[Fanfic] TFHoL 2/?
Sep. 13th, 2011 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bersekerTitle: The Flying Heart of Love 2/?
Rating: ... PGish. Probably. Or not.
Characters: Luciano, Martín, Maria and Manuel. Mentions of others.
Pairings: Too many to count.
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. Be warned.
Prompt #11: A Latin-Hetalia Soap Opera. Yep. With thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zulenha for betareading it.
Summary: The last time we saw them, Luciano was showing his incredibly hot body to Martín, Maria had a plan, and... that was pretty much it. BUT WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?
*~*~*
Episode 2
*~*~*
Martín took one step back, the heat going up his face and making his cheeks burn. Ok. Ok, this was unexpected, and- so, Luciano da Silva liked to walk around naked in his own bedroom. Big deal. Martín himself had done that sometimes, maybe, even if he had kept enough sanity to cover himself before opening the door, but who knows. Maybe that guy had been raised by wolves. That would be great news. Also, he had a really, really, really great body.
Martín scowled at himself, and told hims brain to stop rambling. He wasn't about to let something dumb like that ruin his plan, he still had to talk to him. And ask him if all those muscles were just from playing football. Because ok, he could get why his legs were awesome, but all the rest too? Martín loved to play - and he was amazing at it, by the way, better than many professional players, if he could say so himself, but his body didn't look like that, so what the hell was going-
Right. His interview.
He knocked again. What the hell. What kind of dumbass did that, just- flash someone like that? What if he had been one of the cleaning ladies? An old one who had never seen a naked man in her life? He could have died.
"Go away or I'll call security," Luciano shouted, from inside the room.
"You owe me an apology," Martín shouted back, "So open this fucking door right now or I'll-"
"I owe you what?"
Luciano opened the door. Martín was moderately pleased to see that now he was wearing a robe, that he was just finishing tying at his waist.
He wasn't as pleased to see that Luciano was also very mad.
"You know what I should do, I should call the manager and the police and let them deal with you. Who the hell are you anyway, just... coming here like that?"
"I just knocked, you decided to open and sexually harass me-"
"I harassed you?"
He wasn't very articulated, Martín couldn't help but notice. This made him feel better. He was still flushed from the trauma, and his heart was still beating fast, but he was feeling better. And anyway Luciano was covered.
"I won't discuss this here," he said, "May I come in? So we can talk like normal people?"
"You- what- no, of course you can't! And if you don't give me an amazing reason to be here right now, I'll call someone and-"
"I need to talk to you. It's important."
Luciano stopped. Maybe because Martín had used his secret weapon - his serious business voice, guaranteed to bullshit his way into and out of any sort of situation. He had convinced better people than this overrated football player with it, and he wasn't going to fail it now.
“... I was busy,” Luciano said, but Martín didn't let him finish.
"Come on," he said, using his second weapon - his incredibly amazingly beautiful winning smile. "I'll forgive you for being a pervert, and you forgive me for being born, let me in, I really need to talk to you."
Luciano looked at him, still suspicious. Martín almost dropped the smile, but patience was key in situations like that - ok, so, he hadn't been involved in many of those, what with the people he usually interviewed being dressed all the time, and not showing their great legs and everything else at him, but whatever - so he did his best to look normal and sane and reliable, and not like a crazy fan or whatever Luciano thought he was.
Even if this was taking a while. Luciano looked at him very carefully, starting from his shoes and slowly going up to his face, and lingering for an inappropriately long time at some parts along the way, until he reached his eyes.
Then he sighed.
“... fine, come in. But if you try anything weird, I'm kicking you out."
*
Meanwhile, the young and not-really-tall, not-all-that-pretty-either hotel manager was looking at himself in the mirror and wishing he could at least look smart.
He had it all, really. A pretty, nice tanned skin, and eyes that were deep and dark and mysterious – sort of – and the least you talked about all the rest the better, because he was a bit on the skinny side, not that he cared about it, because he had better things to care about. He was just looking. And trying to guess what other people would see, if they looked at him.
A skinny guy with black eyes. Cool.
Manuel sighed.
This was stupid. And a little painful, too, but he was so used to this pointless exercise that it was hard to stop now. He had started to judge himself a little after learning he had been adopted, trying to guess why his real parents had... well, anyway, and if this would happen again. His adoptive father wasn't all that warm, so sometimes he wondered. Even if it was dumb.
