~El Rancho Christian Camp for 8 to 12 year-olds~
A Hetalia Axis Powers Fanfiction * Presented by FanSlewFantasy 2011
SpainxRomano *


Lovino vargas, troubled fifteen-year old, has been sent by his father to 'el rancho Christian summer camp for 8-12 year ols' to work as a counceller, in the hops it will help 'fix' him. But there he meets Antonio, and fucks him.
dont look so shocked, you all knew what to expect.

Also while i am here i just wanted to say that hello to rheney on deviantart, who is super talented and does this amazingly cute spamano series about spain, romano, and a turtle called brutus. this fic isnt great but it has antonio romano smex in it and hopefully that is sufficient.

also i just want to point out that i wasnt sure if i should use the word 'councillor' or 'counceller' or how the fuckit was spelled, so i just typed it and carried on with my life. i am sorry. i am a literary abomination etcetera.

El Rancho Christian summer camp was not my ideal way, to spend a vacation.

I would have much preferred a trip to Rome, with my brother and grandfather, but ohhhhh no. bad boys don't deserve nice things. Bad boys didn't deserve expensive trips, and good times. Bad boys deserved smelly, mouldy camps, where the cabins were cold and smelt like a million feet, and the food was tasteless and rubbery. Bad boys got T-shirts, fucking yellow t-shirts, with the word STAFF on the back, and a big old smiling sun, as if he was taking pleasure from my misery. And kids. They got kids, and whistles, and a strict 'wake up at 5.30' timetable that would have easily killed a normal teenager.

Oh I was not happy, with my lot in life that moment. Not happy at all.

Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, the camp manager and big cheese, was not helping.

Antonio was a loud, stupid kind of guy, who only had to smile to get the kiddies enthused about washing dishes, or praising God. He was dead handsome, if you liked absolute idiots, with bright, kind eyes of an uncommon green, and the faintest freckles tickled by soft, coffee coloured curls. Only young, he wore raggy Chuck Taylors and a HARD ROCK MADRID t-shirt twenty four seven, as opposed to the hideous yellow monstrosities I and the other councillors were stuck with, and not once had I seen him get out of bed before eight.

Oh and he was so ANNOYING!

Always skipping around between group activities, asking questions and trying to be bossy. I'm pretty sure all he ever wanted from life was an army of clay pinchbowl making ten year olds. Or at least that's he impression I git when he hijacked my stupid group of brats for the fourth time on day eight, telling them that I had been teaching them wrong, and it was better if one jammed their thumb in their wad of clay first.

Either that, or he was really, obscenely enthusiastic about clay.


I glared at him as he worked, bouncing around the table helping the dumbasses who were not co-ordinated to roll their clay into a ball, and wishing him a long, painful death. Okay, maybe not death. I didn't want him, deceased exactly, I just… wanted him to suffer.

But ah, it was thoughts and actions like that that sent me here.

Long story short, I got in with some bad kids. Some real bad kids. We did a lot of stealing, selling drugs, turf wars. One day I got into a massive fight with someone, over some inconsequential thing, lost two teeth and fractured my wrist, and my grandfather found out. He hadn't noticed before. Isn't that horrible? My own grandfather, didn't even notice what I was doing with my life where I was going. Oh no. he was forever too occupied by my little brother. And fuck no did he want to waste precious time he could be with him on rectifying me (especially when they found a gun, in my room). So he packed me up, sent me here, and told me I should re-affirmate my faith and find forgiveness in God. How utterly weak of him! I guess you could say I was a little bitter. Like god gave a fuck about me. I'd done too many bad things, to be forgiven. I wouldn't want to be anyway. And fancy, putting me in charge of kids…

I fucking hate kids.

Not babies though. Love babies. Just kids. Who answer back and don't do what they are told and don't admire you, or trust you. Babies are great, because they are thoughtless and dumb. They need you, they will never forget you, for some other thing else. Complete dependence…

But one they hit age three, bam! What's the point anymore? They are just like everyone else…

Antonio taps me from these thoughts with a clay caked wooden spatula.

"See Lovino?" he asks me beamingly. "It's so much easier for them. Do it this way in future."

"Yeah, whatever bastard." I looked away, hating the way he smiled, the way he was. He was such a waste. If I was that good looking I would be king of the world, not some tacky camp weirdo with a guitar and crucifix.

Oh yeah, Antonio's guitar thing.

I checked my watch, noting the time was nearing twelve and soon we would have to pack up the clay, and desert the smelly, cramped little white walled room they called 'Art Hut' for the smelly, cramped little linoed room they called 'Christ's Cantine' and eat our way through Platefuls of 'lasagne', that I suspect hasn't had so much as a tomato near it in all its life. While we were eating, Antonio would pull up a chair by the low tables of plates and cutlery, and play an old, golden guitar with pretty skill, filling the room with the closest thing I've had to modern comfort since my ipod died two days ago.

I knew I should have brought the charger.

"Hey, bastard." A thought occurred to me, and he frowned.

"You shouldn't call me that Lovino. It's not polite, especially in front of the kids. What is it?"

"Your guitar, do you like, know any good music?"

"What kind of good music?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. Nirvana? Lacuna Coil?"

"… Devil music?" he cocked and eyebrow, and I groaned. I should have known that would be the answer.

"Not devil music. Good music!"

"Sorry Lovi. Hillsong or nothing." He gave me a small, sympathetic smile, as if he was pitying me, and went back to some small, snotty little brat begging his help.

Oh sometimes I just wanted to kick him in his godly, perfect ass. I could take him on. No problem. I was smaller, quicker. He may have been muscular and tanned but I had beaten the shit out of bigger men. Braver men. Men who didn't smile so easily, or wear a cross in a non-ironic sense.

But if I did that, where was I supposed to go, or do? Here I was in assfuck nowhere, while my family was in Italy, my house over seven hours drive away and no means to get there. I could spend the next week and a half in my cabin… and go insane and die. Or I could pretend to not hate everyone and everything and be able to at least stand outside without shoes on.

I sighed, under a spell of homesickness (particularly for my soft, big, king sized bed.) and pushed my hair off my face. I sniffed, but the smell of camp (a particularly footy, muddy, carpet smell) that had been so obnoxious on the first day, escaped me this time around. Instead, all I could catch was a rather appealing curl of what may have been coffee and Axe. It smelled like something familiar. Like the real world. The world beyond these stupid camp and back home, waking up in the morning in my bed, and in my life.

