berseker: (nekomimi)
[personal profile] berseker
Title: The Flying Heart of Love 6/?
Rating: ... Pgish, sort of. Maybe not.
Characters: Luciano, Martín, Maria, Manuel and Miguel, the mysterious foreign siblings.
Pairings: Br/Arg, Pe/Chi, and many many others.
Warnings: This is an AU, so you'll have to ignore everything you know about family relations and things from what passes for canon at Latin Hetalia. I MEAN IT. BE WARNED.



Summary: So, Miguel and Manu had a fight, Luciano was drunk and Maria was hungry. Now Martín is undecided, Manu is depressed, Maria is still hungry, and Luciano is still very very drunk. And in the mood for sex.



Thanks to Zu for reading it over for me ♥









*~*~*

Episode 8

*~*~*



Martín wasn't expecting that kiss. Or the information or even the fact that Luciano was going to talk to him at all, but mostly the kiss, so he closed his eyes and kissed him back, because pulling away was so unthinkable that he didn't think of it. And all that about kissing a bunch of people to see if they were smokers had upset him – because it was dumb – and the kiss tasted of papaya and Luciano's mouth was warm and soft and Martín moaned, lightly, and then he held Luciano's shirt with both hands, closing his fists around the fabric and tried to tell his body to shove him away and maybe punch him for good measure, to make a point. His body, however, was too distracted by Luciano's fingers curling behind his neck, and his other hand still on his leg, and maybe he shouldn't do this here with everyone watching, but it was hard to remember why with that overwhelming heat taking over his brain.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it ended, and Luciano straightened his back and slid out of the chair and beamed at him:

“That was fun,” he said, “Now I want to dance. No, wait, they brought the lemon one!”

He took the glass from the counter, and drank it from the straw, because he was an idiot, and then he looked around and his face fell.

“I can't dance here.”

“Of course you can't,” Martín said, a little too breathlessly for his tastes. He cleared his throat, trying to remember how this speaking thing worked. “It's a restaurant. You eat.”

He licked his lips, still feeling the pressure, and the taste, and the warmth, and the-

“Then you'll take me somewhere else,” Luciano said, brightening up, “Because it's hard to find a cab here, I tried it before and it only worked after that guy talked to me, and I can't go find him or they'll be mad at me because I didn't eat. But tomorrow I'll eat at the hotel. Do you dance? It's fun, I can teach you.”

“No- no, here, wait a minute-”

Martín grabbed his shoulders, before he could start right there. Luciano looked up at him, still grinning, and then he closed his eyes and waited.

Well. Martin couldn't just leave him hanging, right? So he kissed him again. This time, when they finished, Luciano had his arms around his waist, and he rested his head on Martín's shoulder, sighing contentedly.

Martín patted his head. Then his shoulder.

“Luciano? Did you fall asleep?”

“Hm? No, of course not. Do you want to sleep with me?”

This time, the people around them, who were trying to pretend they weren't watching, started to laugh. At him. Martín could feel his face heating up,

“No, idiot, you said you wanted to dance.”

“But this is better.”

… Yes, they were laughing. And getting their cellphones to take pictures of him, which reminded him he should be the one taking pictures of something else, so he clearly had to do something to stop this disaster.

“Right. Let's go, then.”

“Go where?” Luciano raised his face, and looked around, “I don't want to leave yet, I didn't eat anything. And he said it would be free!”

“Well, you have money, so stop being so stingy, and yes, you want to leave, you just asked me. So here, let me help you-”

He put his arm around Luciano's waist, to support him.

“But I wanted to try the one with kiwis,” he whined, trying to go back at the bar.

“You didn't, you said you wanted to sleep.”

Luciano perked up immediately.

“Then it's alright. We can go back at the hotel, then that guy will forgive me for leaving, and then you can see me naked like you wanted to.”

God, Martín thought. But he kept his arm around his waist anyway, and dragged him to the door, doing his best to ignore the laughter from the audience.


