Chapter Text
London, it seems, is always cold.
"They call this Spring?" Lovino asks as they step out of the sliding doors at Heathrow Airport. "This is like December back home."
Antonio isn't sure if Lovino is referring to Spain or to Italy, but the sentiment is applicable in both cases.
Lovino cranes his neck to peek out from the large glass awning they're currently sheltered under- the clouds are low and dark and it is just about to rain.
"Who gets married in such shitty weather, anyway?" he complains, flinching when a big fat raindrop hits him right between the eyes. "They couldn't have done this in Paris? It has to be warmer in Paris. Rainy London is no place for a wedding."
"Ah yes, because you're such an expert," Antonio teases. "You don't even like weddings. If it were solely up to you, our wedding would be a two minute civil ceremony, and then you'd forbid me from ever mentioning it to anyone."
"You forget that I've never actually agreed to marry you in the first place," Lovino mutters, and then says, "this isn't even a wedding, really. Those two have been going at it for centuries, it's not like getting hitched will change anything."
Antonito sighs. On the one hand, Lovino is right- weddings do seem a little trivial when you've been together for longer than a lifetime. For Arthur and Francis, this is more of an anniversary, a renewal of vows. But on the other hand, part of Antonio is still human; he still has a heart that beats and races and wants. And part of what he wants is to be married, even if he already knows that he'll be with Lovino forever anyway.
He looks back at Lovino over his shoulder as he steps out into the rain, reaching blindly for the door handle of the nearest available taxi. His foot comes down on the edge of the curb as his other foot lifts, and he loses his balance.
He's already hitting the ground before he realises he's falling, sprawled out on his back, one leg bent awkwardly underneath him, head throbbing from where it connected with the pavement. He sits up, the world around him wet and grey and spinning a little. He can hear someone nearby gasp, and someone else laughing- he doesn't have to guess who.
Lovino keeps laughing until their luggage and suit bags and soaking wet selves are loaded into the taxi, which pulls out into traffic after Antonio gives the driver the name of their hotel.
"You're so meeeeean, Lovi," Antonio groans, rubbing the back of his head. "I could have been really hurt! I could have a concussion!"
Lovino stops laughing but keeps smiling, pushing Antonio's hand away and combing his fingers through Antonio's hair at the sore spot on his skull.
"Tch. You'll be fine." He doesn't sound nearly as dismissive as Antonio knows he was trying to sound.
Antonio smiles and uses this position to his advantage. He reaches up and grabs Lovino's wrist, pulling him in so that he can kiss the very spot where the first of the raindrops had landed.
"Chigi- cut it out, bastard." Lovino smacks the side of Antonio's head, but it's a half-hearted gesture at best. Antonio just kisses him again and then laughs at his red face for the rest of the ride to the hotel.
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The hotel suite is bigger and fancier than Lovino had expected, considering they're only staying for a few days. There's a large lounge area that opens up to a full kitchen on one side, with a door to the bedroom on the other wall. Everything is white, the walls and the cabinets and the leather of the couches. All the door handles and light fixtures are shiny chrome, and the only things on the walls are pictures of the ocean, rocky coasts and crashing waves captured and framed. The floor is dark wood and the rug in the lounge is the same colour as the clouds outside.
The only thing remotely familiar about this room is the stone fireplace, rough and natural where the rest of it is clean and manicured. It reminds Lovino of the one they have at home, only the one at home is more than a hundred years old and actually burns wood.
Lovino leaves his luggage by the couch and barely looks around before he goes right for the bedroom door.
The bedroom is identical to the rest of the suite, white and cold but peaceful just the same. It's probably almost the size of the lounge area- it seems smaller, though, what with the enormous bed taking up one side of the room. It's high and poofy and kind of resembles a marshmallow. Lovino doesn't feel that tired, but he can't wait to test out the mattress.
"You didn't have to book the penthouse," he calls, stepping over to the large window which overlooks the Thames. The curtains are pale grey and gossamer and Lovino runs the fabric between his fingers, suddenly restless in a way he can't explain.
"I like to spoil you." Antonio stands in the doorway, leaning on the frame with one shoulder while he unbuttons his shirt.
Lovino scoffs, but the breath catches in his throat when he turns around and sees Antonio, shirt undone, head bowed, looking over at him through those annoyingly long eyelashes of his.
"When's the party?" Lovino drops forward onto the bed and leans up on his elbows.