Antonio stood back up, and a soft wave of the scent ebbed over me. He clapped his hands, and all the kids stopped their activities.

"Are we all ready for food guys?"

"Yes!" came a chorus of voices.

"Awesome! Leave your stuff and pay attention to captain Lovino. Okay?"

Six pairs of eyes turned to me and I sighed.

"Okay. Stand up, push your chairs in, and get in a line. We will be returning to this later."

"Can I sit here?" the Belgian exchange student, with the viscous pronunciation and pretty hair, gestured to the seat next to me, and I shrugged. She had her camp councillor shirt knotted at the bottom, above her bellybutton, and it looked good. She always looked good. What was it about foreigners, and looking good?

I glanced at my own hands, holding a knife and spork daintily, and the soft bronze of my own skin. Me foreigner didn't count.



She sat down, and pushed her hair over her shoulder.

"Is Antonio about today?" she inquired lightly, and I frowned, stabbing a piece of potato and staring around the room.

"Yah, I saw him at group sessions."

"Oh…" her face fell. "He didn't come to my group."

"Well, he came to mine… look there he is." I pointed to him, coming through the door with his guitar in hand, and she brightened significantly. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." A cosy smile, she dropped her eyes to her plate, and began to eat.

There were nine councillors in total, counting me and Antonio, and she was the only one I spoke to. Not out of choice, mind. She was just really friendly and being a girl I couldn't really punch her in the gut. Respecting ovaries and all that bullshit.

Okay, maybe she was just obscenely pretty. And it wasn't often pretty girls spoke to me. I sort of liked that.

The kids and councillors usually sat together at their tables, of which there were ten, and sure enough the huddled groups of people around the tables, laughing and fooling around with councillors and eating their shitty food. Antonio was yet to take his spot at the front and begin playing camptown races and such. Things were all very… camp. Ugh. It was terrible. But I had to eat. Sometime. And the after-eating lunch break came the 'playtime'. Aka the only time a day I got to be alone, if only for a half hour.

Sighing I pushed my food around my plate. This was the monotony of my life…

"Hey Lovi."

I almost jumped out of my skin when suddenly a hand brushed my shoulder, and without invitation he set himself down beside me, guitar against his hip.

"… Hello?"

The exchange student almost inhaled her spork.

"You're looking a bit grim. Everything okay?"

"… Yeah?"

"Ohkay." He smiled and patted me on the shoulder. "If you got a problem you come see me, okay?"

"… Sure?"

Over my dead body.

Why did everyone I meet think there was something wrong with me?

He stood up and without so much as a glimpse at whatshername headed over to the front of the hall, and his official guitaring chair. A loose jawed look, she stared between he and I, and I went back to my food.

"How come," a voice interrupted me, and my lip twitched in agitation, "he pays attention to you?"

I looked up only to come face to face with a pouting young miss, her eyes far away and fixed on Antonio, chatting to some ten year old as he played. Soon he would make the call for a sing along, and everyone in the room would launch into a chorus of 'Jesus loves me this I know'. That was my cue to escape.

"I don't know?"

Oh I had to stop asking questions like that. It made me sound like an idiot.

She sighed and dropped her fork on the table. "He never pays any attention to me… it's like he doesn't care about girls."

"Well…" I didn't know what to say to that. "Maybe he's a fag."

"… Lovino!" she looked as though I had just called him Satan himself. "Don't be so… disgusting! As if a guy that dreamy could ever be that sick." She tapped the lip of her plate. "Maybe he's just not interested in anything. Maybe he's just too dedicated to Jesus."

I scoffed, earning an odd look. I was a boy. And being a boy, I knew that not even Jesus could beat down 'boy-cravings'.

"Chick, he's either queer or he's not into you."

I returned to eating my potatoes, then hesitated.

"He doesn't look like a queer."

Oh thank God today was over.

I collapsed into my bed at eight thirty seven pm, exhausted, and grunted in pain when the unyielding mattress met my face. Soon I would drop into sleep. It was a matter of time, would I or wouldn't I, fall asleep before I got under the blankets?

I sighed and dragged myself up, so as to pull of my t-shirt, and tossed it onto the floor with everything else.

The leader cabins were all together, in a row opposite the kids, and an outdoor corridor running between the two. The girl leaders were down the far end, and the boys (including me) were down the other, close to the communal toilets and furtherest from the kitchens. It was grim, out by the cabins when it was raining, because the grass muddied up and the windows facing the lake (a large rainwater runoff place, where the kids went mudsliding and kayaking on the sunny days) rattled something fierce. Antonio was roomed to my left, at the end, and to my right was some obnoxious blonde kid, who got on with the kids like a house on fire. It was actually pretty quiet, after nine pm, but sometimes I woke in the night to the mellow sound of music, seeping through the cracks in the walls opposite. Antonio's room.

A few light spits of rain lighted on my window, and I groaned. Soon, the windows would begin their nails on stone clicking and clacking. The smell of camp was beginning to irritate me once again.

I hadn't had a shower in three days by that point, and upon lifting my arms, to adjust the reading lamp over my bed, I caught a whiff of my armpit and my hair curled a little, at the bite. Maybe I should scrub that, before I went to sleep…

I found my towel on the floor and waded through clothes and shit to get to my door. I wasn't really thinking, so much as auto-going, heading out and ambling down the covered corridor toward the bathrooms. I was so away with it, thinking about I cant even remember, that I found myself walking straight into something, someone, tall and broad and nice smelling.

"Hello Lovino."

"Huh?" I stumbled backward, eyes wide, and stared at him in surprise. "Where did you come from?"

"In there." He pointed to his cabin and raked his fingers through his hair. "It's lights out now."

"… oh."

"You going for a shower?"

I nodded, pressing my lips together and preparing the fierce barrage of swears I was going to loose if he said no shower, go to bed. I thought he would, for one horrific moment, but then he sighed.

"Alright. Be quick. Lights out and five am start."

I pulled a discreet face, thinking how I know for a fact he slept til eight, but nodded.


"I'm going down the cabins. Don't wake them up when you go by." He slipped past me and placed his hand lightly on the first door of the kid's cabins, from which the sound of jumping and laughter was echoing. "And don't forget the-"

"Taps, yeah yeah whatever."

