Flying Pieces of Paper (Many Pairings; Upload: SpaMano)
May 31, 2015 21:06:45 GMT -8
✮Prince Leo✮ likes this
Post by writingandchocolate on May 31, 2015 21:06:45 GMT -8
Brazilian Wax (BFT, POV Japan)
rising-writing said: You should write about Alfred taking the Bad Friends Trio to get their asses waxed. Idk why I just thought of that
They came late in the night. There were four of them, each tripping over each other and giggling like mad. They smelled of the cigarettes from a bar, and they reeked of the last days of summer, something frantic and impulsive.
Kiku was closing down the shop when they had stumbled in, grins leering in the dark. Only one of them, who egged on the rest, seemed in more control of himself. Alfred, the others called him.
Alfred walked to the desk and slapped two hundred dollars on the counter.
“We’d like three Brazilians, please.” Alfred held up three fingers, and his eyes seemed a little clearer than they should have. “These fuckers think they can be strippers, but I told them not with the nest they have growing.” He laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever said.
Hair Dye (AmeriPan)
Kxshxshx requested: how about kiku trying to dye (bleach probably) his hair but Alfred being like noooo ;O; ur beautiful don't ruin it
Alfred and Kiku rarely fought. Their fights consisted more in the theoretical sense, tiffs that hardly existed at all. Some days, Alfred was moody and would throw his remote when he lost a videogame match, others, Kiku would refuse to pay for takeout.
But they were harmonious, for the most part. Neither of them did anything to upset the balance.
So, it was a bit of a shock when Alfred walked in one day to find a box of hair dye on the counter. Alfred looked at the box, even reached out to touch it. He jumped like it had burned him.
“Kiku?” he called, setting the various protein shakes he had bought on the counter. “Babe, why is there hair dye? I’m not going grey—there you are.”
Kiku glanced up from his desk. “Do not call be ‘babe.’”
Alfred leaned against the doorframe. “What’s that word you like me to call you in bed?” He grinned, and Kiku’s grip on his pen tightened.
“Was there something you needed?” Kiku asked softly, eyes flicking between his work and Alfred.
“Uh, yeah, why is there hair dye on the counter?” Alfred waltzed into the room, walking around Kiku and placing his chin on the top of the other man’s head. “It’s, like, the blond stuff, too. Did Arthur want some?”
“No, Alfred.” Kiku said the two words slow, and that made Alfred lean forward, mouth pressed against the crook of Kiku’s neck.
“Then who’s it for?” Alfred’s awkward position allowed him to lick Kiku’s on the neck three times as he spoke. The other man shivered. “Not for you?” Alfred breathed, hands creeping down over Kiku’s chest.
A bright red Ferrari perched among the SUVs. No stickers or dents, certainly no room for a car seat, yet it still arrived every Saturday for the weekly PTO meetings. It received more than its fair share of envious stares and annoyed looks.
Jen never had much of a problem with a car. She knew that Lauren and Rachel muttered darkly to one another whenever they saw it, insurance premiums and the fate of the children swirling darkly. But Tom down the block had gotten a motorcycle.
It was probably because it belonged to Lovino.
"I can't pack my kid Goldfish for lunch?" Lovino stood, one hand on his hip, sneer on his face. "Why exactly are you telling me what to feed my kid?"
Steve smiled, though it was faulty. "Because, Mr. Vargas, one of the children in the grade has a sever allergy—"
Lovino raised an eyebrow. "That's my fault? If I want to pack Goldfish, then I should be able to pack fucking Goldfish."
Jen frowned, and she heard Lauren and Rachel descend into a bout of disapproving whispers behind her. Lovino turned his head sharply before looking back at Steve. Jen wanted to sink through her chair into the floor.
"Don't even get me started on the peanuts."
rising-writing said: You should write about Alfred taking the Bad Friends Trio to get their asses waxed. Idk why I just thought of that
They came late in the night. There were four of them, each tripping over each other and giggling like mad. They smelled of the cigarettes from a bar, and they reeked of the last days of summer, something frantic and impulsive.