*


Stupid Martín stupid stupid stupid-

“Hello,” Maria said, smiling brightly to hide her hate for Stupid Martín, “I, uh, uhm- are you from- erm- another country?”

… oh God. She was stupid too.

But then they smiled at her, and the young man said:

“We are! We're normal harmless tourists and were walking around this morning to see the city and take pictures and buy touristy things, and this crazy dude invited us to come here. It's really nice, isn't it?”

They wanted to talk to her! Maria lit up, feeling instantly more comfortable.

“It is, I love the... well, decoration, I didn't try the food yet, but I'm sure it's delicious. So, are you enjoying the city? Where did you come from?”

“I'm from New York,” he said, “And she's from Toronto. Are you from around here?”

His smile was so bright. Inhumanly brilliant, like a toothpaste commercial, like a supernova, like the sun from the window when she had just woken up and Catalina or someone else decided to be an ass and opened the curtains forcing her to walk around with her eyes closed so it wouldn't burn her retinas.

But in a nice, not hateful way.

Wait a minute.

“Really? I thought you two were twins!”

This time both of them laughed, but it wasn't a oh-my-god-can-you-believe-how-clueless-this-native-is sort of laughter, it was a nice, warm kind. Good. She smiled back.

But this was important. If they were actually a couple, then she would have to stop thinking about the brightness of his smile.

“But we are,” the girl said. Her accent was a little different from him. “It's a weird, complicated story.”

“Oh, I know all about that,” Maria said, strangely relieved, “I mean, not about your story, about... nation-related complications in general. Forget I said that. So- what are your names?”

“Ah, I'm glad you asked that,” the man said, blinding her with another smile of a billion megawatts, “I was going to ask yours, because everyone's name here is so interesting, we're sort of collecting them. Like pokémons. I'm Alfred, and she's Madeleine.”

“Maddie,” she said, “We're not really collecting names, he's just crazy. Don't listen to anything he says.”

Maria laughed.

“I have an older brother too, I know how it is.”

Not that Martín knew what a pokémon was. He wasn't that cool.

“Hey, older brothers are awesome,” Alfred said, “Wise and-”

“Shut up, you're older by minutes!”

… how the hell had they come to be at separate countries, then? Maria decided to think about it later. At night. After the time she would save to think about his smile.

“So... how long have you been here?”

They looked at each other.

Then, after a weirdly long pause, Alfred said:

“We, uh, just arrived. This week. Like I said, we're just... seeing the city, you know, walking around, being our normal inconspicuous selves. Staying out of trouble, and not doing anything suspicious, ha ha.”

“Ha ha,” said Maddie, elbowing him on the ribs. “We took a lot of pictures. We like pictures. There's absolutely nothing weird about us, at all.”

“Uh, sure,” Maria said. “I didn't think you were weird.”

She was, now, but hey. She was used to a little eccentricity.

Oh well.

“So... if you need a guide... I know everything around here, I could show you some places.”

Sort of. But she knew how to use maps. And figuring out the city would be easier for her than for them, and if they got lost, she could always claim she had meant to show them new things. So there.

“That's so nice of you,” the girl said. “We were hoping you'd say that! I mean, that someone would. A friend. I mean, they had some stuff at our hotel, like... guides, and people they offered to hire, but we weren't sure.”

“It was probably safe,” Maria said, earnestly, “It usually is, at hotels, because they’d lose clients if they got you killed, so they only hire people they know. The dangerous thing would be to follow any random stranger who offers, like- uh, well, like I just did, but I'm cool, so you're safe.”

Ok that was awkward. She did her best to look honest and not murderous, to make up for it. But, to her surprise, both of them laughed.

“It's ok, they'd have a hell of a hard time killing us,” Alfred said, flinching away from Maddie's punch. She blushed, and said:

“What he means is, we feel we can trust you.”

“Really? That's cool! Then we can work something out! What hotel are you two staying at?”

“It's... wait a minute.” He searched around his pockets, and fished out a small card, “Ah, here. Hotel Plaza El Bosque Park. I love this name. Do you know it?”