I pushed past him and headed to the bathroom. At least there was no chance of being walked in on by stupid brats.

The wet slap of my feet on the concrete as I padded out was comforting. Homely. But the brisk breeze that thundered through the cabins whistled and cat-called, in a most uncomfortable manner. The rain had picked up. I shivered, and ruffled my hair with my towel. All the lights were out.

Except for one.

I rolled my eyes, noting that Antonio's window was lit, the rosary beads he had hung on his door obnoxious, and pretentiously goody good.

People like Antonio really pissed me off.

Perfect guys, who got attention. Ones with talent, and confidence. He was not only a great guitarist, he was a fabulous footballer, a magical conversationalist. I ha never met anyone quite so good at talking. He seemed to just win everyone over. With a look, a word, a toss of his hair. Why was he so good looking? Like the light of God, and the blessings of Christ had rained down upon him. Like he was flawless. Sinless…

I couldn't imagine a more suitable camp leader.

I glared at the window as I passed, making the neat space out flawlessly. His bunk, his guitar against the wardrobe, and him, sitting on the floor, his laptop (the bastard had his laptop!) on his lap. He had a can of something beside him, some kind of drink, and call me crazy but he looked a little rag-a-muffin in his down time, his hair rumpled, his upper half bare, and his boxer shorts crinkled.

Hot damn he was sexy! Unf!

I hesitated, stepping back to have another longer glance through the glass. He hadn't drawn the curtains, which was odd, but it didn't matter. I wasn't complaining. From this point of view he could just be any old boy.

He took his can of drink and sipped it, clicking into whatever site he was browsing and I whined, wishing I could have a can of soda.

And then I realised it was cold, and hurried to my own room, cement slab mattress, and sleep.

Chewing my breakfast roll moodily, I stalked back to my cabin, though it had only just gone six and no man should be waking, this hour. The torrential rain of the night before had yielded to a light drizzle, the sort that sinks right in and no matter what the amount that lighted in your hair and on your clothes you were always soaked, and the sun was only just beginning to rise. The hubbub of kids in the dining room, their morning run having been cancelled for the weather, was heavily embroidered by the sound of water hissing down leaf clogged drain pipes. But the grass looked greener, I supposed, having had a little water.

I clomped into my cabin and sat down on the edge of my bed, pulling my program out of my pocket.

First up my group was scheduled to have paper mache bowl making in the prayer garden (everything was about the bowls! Forget Jesus camp or whatever. It should have been called bowl making 101.) Then clay bird shooting. I doubted that either were still on the agenda, given the weather. So… what? What was I supposed to do in that instance? I hissed, and checked my cellphone. No bars, half battery… well that told me nothing.

Antonio, I decided, would know. A part of me, bound to be disappointed, hoped he would just give me a day off. But he wouldn't. Because he was a bastard.

I mooched grumpily to the door with the rosaries and without a care for the fact he might be sleeping, rapped harshly on the wood. No reply, I kicked it, and it rattled in its frame. Inside the cabin, there came a heavy thump, and the sound of sleeping bagged feet sliding over camproom floors.

"Huh?" a ruffled head popped around the door, and I glared up at him, looking dozy at six am and slightly shiny, because he hadn't washed his face yet. "Oh, Lovino. Morning."

"Good morning." I pressed my lips together and rolled my weight onto my other hip. My jeans were a little too small, and the cuffs crisp with mud. "Do you… usually sleep late?"

He nodded, covering his yawn with a hand, and I felt my expression darken considerably, having forgotten my original purpose in coming, having been faced with his assholishness.

"… how is that fair? Me and the other leaders have to get up at five thirty!"

He stared at me blankly, and I resisted the urge to back hand him. Twat.

"Lovi, I'm the boss."

"I don't care! Where I come from, I'M the boss."

"Well we aren't there right now, are we?" he smiled, as if he genuinely didn't mean to be dicky about it, and tipped his head to the side. "Now what was it you were actually here for hm?"

"Who cares! How come you are such a bastard."

"Mind your language, Lov. Hey, is it… raining?" and if noticing it for the first time he opened his door a little wider, and peered outside. "Oh wow, it is too. Hard right?"

Sucking my teeth, I nodded, a little fired up about this turn of events. "I'm surprised it didn't wake you, lazy bast-"

"Where are the other leaders?"

"Planning their day sessions."

"Why aren't you?"

"My session is outside. I came to ask what I'm meant to do."

"… oh." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "whelp, I suppose you could… hm."

I folded my arms, and looked at him with an expectant scowl.

"Well, I guess I will assist you today then. Wait here. I will just get dressed."

The kids seemed delighted to have Antonio along. Not me though. I was actually quite pissed about it. And on the trek from the mess hall to the unoccupied 'gym' (really a big room with some foam cubes and a hula hoop) by the choppy lake, I reflected on what that exchange student girl had said. Antonio really did seem rather more concerned about me, than any of the other leaders. I wasn't sure exactly if I was glad of this or not. Right now, not. But at least he paid attention to me. Ish.

He had his guitar on his back, covered by his jacket, and it made a strange shape as we slodged through mud in the drizzle, to the front of the gym and inside. Once in, we pulled off our coats and shoes, and Antonio hitched his guitar around.

"Is everyone here?" he glanced over the group, and the kids nodded eagerly. "Lovino could you call role?"

I dug my hand into my pocket, grumbling, and pulled out the list of kids in my posse.

They were all there.

As far as interesting activities went, he seemed to be under the impression musical chairs would suffice. We acquired chairs from the big cupboard at the back, and set them out accordingly, and after being wound up by Antonio, the kids demanded that I too join in the activities. I did try pretty hard to loose, but to no avail.

The songs Antonio played were stupid. Worse than his usual dinnertime 'ambience', they were some kind of kiddy trash, with titles like 'hands hands fingers toes we can lift to praise' and 'I don't want to be a sheep baa baa baa baa.' The kids (being church kids I supposed,) seemed to know the lyrics, but me? I was left trying to figure out if Antonio was for real, or if he was just making this bullshit up as he went along. While I was wondering, I found myself finally getting out on musical chairs, and Antonio waved me over, to sit by him atop a haphazardly stacked pile of foam cubes.

