Romerica Secret Santa

“And how do you know that you’re mad?“

"To begin with,” said the Cat, “A dog’s not mad. You grant that?" 

"I suppose so,” said Alfred. 

“Well then,” the Cat went on, “You see a dog growls when it’s angry, and wags it’s tail when it’s pleased. Now I growl when I’m pleased, and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.” 

——

Read on FFnet here! This is for the awesome @aph-american-sin can-sin, who I don’t think I can tag in a submission? Merry Christmas have some Romerica!!

[Soundtrack: Moon Dance/Moondance]

—

a marvelous night for a moondance

Lovino had been turned back in the 16th century at the young age of 23. His sire had been an affable Spanish man, appearing to be in his mid-30s, who Lovino had met before and hadn’t thought to be threatened by until it was too late. He’d awoken from a bloodfever haze six days later, and immediately known what he’d become and what it meant for him.

Being turned so young had been both a blessing and a curse. No wife or children yet, but he’d had a bright future ahead of him that now had turned dim, moonlit instead of sunlit. Being forever young — he didn’t think it was vanity to say he was very attractive, which in some ways made his life easier. He never had any difficulty luring prey. On the other hand, it made him more memorable. He was never able to stay in one place for more than a few years. He’d also never had any difficulty finding work as a stone mason or dock worker, frozen in the prime of his life, a strong and healthy young man, albeit one who kept weird hours. But he would never look old enough for more respectable work, at least not in Italy, where tradition permeated the very stone of the buildings, and seemed to linger in the very air that Lovino didn’t breathe. So, in the early 20th century, he left Rome for New York City.

By that time, Feliciano was long dead.

America was different; it had its own unique mix of new customs and Old World traditions. Lovino had always been a fast learner, so he had little trouble adjusting. Especially among the vampires, there was a set of guidelines for interaction to help prevent disputes over territory or prey. Their kind tended to be fairly solitary anyway.

Which was why it threw Lovino for a bit of a loop when he wandered into a secluded part of Central Park one night and spotted another vampire (they were always immediately recognizable to each other). He was even more surprised when, rather than the traditional solemn nod, the other vamp gave him an enthusiastic wave.

Taken aback, Lovino stopped and gaped a little, which was apparently all the invitation the stranger needed to approach him.

“Hey what’s up haven’t seen you around before my name’s Alfred you can call me Al!”

All one sentence. Spoken without pausing for breath, obviously, but also without even the slightest acknowledgement that there should be pauses between sentences, dammit.

“How old are you?” Lovino demanded instead of introducing himself, which was terribly rude, but the other vamp had started it.

“Uh in like human years or vampire years?”

Oh he had to be recently turned. “Both.”

“Okay, well, I was 19 when I got turnt, haha, but it was back in 1986 soooo I guess I’m 51? Gettin’ up there!”

“Excuse me?”

“What, why, how old are you?”

Lovino felt what little blood he had left from his last meal a few days ago rush to his face in an attempted blush. “What kind of a rude question is that!”

“You asked me first! Hey, are you Italian? You sound kinda Italian.”

Lovino tried to collect himself. “My name is Lovino Vargas, I'm several hundred years old, and yes, I’m originally from Rome.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, causing a fresh wave of resentful blood to course through Lovino’s withered veins. “Oh, one of those old types. Y'all are such sticklers.”

“How is it you’ve been turned for 30 years but your sire or somebody hasn’t taught you any manners?”

“Ha! He tried but I told him noooo thank you, following rules is the opposite of why I got you to turn me into a vampire so you can leave me alone with that nonsense. He was old and British, so you know, if you’ve ever met a British vampire? They are every stereotype you could possibly think of.”

Which, there was a lot to unpack there. But the first thing that came out of Lovino’s mouth, for some reason, was, “Like in the original Dark Shadows TV series.” Incredibly embarrassing, but for some reason this made Alfred light up.

“Yeah! Not the weird movie remake, which I have strong opinions about.” Yeah, Lovino did, too. “Man, I knew you looked cool! Have you watched a lot of vampire stuff? Like What We Do in the Shadows?”

Lovino puffed up a bit. “Of course I have! I’ve seen and read every major and minor piece of vampire media made in the last 200 years. I find it very important to know what the current trends and misconceptions in human media are. You never know when they’ll actually catch on to something.”

Alfred squinted at him, which was ridiculous because they both had perfect night vision and the moon was full, besides. Lovino squinted back.

“That’s a whole lot of media…” Alfred said slowly, sounding exaggeratedly suspicious.

“Well, I have a lot of time on my hands,” was his dry response.

This actually made Alfred laugh. “And he jokes!”

