berseker | [Fanfic] The Promise 5/?

Title: The Promise 5
Authors:

sakuratsukikage , not in this order.
Rating: PG-15
Pairings: Brazil/Argentina
Summary: The boys struggle to have a normal conversation, Martín is still trying to be diplomatic, sort of, and the lack of sleep makes Luciano act really weird. Like, really weird.

Thanks to

zulenha for betareading it <3

Part 4: Fuck Martín for doing that, now he felt cheated. He needed the time to prepare, to get used to the idea, and now he would have to just pack and go, so fuck him really hard. He tried to think about how it would be better to get it out of the way. Yes. He was sure it would be. And anyway, he had to get back to work. He... really needed to not focus on Martín, of all people.

He slept badly. Again. He wasn't nervous, of course not, but the idea of a carriage ride with Martín was... well, it sounded kind of hazardous, he thought. The last time he'd spent a lot of time with him he'd tied him to a mast, after all. Who knew what could happen?

So obviously that was why he couldn't sleep. It had nothing to do with remembering the way he'd looked at him in the alley, the way his green eyes looked when they were all soft and... well, not condescending or proud or harsh, which was pretty much how they always were, but they hadn't looked like that, then, even though the skin around his eye was swelling, and - well, he hadn't been thinking about that. Or about how he'd looked at him like that on his ship, but that had probably just been because of the sun, and how weak he'd been, sick, confused, all that. Maybe something had gotten shaken loose in his head when he'd been punched, that must have been it. But he hadn't been thinking about that, either, or the proud tilt to Martín's jaw when he'd told that guy to punch him, basically, or anything like that, or the way he'd sort of pouted, whenever he was arguing with anyone, and he'd done it on Luciano's ship, too, and again yesterday, when Luciano had told him to go back home and forget it.

But thinking about that wasn't the reason he hadn't slept. It was worrying about Martín's insanity. After all, it was Martín. Who knew what could happen? He probably wouldn't even show up. And that was good, right? That would mean it was over. No more worrying about what would happen, or what he'd do, or think, or what he'd make Luciano do, or think, and that was what he wanted, anyway.

Luciano wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep or not, but if he did, he had just dreamed of the same thing he was worrying about, and he woke up with a headache, the sun feeling too bright on his eyes, which were scratchy and sore. He was sure Martín wouldn't come, he told himself.

So he was surprised when Martín showed up early, with a bag and everything. And he looked a little confused, like he wasn't sure he had the right house, and it was so strange to see Martín looking like that, uncertain, and out of place, and a little... well, not vulnerable, because he'd seen him vulnerable before. But it was strange. And he was wondering what he was thinking, whether or not he thought the place was nice, or whether he was thinking something like, "Luciano lives in this dump? As expected," and it wasn't like he cared, anyway.

So he went outside and he said, "I thought it wasn't fashionable to be early," and Martín turned to him and he smiled, and the sun didn't seem too bright anymore because he was looking at something brighter and Luciano forgot how to breathe.

"This isn't a party," Martín said. "What, did you think I'd just lounge around my hotel room when I could come here?"

And Luciano wondered if he'd ever remember how to breathe again. It sounded so honest, like Martín hadn't thought about saying it at all, like it had just been what he'd been thinking and why wouldn't he say it out loud?

He needed to breathe. Right. That was important.

Martín's face fell, just a bit, at least, the smile dimmed. "Luciano?" he said. "Are you all right?"

"What?" Luciano heard himself saying. "What, why wouldn't I be all right? Don't be stupid."

Martín stepped forward and put his bag down, leaning down just a little to peer into Luciano's eyes. "Your eyes are all red," he said. "Why are your eyes red?" He was standing far, far too close, Luciano couldn't see anything but the green of his eyes and the gold of his eyelashes and the small cut on his lip and how his face was still beautiful and not as swollen as Luciano had thought it would be, and it made him feel dizzy, and he could feel the warmth of Martín's skin, and -

"Allergies," he said. "You brought a bag?"

"We're going to be gone for a few days, aren't we?" Martín said. "I thought I should bring some of my luggage."

Luciano looked at the bag again. It was big. "That's some of your luggage?" he asked.

Martín looked down at it, then over at him. "Oh, that's right," he said. "It must be strange for you, having clothes you didn't have to make yourself."