Kiku was closing down the shop when they had stumbled in, grins leering in the dark. Only one of them, who egged on the rest, seemed in more control of himself. Alfred, the others called him.
Alfred walked to the desk and slapped two hundred dollars on the counter.
“We’d like three Brazilians, please.” Alfred held up three fingers, and his eyes seemed a little clearer than they should have. “These fuckers think they can be strippers, but I told them not with the nest they have growing.” He laughed like it was the funniest thing he had ever said.
Kiku smiled politely, placing the money in the drawer. The other three were quite the group; a handsome man with long, blond hair who kept slipping into French; a plain looking brunet who nodded and agreed with everything the others were saying, who spoke with a lisp; a man who had bleached his hair white, and who laughed with a little too much force.
Alfred waved his hand lazily. “Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert.”
Kiku led them into the back. The walls here weren’t covered with stylish posters of nails and abstract paintings, this was business, were only the bravest dared to venture. And the brave knew what they were getting into, and no amount of picture frames could help that.
The room smelled aggressively of cleaning agents and flowers, something that assaulted the senses and caused more fear than relaxation. The five piled into the room, and Alfred turned to his friends and clapped his hands together.
“Which one of you is up first?” he asked, back a little too straight, casting mischievous looks at Kiku.
The three dawdled.
“It’s not that I’m afraid,” Gilbert snapped, hands on his hips and grin carved into his face, “It’s just that I’m not the one who’s gonna’ go first! It’s not fair—I had to pay for everyone’s drinks!”
Francis draped himself over Gilbert, hair a tangel that would have looked good even in a windstorm. “That’s because you are the only one with a job. We poor, unfortunate souls can only afford so much.” He turned to Antonio. “Dear, you should be the one to go.”
The comment took a moment to register on his face. A grin, a nervous one that was more instinct than anything, and then a slacked jaw denial. “No, no,” and he slipped into Spanish, sending fearful looks at the table.
Alfred let them squabble before wrapping his arms around Gilbert and Antonio. “Dudes, come on! Don’t be fucking babies, we already paid, and you’ll lose the competition. Faster you go up, faster it’s over.”
Gilbert was shoved forward, and his feet seemed to catch on the smooth linoleum as he trudged slower and slower to the table. His fingers, heavy and awkward with drinks, played with his belt and he hopped on the table.
Kiku warmed the wax. It was an unassuming little jar, and he only had a simple tongue-depressor and strips of cloth to inflict pain. Gilbert watched Kiku with a kind of unfocused daze, like he was watching his noose being prepared.
"You guys are just fucking assholes,” Gilbert said, looking at the other three.
“Oh, don’t be a fucking pussy,” Alfred sneered, reaching forward to place his hand on Gilbert’s face and give him a shove back. “Your boyfriend will like it, trust me.”
Kiku neared, and Gilbert jerked back, laughing. “Jesus fucking Christ! You look like you’re enjoying this way too much, fuck.” Another shaky laugh, and he allowed Kiku to step closer.
The wax dripped like honey, and the dreamy look was back in everyone’s eyes as Kiku spread. Even Alfred, whose demeanor had been slightly predatory, had calmed. The air was thick and heavy, like the heavens waiting for lightning to rip the skies apart.
“It’s warm.”
Kiku pressed the cloth to Gilbert’s flesh, pressing down carefully.
And Kiku ripped it off.
Gilbert shrieked, lurching backwards, upper back jutting off of the table. He let out another howl as he fell backwards, falling to the ground and flailing. Alfred burst out laughing, doubling over and holding onto Antonio for support as he wheezed.
Antonio and Francis were looking pale, watching as their friend writhed and eventually fell still on the ground. The room was very quiet, expect for Alfred’s snorts and Gilbert’s moans.
“Eh…” Antonio said, edging closer. “Are you… Okay?”