"Not 'til tomorrow." Antonio rounds the bed, pulling Lovino onto his back and crawling over him. Lovino puts his hands to Antonio's bare chest and frowns. His skin is usually so much warmer than this, bronzed by the sun and soaked in its heat. The clouds have dimmed his glow- he doesn't belong in such a dreary place. He belongs on beaches, in his tomato fields, walking through vineyards and dancing in firelight. He belongs in his home, in their home, in Lovino's bed and Lovino's arms.
It strikes Lovino, just how sentimental he's being, how close he is to writing mental poetry about Antonio's skin of all things. And in London, just about the least romantic place he can think of. If he were in Paris, it might seem less strange, perhaps. If he were at home, under the stars, it would almost be normal. And just how long has he been doing this- being with Antonio is nothing new, so why are his feelings suddenly changing? He must be more jetlagged than he thought.
"Roma?" Antonio whispers. "Something wrong?"
It's then that Lovino realises he's been staring. He lifts his head and kisses Antonio, pulling back only so that he can answer. His hands are already working on Antonio's belt.
"It's nothing. Now shut up and kiss me."
<><><><><>
Lovino, as much as he'll never admit it, becomes an octopus in his sleep. It's a familial thing, as far as Antonio can tell, one of the traits that both of the Vargas brothers share, even if one of them wishes it weren't so.
This is how Antonio and Lovino always end up tangled together on the two feet of space closest to the edge of the bed, no matter how big the bed may be. Big beds are great for all kinds of things, but when it comes to sleeping, for them, a king size mattress might as well be a couch. Antonio wouldn't change it for the world.
He wakes up to the growl of his stomach and the persistent rhythm of Lovino's soft (adorable) snoring- another one of those things he will never admit to doing. Antonio looks around for a clock, but there isn't one, and his phone is in the other room. He notes that the light has changed, the sky having gone from rainy afternoon to rainy evening. The sun is barely managing to break through the clouds as it sets over the city skyline
This place is a far cry from their estate back in Spain. They're a world away from the Mediterranean, from the sprawling ranch house and terracotta rooftops, the fruit trees that shade the veranda where he and Lovino spend so much of their time. The hallways full of carefully cluttered decorations from all sorts of places, memories spanning back centuries. The low ceilings covered in mosaics and murals, hand-woven rugs on stone floors and quilts of every colour thrown over the backs of chairs. Their bed, just as big as this one, with cool silk sheets and more pillows than anyone needs.
There's a warmth to their home that Antonio has never been able to find anywhere else. And he's been everywhere, the spirit of discovery having never really left him, even after the great expeditions had ceased. But he's never encountered anything that can compare to the smell of the earth on his skin after a day in the fields, or the taste of good wine. He could comb every inch of the earth and never find the same rare sweetness of Lovino's smile, or the same familiar comfort of his skin, or a light that glows the way Lovino's eyes do by candlelight.
"Mmph," Lovino grunts, half of his face squished against Antonio's chest. "What time is it?"
"Dinner time," Antonio replies, remembering just how hungry he is.
"Meh. Let's get room service."
Antonio watches Lovino stretch, arms reaching high above his head, fingers splayed wide open before he curls back in on himself, obviously pretending like he wasn't just glued to Antonio's side.
"Aw, can't we go out, Lovi? Please?" He grabs Lovino by the hip and pulls him back in, sliding his fingertips up Lovino's spine and smiling when Lovino shivers.
"Bastard! Your hands are freezing."
"Let me take you to dinner," Antonio murmurs, lips pressed to Lovino's ear. "We can go wherever you want, and when we get back, I'll do anything you ask me to."
Lovino pulls him back by the hair and looks him in the eye, wary and suspicious.
"What are you up to?"
"Up to? Amore, what are you talking about?"
He watches Lovino consider it, can almost hear the gears whirring and clicking in his head.
"Fine. We'll go out."
"Excellent!"
Antonio rolls over, intent on getting to the shower first (even though it's more than likely big enough for the both of them). He expects to have plenty of space on his other side, but he miscalculates just how close he was to the edge of the bed and he-
-tumbles in a graceless heap onto the floor, hitting it face first and taking most of the covers with him.
"Oh my God," Lovino snorts, dissolving into near hysterical laughter. "Oh my God."
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Antonio mumbles, but then, he's already laughing as well.