He sighed again. This wasn't important now, he had better things to think about. Like the restaurant. He had to find a way to handle that, and his looks didn't matter at all. All he needed was money, and he had a lot of that. so he would go to the restaurant, and just... make an offer Miguel Prado wouldn't be able to refuse.
Manuel had thought about this for a long time. Since the day he heard about the first truly Peruvian restaurant – or, to be precise, The First TRULY Peruvian restaurant, because that was what the adds had said – in town. Or maybe even before that, since the day he realized the hotel food was terrible and that it was making him lose money. So he had wanted this, even before finding out Miguel, of all people, was the owner of the place. And, to be completely honest, this almost made him give up. It wasn't like he wanted to talk to him again after... well, after all that.
But that had been years.
Ok, one year. But they had been drunk, and maybe on drugs too, Manuel's memory of it was a little hazy. And it had been a good night. Right? The parts that he remembered. Anyway, it was time to move on, and start acting like an adult, and that was what he was going to say tonight. That, and that Miguel could make a lot of money working for him instead of working for himself.
Something like that, anyway. So what if this is not how capitalism works? It would make the hotel ten times better and more successful and, if Miguel was still the same, and Manuel was sure he was, he would fail epically at managing anything. Fact. So this would help everyone. The whole thing was about business. And not about looking nice – and not skinny and bland and maybe a little mysterious if people wanted to be generous. And Miguel was so... well. He looked so good. Even if he never combed his hair. He always looked nice. And Manuel didn't want to look bad, not after a whole year without seeing him and all, and not after that night he totally didn't remember.
He was just wondering if he should wear a suit or something a little more casual when his incredibly expensive cellphone rang. He picked it up without thinking about it, and almost said “be fast, I'm busy.” But he had decided to stop doing that, so he just said hello.
It was from the hotel. Manuel listened, his face growing paler with every word. Then he hang up. Ok, he would sort this out, he decided.
He was done with Martín Hernandez's shenanigans. This was too much, even for him. Today, Manuel would solve this once and for all.
*~*~*
Episode 3
*~*~*
Yeah right, Martín thought. Luciano took one step back to let him pass, and Martín was about to say something nice and pleasant to make him feel comfortable, when he actually saw the room.
He only noticed he had stopped when Luciano bumped into him.
"... are you going to stand there?" he asked, a little tetchily. He walked around him, and went to a armed chair that looked like it had cost more than Martín's apartment, and sat there like it was just nothing much, this room, and everything, and- uh, and the fact that his robe had sort of opened, revealing his legs up to his thighs. But he saw Martín was looking, so he closed it, glaring at him.
"What did you say about sexual harassment again?"
"Sorry," Martín said. Then he frowned. "But I'm right. What the hell. Are you trying to seduce me?"
Luciano snorted. Then he crossed his arms, and glared again.
Martín decided to ignore that.
"You know, you could probably feed a hundred children with the money you spent to stay one night here."
"Do you know a hundred children?"
Martín looked at him again. That was actually an interesting question. But answering "there's at least eighty in the orphanage I grew up" would be incredibly stupid. And anyway they weren't hungry. So whatever.
It was still a lot of money.
"I'm waiting," Luciano said. He sounded sulky. Maybe he didn't like people telling him he was wasting his money.
Right, Martín thought, trying to jump start his mad reporter skills. Even if the room was pretty amazing. Like, many different... rooms in the same place, like, consider this one, with the white armchairs and the carpet and a table in the center, but he could see another one like this right behind it, with different chairs and a red carpet and there was also a mini bar and the bed looked huge enough to fit a crowd. Why did he need to many stuff anyway? It wasn't like he could sit in all of these, right?
"I'm still waiting," Luciano said. The rumors of his charm were greatly exaggerated. Martín took a mental note of that, to write it when he got back home. He smiled at him.
"Sorry, I was just wondering how much you're spending with all this."
"I know. You just said it."
"I was wondering again. Anyway, so, I work for the Daily News, and-"
"I know that too," Luciano said. He was still sulking. Martín almost asked why, but this was more important.
"Really? How? Did you see my name somewhere?"
"No."
Martín waited, but Luciano just pouted at him.
"... look, what's your problem? I just want to interview you! It's not like you’ve never done this before. And everyone knows you love the attention."
