2P Week

Apr. 18th, 2012 01:34 pm
berseker: (Default)
[personal profile] berseker

Soooo since this is the 2p Week, I’m posting Evil Luci being mean to Martín. As everyone knows, there’s no real canon for the whole 2p thing, so there’s a lot of, hm, space for craziness. This time I’m going with regular characters with their flaws amped up to three billions. Sort of.

Actually, this is just about being mean. Warnings for cruel Luciano and references to random economical crisis. And light mind games. Read at your own risk.








Luciano enters his office thinking about the unfolding romance in one of his soap operas, and how obvious it was to anyone who bothered thinking about it that the girl didn't have any chemistry at all with her love interest but she looked kinda cool with the guy's twin brother who was supposed to be evil, and he's pretty sure he has a magazine somewhere here explaining everything. That's why he’s here, to get the stupid thing so he can be sure where the story is heading, and then he’ll go back home and shower, he just finished a pretty epic football game with the kids on the street and he's sweaty and dirty but he won't be able to live without knowing if the guy was really evil or not, and that's what he's thinking about now, and also about what he's going to have for dinner and where did he left the magazine anyway and that's why he doesn't even notice there's someone else in the room.

Martín didn’t bother sitting, the weirdo, he stands there with his arms crossed on his chest, with that oh-so-familiar scowl on his face. No matter how much time passes he always looks the same, same combative stance, same red face and the same way to bite his lip just a little too tight, same everything.

Luciano flashes him a smile. He goes to the bathroom first and opens the faucet and tries to wash his hair because he's really sweaty and it looks like he'll have to wait a little longer before taking his shower. He comes back, drops water running down his neck and back, and smiles again, and then he stretches out his hand, just to be annoying.

Martín glares at him. And from the look in his eyes, it's like Luciano just slapped his face or something and dude come on it's just a handshake. So he waits until Martín gives up and his hand is firm and strong, if a little sweaty, and then Martín bites his lip a little tighter and Luciano just shakes his head:

“So, what are you doing here?”

“You called me.”

And how he manages to sound so angry and sulky and childish at the same time is beyond him, but Luciano's smile grows a little warmer:

“Did I?”

Martín looks away. And crosses his arms again. This time, it’s like he’s trying to hold himself. Luciano laughs, pinches Martín's chin and pulls back before Martín can bite his hand off.

Martín just holds his breath a little, and doesn't say anything.

“I didn't exactly call you,” Luciano says, “Actually, I’m almost sure I told you not to come.”

“You said you wanted to discuss-”

“I said that I’d rethink some of our trading rules – like you did just last week without even calling me first, I might add - and you shouldn’t even bother calling unless you had some amazing arguments to make me change my mind.”

“And that wasn't calling me?”

“I don't know. Was it?”

Martín presses his hand against his mouth, then. Luciano is almost sorry for him. Then again, sorry never got too far on free trading negotiations.

“You started it,” he says, “I know you’d love to make me pay for your mistakes, but I’m sure as hell not going to let that happen.”

Martín looks away. Still pressing his hand against his mouth, eyes green and bright with hatred and Luciano can almost feel it, like the blast from a laser gun. Martín totally hates him now. He kinda wants to shrug. His shirt is all wet, he still has to find the magazine, he didn't figure out the soap opera yet and the last thing he wants to do is spend another minute here. Why did he have to come today anyway?

“I just-”

Luciano raises his hand, then, and this surprises them both, but Martín stops talking and Luciano doesn't even rub it in. He doesn't have to, Martín reads it in his smile and flushes again, eyes burning, and Luciano almost feels like laughing:

“Don't waste your time, if I wanted to hear your groveling I’d have listened when you called. Was that all?”

“I wasn't-”

And if you're going to boycott me, I'll do the same for you and that's it. If you don't have anything to offer, you can just leave.”

Martín is biting his lips again, tight enough to draw blood. It's the kind of dumb thing he does.

“Look...” he tries to sound a little warmer, “It's nothing personal, okay? I just can't make exceptions for you.”

Ok, so maybe it is a little personal. But whatever.

“I need to think of my industries,” Martín whispers, so low that Luciano almost misses it. He nods:

“I understand that. But I need to think of mine, so if you'll excuse me...”

“Just give me some time.”

“... what for?”

“I’m trying. I’m really trying. And this won’t go on forever, this- mess, I’ll figure it out, and-”

Luciano sighs. Keeping the smile is getting a little tiring, so he stops, and Martín straightens his back and he looks a little lost. Luciano shakes his head.

“Give you time so you can block my exportations and send your own crap across the border, so you can strengthen yourself at my expenses? No thank you.”

“You need me too, you know-”

Too. Cool. The world makes Luciano feels pleased, warms him enough to bring back the pleasant tone:

“No, I don't. We can go our separate ways now. I can, anyway. And I should. I don’t think you realize how risky you’ve become, do you? Because I can show you some newspapers to get the point across.”

He's bluffing, of course, but Martín can't think straight when he's angry and Luciano is counting on that, so he adds:

“You can go back to England... or to USA. How about that? You can sell him meat. You had a special name for that, didn't you? What was that again?”

There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes and Martín looks so defeated that Luciano feels a little sorry because, well. It's a little pathetic, really, how every little thing makes him feel so humiliated. How easy it is to bring him down.

This is getting boring.

“So. Come back when you're ready to talk.”

“Just this year. This month, just so I-”

“Goodbye, Argentina.”

Martín gives up, finally. Luciano goes to his table and starts to shuffle through his papers, and he finds all sorts of old things he had forgot about, but no magazine, and he's about to say 'you're still here' or some movie-like thing like that, but then Martín goes to him and stands behind him, and rests his hands on his shoulders. Luciano is almost sure he won't try to strangle him, so he keeps looking at his papers.

Martín waits a few seconds, then he squeezes his shoulders, as if he’s about to give him a neck rub or something, and then he hugs him, pulls Luciano against his chest and Luciano tries not to laugh, and maybe his heart is beating a little too fast, because Martín's body is really warm. And what a stupid thing to think now. But it is, warm and soft and comfortable, and Martín kisses the back of his neck once, twice, then his shoulders, and his wet hair, and Luciano relaxes in his arms and he even closes his eyes.

And says:

“You'll do anything for money, won't you.”

Martín stops. Just a second. Then he kisses his ear, and says:

“Just give me some time.”

“Say please.”

Ok now he's just having fun. He can almost feel Martín's anger.

“Please,” he says, and Luciano laughs, he shouldn't, it's too mean, but he can't help it. He rests his head on Martín's shoulders and see all the dramatic colors of his face – white and red and the green in his eyes - and then Martín kisses his mouth and, honestly. A month is too much. A week is more than enough, he thinks. Maybe two, if Martín is really good today.

Maybe.

For now he closes his eyes, and feels the lips on his mouth, and hands raising his shirt, and he just relaxes and enjoys it.
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