“Fuck you I’m okay! That fucking hurt, you son of a Spanish whore!” He looked up, eyes watering. “You. You have to go.”
Antonio stepped back, hands raising defensively and placating grin back. “Eh—“
“No!” Gilbert yelled, grabbing the table and dragging himself upwards. “No! You fuckwads have you go! Both of you have to get up on this fucking table and have your fucking pubes ripped out! Francis, you turn around right fucking now!”
Francis threw his hands up into the air. “I did not sign up for this! I wanted a few drinks!”
Gilbert nearly launched himself over the table. “I’ll kill you!”
Kiku cleared his throat. “I am not done.”
Gilbert’s head whipped around. “What?” His voice cracked.
“That was only the first strip.” Kiku held up the other pieces of cloth.
Nearby, Alfred leaned against the wall and slowly slid down, holding his stomach in a silent laugh.
Alfred waved his hand lazily. “Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert.”
Kiku led them into the back. The walls here weren’t covered with stylish posters of nails and abstract paintings, this was business, were only the bravest dared to venture. And the brave knew what they were getting into, and no amount of picture frames could help that.
The room smelled aggressively of cleaning agents and flowers, something that assaulted the senses and caused more fear than relaxation. The five piled into the room, and Alfred turned to his friends and clapped his hands together.
“Which one of you is up first?” he asked, back a little too straight, casting mischievous looks at Kiku.
The three dawdled.
“It’s not that I’m afraid,” Gilbert snapped, hands on his hips and grin carved into his face, “It’s just that I’m not the one who’s gonna’ go first! It’s not fair—I had to pay for everyone’s drinks!”
Francis draped himself over Gilbert, hair a tangel that would have looked good even in a windstorm. “That’s because you are the only one with a job. We poor, unfortunate souls can only afford so much.” He turned to Antonio. “Dear, you should be the one to go.”
The comment took a moment to register on his face. A grin, a nervous one that was more instinct than anything, and then a slacked jaw denial. “No, no,” and he slipped into Spanish, sending fearful looks at the table.
Alfred let them squabble before wrapping his arms around Gilbert and Antonio. “Dudes, come on! Don’t be fucking babies, we already paid, and you’ll lose the competition. Faster you go up, faster it’s over.”
Gilbert was shoved forward, and his feet seemed to catch on the smooth linoleum as he trudged slower and slower to the table. His fingers, heavy and awkward with drinks, played with his belt and he hopped on the table.
Kiku warmed the wax. It was an unassuming little jar, and he only had a simple tongue-depressor and strips of cloth to inflict pain. Gilbert watched Kiku with a kind of unfocused daze, like he was watching his noose being prepared.
"You guys are just fucking assholes,” Gilbert said, looking at the other three.
“Oh, don’t be a fucking pussy,” Alfred sneered, reaching forward to place his hand on Gilbert’s face and give him a shove back. “Your boyfriend will like it, trust me.”
Kiku neared, and Gilbert jerked back, laughing. “Jesus fucking Christ! You look like you’re enjoying this way too much, fuck.” Another shaky laugh, and he allowed Kiku to step closer.
The wax dripped like honey, and the dreamy look was back in everyone’s eyes as Kiku spread. Even Alfred, whose demeanor had been slightly predatory, had calmed. The air was thick and heavy, like the heavens waiting for lightning to rip the skies apart.
“It’s warm.”
Kiku pressed the cloth to Gilbert’s flesh, pressing down carefully.
And Kiku ripped it off.
Gilbert shrieked, lurching backwards, upper back jutting off of the table. He let out another howl as he fell backwards, falling to the ground and flailing. Alfred burst out laughing, doubling over and holding onto Antonio for support as he wheezed.
Antonio and Francis were looking pale, watching as their friend writhed and eventually fell still on the ground. The room was very quiet, expect for Alfred’s snorts and Gilbert’s moans.
“Eh…” Antonio said, edging closer. “Are you… Okay?”