“... yes, I heard of it.”

It was Manuel's hotel. She wasn't going to say she had invaded it just this morning. No way.

“That's great,” Maddie said, “Then you can take us to this random place that we casually decided to visit on a whim, it's, ah- we wrote the name somewhere...”

“Orfanato Tomate Feliz,” Alfred said, eagerly. Maddie punched him again, but this time Maria almost didn't notice. Of course.

“Yes, I know it really well, I live there. I'll have to check with Don Antonio if you really want to visit it, but it's probably ok.”

“Oh,” Maddie said, “That will make it so much easier.”

Maria smiled, to show she didn't have to feel embarrassed over it, and only then reality caught up with her and she noticed they weren't. If anything, the pair looked relieved.

She didn't know how to react to this. She was used to the awkwardness, and to people not knowing what to say, or feeling sorry for her. But maybe this was some sort of cultural American-Canadian thing, not being surprised at being suddenly informed that their tourist guide lived in an orphanage called Happy Tomato.

Or maybe they were just seriously very weird.

Before she could make up her mind – or ask them why the hell they wanted to go there anyway - the crazy restaurant owner came to them.

“Hello, I'm sorry for leaving you standing there, but I had to fend off an idiot from the shadows of my past. There's an empty table now, so if you’ll follow me-”

“Want to eat with us?” Alfred asked, grinning at her again. And then all thoughts melted in the light of his brightly white teeth.

“Sure, I just...” she looked around for Martín, and didn't see him anywhere. “Uh, nothing. Let's go, I'm starving.”


*



In Martín's defense, he did try to find Maria, sort of, before going outside. But she wasn't where he had left her, and Luciano was stumbling and babbling and trying to kiss his neck, so he didn't exactly have the time to stop and worry about it.

He still didn't know what to make of this. Of course he wasn't planning to actually sleep with him. Of course. Obviously. That was clear as anything. It would be wrong and unprofessional, because he was still going to write nasty articles about him later.

But he had yet to decide what to do instead.

Maybe he could take him to his room, and then not have sex with him there. That was a good plan, right?

He managed to drag him outside, and, as another proof that the guy was delusional, there was a line of cabs waiting just across the street. He shoved Luciano inside the first one, and then sat by his side, ignoring how he immediately draped himself around him, and told the driver the hotel's address.

Once they were on their way, he finally turned to him, trying to disentangle himself from his embrace.

“So, you said you're going to stop? Why?”

“Stop what? I don't want to stop.”

He kissed him again, to emphasize his point. Martín wondered if the driver was laughing at him. He held Luciano's face with both hands, pulling him away, and said as firmly as he could:

“Not here, alright? Wait until we get there. I meant football and you know it.”

“But I don't wanna wait,” he whimpered. Then he thought about it for a few seconds, and added, “This is a song, isn't it? I know dad liked to watch something that played that because I heard it all the time, but now I don't remember the lyrics and I don't think I'll-”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Then kiss me.”

That didn't make any sense, Martín thought, but Luciano closed his eyes and raised his face, and Martín was human – mostly - and the driver should be driving and not watching them so whatever. He kissed him lightly on the lips and then said, as sternly as he could:

“Now answer me. How long have you been thinking about this? And, more importantly, why the hell would you stop?”

“I wasn't, I mean, I did when you invaded my room, and then when you jumped at me, but then you were an ass so-”

“The game, you idiot, and you jumped at me!”

He had the distinct impression that the driver snorted. But he had no way to check, and Luciano was obviously not worried.

“You keep going on about that, I'm not going to stop. I feel weird. Did I drink too much?”

“You said it yourself! Are you giving me false informations?”

“I never said that. I'm winning, and I'm rich, so why would I stop? There's just that thing, but I don't want to think about it, and I don't care, because it's not bothering me this time.”

He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, and then hid his face in his hands. “But I feel really weird. What did you do to me?”

“What thing?”