"You're good at this," he whispered, changing his fingering on the frets. "You know any songs? Not devil music." A bright wink, and I stuck my tongue out. He had lovely eyes; I hadn't seen them so close before. They were so richly green, and the shape was unusual. Petal like. His lashes were stubby, but dark. Like someone had dragged cocoa dust around them. He had a dark, tiny freckle below his eyebrow.

"No. do I look the sort who knows Jesus music?"

He chuckled, and nodded to the kids to signal it was okay to start moving again. "Well, you could always learn."

And he lunged into some other, delightful song. I narrowed my eyes.

Why was he so pretentiously perfect?

By lunch, I had the song stuck in my head.

Every morning I arise,
around the world it's a brand new day.
I wipe the sleep out of my eyes
I say a prayer and I'm on my wayyyyy…

Ugh that was going to fuck me off for a while to come.

Grumbling, I took my shitty camp lasagne like a man and made way for my usual table. I was caught by the wrist however, and a loud, bubbly voice implored I join them, and sit with the kids to do whatever it was kids and their councillors did, at lunchtimes.

"So I've organised new activities for the afternoon," he told me, setting his tray down and sitting between two children I didn't know the name of, though I should have because they were in my group. "They aren't that good, but better than wallowing out in the mud. We can make pizza for tonight, eh? Do you like pizza?"

I grumbled, and shrugged, sitting beside him and reaching for my fork.

"I guess."

So long as it was better than this lasagne, I didn't care.

"Neat! And that means you guys can be exempt from washing dishes yes?" he forked a large helping of lasagne into his mouth and chewed. He even managed to do that brightly. "This evening is movie night. You can have an evening off, because I reckon you would like that eh Lovi?"

I was mildly surprised he had been that perceptive. I had previously been working under the impression that he was a total oblivious idiot. Maybe he just acted that way…

And then he reached across me, and nicked the thick, cheesy top crust of my lasagne like a cheeky bastard, and I realised that he actually was that ignorant and had simply made a lucky guess.

"Oi!" I nearly stabbed his hand with my fork. "That's the only good part you bastard!"

He crinkled his nose and shrugged. "There's leftovers. Go ask for some more later." Another well meaning smile. I began to suspect that among bastardness, laziness, and a total away with the fairyness, he also had such a terrific case of lack of sense of humour that he laughed at everything. Which was actually mildly worse than not laughing at all.

He smelled like he might have needed a shower. But I didn't really hate it. It was kind of nice. It was a welcome change to camp stink.


Oh it was her again. Wow, people were treating me like a fucking train station today.

"Um, hello."

"And Antonio, hi to you too!"

"Hello chica. How are you going with your kiddies?"

"Actually, really good."

He nodded and went back to his food. And she just stood there, blushing prettily, looking rather astonished by his reaction. And I found myself hating him a little bit more.

Why was it that no pretty Belgian girls wanted to hit on me? If they did, no way would I ever be so utterly clueless about it. Fuck, if I were him, I would have banged her against the wall.

Oh wait, no I wouldn't have, because then I would have been a straight laced Christian idiot with probably no sex drive and no sin and no brain. I would have been annoyingly perfect, and carried a stupid guitar around all the time. I wondered (not for the first time, I have to admit,) what it would be like to be like him. A virgin by choice, believing that hormones are sinful…

But then I realised that not everything is about sex, and I didn't give a fuck about Antonio's dick and its non-affairs. Frankly, people who thought they were above sex (the great equalizer) made me sick.

I sighed, and gave her a weak smile.

"Did you want to sit with us?"

"Oh, but there's no room."

"There's always room for pretty girls."

She inhaled sharply, and stepped back.

"No, its fine. I'll just go."

And that was what happened, every time, when I tried to flirt.

Why. Do I even. Have. A cock?

"Hey, Tomatito, come here and help with… oh hey! What happened?"

I scowled, wiping the smear of flour off my cheek and trying to concentrate on kneading the pizza dough, between a large roaring group of excitable kids with tomato paste and cheese.

"Don't call me… what?"

"Little tomato. It suits you. Your cheeks go all red sometimes… they are doing it right now." He laughed and reached past me to seize a knob of dough. I considered snapping, and telling him that it was because he was pissing me off, but didn't in the end, grabbing a handful of flour and throwing it onto the counter. He flattened a disc of dough, and placed it on a tray on a table, for the kids to decorate enthusiastically and sloppily, as they did.

"Anyways, would you like to help me with rolling this dough? I'm not so good." To prove his point, he tried to peel a flat of dough off his rolling pin, and tore it. I sighed.

"Let me show you how."

I wasn't the greatest cook, but I had picked up a few pizza making skills from watching my brother. He was great at it.

"Ohh… a real Italian kid teaching me how to make pizza! Later I can teach you how to make soup."

I frowned at him, and he just kept smiling, as though he had offered to give me a great treat.

"I know how to make soup…"

"Spanish soup?"

"… I'm not racist about soup you know."

"Haha, what? Oh Lovi you are cute. You have flour on your-"

"I know!" I whacked his hand away when he tried to wipe flour off my eyebrow, and probably flushed even harder. "Leave me be please."

He clicked his tongue, stupid grin not slipping, and went back to making his pizza. I heard him humming 'Jesus loves me this I know' under his breath.


Finally, the day was over.

Movie night was, for all intensive purposes even without his permissions, an evening off for me, and though most of the other councillors were happy to spend the time actually watching the movie, I was a skiver. It was what I did. If that wasn't a part of the fabric of my existence, I wouldn't even be here. So of course I made my way at eight o'clock to my cabin, and freedom. I didn't have internet access, but my laptop had been at the bottom of my suitcase since I had arrived here, waiting for me to address the few audio books and porn I had acquired pre-emptively. I was dying for a wank. I hadn't had an opportunity for almost two weeks. God, just thinking about it made my cock feel hot, and sensitive.

Much to my surprise, the light to Antonio's cabin was on. But his curtains were drawn this time. I scowled, and tried to be silent, slipping into my own room and flicking on the light.

My switch didn't work.

How utterly typical.

I stood there for about two minutes, flicking the switch on and off with not even a faint flicker. The rain (which had not let up or down since the morning) was a bit eerie. Especially in the dark. I shivered, and resigned to sinking this low (camp had broken my spirit, I realised it then) I decided I had better ask Antonio. Him being the boss and all.

Pulling at the hem of my t-shirt I edged outside and around to his door. It wasn't locked of course, so I just pushed it down and walked straight in.