“Fuck you I’m okay! That fucking hurt, you son of a Spanish whore!” He looked up, eyes watering. “You. You have to go.”
Antonio stepped back, hands raising defensively and placating grin back. “Eh—“
“No!” Gilbert yelled, grabbing the table and dragging himself upwards. “No! You fuckwads have you go! Both of you have to get up on this fucking table and have your fucking pubes ripped out! Francis, you turn around right fucking now!”
Francis threw his hands up into the air. “I did not sign up for this! I wanted a few drinks!”
Gilbert nearly launched himself over the table. “I’ll kill you!”
Kiku cleared his throat. “I am not done.”
Gilbert’s head whipped around. “What?” His voice cracked.
“That was only the first strip.” Kiku held up the other pieces of cloth.
Nearby, Alfred leaned against the wall and slowly slid down, holding his stomach in a silent laugh.
Hair Dye (AmeriPan)
Kxshxshx requested: how about kiku trying to dye (bleach probably) his hair but Alfred being like noooo ;O; ur beautiful don't ruin it
Alfred and Kiku rarely fought. Their fights consisted more in the theoretical sense, tiffs that hardly existed at all. Some days, Alfred was moody and would throw his remote when he lost a videogame match, others, Kiku would refuse to pay for takeout.
But they were harmonious, for the most part. Neither of them did anything to upset the balance.
So, it was a bit of a shock when Alfred walked in one day to find a box of hair dye on the counter. Alfred looked at the box, even reached out to touch it. He jumped like it had burned him.
“Kiku?” he called, setting the various protein shakes he had bought on the counter. “Babe, why is there hair dye? I’m not going grey—there you are.”
Kiku glanced up from his desk. “Do not call be ‘babe.’”
Alfred leaned against the doorframe. “What’s that word you like me to call you in bed?” He grinned, and Kiku’s grip on his pen tightened.
“Was there something you needed?” Kiku asked softly, eyes flicking between his work and Alfred.
“Uh, yeah, why is there hair dye on the counter?” Alfred waltzed into the room, walking around Kiku and placing his chin on the top of the other man’s head. “It’s, like, the blond stuff, too. Did Arthur want some?”
“No, Alfred.” Kiku said the two words slow, and that made Alfred lean forward, mouth pressed against the crook of Kiku’s neck.
“Then who’s it for?” Alfred’s awkward position allowed him to lick Kiku’s on the neck three times as he spoke. The other man shivered. “Not for you?” Alfred breathed, hands creeping down over Kiku’s chest.
“I thought—you are drooling on me.” Kiku laughed, and the computer chair leaned back. Alfred squawked and adjusted his position, lips brushing against Kiku’s throat. “I’m going to dye it.”
“Jelly of my hair?” Alfred kissed right underneath Kiku’s ear, then kissed down. “Because I know it’s fucking awesome. Like, gorgeous. Blond. Yum.” Alfred nipped at Kiku’s shoulder. The computer chair groaned.
Kiku tilted his head, allowing Alfred better access. “I was thinking I could dye the ends. So the roots would not show. Mm, do that again.”
Alfred grinned. He loved when Kiku’s voice caught like that, right at the beginning of his sentences. His hands trailed down and trailed up underneath Kiku’s shirt, and the chair almost gave under their combined weight.
“I like your hair,” Alfred whined. “It’s very… Black.”
Kiku laughed, craning his neck and allowing Alfred to trail kisses wherever he pleased. “Very observant of you. I thought it would look cool.”
“Mm, say cool again.”
Kiku laughed again, then pried himself out of Alfred’s grip. The other man moaned, pouting.
“I’m going to dye it now, actually.”
“What?” Alfred asked, following Kiku down the hall to the kitchen. “Are you—wait, you were serious? No, stop—“ Alfred ran ahead and blocked the doorway. “You can’t just, just, change your hair color!”
Kiku rested his hands on his hips. “I can.”
“No,” Alfred whined again, and then his lips were against Kiku’s.