And that hurt, it really did, it hurt like - like Martín had punched him, and Luciano couldn't believe it, how he had let this happen all over again, let it hurt so - so badly he couldn't breathe, and he turned away, to stalk back into the house, with some dignity, he didn't really know -

And Martín caught his arm and said, "I'm sorry, Luciano, I'm so sorry, I just - I didn't mean it, I just said it because we were always teasing each other and I didn’t think - I thought you’d say something back, that’s all. I don't think of you like that." And he said it so quickly, the words tumbling all over each other, and he sounded so earnest, so really sincere, not like he was making an excuse, that Luciano was startled, and turned back toward him despite himself.

"Fine," Luciano said. "That's fine, let's go, then, you're here now, so we can get started."His voice sounded like it was coming from oddly far away, and it sounded so normal, so unconcerned and almost silly, almost flippant, that it surprised him.

Martín blinked, and then he sighed, and let go of Luciano's arm. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I really... didn't mean it."

"Yes," Luciano said. "Sure, okay? Come on, let's get going."

Martín did that thing, that little pout he did when he wasn't getting his way, when he was upset or angry, and he looked away, which was weird. Since when did Martín look away? But he sighed, and picked up his bag. But then he caught up to Luciano, where he was starting toward the house, and took his hand in his own, and he squeezed his palm, very lightly. And Luciano let him, but he just... let him, and when Martín let go Luciano moved his hand away, and he knew that had given away how he was feeling, really, because Martín sighed and looked around them at the house again.

Luciano opened the door and said, "Well, here it is! We're not sticking around though, so don't get comfortable. Not that you would, it's not the Hotel Pharoux or anything, is it? Not the accommodations you're used to. Good thing we're not staying, I guess. It's this way."

Martín sighed, loudly, but he just followed him, and then they were busy, getting everything ready to go, and they didn't really talk much until they were climbing into the carriage together, and Luciano realized, all at once, that either he had to sit across from Martín or beside him, and that he didn't know what to do. So he stood around outside the carriage and talked to the driver for as long as he could, but then Martín was there in the doorway, his arms braced on either side of the door, and he said, "Luciano, I'm not going to be going without you, I hope. That could be awkward."

"Of course not, don't be stupid," Luciano said, and he was smiling, and it was that smile, again, the one that felt so horribly familiar, like this, the one that was never real, not even when he wanted it to be, and he did want it to be, he always wanted it to be, "haven't you ever heard of being friendly? But no, you're more the ordering type." But he signaled to the driver, and climbed in, even as Martín's mouth twisted ruefully and he looked away, and he backed up so Luciano could get in. And he closed the door behind them, and then he had to sit somewhere, and it struck him that he hadn't really solved this problem yet.

"Sit down," Martín said, then hesitated, and it was so awkward, and his cheeks heated up, and he said, "Please. He'll start soon, and then you'll fall, all right?" And his face was all pink, and for some reason that made Luciano feel like he might as well let it go, and so he let Martín reach up and let him wrap his hand around his arm and pull him down beside him.

The carriage started with a lurch, and Luciano braced his feet against the floor. He almost expected Martín to say something, about how the carriage wasn't as well-sprung as his would have been, or something, but he didn't. After a while Luciano looked over at him, to see that he was staring out the window, and the sunlight was bright on his face, on the line of his jaw, the perfectly defined line of his nose and his forehead, gilding his cheek, and Luciano sighed, because he was so damn beautiful that it wasn't fair. Luciano crossed his arms across his chest and forced himself to look away.

"I wanted to kiss you," Martín said. "I told myself, you know. That I'd kiss you every day. And when you came out to meet me, I wanted to kiss you."

"We'll get arrested, if you keep doing that in public." His heart was thumping too quickly in his chest again, and he could hardly breathe, but that was just because his organs were stupid, and he thought at least he hadn't let on.

Martín sighed, and turned from the window. "That's not the point," he said. "Don't you see?"

"I make my own clothes, are you sure you want to touch me? Could be dirty," Luciano said, as Martín leaned forward.

Martín looked hurt, which was surprising, his mouth scrunched up, and he looked away for a second, but then he reached forward anyway and curled his hand around Luciano's cheek, gently under his jaw, and leaned forward and kissed him.

And of course, of course, because that was how Luciano's life was, it was perfect - Martín's mouth was warm and soft and beautiful on his, and they fit together, so well, and it was sweet, sweet like all the fruit Luciano had missed in Paris that he hadn't expected to, and Martín's hand stroked up into his hair, and his tongue didn't press into Luciano's mouth, just swept, lightly, over his bottom lip, and then he was pulling away, leaving Luciano gasping and his mouth burning and tasting of sweetness.