"I was resting, that's my problem, and I asked the hotel people to keep you away from me-"
Martín was shocked at that. Luciano must have seen it in his face, because he added, "Not you personally, but, you know, reporters and paparazzis and stuff, and I told them I wanted peace, and now here you are. They're so going to hear about this."
"Well, in their defense, I didn't ask to come in-"
"That's even worse. You could be an ax murderer. I could be dead right now."
... that was a possibility, Martín had to admit. And Luciano seemed remarkably unconcerned about it, even if he was still pouting. Ok then.
"Well, I'm not. Now tell me your thoughts on playing for Brazil."
"You can find them if you read my other interviews. Everyone asks that."
"Humor me, yes? I'm asking, and I don't want to buy old newspapers just to see what you think about it."
Luciano sighed. Very deeply.
"I like it."
Martín almost rolled his eyes. The only thing that made him stop was the fact that he was being charming and professional. Yes.
"Really? Awesome. How do you feel about the fact that Argentina has a better team?"
*
Maria was a little surprised when she came to the hotel and didn't find Martín at the door. Ok, so he had gotten there before her, and he had a plan to find Luciano, but still. His plans... didn't always work, just saying, not that she didn't believe him. But hey. It was nice to know this one had.
And it only proved her point, that he was a total idiot for not bringing her along, when she had almost begged him to. But fine. She would use her own plan.
The hotel was impressive. The doors made of glass and wood and... it probably wasn't gold, people would steal it, but something that really looked like gold, and it seemed to scream 'ONLY RICH PEOPLE ALLOWED'. One day she would be one of them. She would cross that door and go to the reception and ask for her key – or whatever you were supposed to do – and no one would be able to stop her.
But not today. Today she waited until a random couple entered, and went right behind them. She tried to act casual and nonchalant, and look like she totally belonged there. They could assume she was with them – that was the point – or they could assume she had a room of her own and was going back there. Either way. So she held her head high, and tried not to gawk at everything, because the hotel from inside was even more amazing, with everything made of marble and at least ten different clocks showing the time in places like New York and London and Tokyo and other cities, and she couldn't admire them as much as she wanted to, because then the couple went to the elevator.
She went after them.
This was being incredibly easy. They even smiled at her.
*
"... they're not. Second best, maybe. Maybe not even that."
"They won last time," Martín said, smugly. He had watched the game with Maria. She had made him some tea to calm his nerves, after his third attempt to kill the television, but it had been a pretty good game. If he could say so himself, and he was sure he could. “So that makes you the second best.”
"So what? They only won because they're good at acting hurt when they're not."
"Says the guy who kicks people's shins and then smiles at them to get away with it."
Because Luciano he had totally done that, as Martín had pointed out at Maria, when she was grabbing his shirt to keep him from throwing something at the screen. He totally had. Just thinking about it made Martín angry again.
It also made Luciano smile. It was that dark, evil smile, that people seemed to mistake for nice and warm.
"I didn't! Told you, your team is a pro at acting. Someone should give them an Oscar."
"Ok, next question. People know you're full of shit? Or they really fall for your nice guy act?"
Luciano laughed.
"Come on, you're not a real reporter, are you? Who the hell are you? One of their crazy fans?"
"Not mutually exclusive. It's a valid question. How many times were you kicked out of a game in disgrace?"
"None, but I won a trophy for fair play last year. Shows how much you know."
He was happier now, obviously. He liked to have his evilness recognized. Martín could understand that. It probably sucked to have everyone thinking you're adorable when you're clearly an evil overlord who likes to show your legs to people. Also, of course he knew that, he knew pretty much everything there was to know about Luciano's career - not only his, because it's not like he was important, Martín just knew stuff, ok - so whatever.
"Your robe is opening again," Martín told him. Now he was upset. "And this trophy is a joke."
"You're jealous."
"You're an idiot."
"Are you recording that?"
"I'll edit it later. So, are you ready for the next game? Are you practicing, or just fucking people and getting plastered?"
"Not mutually exclusive," he said, with a smile somewhat not as evil as the previous one. Martín suddenly had the very strong suspicion that the idiot was having fun at his expenses.
"... you know, I don't really care. I can get this on wikipedia."
"Probably. Hey, maybe you have a page too? Not that you're actually important, but if everything these days have one, maybe I can find stuff about you-"
"I don't, and you wouldn't know how to look for it. Now smile."