Alfred grunted, not fighting the kiss but bending down, fingers curling into Kiku’s hair. There was a struggle, as each man tried to distract the other so that he could go to the kitchen/bedroom.
Kiku usually won their fights.
Alfred was pressed against the doorframe, and then Kiku was gone. Alfred frowned at the other side of the door, then whipped around to watch Kiku duck toward the sink.
“Aw, Kiku, come on!” Alfred followed behind like a kicked puppy, growing increasingly distressed as the box was opened. “The least you can do is not leave me hanging! No, put the bleach away!”
“Alfred, don’t whine.”
Alfred proceeded to do nothing else for the next week.
Fuck Peanuts (SpaMano)“Jelly of my hair?” Alfred kissed right underneath Kiku’s ear, then kissed down. “Because I know it’s fucking awesome. Like, gorgeous. Blond. Yum.” Alfred nipped at Kiku’s shoulder. The computer chair groaned.
Kiku tilted his head, allowing Alfred better access. “I was thinking I could dye the ends. So the roots would not show. Mm, do that again.”
Alfred grinned. He loved when Kiku’s voice caught like that, right at the beginning of his sentences. His hands trailed down and trailed up underneath Kiku’s shirt, and the chair almost gave under their combined weight.
“I like your hair,” Alfred whined. “It’s very… Black.”
Kiku laughed, craning his neck and allowing Alfred to trail kisses wherever he pleased. “Very observant of you. I thought it would look cool.”
“Mm, say cool again.”
Kiku laughed again, then pried himself out of Alfred’s grip. The other man moaned, pouting.
“I’m going to dye it now, actually.”
“What?” Alfred asked, following Kiku down the hall to the kitchen. “Are you—wait, you were serious? No, stop—“ Alfred ran ahead and blocked the doorway. “You can’t just, just, change your hair color!”
Kiku rested his hands on his hips. “I can.”
“No,” Alfred whined again, and then his lips were against Kiku’s.
Alfred grunted, not fighting the kiss but bending down, fingers curling into Kiku’s hair. There was a struggle, as each man tried to distract the other so that he could go to the kitchen/bedroom.
Kiku usually won their fights.
Alfred was pressed against the doorframe, and then Kiku was gone. Alfred frowned at the other side of the door, then whipped around to watch Kiku duck toward the sink.
“Aw, Kiku, come on!” Alfred followed behind like a kicked puppy, growing increasingly distressed as the box was opened. “The least you can do is not leave me hanging! No, put the bleach away!”
“Alfred, don’t whine.”
Alfred proceeded to do nothing else for the next week.
A bright red Ferrari perched among the SUVs. No stickers or dents, certainly no room for a car seat, yet it still arrived every Saturday for the weekly PTO meetings. It received more than its fair share of envious stares and annoyed looks.
Jen never had much of a problem with a car. She knew that Lauren and Rachel muttered darkly to one another whenever they saw it, insurance premiums and the fate of the children swirling darkly. But Tom down the block had gotten a motorcycle.
It was probably because it belonged to Lovino.
"I can't pack my kid Goldfish for lunch?" Lovino stood, one hand on his hip, sneer on his face. "Why exactly are you telling me what to feed my kid?"
Steve smiled, though it was faulty. "Because, Mr. Vargas, one of the children in the grade has a sever allergy—"
Lovino raised an eyebrow. "That's my fault? If I want to pack Goldfish, then I should be able to pack fucking Goldfish."
Jen frowned, and she heard Lauren and Rachel descend into a bout of disapproving whispers behind her. Lovino turned his head sharply before looking back at Steve. Jen wanted to sink through her chair into the floor.
"Don't even get me started on the peanuts."
Rachel's voice cut off immediately.
Unfortunately, Sarah was in Claudio's grade. Jen would stand awkwardly at pickup, trying desperately to ignore Lovino. After all, he had that car, and he wore those expensive suits, and he had such a mouth but…
Jen watched sadly as Claudio walked out next to Sarah, holding hands.
