this. They would dance around one another awkwardly, or Lovi would punch him and tell him to stay away forever, a-a-and… Antonio couldn't handle hearing that. It was better to leave, stuff all these wild emotions deep inside him away and… He sniffled, rubbing his wet sleeves over his puffy face. Maybe he should go home, now, even though he was so close to the Vargas'… would Lovi be home, yet? He peered up at the hint of illumination at the other end of the sky, blinking slowly. Had he already been out this long… ? He needed to find a payphone and call Adelina, she must be worried sick! Hastily, he glanced around, spying a gas station and feeling his heart lighten a bit. Oh, it was times like these he wished he could afford a cell phone—but this thought was far from his mind as he sprinted for the soft glow of the digital numbers of the gas price readouts.

: : :


Antonio didn't realize the reason one of the cars pulled up at the fueling station looked so familiar until someone stepped out of it, face shadowed by the lights overhead. Everything he'd just thought came to a grinding halt as that someone looked up. Brown eyes widened in realization, then narrowed in annoyance. Of their own accord, Antonio's feet had frozen to the ground, he was only able to watch as Lovino stalked up to him and snagged his shirt collar to drag him down to his eye level, snarling at him.

"Y-You! Where have you been, fucker? I've been up all night searching for you, and just when I give up and go home you're five minutes away from my house? Shit! What the hell is—"

Antonio just held his face and kissed him. Lovi sputtered against the motion, arms fluttering about angrily and so the Spaniard made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, pulling back a little breathless, eyes bright and clear despite the sleepless night out in the chill autumn.

"Lovino…" A perplexed gaze peered up at him, all-too-soon sharpening off into another glare. Lovi's hands came up to try and shove him off. Antonio took a step forward into his space. Lovino took a step back, eyes narrowing.

"Hey—" Antonio took another step. Lovi took another one back. This continued until the dancer's back was up against the Spaniard's car and Antonio smiled kindly down at him, hands still cupping the younger man's cheeks.

"Lovino… I—" The Italian's face was lightly dusted with pink and Antonio chuckled gently as he noticed that, running his thumb over the warm skin and leaning in, cooing softly. "You're so cute…" At that, Lovi went completely red, sputtering profanities and flailing against that unrelentingly gentle grip.

"T-The hell? I'm not 'cute', you goddamn turtle-loving tomato-for-brains bastard! You're talking to—" He was cut off with another kiss, this time Antonio's hands sliding down to wrap around Lovino's waist, fingers innocent but firmly not letting go.

"I… know you won't change for me, Lovino, but—" His voice dropped, and Antonio shifted to murmur into his ear, voice soft and unsure, but not hesitant. "I love you, Lovi. I know—I know you don't feel the same, I know you don't need me, but all I want is you, Lovi—I don't care about all the other complications, b-because you—I just need to be near you—please let me be near you, Lovi—" Lovino was trembling, now—but oddly enough not fighting the hold, anymore. Antonio took advantage of that to draw him closer, murmuring into his hair and nuzzling that odd little curl that stuck up, so stubbornly. "Te amo… I love you—"

Slow fingers moved up, clutching quietly at the back of the Spaniard's shirt.

And something in Antonio lifted up to the heavens as he heard a small voice mumble in response—

"T-Ti amo, you… you—" Antonio cut the unmeant curse off with another kiss.

: : :


Lovi sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the picture taken years ago. It was just after the whole 'club' incident—the morning after, in fact. Antonio was hugging him from behind, the biggest happy grin on his face as he looked straight at the camera. Lovi was shouting something at him, glaring at the face situated so close to his own, blatantly ignoring the camera. He took the picture, quietly staring at it.

How had it come to this? A few years and already… ? Lovino sighed, setting the picture back and slowly standing, shoving his hands in his pockets and meandering into the hall and downstairs. The house was quiet. Feli had moved out shortly after Antonio had moved in—to live with that macho-geek from the club. Lud-something. The blond who always barked out orders like they were biscuits.

(Che, not that they'd be tasty, they'd probably be potato-biscuits or something equally disgusting…)

Antonio… how long had it been? Now that he was downstairs, Lovino was at a loss for something to do. Television these days was a bust, he didn't have work until tomorrow (cashier at Antonio's small family-owned grocery since last May… typical), and—

"Lovino! Mi corazon~!" Brown eyes widened, and he glanced toward the door just as it banged open. Tired green eyes fell upon him, and in that instant Antonio's face transformed. The lines fell, the beam bringing life back into his face as the Spaniard dropped his things at the door and rushed across the room to embrace him—stumbling, actually, on the way, his shoes half-off, so he ended up tackling Lovino unintentionally to the couch. The Italian groaned at the odd angle, his back sprawled uncomfortably against the edge of the seat, his rear on the floor. Antonio's laughter was rich, though, and so Lovi only grumbled a little as his partner hugged the living daylights out of him, before only drawing back to gaze at him, taking in every detail of his face with shining eyes.

"I'm sorry the conference took so long~! Did you miss me?" It was a sweet, faintly-manipulative question, and Lovi narrowed his eyes, huffing and looking off, somehow managing to cross his arms over his chest defiantly despite the fact Antonio was basically keeping him pinned down with his body weight.

"Pfeh. No." Antonio just laughed again, to that, and Lovi fought a small smile as the idiot pulled him close, dusting his face with kisses, all over, whispering—

"Well, I missed you more than you know~!"

( Oh, Lovi probably had some idea, if those errantly wandering hands were anything to go by… )

The Italian smirked to himself.

He'd put his experience (as basically a former high-end prostitute) to good use, tonight.

: : : : : : :

Mm, my first little Spamano one-shot and it was slightly sappy and all-around bad, I know.

Ah, well~ (I really have no idea where most of this fic came from. x.x) Review? :3 -Fox