"Hey, Antonio, my room light is broken."

"Hm?" he looked up from what he was doing, reading a magazine and eating a musli bar apparently, and tipped his head in question. "You what?"

"My light. In my room. Its blown or something. It won't turn on."

"Oh." He nodded, and went back to reading his magazine.

Oh my god. How stupid could you get?

I stood there for another minute or two, watching him incredulously, and waiting for him to register what it was exactly I expected of him. He had finished his muesli bar, before he looked up again, and when he did so the only thing he had to say for himself was a rather slow witted 'what?'

I very much wanted to punch him.

"Well aren't you going to help fix my light? You're in charge here, aren't you?"

"… no. not really."

I must say I was surprised.

"What? Then who is?"

"Technically, my dad. Surely you can sort it out yourself? I'm relaxing."

Oh my god. What a lazy, self-important, cock sucking bastard!

"You lazy mother fucker!" I told him, and his eyebrows lifted so high it was fortunate they didn't disappear into his hair line. "You asshole! How come you get to laze around like a fuck and I have to bloody well deal with shit. I don't even want to be here you know! Just in case you were too dumb to have figured that out already."

"You wha?"

"I hate it here. It sucks donkey balls, and you, you stupid twit, aren't helping!"

He seemed confused. "Wait, Lovino. I don't understand. Why would you sign up, if you didn't want to be here?"

Oh I could have exploded.

"I didn't. My grandfather did! Wow you really are stupid."

"Hey no need to be hurtful!"

"No need to be an idiot."

The two of us had a stare off, for the smallest of moments, but he looked away, dragging himself off the bed and sitting around, on the edge. He patted the spot next to him, in an invitation to join, but I folded my arms, refusing.

"If it makes you feel any better Lovino, I don't really care to be here either."

That was laughable. I curled my lip and leant against the doorpost. Antonio was obviously one of the kids who grew up in these camps, who had a billion treasured memories here. Who would end up one of those knobbly kneed ascot wearing pervert camp leaders, one day, if he didn't get a girlfriend or some shit. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate his lies, to make me feel better. It was just… I hated his guts. And wished him violently dead.

… Maybe not dead. But one gets the point.


"No, seriously, I don't. My parents went away for the summer, and left me in charge of the camp. I hate this place. It leaks, and it smells weird." To illustrate his point, he gestured to a pot in the corner I had missed before, catching drips of water that were seeping through a crack in his ceiling. The rain was beginning to growl at us now, and I predicted thunder and lightning, later tonight. "But I got over it. I'm sorry though, I don't know what to do about your light. You are welcome to sleep in here though, if you like." His smile was an attempt to salvage my grim mood, and irritatingly it worked. He had a weird smile. It had qualities a normal smile lacked. Like sugar in tea, it was invisible, but oddly present. Influencing the atmosphere secretly, in his favour. I grumbled.

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"Well tonight, here. But tomorrow when its light I will move into the dark room." He looked around thoughtfully, and pointed to the wardrobe the other side of his cabin. "There's a mattress in there. Get it out, and I will take the floor."

"Tucked in and comfy Lov?"

"Whatever bastard."

Which was my way of saying yes, because Antonio's mattress was big and comfy and almost as good as a normal mattress. Hence it was like spine heaven to me, on that particular day.

"Awesome. I'm going to do the evening rounds and put everyone to bed. I will be back later."

I grunted, and rolled over, onto my side, him flicking off the light and plunging me into darkness. The sleeping bag on this bed smelled like him.

It was almost eleven o'clock, and the kids had all been sent to bed about an hour ago, after their evening prayers. Someone else must have seen to sending my kids to sleep, because no-one had called for me. I assumed it had been the exchange girl, and made a mental note to thank her. All was silent, over the sound of the rain, and when the door closed behind Antonio, the volume dropped still, muffled by flimsy camp walls and broken periodically by the tink of water into the catching pot. It was warm here, too.

I still hadn't masturbated.

Groaning, a little tight across the shoulders because at home I managed to fit a session in every two days, I curled into a ball and told myself as strictly as I could, no. no I couldn't now, thanks to the bastard. I couldn't, and I wouldn't. I would just have to get to sleep as was.

I was stirred from the shallow gutter of rest when Antonio returned, trying as hard as possible to be quiet but unable to disguise the increase in rain volume, when he cracked open the door.

"Lovi?" he whispered, his jacket rustling when he peeled it off. "Are you still awake?"

No reply. I wasn't sure how long he had been gone, but I was positive it was long enough to not leave him suspicious, should I fake sleeping. He sighed heavily, and I had to focus really hard, to hear him move from the door, to my bedside. My whole body stiffened in surprise when his hand brushed my hair.

"Oh you cute thing you."

He moved his hand away, and with my eyes wide open, staring into the darkness away from him, I remained.

I was not cute!

He hummed softly under his breath as he undressed behind me, in the dark, a fractured song I recognised as not being a childish Jesus song, and rustled sleeping bags as he made a nest for himself on the slim slab of floor where he should sleep. I thought, by this point, that excusing the odd moment of touching previously, I was alright to close my eyes and return to rest. I was hugely shocked when rather than hearing him lie down, I felt a shift of weight beside me, and the corner of my unzipped sleeping bag was lifted, to accommodate a warm, bare leg beside mine.

"What the fuck!" I sat up, horrified, and shoved him as hard as I could. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, Lovino, you are awake." I could hear his grin. "I thought you were out to nod. Mind budging over a bit?"

"Um, yes!" I tried to hit him again, but in the dark, to my shock, he managed to catch my wrist, and pull it down into his lap where it was harmless. "Hey!" I protested. "Let me go!"

"It's warmer if we sleep together Lovino." He told me, lying down and I assume setting his head on my pillow. I couldn't see anything, beyond the pale seam of light underneath the curtains, pulled over his window. The rain pounded on. "Relax. What are you afraid of?"

It was an oddly suspicious question. What was I afraid of? I couldn't quite set my finger on it. There wasn't really anything to fear, so much as the principle of sleeping so close to someone I felt an inherent dislike for. It wasn't particularly instinctual behaviour. I mean, I knew he wasn't going to stab me while I slept, but usually, a person only rested when they were all alone or cuddled with someone they felt affection for. It was a trust thing. A comfort one. At home, I could barely stick sleeping with my own brother in the room.