“I can't tell you, it's a secret. Are we there yet? Is this thing moving? I think we're moving. Why are you so angry?”

“I'm not angry!”

“You're always angry. You were this morning, too. Why?”

Martín almost hit him, just to show how freaking calm he was. He wasn't angry. He was being aggressively professional, and that was a whole different thing.

And it would be totally within his rights to be a little upset, this had been spiraling out of his control since the moment he had entered his bedroom this morning, getting worse just now at the bar and now he had no idea what he was doing anymore. It was disturbing.

Luciano waited, and then, when Martín didn't say anything, he snuggled against his shoulder. And then raised his eyes to him when he didn't move.

So. Well.

Martín put his arms around his shoulders, feeling awkward as hell. Professional, he thought. He should focus. It was more important than thinking about all this nonsense. Now he had to find out if Luciano was planning to retire or what, and to achieve that he'd have to go back to his room with him.

Might even have to stay the night, who knew.

But he was a professional, so he wasn't going to think about that.


*



That had been a disaster.

Like everything else in his life.

Manuel wanted to go straight to this room, do something to stop the pounding in his head. He couldn't stop thinking about his face, and what he had said, and then it was hard to recall exactly what it was, his words, just that he had tried to kick him out in front of everyone, just like that.

And then, suddenly, everything hurt. Everything was so stupid. The new clothes, the tie he was wearing, the time he had spent bracing himself for it, that had obviously not been enough, because now he had to fight to keep his hands from shaking. He should have seen it coming. Of course Miguel would be an irrational asshole, why had he expected anything different?

Then, to make things even worse, the receptionist looked up when he entered the hotel and said:

“Welcome back! Since you're here, I'll go grab some coffee.”

And left. Just like that.

Sighing, he went there to take her place. Things were quiet, and would probably stay like that for a while, so at least he'd have time to think, and to suffer more. Miguel hadn't even wanted to hear his generous offer, had treated him like he didn't matter, like he hadn't thought about him not even once since that day, when Manuel had remembered him so often that it was embarrassing, and-

But no, that part wasn't important. He didn't care about that, he knew things between them would never be like they had been. He was fine with that. It wasn't like he had hoped-

Anyway. The problem was the way he had acted, screaming like that in front of everyone, just because he had that cheap place that wouldn't last a week, when Manuel had offered him the chance to actually do something with his dumb useless life. But he would see. He'd regret that, he'd realize his mistake, and then he'd come begging, and Manuel would ignore him, and he would see that-

“There you are,” said an insultingly cheerful voice across the lobby, “Do you have food? I want to eat now. I didn't eat anything in the end, but the drinks were really good - are you trying to make me fall?”

The last part hadn't been directed at him, but at Martín, who was trying to keep a very happy, very drunk and very loud Luciano da Silva upright.

“Don't stand there, come help me,” Martín said, and Manuel went, too shocked to complain. But as soon as he got near, Luciano suddenly threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly, and said:

“I'm going to sleep with him now, but I'll try your food later, ok? Do you smoke? Heeey-”

That was to Martín again, who was violently pulling him away, thankfully, and Manuel had to struggle to raise his head to look at him.

Martín's face was redder than a tomato.

“Why are we standing here?” Luciano said, trying to escape Martín's grip again. This made him stumble, and both Martín and Manuel hurried to catch him. Luciano beamed at him:

“You can come too, if you want to.”

“No you can't,” Martín said. He was still red.

“Wasn't going to,” Manuel mumbled, looking away. He wished a hole would open up and swallow him. Or swallow them. He helped Martín to get Luciano inside the elevator, and then stepped outside as soon as they were done, because there was no way in hell he was going to stay there with them. And it was a good thing, because they started kissing even before the doors closed.

He went back to the desk, feeling numb. No wonder Luciano hadn't wanted to sue the damn reporter.

Anyway, back to the point. Miguel begging for his forgiveness. Fine. If Miguel didn't want him – his restaurant, that is, if he didn't want the job – then Manuel didn't want him either. He'd be fine on his own. He'd make this place even more famous than Miguel's.