He got the camera, and started to take a very nice photograph that could totally go to the next porn section, if they ever decided to add one to the newspaper, because whoa his legs. Luciano looked at him, taken by surprise - that photo was also cool, because he looked like a pretty deer caught in the headlights - and then he jumped on him.
Really, there was no other way to describe it, he just got up and jumped on him, to take his camera, and Martín had heard about celebrities going a bit insane at reporters when they didn't want to have their pictures taken, but it had never happened to him before. Now he could tell war stories like everyone else, like that guy who had been slapped by that woman from the TV, and it took Martín a few seconds to realize that he was saying all that, out loud, and laughing, as he tried to keep his camera from Luciano's reach, and Luciano was screaming at him and it was mostly 'give it back you asshole' but it had some insults in Portuguese too. His dark eyes were alight like never before - from their moment at the door, anyway. He was on his back at the bed and Luciano was on top of him and sort of maybe straddling him which meant his robe would totally be open by now, and Martín wanted to know how the hell this had happened, because things were so normal a few seconds before, right? He was still laughing. He couldn't stop. Luciano finally managed to grab his arm, and pull his hand and Martín couldn't just let the camera fall on the floor, so this meant the game was over.
Luciano took it from his hand, and then he seemed to came back from his senses. Or what passed for senses in his case. He sat back, still on top of Martín, and pulled the robe to cover himself again, which was impossible, with his legs spread like that, and dude what the hell. Martín rubbed his face, trying to start breathing again. And stop laughing.
"Hey- that thing about sexual harassment-"
"Shut up, this is your fault and you know it," Luciano said. He run his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath, and Martín almost told him to give up, his hair was obviously staying just like it was. All over the place.
Same about his robe.
"I am so suing you for this. Second best team player in the world or not, you can't do that. Get off, I need to breathe."
"Shut up."
He didn't move. Just turned the camera and started to check the pictures.
"God, you're so bad at this. I can't even tell what this is."
Of course. He probably had some amazing shots of the ceiling and the bed and the covers. Luciano's chest was... really nice, now that Martín was thinking about it. And seeing from so close. All those muscles, and the smooth, dark tanned skin.
"No, really, this is getting uncomfortable-"
Luciano gave him the smuggest look that someone had ever given him in his life, and Martín could feel his cheeks getting warm.
"Not like that, you idiot-"
"I didn't say anything."
"I know what you're thinking! And you can stop that right now, I'm not one of your-"
And they never found out what Martín wasn't, because then someone knocked on the door.
"Oh shit," Luciano said, his eyes suddenly getting wide, "It must be Francis. Fuck. Get up."
He got up before Martín could point out that he had to do it first, and then pulled him by his arm so fast that Martín almost thought he was going to rip it out.
"Hey! I'll need that-"
"Shit. Shit. What is he going to think, he just left! He'll think I'm a total- look, shut up and let me think-"
"I'm not saying anything. Give me back my-"
"The closet. Yes. Look-"
He pulled Martín and grabbed his arms, holding him like that, and looking right into his eyes.
“I talked to you and listened to your bullshit, right? So you owe me one-"
"Hey now-"
"So be quiet and pretend you're not here, I'll talk to you later. Ok? Just- don't breathe. Loud, I mean. Please."
"What the hell are you-"
And then Luciano opened a closet and just pushed him inside, just like that, and then he locked the door.
He. Actually locked the door.
Martín stared at it. He could hear Luciano moving in the room, and- ok just what in the name of fuck, how the hell had this happened-
Luciano opened it again. Without saying anything, and without giving him the chance, too, he threw his super reporter bat-bag at him, and then closed it again.
Martín almost kicked the door. He raised his hand to punch it - but then he reconsidered. He could do that, right? Do him a small favor? And then he could explain Luciano that he owed him one, because dude, he totally did, giving an interview wasn't really a favor, it was normal and people did it all the time, but agreeing to be locked inside a dumb closet was a whole different thing. He could hear Luciano opening the door a few meters away, and saying something, and-
-and the only reason he wasn't completely shocked was because this day was already crazy enough. Because he could have sworn he was hearing Maria's voice.
tbc...
So, what happened to Manuel one year ago? Does his adoptive father love him? Is money all that matters? Will Martín ever get his interview? Is the Argentinean team really better (spoiler: no)? What is Maria trying to do anyway? And, more important, when will Luciano finally get dressed?