Grumbling, I relented, and lowered myself down into the bed. The only immediately disturbing thing I became aware of was that Antonio and I both slept on out right sides, facing the wall. This left me effectively sandwiched there, between a face at my back and a cold, white panelled stretch that sunk forever into blackness, but then materialised again, as soon as I pressed my hand forward and touched it. Antonio had warm breath, and it was very calm and easy, at the nape of my neck.

Wait, that was a bit close wasn't it?

But then I remembered this was a single bed.

I came to an uneasy sleep.

The night seemed to drag on forever.

I woke at least twice, to harrowing rain, and the second time I was roused I was superbly grateful, that the idea of sleeping together had occurred to Antonio. It was utterly frozen, and so as sneakily as I could I wriggled closer, tucking my frozen toes against his feet and nuzzling my head down, beneath his chin. His deep breathing assured me he was sleeping, thank god, but despite this… he still found a way to make it awkward. That is to say, his one arm found a place around my waist, and he drew me yet closer.


"… What?" my eyes flew open, and my body immediately grew taught, from the spoon of relaxation and into a board like state of embarrassment. "You're awake?"

"Of course I'm awake. How could I sleep?" he muttered it against my ear, and nudged his lips against my hairline. My spine tingled, and I wormed around, anxious. What was he… what was he doing? "How could anyone sleep, with you right there beside them?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" my voice came out in a low hiss. "Let go of me! You are too close!"

"No such thing as too close, Lovi." And to prove his point, he embraced me even nearer, and twisted a foot through my ankles. "Besides, you cant tell me you haven't been touch starved this whole time. You're so warm…"

He touched my stomach through my t-shirt, and I noticed for the first time that he was shirtless.



"Are you… coming onto me?"

"… Yes."

"Well don't, I'm not interes- DON'T TOUCH THAT!" I managed an average speaking voice that time, horrified that he had actually… put his hand down the front of my boxers. "What the fuck!"

"Don't pretend you don't want it Lovino. I've seen the way you look at me…"

"Look at you? I don't look at you! How do I look at you?"

"I dunno." he shrugged. "Like… you want it?"

"It? What is it? Don't you dare say your cock!"

He fell very seriously silent, and I whined, stressing his hold again in attempt to break free.

"You were going to say your cock weren't you?"


"… oh god Antonio."

I wasn't sure how to take this. This was so. Fucking. typical. Of all the people in the world, every, single person, he would be the one who fancied me.

"Why you. Why couldn't it have been the Belgian chick?"

"… What Belgian chick?"

Sometimes, I wanted to pound my head against brick walls. Just because I think it would hurt less than being a total misfortunate excuse for a human being.

"The one who… the hot… the… never mind." I gave up. It wasn't worth it. It just was not worth it. But that wasn't an excuse for him to do that again! Which he obviously thought it was. I didn't have much option to escape though, being that his body walled me in, and so I just sort of had to grit my teeth and curl my fingers in my sleeping bag, and pretend I didn't feel it. I focused on the rain, and I hoped that maybe I wouldn't get it up, I wouldn't get it up…

No way. I hadn't wanked for ages. It got up almost as soon as I felt his fingers press shyly into the base, and prod around. He had nice fingers. Calloused from his guitar, and warm. It really was cold, beyond the cocoon of our sleeping bag blankets…

"Lovi, do you want me?"


"Can I touch you?"

"… You already are bastard?"

"No, I mean… actually touch you." he brushed his lips against my neck and a shiver of lounging tingled through me. I'd never been touched by someone else before. It wasn't easy, when girls were afraid of what I said and what I could do. "No-one needs to know…"

"Aren't you supposed to be Christian!" I was really strung up by now. He knew he had won.

"Tsk tsk Lovino… you are just going to make this easy for me. Not that I mind."

A hand pulled my chin back, lips found mine in the darkness, and Antonio the happy, green eyed handsome faced Christian camp leader kissed me, with all the tenderness of a man who was kissing his life's great love. The hand down the front of my pants slipped out, and I spread my legs a little, but I was only to be disappointed.

"Relax, I'm not going to stop. Just… are you calm?"


As calm as the circumstances would allow.

"Great. Now close your eyes and relax."

I took a deep breath, and let myself sink into the sensation.

Oh it was good.

He let me fall backward, and slid his palm across my chest, small kisses pecking my cheeks and nose and brow.

Well, I never would have dreamed I would loose my virginity at el rancho Christian camp. If it had been up to me, a place slightly more illustrious would have been the order, but no. Never to be. At least now, I was finally loosing it. If anyone asked, I would tell them it was different. This wasn't about love after all. It was just about sex. Fuck yes! Sex! I was going to have it!

Or close enough.

In the dark, and serenaded by the rain, I found myself even further drawn into the enchantment of our closeness. The intimacy of his breath, and his kisses, and his fingers walking down my stomach and leg, to caress my thigh and edge the hem of my boxer shorts up. I carded my fingers up the side of his face and threaded it through his soft, curling hair. With a gentle chuckle, he moved on top of me, his nose running along my jaw, my neck, and to my collarbone. Soft bites made me wince. I shook my head.

"Don't that hurts!"

"Not into pain?" he asked me, and I shook my head. Which was ironic, because usually I enjoyed inflicting pain on as many people as I could.

"Fine, fine." He kissed my ear, a peculiarly sensitive spot, and carried on, rubbing up and down my leg, and pressing his pelvis against my own gently. "Tell me if you like it."

"Yeah, w-whatever."

"So cute…"

With his weight on top of mine, I sunk right into the mattress. I could feel the wooden slats through the layers of packed hay or wool or whatever it was in these things, and though it was uncomfortable, it was nice, to feel his chest, and his arms, and his legs tangled with mine. I kissed him, he kissed me, and I hadn't realised until that point how much I was missing human contact. His tongue was weird, but soft, warm, and explorative. His hands caressing my thighs moved up, over the elastic, and tugged it down achingly slowly. He was talented. Really talented. It never occurred to me, to ask how many people he had done this too. For a Christian boy he sure did know how to palm a dick.