"Why are you doing this?" Luciano finally managed to gasp. He had to close his eyes. He couldn't look at him.

"You kissed me first," Martín said.

"N-no, not that," Luciano managed after a second. "All this." He managed to open his eyes, but he had to look away, at the other side of the carriage. "Why couldn't you have just stayed away? Why can't you just leave me alone? What, is this your kind of revenge?"

"Is it so hard to believe I would want you?" Martín asked. He sounded impatient, frustrated. "You're an attractive person, Luciano, I mean... well, of course you're attractive. Beautiful, really."

"There are plenty of pretty boys like me," Luciano said. "Girls, too. I'm sure they were falling all over you in Paris, making idiots of themselves. Just like me, right? But their manners were probably better."

"Luciano -" Martín said, but Luciano wasn't going to let him say whatever he was going to say. He was too persuasive, and his stomach still hurt. He felt sick, sick and too hot, and this was his home, Martín couldn't be doing this to him here, he just couldn't.

"But if that's it," he said, "we could just get it over with. I mean. Right here. Carriage is pretty big, and all." He slid off the seat to the floor and scooted forward to kneel between Martín's legs, resting his hand on his thigh. "Do you want me like this?" he asked. "Then you'll have had me, and this'll be over. No one will ever know, we don't have to talk about ever again. You could fuck my mouth, you'd like that, right?"

"No," Martín said, but his voice was strangled, and his face was very red, flushed all the way to his hairline. He swallowed, and his throat worked, his Adam's apple bobbing like it was hurting him to swallow. "No, not like - no, I wouldn't."

"Don't be silly, Martín," Luciano said, and what was wrong with him, he was going insane, obviously, he - "Of course you would. I'm good, you know. Everyone says so. And then you could forget me, right? Or maybe you wouldn't, I've heard I'm pretty unforgettable in bed. Really, I'm offering. Come on, you could do whatever you want."

Martín turned his head away, and there was a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I want to love you, Luciano," he finally gasped out. His voice was hoarse, rasping. "I don't want to use you like a cheap whore. Why would I - why would I want that? Why would I come all the way here for that? Why can't you just see?"

"I don't know," Luciano said, and his voice sounded so bitter, it wasn't fair, he didn't want Martín to hear him like that. "I don't really know what you want from me. You didn't want what I offered you before." You didn't want my love, he thought, but that sounded so stupid, like an infatuated child; he couldn't say it out loud.

"Well, I don't want that from you!" Martín said, his voice sharp, snapping, almost a shout. And he reached forward and grabbed Luciano by his arms and dragged him up again, and the carriage must have hit a rock because he slipped and they both almost fell, and Luciano banged his elbow, hard, against the other seat, and hissed in a surprised breath, and it distracted him enough that Martín pulled him into the seat before he quite realized it.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Luciano asked. "The driver probably heard you." His own heart was pounding, and he had to catch his breath. But Martín didn't answer, not for a long few seconds.

Martín was breathing hard, he realized after a moment, short, quick, heavy breaths, and his chest was heaving. He looked furious, his jaw tight and his eyes snapping with fury, and then he turned to Luciano and said, "You - you don't let people treat you like that. You'd better - you'd better not have let anyone treat you like that, Luciano, you're better than that."

"Am I?" Luciano demanded, and then he felt it again, that burning ache of anger, building up inside of him. "How would you know what I'm better than? You don't even know what I'm like! And how I have sex doesn't make me any better. Or any worse. Thanks very much. And just - fuck you, Martín, how the hell would you know?" He was breathing hard, he realized.

A furious wash of red rolled over Martín's face again, and Luciano wasn't sure if he was angry or embarrassed or both, but then he said, "But - but it's... it's like..." he took a deep breath, looked away, and then looked back at Luciano."I don't like to think about people using you," he said. And somehow that cut through the heat of the hurting ache burning inside Luciano's chest, and he stared at him, and he realized that Martín looked absolutely miserable, his expression twisted and wretched, his mouth a hurt, tight, trembling line. And he realized that he'd made him look like that, and then he felt suddenly horribly miserable himself, his chest suddenly hollow and cold.

He just couldn't win, could he? He'd be miserable no matter what, and it would hurt, either he'd hurt or Martín would hurt, and either way he'd feel like this, hollow and empty and still, somehow, he'd be hurting too.

Fuck.