Rating: ... PGish. Probably. Or not.
Characters: Luciano, Martín, Maria and Manuel. Mentions of others.
Pairings: Too many to count.
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. Be warned.
Prompt #11: A Latin-Hetalia Soap Opera. Yep. With thanks to
zulenha for betareading it. Summary: The last time we saw them, Luciano was showing his incredibly hot body to Martín, Maria had a plan, and... that was pretty much it. BUT WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?
Episode 2
*~*~*
Martín took one step back, the heat going up his face and making his cheeks burn. Ok. Ok, this was unexpected, and- so, Luciano da Silva liked to walk around naked in his own bedroom. Big deal. Martín himself had done that sometimes, maybe, even if he had kept enough sanity to cover himself before opening the door, but who knows. Maybe that guy had been raised by wolves. That would be great news. Also, he had a really, really, really great body.
Martín scowled at himself, and told hims brain to stop rambling. He wasn't about to let something dumb like that ruin his plan, he still had to talk to him. And ask him if all those muscles were just from playing football. Because ok, he could get why his legs were awesome, but all the rest too? Martín loved to play - and he was amazing at it, by the way, better than many professional players, if he could say so himself, but his body didn't look like that, so what the hell was going-
Right. His interview.
He knocked again. What the hell. What kind of dumbass did that, just- flash someone like that? What if he had been one of the cleaning ladies? An old one who had never seen a naked man in her life? He could have died.
"Go away or I'll call security," Luciano shouted, from inside the room.
"You owe me an apology," Martín shouted back, "So open this fucking door right now or I'll-"
"I owe you what?"
Luciano opened the door. Martín was moderately pleased to see that now he was wearing a robe, that he was just finishing tying at his waist.
He wasn't as pleased to see that Luciano was also very mad.
"You know what I should do, I should call the manager and the police and let them deal with you. Who the hell are you anyway, just... coming here like that?"
"I just knocked, you decided to open and sexually harass me-"
"I harassed you?"
He wasn't very articulated, Martín couldn't help but notice. This made him feel better. He was still flushed from the trauma, and his heart was still beating fast, but he was feeling better. And anyway Luciano was covered.
"I won't discuss this here," he said, "May I come in? So we can talk like normal people?"
"You- what- no, of course you can't! And if you don't give me an amazing reason to be here right now, I'll call someone and-"
"I need to talk to you. It's important."
Luciano stopped. Maybe because Martín had used his secret weapon - his serious business voice, guaranteed to bullshit his way into and out of any sort of situation. He had convinced better people than this overrated football player with it, and he wasn't going to fail it now.
“... I was busy,” Luciano said, but Martín didn't let him finish.
"Come on," he said, using his second weapon - his incredibly amazingly beautiful winning smile. "I'll forgive you for being a pervert, and you forgive me for being born, let me in, I really need to talk to you."
Luciano looked at him, still suspicious. Martín almost dropped the smile, but patience was key in situations like that - ok, so, he hadn't been involved in many of those, what with the people he usually interviewed being dressed all the time, and not showing their great legs and everything else at him, but whatever - so he did his best to look normal and sane and reliable, and not like a crazy fan or whatever Luciano thought he was.
Even if this was taking a while. Luciano looked at him very carefully, starting from his shoes and slowly going up to his face, and lingering for an inappropriately long time at some parts along the way, until he reached his eyes.
Then he sighed.
“... fine, come in. But if you try anything weird, I'm kicking you out."
*
Meanwhile, the young and not-really-tall, not-all-that-pretty-either hotel manager was looking at himself in the mirror and wishing he could at least look smart.
He had it all, really. A pretty, nice tanned skin, and eyes that were deep and dark and mysterious – sort of – and the least you talked about all the rest the better, because he was a bit on the skinny side, not that he cared about it, because he had better things to care about. He was just looking. And trying to guess what other people would see, if they looked at him.
A skinny guy with black eyes. Cool.
Manuel sighed.
This was stupid. And a little painful, too, but he was so used to this pointless exercise that it was hard to stop now. He had started to judge himself a little after learning he had been adopted, trying to guess why his real parents had... well, anyway, and if this would happen again. His adoptive father wasn't all that warm, so sometimes he wondered. Even if it was dumb.