His lips skated down my body, head ducking below the crinkling sleeping bag blankets, and I tilted my hips up to meet him as he tugged my knickers down, and snail-trailed his tongue over the small hill of my hipbone beneath my skin. He said something, but I didn't catch it, too worried about the feeling of the sleeping bags dragging over the head of my erection pressed against my stomach. His hand petted soft testicles, rolling them between thumb and forefinger, and I fixed my eyes into the darkness above me, consciousness swimming. From here, Antonio could have been anything, or anyone. I let my mind wander and tried to think of a face. It could be a supermodel, a singer, an actress. Any person in the world, it could have been, and yet despite it all… the only one I could imagine was him. His hands. His lush green eyes. His lips.

Oh gods yes his lips!

His lips glided the length of my shaft beneath the covers, and the tip of his tongue curled around the top, sucking it in. Hot and wet, the gentle flicking was tangible all the way from between my legs to the tips of my fingers and toes and the crown of my head. Heavy attention paid to my head, his hands teasing the base with gentle teasing strokes, I felt myself quiver with delight, the fluid lapping of his tongue striking sweet pleasure into me so good.

"Fuck! Antonio!"

"Mind your language," he told me. "you're in a church camp you know…"

I spluttered. "Hey! Fuck you, you're sucking my DICK! Shit!"

"You like that?" he asked me, rubbing his thumb over the place that inspired waves of bliss through my legs and up my spine, and I nodded.

"Yes I like that! Don't stop."

"I won't." His smile shone vividly in my mind, and as he crawled his way back up, I reached for his mouth, coiling my arms around his neck and sealing my lips on his hungrily. "I like feeling you quiver like that. Its good right? Tell me it's good."

"It's good! It's good, it's great!" I pressed against him harder, and lifted a leg around his hips. "Are you hard too?"

"Mm." to prove he was, he moved the hand not pleasuring me to himself, and tugged it out of the cotton prison he kept it in. "Suck it for me?"

"Fuck no."

"Fine fine."

He pulled it into the same fist as my own and rubbed them together, dick sliding against dick, leg spreading legs, and his kisses devouring me and my lips completely. A gentle groan slipped from me, and he hummed, kissing my hair, and tugging one particular one into his mouth, curling it around his tongue. I shivered, loosing a long moan, nearly releasing but sinking away once more.

"Don't suck that!"

"You weren't saying that before."

Antonio's sex voice was low and melodious, like his singing voice, except huskier. Pulling the curl tight from between his lips, he flicked it with a spare finger, and my body shuddered against the feeling. Sexy. I must say he was damn sexy. In an authoritive, aggressive sort of way.

"Suck my finger." He released my curl and stroked the finger down my cheek, to my lips. I pulled it into my mouth and persisted with rolling my hips against his hand and cock. It was delectably tidic, like the ocean kissing on the shore, his beautiful bronze skin smelling like sweat, and hormones. Things were getting hot and sweaty on our shitty camp mattress, and the atmosphere was getting beyond intimate. My mind was beginning to process strange things. Things like Antonio being attractive, fantasies involving him creeping through my bedroom window at night. Of movies, and love songs, and shy kisses in the supermarket when no-one was looking…

But no, that was stupid, and not what I was here for.

"Roll over." I growled, spitting out his finger (which I have to admit was sexy in between my lips). "Spread your legs. I'm ready."

"Ready for…?"

"To put my dick in your ass, bastard."

He hesitated, stopping the masturbation motions he was making and sniffing.


"You. I'm going to fuck you now."

"…" he seemed surprised by this, his hand loosening, and his hair tickling my cheek when he tipped his head in reflection. "Lov, I think you have made a mistake."

"No mistake. Roll over."

"Uh ah."

Before I could argue he kissed me, and the finger I had been sucking before was pressed against my ass, quite intrusively. I squealed, but it was too late.

"This is going to hurt, I'm sorry."

Every moment of pleasure I had felt until then became irrelevant, when his finger pressed right inside, as if tearing me in painful two.

"Antonio!" my eyes stinging with suppressed tears, I tried to push him off, but to no avail. He was quiet insistent, jamming in and out and I swore, quite loudly, when through the haze of agony a bolt of white hot delight speared through me. He laughed.

"Wow, that was fast." He wiggled his fingers in that familiar way, rubbing a gentle figure eight over the place that had inspired that feeling, and I arched angrily into it.

"F-fuck you!" I told him, struggling to grind myself onto his single fingertip. "Fuck you, that feels good!"

"Mhmm." He moved a little, so I had more freedom to ride his touch, and stroked his tongue along the jut of my jaw. "It is good, isn't it? Look at you fuck yourself on my hand."


"Don't act like you don't love it."

"I love it! I never said I didn't! Oh shit!" a particularly forcible shudder had my fingers and toes curling into him, my back arched right off the mattress. "Shit Antonio I'm gunna cum."


"Fuck up, I haven't… oh… oh… oh!"

And I would have come to completion then, if he hadn't purposefully jabbed his finger in the wrong way and withdrew it, his contented sigh inspiring such a furious hatred in me I could have ripped out his throat.

"Not without me you don't."

God I hated him!

He chuckled and pressed my legs open a little wider, the cool air prickling my hot skin. The blanket slipped sideways, but neither of us cared. With little grace he moved his hand in front of his face and spat on it, stroking the moisture along the length of his dick and flipping us over, me falling on top of him, my face in his chest.


He sealed his mouth on mine, and I paused my argument, sliding over him and straddling his hips comfortably save for his wetted erection jabbing my ass. My fingers loved his hair, combing it, pulling it, and I kissed his temples, jaw, and hairline. One hand dragged luxuriously up my back, the other rubbing my ass and pressing the head of his cock against the loosely fingered spot he probably wanted to fuck. I should have cared… but I really didn't. It felt too good. Panting heavily I kissed his ears and tried to whisper that I wanted it, but it probably came out in more of a… messy jumble of broken syllables punctuated with gasps of uncharacteristic lust.

"Fuck me, Antonio… fuck me."

"Only if you promise to suck me off tomorrow night."

"Okay, I promise, I promise."

I would have promised anything, at that point.

I was pushed gently up, into a luxurious seated position, and my hips were guided backwards so that he could slip himself against the place he would enter. At first, the sensation was electrifying, but after a moment of pressing, and a meek ache echoing from between my legs, I began to double think. The pain from his finger was still very much vivid in my mind. I didn't have any time to say stop though. He had yanked me down onto him in one swift movement and holy crap it was like he was trying to cram the fucking tower of Pisa up my ass. It was so big, hard, and hot. His hips, lifted off the mattress, dropped again and almost as soon as it had been shoved in me, it was gone. My lips parted in shock, I dug my nails into him and struggled to sit up properly with my legs either side of his thighs. I lent back, into the position, and he yanked me roughly down onto his cock again. My hands found his knees for security, and an aching groan pulled from my lungs, his body withdrawing from mine again with hesitant ease.