He would show him.


*



Luciano fumbled to open the door, so much that Martin lost his patience and shoved him aside to do it himself.

Luciano happily let him take over the job, and went back to kissing his neck. And shoving his hands inside his shirt. It was amazing, really, because he knew he was extremely hot, but he couldn't remember anyone being so enthusiastically eager to make out with him before.

So they stumbled inside the room, and had barely managed to lock it when Luciano started to unbutton his shirt. Then his brain decided to work again, and grabbed both his hands, holding him by his wrists.

Luciano looked up at him, confused.

He had a lovely confused face, round dark eyes with those dark eyelashes and a silly expression and those full, well-kissed lips and-

“Wait,” he said, and kissed him again, but didn't give him the time to get really into it, “We can't. I left my baby sister there and I need to go back to get her!”

“Your sister?” Luciano grimaced, “She's really beautiful, but this is too weird even for me, and-”

Martín covered his mouth with his hand.

“Don't. Even. Finish that. Okay?”

Luciano nodded. Now he was obviously smiling, Martín could feel his lips curling up against his palm.

Then his cellphone rang.

“It's her,” Luciano said, cheerfully, “Tell her you're with me, and she can come here and eat, if she wants you. I remember she didn't this morning, I kicked you out before that, and-”

Martín opened the thing, trying to recognize the name.

“Shut up, it's probably a source giving me valuable information instead of- oh. Hi, Maria. Where are you calling from?”

“They let me use their cellphone. It's really cool, by the way, I want one just like this. Where are you? Come here, we got a table. I'm raising my hand, can you see me?”

“Erm, no. I'm- not there anymore- listen-”

“You left me?”

“No! I was just coming back to get you! It's just that Luciano, remember him? He was-”

Luciano grabbed the phone from his hand.

“Hi, Maria with the super long name, how are you? Did you try the one with strawberry and sugar and- hey, give it back!”

Martín tried to hold him at arms-length, and speak fast at the same time.

“Listen, things are a little complicated right now, so I want you to do this, order what you want and when you finish eating, tell Miguel that I'll pay it tomorrow, he knows me, he won't mind, and then... do you have money for a cab?”

“Did you get him drunk? Did you leave me because you got a guy so drunk that-”

“He got himself drunk, thank you, and I'm helping him before he makes a fool of himself, now tell me, do you have the money?”

“Well, yes, I guess, but I don't want to waste it on that. I'll just walk.”

“No, it's dangerous. I'll give you the money back tomorrow. Oh, and don't forget to lock the door.”

She hang up.

Martín cursed. He tried to call the same number, but no one picked up.

“She didn't want to come,” Luciano said, with a knowing wink, and Martín groaned. When had his life gone so out of control?

He sat on the edge of the bed. He should go there, and make sure she wouldn't do anything stupid. Or stay here and think about how to get more relevant information. Or anything normal and sane that wasn't about how his kisses were the hottest thing that had ever happened to him in his life and tasted like alcohol and tropical fruits and-

Luciano sat by his side, his arm enveloping his shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Listen,” Martín said, defeated, “I'll still write about you, alright? This won't change anything.”

I'm still exactly the same person, and I'm still in charge, was what he wanted to say but didn't. Luciano smiled.

“I know that. This is just for fun, no one owing anyone anything. Except for that drink, you didn't let me finish and I wanted it because I-”

Martín kissed him again. Luciano yelped, surprised, but then he recovered and then his hands were all over Martín's body and then-

Then they didn't talk about anything for the rest of the night.






*





tbc... 


So, are the mysterious foreign siblings up to something? Is Manuel going to get his dark, dark revenge of darkness? Will Luciano ever tell Martín what the hell he meant? Will Martín publish his articles even if he's about to have the best night of his life? Will he really go back to pay Miguel? Will Maria remember to lock the door? All this and more in the next chapter of TFHoL!
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