He sighed again. This wasn't important now, he had better things to think about. Like the restaurant. He had to find a way to handle that, and his looks didn't matter at all. All he needed was money, and he had a lot of that. so he would go to the restaurant, and just... make an offer Miguel Prado wouldn't be able to refuse.
Manuel had thought about this for a long time. Since the day he heard about the first truly Peruvian restaurant – or, to be precise, The First TRULY Peruvian restaurant, because that was what the adds had said – in town. Or maybe even before that, since the day he realized the hotel food was terrible and that it was making him lose money. So he had wanted this, even before finding out Miguel, of all people, was the owner of the place. And, to be completely honest, this almost made him give up. It wasn't like he wanted to talk to him again after... well, after all that.
But that had been years.
Ok, one year. But they had been drunk, and maybe on drugs too, Manuel's memory of it was a little hazy. And it had been a good night. Right? The parts that he remembered. Anyway, it was time to move on, and start acting like an adult, and that was what he was going to say tonight. That, and that Miguel could make a lot of money working for him instead of working for himself.
Something like that, anyway. So what if this is not how capitalism works? It would make the hotel ten times better and more successful and, if Miguel was still the same, and Manuel was sure he was, he would fail epically at managing anything. Fact. So this would help everyone. The whole thing was about business. And not about looking nice – and not skinny and bland and maybe a little mysterious if people wanted to be generous. And Miguel was so... well. He looked so good. Even if he never combed his hair. He always looked nice. And Manuel didn't want to look bad, not after a whole year without seeing him and all, and not after that night he totally didn't remember.
He was just wondering if he should wear a suit or something a little more casual when his incredibly expensive cellphone rang. He picked it up without thinking about it, and almost said “be fast, I'm busy.” But he had decided to stop doing that, so he just said hello.
It was from the hotel. Manuel listened, his face growing paler with every word. Then he hang up. Ok, he would sort this out, he decided.
He was done with Martín Hernandez's shenanigans. This was too much, even for him. Today, Manuel would solve this once and for all.
Episode 3
*~*~*
Yeah right, Martín thought. Luciano took one step back to let him pass, and Martín was about to say something nice and pleasant to make him feel comfortable, when he actually saw the room.
He only noticed he had stopped when Luciano bumped into him.
"... are you going to stand there?" he asked, a little tetchily. He walked around him, and went to a armed chair that looked like it had cost more than Martín's apartment, and sat there like it was just nothing much, this room, and everything, and- uh, and the fact that his robe had sort of opened, revealing his legs up to his thighs. But he saw Martín was looking, so he closed it, glaring at him.
"What did you say about sexual harassment again?"
"Sorry," Martín said. Then he frowned. "But I'm right. What the hell. Are you trying to seduce me?"
Luciano snorted. Then he crossed his arms, and glared again.
Martín decided to ignore that.
"You know, you could probably feed a hundred children with the money you spent to stay one night here."
"Do you know a hundred children?"
Martín looked at him again. That was actually an interesting question. But answering "there's at least eighty in the orphanage I grew up" would be incredibly stupid. And anyway they weren't hungry. So whatever.
It was still a lot of money.
"I'm waiting," Luciano said. He sounded sulky. Maybe he didn't like people telling him he was wasting his money.
Right, Martín thought, trying to jump start his mad reporter skills. Even if the room was pretty amazing. Like, many different... rooms in the same place, like, consider this one, with the white armchairs and the carpet and a table in the center, but he could see another one like this right behind it, with different chairs and a red carpet and there was also a mini bar and the bed looked huge enough to fit a crowd. Why did he need to many stuff anyway? It wasn't like he could sit in all of these, right?
"I'm still waiting," Luciano said. The rumors of his charm were greatly exaggerated. Martín took a mental note of that, to write it when he got back home. He smiled at him.
"Sorry, I was just wondering how much you're spending with all this."
"I know. You just said it."
"I was wondering again. Anyway, so, I work for the Daily News, and-"
"I know that too," Luciano said. He was still sulking. Martín almost asked why, but this was more important.
"Really? How? Did you see my name somewhere?"
"No."
Martín waited, but Luciano just pouted at him.
"... look, what's your problem? I just want to interview you! It's not like you’ve never done this before. And everyone knows you love the attention."