"… A bit."

And yet paradoxically for all the pain it was wonderful. Impossible, surreal, but wonderful. He sat up himself, propped by his elbows, and kissed my clothed chest affectionately, picking his way to my collar and upon arriving dragging his tongue across it. A strong shiver wracked me, I pulled his face to mine to cover his lips and kiss, needing him, and loving him, violently.

With my lips sucking his, we fucked, from there, to me on my back, gradually graduating to my body sandwiched against a wall while the onslaught of aggressive fuckage carried on. My hair stuck to my face, and I had reached the point where I didn't care if I woke the kids or who heard me. I was a cock-whore. His cock-whore. Oh God every moment of hell I had spent here was worth it, was worth this, and I would do it again and again if it meant that I could be hammered brutally like this, by the beautiful, naively perky guitarist, in charge at El Rancho Christian camp for 8-12 year olds.

I, who had always held born again Christians in low regard, never would have suspected this from a man with a crucifix around his neck.

"Harder!" I demanded of him, gouging my nails in shallow grooves up his back. "Fuck me harder!"

"Ask nicely, Lov." His voice too, was strained. "Or I might not feel like it."

"Please! Please fuck me harder!"

I don't know how he could have. Already every thrust he made sent me jolting five inches up the wall my back was arched against, the bed beneath complaining angrily over the rain outside. Already I was doubting if I would be ever able to walk (or shit) properly again. (And that is not meant to be vulgar. It was a genuine concern.)

Things were getting good. So good. Antonio didn't care if I was aggressive, in face he seemed to relish it, taking my fingers bruising him and my legs so tightly wrapped around his taught thighs it could have snapped bones. He moved with swift efficiency, like he had been ass-fucking men for all his life, and didn't relent when locating my trigger, and sending me into a spiralling, screaming release. A wave of heat overtook me, my body curling backward so dramatically I felt back muscles clenching, and them I turned to total custard when muscle contractions shook me, and bliss pounded with the adrenaline in my bloodstream. He didn't let up, and it just kept going and going until I wondered if it would ever end, or if the throes of this orgasm was my fate, and I would never wake up from it.

I decided there were worse ways to die.

Finally spent, struggling to breathe, I became aware of my surroundings again, and my body draped over him while he held me up, and banged at the same time. With shaky, chewing gum arms, I pushed myself back up the wall to make it easier, but the holding was difficult, especially when being penetrated so forcibly it shook the entire foundation of ones corporeal existence. I used his body to weight me there, cradling his head against my chest and uncoiling my legs, so as to lift my own hips for access. We slipped down a bit, and with a panicked gasp of short breath he missed a stroke, but caught it again in the last moment. With my eyes watering, still shaking, and admittedly a little uncomfortable with the feeling of still being driven in and out of, I petted his hair, closing my eyes and trying to catch my breath. His was short, shallow, and desperate. I hoped he would finish soon. He did so silently, but powerfully, not stopping his thrusts but clawing at my waist and quaking terrifically. A desperate gasp for air found him pulling me to kiss, without warning, and wide eyed I kissed him through his climax with shock at the lack of composure I could feel in his lips. His tongue, powerful and ravishing and desperate, his mouth starved to devour all. It wasn't a kiss, as much as a frantic war of tongues and teeth, and when it was over, when I felt him slowing down his motions, I pulled away, and to get rid of the spit he had left on my mouth I made a lip trail from jaw to throat, earning a deep, breathless moan of awe.

My back hurt. We were both quivering like my brothers fucking dildo, and I felt like I had just run a marathon, for all the muscles in me beginning to ache. I was still stuffed full of him, and when he pulled out I felt as though I had lost a significant part of myself, but I didn't comment on it because he would have taken that to mean I enjoyed having him inside of me. Which I most certainly did not.


Almost as soon as he caught his breath, he laughed. I should have guessed.

"Oh, hi Lovino."

"Don't sound so surprised to see me!" I told him, embarrassed for the weakness of my own voice and the obvious tremor in it. "It's as though you weren't even thinking about me when we did it!"

"Oh Lovino Vargas I was thinking about you, no fear. I've never thought so hard about anyone in my life." A kiss butterflied over my brow and I sighed, letting him drag me against his chest, and embrace me as though we were real lovers.

"Whatever bastard. Goodnight."

"Night Lov. May God watch you while you sleep."

I punched him in the stomach, and his wheezing laughter pulled a reluctant grin to my face.


When I woke up, all was silent. Dead silent. And bright. The rain had stopped falling, the curtains were drawn, and the kids… well, I didn't really care. Antonio was gone though, that took me a moment to realise, and as if electrocuted I leapt up, immediately regretting it for the pain in the small of my back, and hobbled through his mess of belongings (gossip magazines, discarded band tees and a guitar) to the door. My pants. Shit. I pulled a pair of trackpants from his bag and yanked them on, though they were a little too big and long at the feet.

I stepped out, flinching in the blinding sunlight and folding my arms across my chest. What was the time? Shit, I hoped it wasn't too late…

"Morning Lovino. Sleep okay?"

I jumped when a familiar voice greeted me from my cabin door, and spun around, almost colliding with the doorframe of his. "You!"

"Mhmm. I was just about to come in and wake you. Its one pm."

"… you let me sleep til one pm?"

He shrugged. "I said you were sick. But come in, come see this." He beckoned me excitedly into the cabin and with suspicion I edged forward, poking my head around the door.

"I figured out why your light wasn't working."

I must say, in the daylight it seemed rather obvious.

"There's no bulb in there."


"… Where did it go?"

"Yeah, that stumped me at first too. But then I had a hunt around." Grinning like he had consumed a carton of prozac, he stepped back and patted down his front and sides, having vetoed trousers for denim overalls and a t-shirt today. "And I found this."

The motherfucker pulled my lightbulb from his overall pocket.

Well fuck. I wasn't sure if killing a man in Christian camp counted as murder or martyrising, but I was going to find out.

I do not own hetalia, etc.