"I -I didn't sleep too well, last night," he heard himself saying, and he wasn't sure why, if it was a kind of an excuse, or an apology, or what, or maybe if he was just trying to change the subject, but it didn't seem like Martín was listening anyway, because he looked out the window for a moment, again, and then he looked back at Luciano, and his face got very red, even redder than it had been, and he was biting his lip again.

"How... often do you - I mean, have - do you do that, then?" Martín said. "I mean, how many people have you been with?"

"I don't see how it's your business," Luciano said hotly. What kind of question was that, anyway? "And I don't see why you care all of a sudden. It was just fun, that's all. It's fun, for people, if you don't let anything stupid get into it."

"Stupid?" Martín said blankly, like he had no idea what Luciano was talking about.

"Yeah," Luciano said. "Like... like caring too much."

"But why would you -" Martín started, and then he broke off, and looked away. And Luciano thought that he knew it, he'd known it all along. Martín was the type to fall in love, and make everything more complicated than it had to be. Never be content with what he had. He'd known it. "But you're not like that," Martín said, and he sounded strange, confused and a little bit forlorn, almost, and a little bit annoyed, like none of this made any sense, and that was obviously Luciano's fault.

"What am I not like?" he demanded.

"You're... you're not - you're - sweet," Martín said. "You always were, in Paris."

"Oh, yeah?" Luciano said. "Sweet, huh?" And he didn't know why he did it, except that it seemed suddenly unfair that Martín had been the one kissing him all this time, and that he was angry, and that he knew it wasn't a nice thing to do, that Martín was obviously confused and off-balance and hurt and this would push him, and so he leaned forward and turned Martín's head so that he could kiss him. And it wasn't a sweet kiss, not at all, it wasn't harsh, or violent, but Luciano didn't let Martín close his mouth and turn his head away, and it was hot and intense and Martín sort of gasped and tilted his head back, and Luciano could feel his heart thundering in his chest. Like when he kissed him two years ago, when Martín was tied to his mast, it felt just like that. And then he let go, and pulled away, and Martín looked at him, and his eyes were wounded, really wide, and shocked, and hurt, and Luciano thought that he didn't know what it was, that he must be a really really terrible person, after all, and maybe Martín just brought that out in him.

"Y - you still are," Martín said, after a moment. "I know you, I know you're sweet, so - so why? Why are you doing this to me?"

"You like my kisses."

It was a stupid answer, but he had to say something.

"Not like this. You can't - you're doing it just so you - why?"

"I can't make you see," Luciano said. It was so frustrating, that Martín refused to get it and now he was making him feel guilty again, "I told you, you shouldn't have come."

"No, you invited me, and -"

"I meant -"

"I know, I know, but I came, and now you invited me! You gave me your address and all and that means you love me, you know that, so why are you doing this? Why are you saying these things? You're not like that, so - why are you trying to be like that?"

Luciano sighed. He was going to get angry again, he could feel it.

"Like what? I am what I am. And I -" he was going to say 'like what I am', but he stumbled on the words, so he said, "enjoy sex, so what's the problem?"

"That's not the point," Martín said. Now his face was burning, and he looked away, "That's not what I - I thought - you love me. I know you do."

Luciano stared. And no, he wasn't angry, or - anything, now, Martín was looking away and what was he saying? His lips were red now, and a little swollen, and wet from the kiss, and he looked - well, beautiful. Luciano tried to think. Because Martín couldn't be saying what he thought he was saying.

"Look, I have no idea what your point is. It's like you never - have you ever done this? Sex?"

"Of course," he said, a little too fast, and blushing, and still not looking at him, and then he added, "But with girls. Of course. Obviously."

"Obviously," Luciano said, and he knew that had been meant to upset him and he wanted to say something mean too, and maybe he was going crazy, because five seconds ago he was regretting it and thinking about how he didn't want to see him hurt, and now he wanted to do it again, and he said, "And it's only fair, don't you think? You made me pay so much for it. So why shouldn't I enjoy it?"

That made Martín cringe.

"You made me pay too," he said, "Remember? You keep forgetting that, but you did. I just don't keep rubbing it in your face."

"Maybe you should, then we could compare! You just - sat there, and then I took pity and let you go and that was all. Nothing to show but -"

"Sunburns, you said it," he looked at him, so pained and sad, now, "But you said it before, you decided it, you even warned me, and I thought - I thought it was something about not giving me battle scars or something or -" he blushed even more, but he kept going, "You said that when you blindfolded me, remember?"

"I was being nice, you were going to hurt yourself," Luciano said. That wasn't what he wanted to say. He wanted to say something harsh to show he didn't care, not this.