"I was resting, that's my problem, and I asked the hotel people to keep you away from me-"
Martín was shocked at that. Luciano must have seen it in his face, because he added, "Not you personally, but, you know, reporters and paparazzis and stuff, and I told them I wanted peace, and now here you are. They're so going to hear about this."
"Well, in their defense, I didn't ask to come in-"
"That's even worse. You could be an ax murderer. I could be dead right now."
... that was a possibility, Martín had to admit. And Luciano seemed remarkably unconcerned about it, even if he was still pouting. Ok then.
"Well, I'm not. Now tell me your thoughts on playing for Brazil."
"You can find them if you read my other interviews. Everyone asks that."
"Humor me, yes? I'm asking, and I don't want to buy old newspapers just to see what you think about it."
Luciano sighed. Very deeply.
"I like it."
Martín almost rolled his eyes. The only thing that made him stop was the fact that he was being charming and professional. Yes.
"Really? Awesome. How do you feel about the fact that Argentina has a better team?"
*
Maria was a little surprised when she came to the hotel and didn't find Martín at the door. Ok, so he had gotten there before her, and he had a plan to find Luciano, but still. His plans... didn't always work, just saying, not that she didn't believe him. But hey. It was nice to know this one had.
And it only proved her point, that he was a total idiot for not bringing her along, when she had almost begged him to. But fine. She would use her own plan.
The hotel was impressive. The doors made of glass and wood and... it probably wasn't gold, people would steal it, but something that really looked like gold, and it seemed to scream 'ONLY RICH PEOPLE ALLOWED'. One day she would be one of them. She would cross that door and go to the reception and ask for her key – or whatever you were supposed to do – and no one would be able to stop her.
But not today. Today she waited until a random couple entered, and went right behind them. She tried to act casual and nonchalant, and look like she totally belonged there. They could assume she was with them – that was the point – or they could assume she had a room of her own and was going back there. Either way. So she held her head high, and tried not to gawk at everything, because the hotel from inside was even more amazing, with everything made of marble and at least ten different clocks showing the time in places like New York and London and Tokyo and other cities, and she couldn't admire them as much as she wanted to, because then the couple went to the elevator.
She went after them.
This was being incredibly easy. They even smiled at her.
*
"... they're not. Second best, maybe. Maybe not even that."
"They won last time," Martín said, smugly. He had watched the game with Maria. She had made him some tea to calm his nerves, after his third attempt to kill the television, but it had been a pretty good game. If he could say so himself, and he was sure he could. “So that makes you the second best.”
"So what? They only won because they're good at acting hurt when they're not."
"Says the guy who kicks people's shins and then smiles at them to get away with it."
Because Luciano he had totally done that, as Martín had pointed out at Maria, when she was grabbing his shirt to keep him from throwing something at the screen. He totally had. Just thinking about it made Martín angry again.
It also made Luciano smile. It was that dark, evil smile, that people seemed to mistake for nice and warm.
"I didn't! Told you, your team is a pro at acting. Someone should give them an Oscar."
"Ok, next question. People know you're full of shit? Or they really fall for your nice guy act?"
Luciano laughed.
"Come on, you're not a real reporter, are you? Who the hell are you? One of their crazy fans?"
"Not mutually exclusive. It's a valid question. How many times were you kicked out of a game in disgrace?"
"None, but I won a trophy for fair play last year. Shows how much you know."
He was happier now, obviously. He liked to have his evilness recognized. Martín could understand that. It probably sucked to have everyone thinking you're adorable when you're clearly an evil overlord who likes to show your legs to people. Also, of course he knew that, he knew pretty much everything there was to know about Luciano's career - not only his, because it's not like he was important, Martín just knew stuff, ok - so whatever.
"Your robe is opening again," Martín told him. Now he was upset. "And this trophy is a joke."
"You're jealous."
"You're an idiot."
"Are you recording that?"
"I'll edit it later. So, are you ready for the next game? Are you practicing, or just fucking people and getting plastered?"
"Not mutually exclusive," he said, with a smile somewhat not as evil as the previous one. Martín suddenly had the very strong suspicion that the idiot was having fun at his expenses.
"... you know, I don't really care. I can get this on wikipedia."
"Probably. Hey, maybe you have a page too? Not that you're actually important, but if everything these days have one, maybe I can find stuff about you-"
"I don't, and you wouldn't know how to look for it. Now smile."