One day, Jen finally built up the nerve to ask, "Sweetheart, are you friends with that boy Claudio?"
"Yes, and Claudio's gonna' ask his dad if we can have a playdate!" She grinned, eyes wide. So innocent.
Jen's heart sank.
The next day, Lovino walked up to her with a purpose. He had gone slightly more casual today, a button-up and pair of slacks, but they were both ironed vigorously, and his shoes were shiny. Jen, wearing a shirt that was too small for her growing stomach and sweats, smiled.
"Are you Sarah's mom?" Lovino asked when he reached her.
She could lie.
Jen held out her hand. "Jennifer, but most people call me Jen. Claudio's dad, right?" As if the entire PTO board didn't know. "Sarah talks a lot about Claudio."
Lovino shook her hand with surprising warmth. "Lovino. Claudio's been bitching about having a playdate with Sarah for weeks. When would you be free?"
Jen put it off, until Sarah threw herself to the ground (a tactic no doubt learned from Claudio) and sobbed that Jen didn't want her to have friends. Left with no other option, at least according to Lauren and Rachel, Friday afternoon found Jen on the Vargas doorstep.
It was a fantastic house. Huge yard, three stories, the red Ferrari parked protectively in the driveway. Jen had even seen a pool in the back. She wondered if Lovino was rich, what he did, what his wife's job was.
Sarah rang the doorbell.
Inside, there was the sing-song of another language, a shout in another. Something fell, and it knocked against the door.
A man opened the door, a grin already across his face.
"Eh, sorry about that! I was upstairs, trying to find the food for the turtles, and Lovino wouldn't get the door. Neither would Claudio, because he's out back. Who are you?" He spoke with a lisp, and he seemed strikingly happy.
"Uh." Jen smiled back. "Jennifer, but people call me Jen. Sarah's mom." She pushed forward Sarah in explanation. "I… They have a playdate?"
It took a moment, but recognition eventually dawned in the man's eyes. "Sarah! Claudio's been very excited to see you…" He said something else, but Jen was too caught up in the accent to his words and the way his mouth moved.
Who the hell was this?
It took her a moment to realize he had asked a question.
"Sorry, what?"
The man laughed. Jen wasn't sure what was so funny, but she chuckled along as well.
"I asked if you would like to come in! You aren't allergic to cats, are you? Sarah, Claudio should be out back, right through there." The man showed her inside, yelling upstairs in what sounded like Spanish. He looked at her. "How far along are you?"
Jen rested a hand on her stomach. "Just a couple of months. You're the first person to realize I… Well, that I'm not getting fat, just pregnant." Jen hesitated, then broke. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
The man let out another laugh. "I'm Antonio." He led her to a light and airy kitchen, all windows and counter-space. "We've been thinking about adopting another, as well."
"No, we haven't," Lovino growled, and Jen jumped. He had appeared out of a side room, wearing a t-shirt and jeans.
"Not even a little girl?" Antonio teased, watching Lovino walk through the kitchen. "A little princess? Someone to dress up in skirts?" Antonio winked at Jen. "He likes to pretend adopting was all my idea."
Lovino looked at Jen and then gave Antonio a glare. "It was. You literally brought the kid home and said 'surprise.'"
It clicked, and Jen let out a soft "oh" in understanding.
Jen seems to have been the only one out of the loop. Lauren and Rachel launched into a tirade.
"Can you believe it?" they said, "That someone as reckless as Lovino got such a nice husband? He's so cute, and nice, and that poor boy only has one good father instead of two!"
At the next meeting, Jen watched Lovino on his rant, and she imagined him laying in bed, Claudio wedged between him and Antonio, snarl replaced with a smile.
"Fuck peanuts! Fuck you, Rachel!"
It was certainly a strange image.