"Maybe you should have let me," Martín said, "Right? You should have let them do whatever they wanted to do with me, then you'd be satisfied, right? If I had gone blind, then you'd be happy, right? But you didn't so if your revenge wasn't satisfying it's your own fault."

"Fine, next time I will," Luciano said, "Next time -"

"You won't, because you love me! Why won't you get it?"

Luciano didn't answer. It was hard to breathe, now, and he wished he hadn't invited him, that he could ask the driver to stop so he could get out and clear his head, that he couldn't just punch Martín or -

"But I wasn't trying to send you away," Martín said. He wasn't looking at him. "I was just - I thought I should stay away from you, or keep you away from me, but - not like that, I mean, not making you leave, just - it felt wrong. To love you. Back then. But come on, you know that, you keep worrying people will see us, so - you know."

Yes I do, Luciano thought, you told me. He was going to say that, make him cringe again, but then something happened, something clicked, or - something, and what he said was:

"I was the first."

Martín looked at him. Luciano ignored it, trying the words, the way they sounded:

"The first person you -"

"No, I kissed people before, I -"

" - fell in love with. I was. Is that why you're so obsessed with me? Because I'm the first? You'll love other people, really, Martín, you just need to stop this and it will happen naturally, and then -"

"No, it won't! That's the point, and you don't want to see it but you should, do you - you didn't forget me, you know that, and you did all that but you couldn't get a proper revenge or anything because you love me, and -"

"Stop throwing this word around, will you? I just kissed you once, we were too young, and it wasn't even a real kiss -"

"Then say it. Say you don't care anymore. That you won't think of me if I go back to Buenos Aires. That I can leave now and you won't care."

Luciano glared at him. Martín stared back, and he looked proud and afraid and hurt and challenging and everything at the same time, and Luciano wanted to say it just to show him, but then the price would be too high and - there was that little stupid eager needy hopeful part of him that didn't want to ruin this small chance that this could be real and he hated himself for it, more than he had ever hated anyone or anything before.

"You will go back. When you see. You'll change your mind."

Martín's eyes lit up. He looked relieved, the stupid idiot.

"I won't, I'll prove it to you, it's our destiny. I wouldn't -"

"Stop that. Just - drop it, Martín."

"Fine, fine. But it's true. You know that."

And stop that too, he thought. How could Martín be so sure if he knew something or not?

But - the idea was interesting. That he had been the first person Martín loved. Or - the first person of his gender that Martín loved like that, but still, and that - somehow, it changed things a bit. Not much. Not really. Not enough. But just a little bit. It had been hard to imagine him being scared and unsure back then and even now, if he tried to remember, he couldn't see it, but it had been there, hadn't it? The fear. He had loved someone who shouldn't be loved, and it had taken him years – and a day tied to the mast – to figure it out.

It made him feel warm. Martín knew so many people, people who would be better for him and all, and he still had loved him. And yes, look where that had gotten him, but still. It was nice. It was a nice thought.

"Look, I - I really didn't sleep tonight, so I'm not - completely myself. Maybe."

Martín looked at him. And waited, the idiot, and now Luciano couldn't read his face, because Martín was paying attention and he looked almost anxious, but there was that tad of smugness there too, and Luciano wasn't sure what to make of that, so he just shrugged, and tried to sound as normal as he could:

"So - I shouldn't have kissed you like that."

Then Martín smiled, that beautiful pleased smile he had, and took Luciano's hand in his and squeezed. Luciano swallowed hard, and tried to smile back. He needed to calm down. And stop acting crazy. Martín opened his mouth to say something, but then he changed his mind, and raised Luciano's hand, and pressed it against his lips.

Luciano let him. It would never be easy, he thought. It had never been. But - maybe they could work something out, fight, and then make up again, like they used to do before, maybe they could find some sort of comfortable balance? And it would be exhausting and annoying but it could be good, too, good enough to make it worth it, and then with time he wouldn't feel so tired and wouldn't take it so seriously and wouldn't act so crazy and then -

He sighed. He shouldn't get used to this, that was the whole point. The reason why he was bringing Martín along in the first place. He couldn't forget that just because now he was holding his hand.

But he still didn't pull back.

He didn't say anything, either, and for a while they rode in silence, and now that they weren't fighting anymore everything was starting to seem strangely unreal. Had he really knelt in front of him like that? And offered to suck him off? Had he kissed him like that?

He closed his eyes. Had he touched him like that, in front of everyone? Had he carried Martín to his bed, had he undressed him, for real? What the hell was he thinking? And before. Had he really kissed him? Why?