He got the camera, and started to take a very nice photograph that could totally go to the next porn section, if they ever decided to add one to the newspaper, because whoa his legs. Luciano looked at him, taken by surprise - that photo was also cool, because he looked like a pretty deer caught in the headlights - and then he jumped on him.
Really, there was no other way to describe it, he just got up and jumped on him, to take his camera, and Martín had heard about celebrities going a bit insane at reporters when they didn't want to have their pictures taken, but it had never happened to him before. Now he could tell war stories like everyone else, like that guy who had been slapped by that woman from the TV, and it took Martín a few seconds to realize that he was saying all that, out loud, and laughing, as he tried to keep his camera from Luciano's reach, and Luciano was screaming at him and it was mostly 'give it back you asshole' but it had some insults in Portuguese too. His dark eyes were alight like never before - from their moment at the door, anyway. He was on his back at the bed and Luciano was on top of him and sort of maybe straddling him which meant his robe would totally be open by now, and Martín wanted to know how the hell this had happened, because things were so normal a few seconds before, right? He was still laughing. He couldn't stop. Luciano finally managed to grab his arm, and pull his hand and Martín couldn't just let the camera fall on the floor, so this meant the game was over.
Luciano took it from his hand, and then he seemed to came back from his senses. Or what passed for senses in his case. He sat back, still on top of Martín, and pulled the robe to cover himself again, which was impossible, with his legs spread like that, and dude what the hell. Martín rubbed his face, trying to start breathing again. And stop laughing.
"Hey- that thing about sexual harassment-"
"Shut up, this is your fault and you know it," Luciano said. He run his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath, and Martín almost told him to give up, his hair was obviously staying just like it was. All over the place.
Same about his robe.
"I am so suing you for this. Second best team player in the world or not, you can't do that. Get off, I need to breathe."
"Shut up."
He didn't move. Just turned the camera and started to check the pictures.
"God, you're so bad at this. I can't even tell what this is."
Of course. He probably had some amazing shots of the ceiling and the bed and the covers. Luciano's chest was... really nice, now that Martín was thinking about it. And seeing from so close. All those muscles, and the smooth, dark tanned skin.
"No, really, this is getting uncomfortable-"
Luciano gave him the smuggest look that someone had ever given him in his life, and Martín could feel his cheeks getting warm.
"Not like that, you idiot-"
"I didn't say anything."
"I know what you're thinking! And you can stop that right now, I'm not one of your-"
And they never found out what Martín wasn't, because then someone knocked on the door.
"Oh shit," Luciano said, his eyes suddenly getting wide, "It must be Francis. Fuck. Get up."
He got up before Martín could point out that he had to do it first, and then pulled him by his arm so fast that Martín almost thought he was going to rip it out.
"Hey! I'll need that-"
"Shit. Shit. What is he going to think, he just left! He'll think I'm a total- look, shut up and let me think-"
"I'm not saying anything. Give me back my-"
"The closet. Yes. Look-"
He pulled Martín and grabbed his arms, holding him like that, and looking right into his eyes.
“I talked to you and listened to your bullshit, right? So you owe me one-"
"Hey now-"
"So be quiet and pretend you're not here, I'll talk to you later. Ok? Just- don't breathe. Loud, I mean. Please."
"What the hell are you-"
And then Luciano opened a closet and just pushed him inside, just like that, and then he locked the door.
He. Actually locked the door.
Martín stared at it. He could hear Luciano moving in the room, and- ok just what in the name of fuck, how the hell had this happened-
Luciano opened it again. Without saying anything, and without giving him the chance, too, he threw his super reporter bat-bag at him, and then closed it again.
Martín almost kicked the door. He raised his hand to punch it - but then he reconsidered. He could do that, right? Do him a small favor? And then he could explain Luciano that he owed him one, because dude, he totally did, giving an interview wasn't really a favor, it was normal and people did it all the time, but agreeing to be locked inside a dumb closet was a whole different thing. He could hear Luciano opening the door a few meters away, and saying something, and-
-and the only reason he wasn't completely shocked was because this day was already crazy enough. Because he could have sworn he was hearing Maria's voice.
tbc...
So, what happened to Manuel one year ago? Does his adoptive father love him? Is money all that matters? Will Martín ever get his interview? Is the Argentinean team really better (spoiler: no)? What is Maria trying to do anyway? And, more important, when will Luciano finally get dressed?