Unfortunately, Sarah was in Claudio's grade. Jen would stand awkwardly at pickup, trying desperately to ignore Lovino. After all, he had that car, and he wore those expensive suits, and he had such a mouth but…
Jen watched sadly as Claudio walked out next to Sarah, holding hands.
One day, Jen finally built up the nerve to ask, "Sweetheart, are you friends with that boy Claudio?"
"Yes, and Claudio's gonna' ask his dad if we can have a playdate!" She grinned, eyes wide. So innocent.
Jen's heart sank.
The next day, Lovino walked up to her with a purpose. He had gone slightly more casual today, a button-up and pair of slacks, but they were both ironed vigorously, and his shoes were shiny. Jen, wearing a shirt that was too small for her growing stomach and sweats, smiled.
"Are you Sarah's mom?" Lovino asked when he reached her.
She could lie.
Jen held out her hand. "Jennifer, but most people call me Jen. Claudio's dad, right?" As if the entire PTO board didn't know. "Sarah talks a lot about Claudio."
Lovino shook her hand with surprising warmth. "Lovino. Claudio's been bitching about having a playdate with Sarah for weeks. When would you be free?"
Jen put it off, until Sarah threw herself to the ground (a tactic no doubt learned from Claudio) and sobbed that Jen didn't want her to have friends. Left with no other option, at least according to Lauren and Rachel, Friday afternoon found Jen on the Vargas doorstep.
It was a fantastic house. Huge yard, three stories, the red Ferrari parked protectively in the driveway. Jen had even seen a pool in the back. She wondered if Lovino was rich, what he did, what his wife's job was.
Sarah rang the doorbell.
Inside, there was the sing-song of another language, a shout in another. Something fell, and it knocked against the door.
A man opened the door, a grin already across his face.
"Eh, sorry about that! I was upstairs, trying to find the food for the turtles, and Lovino wouldn't get the door. Neither would Claudio, because he's out back. Who are you?" He spoke with a lisp, and he seemed strikingly happy.
"Uh." Jen smiled back. "Jennifer, but people call me Jen. Sarah's mom." She pushed forward Sarah in explanation. "I… They have a playdate?"
It took a moment, but recognition eventually dawned in the man's eyes. "Sarah! Claudio's been very excited to see you…" He said something else, but Jen was too caught up in the accent to his words and the way his mouth moved.
Who the hell was this?
It took her a moment to realize he had asked a question.
"Sorry, what?"
The man laughed. Jen wasn't sure what was so funny, but she chuckled along as well.
"I asked if you would like to come in! You aren't allergic to cats, are you? Sarah, Claudio should be out back, right through there." The man showed her inside, yelling upstairs in what sounded like Spanish. He looked at her. "How far along are you?"
Jen rested a hand on her stomach. "Just a couple of months. You're the first person to realize I… Well, that I'm not getting fat, just pregnant." Jen hesitated, then broke. "I'm sorry, but who are you?"
The man let out another laugh. "I'm Antonio." He led her to a light and airy kitchen, all windows and counter-space. "We've been thinking about adopting another, as well."
"No, we haven't," Lovino growled, and Jen jumped. He had appeared out of a side room, wearing a t-shirt and jeans.
"Not even a little girl?" Antonio teased, watching Lovino walk through the kitchen. "A little princess? Someone to dress up in skirts?" Antonio winked at Jen. "He likes to pretend adopting was all my idea."
Lovino looked at Jen and then gave Antonio a glare. "It was. You literally brought the kid home and said 'surprise.'"
It clicked, and Jen let out a soft "oh" in understanding.
Jen seems to have been the only one out of the loop. Lauren and Rachel launched into a tirade.
"Can you believe it?" they said, "That someone as reckless as Lovino got such a nice husband? He's so cute, and nice, and that poor boy only has one good father instead of two!"
At the next meeting, Jen watched Lovino on his rant, and she imagined him laying in bed, Claudio wedged between him and Antonio, snarl replaced with a smile.
"Fuck peanuts! Fuck you, Rachel!"
It was certainly a strange image.