Martín had been mad at him, because he couldn't even watch that dumb play. Luciano didn't even know what they were supposed to be watching. Maybe – if this worked out – they could see it again. Somewhere. Then go back to their room afterwards, and kiss. And sleep together. Do it right, this time.

He had thought about it the whole night, back then. Remembering every detail until he memorized it. Martín was sulking, and he was mad at him and Luciano was worried – only not really, he was just thinking he should be, and how Martín was never going to invite him anywhere ever again – and he was actually thinking about how it would feel to kiss him. And about how Martín stared at his mouth, sometimes, and how he blushed when Luciano looked at him, so he was sure Martín wanted it too, and he hadn't know, back then, that it would be his first kiss, but it had been nice, right? For a first kiss? They had barely touched. And he had spent the whole night thinking about it.

"Luciano?"

"Hm. I'm tired," he said, eyes still closed.

"Ah, yes, well. You can - lean on me. If you want to. I don't mind."

That made him open them.

"What?"

Martín shrugged. His face was going red again.

"Just a thought. You don't have to."

"You don't mind," Luciano said.

He didn't know why he was so shocked. Martín was still trying to convince him that - of all that, so of course he would say it, but still. And Martín looked worried, wondering if he had said something wrong, he didn't know how he could tell but he could, so he added, "I'm heavy. And I might snore. And drool all over you."

For half a second there Martín looked really surprised, and then he laughed, and pulled his hand:

"I said I don't mind. I mean it."

Luciano smiled. He didn't know how Martín could laugh when Luciano himself was still shaken after all that, but Martín had always been like that. Going from joyful to furious to depressed and back again in less than ten minutes. Because he was crazy. And his laughter sounded nice, as if he had scored some kind of point.

Oh God, he thought, I'm really losing it. It wouldn't last. He knew that. Except he didn't anymore but he couldn't think like that, because if he thought Martín could actually stay it would hurt so, so much when he didn't, and -

"You won't make me ask, will you? Come on."

And he did. He slid a little closer, then rested his head on Martín's shoulder and closed his eyes, feeling how warm his body was, and he smelled of cologne and... something that was his own, that Luciano remembered from the kisses on the ship and Paris and wow, he should be proud of his own memory, really. He would never fall asleep like this.

He tried to focus on other things. The sound of the wheels, the movement of the carriage. The sun outside. Or the heat. Or anything that wasn't how familiar his smell was and how nice this felt and how Martín's arm kept brushing against his, of course, and that didn't matter because they were holding hands and he was trying to sleep on his shoulder and how the hell was he supposed to relax, being this close to him?

He felt, or maybe imagined, Martín kissing his hair, or maybe he was dreaming, and that made him smile. Maybe. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what and anyway his mouth didn't want to open, so that would have to wait.

When he opened his eyes again, his neck hurt a little. And he had no idea where they were. And he had stretched, or almost, because he still had his feet on the floor but now his head was resting over Martín's thighs and Martín was running his fingers through his hair and that wasn't supposed to be possible because his hair was a mess and he wasn't sure he had combed it this morning and - what?

"Hey, good evening," Martín said, smiling down at him, "Nice host you are. I was feeling lonely. Don't look at me like that, you looked uncomfortable, so I decided to be nice."

He was still caressing his hair. Luciano tried to think, and focus, and then his brain refused to work so he just said:

"... what?"

"I decided to be nice," Martín said. "You should listen more carefully." He ran his hand through Luciano's hair, again, and that felt nice, his fingers gentle and warm and he rubbed his knuckles against the back of Luciano's neck, a little, and what - what was going on?

"I fell asleep," Luciano said after a moment.

"So you did," Martín said. He was still running his fingers through Luciano's hair, caressing it, it was very distracting, and Luciano wasn't sure he should be letting him do that, but he couldn't seem to think of a way to tell him to stop. "I thought you looked tired."

"Hmm," Luciano said. He still felt oddly dreamlike, as if this wasn't really happening. It was warm, and Martín was warm, where his head rested on his thighs. "Well, maybe," he said. He sat up, and he wasn't sure if he'd heard Martín sigh when he pulled his hand away from his hair, or not. Luciano yawned, and rolled one shoulder, then the other, then leaned over Martín to look out the window.

It was the afternoon, by now. And he recognized the familiar sights of the countryside rolling by.

tbc...

AN: The Hotel Pharoux was famous for being the only decent hotel in Rio back then. It looked like this.