Sometimes, Lovino would actually make jokes about garlic and being Italian when he got food at his favorite pizzeria at 2AM. No one was ever around to appreciate those jokes, though. And he wasn’t about to tell Alfred about it.

Alfred rocked back on his heels, delighted grin on his face. “Every single piece of media, huh? I call bullshit.”

“I have —” he started to protest, but Alfred flapped a hand at him.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you’ve done it, I’m saying I don’t think it was research. Anyone who watches the 2004 Van Helsing movie willingly is doing it because they’re really into that stuff.”

Direct hit. “Better than Twilight,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. This just made the other vamp laugh again.

Wait.

“Hold on just a damn minute, did you say you deliberately got turned?!”

“Yeah, so I could fly!”

Lovino deliberately took a deep breath, turned around to collect himself, and immediately spun back around and shouted, “We can’t fly! Are you nuts?!”

“We can in Castlevania,” Alfred told him matter-of-factly.

Lovino stared at him. “Are you referring to the video game that came out in 1986? That Castlevania?” Then it hit him. “Oh my God, you are. You said you went out and got turned in 1986. Because of Castlevania?!” He was vaguely aware that he was practically screeching, but he was too riled up to care.

“Well yeah, the game was awesome!” Alfred said defensively.

At this point, Lovino devolved into cursing extravagantly in Italian.

Alfred seemed unfazed. “Man, you sound like my brother. Except he yelled at me in French instead of Italian.”

This brought him up short. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah! We’re twins!”

Like him and Feliciano.

“He’s…still alive?”

“Yeah! I always joke he’s waiting until he looks like the older brother before he lets me turn him. Well, now he looks more like my dad when we’re hanging out together.”

“You're in contact with him?”

Out of this entire strange interaction, this was what hit him. It was just so different from what he’d done. He’d been turned into a monster, someone who would never fit back into society. Rather than subject his twin to that, he’d run, and he’d watched from afar, and Feliciano had mourned him and then gotten older and fallen in love and lived happily and then died. And Lovino had never spoken to him that whole time.

This guy had deliberately gotten turned into an immortal, for a power they didn’t even have, after playing a goddamned video game from the 80s. But. He still talked to his brother.

Overwhelmed, Lovino started to take a step back. Alfred must have seen something in his face because suddenly he reached out to grab one of Lovino’s hands in his.

“Oh, but wow, I’ve been so rude!” he exclaimed in a faux-repentant voice. It made Lovino pause long enough, because yeah he had, that Alfred was able to also grab his other hand. “Do you wanna dance?”

Lovino was speechless yet again. “What?” he finally spluttered out. “What kind of manners did this asshole teach you, what the fuck.”

“You’re the one swearing,” Alfred said primly. “Anyway, I took some ballroom dances when I was in college in the 80s, I mean obviously I’m doing night school and online coursework now, but I had the dancing thing down pretty good, at least by college standards. So! Wanna dance?” He phrased it like a question but by the time he was finished speaking he’d already dragged Lovino into a basic waltz.

“You’re out of your mind,” Lovino told him dazedly, unconsciously following the steps as he stared up at this blond madman. “Castlevania.”

Alfred laughed and graced him with another smile — it was quite a nice smile, actually — but didn’t say anything for a minute. “You know,” he said quietly once they’d gotten into a rhythm, cutting over damp grass with light steps, “We always joke about it but I’m pretty sure Mattie’s going to stay human.” Another pause. “At least I have this time with him. I’m a little scared of what I’ll do after he…well. After.”

Lovino considered this with the seriousness it deserved. “Well. You keep living, I guess. Or not, as the case may be.”

Alfred blinked, surprised, and then snorted. “You really do have jokes.” He said it softly. It sounded almost fond.

They were still dancing, but Lovino started to notice the ground felt odd under his feet.

He looked down.

The grass glistened darkly in the moonlight, several yards below them. They crested near the tops of the trees, and Alfred spun him in a way that made the shining lights of the city around the park, just for a moment, look like stars whirling around them.

They were actually flying. The air under his feet was not quite solid; it had a strange sort of give to it but also an elasticity that seemed to push him back up every time he took a step. Lovino gasped, a breath he didn’t need, and then felt a laugh burst out of him in a way that hadn’t happened in at least a few decades.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he asked Alfred when he’d managed to contain himself to just a smile. It felt a bit flirtatious on his face, which his dance partner must have picked up on if the way he waggled his eyebrows was any indication.

“You bet! Are you feeling something in that cold, dead heart of yours?”

Lovino looked down and then up through his eyelashes, something he usually did for luring prey. This was more genuine.

“Maybe sometime we should…get a drink. Go dancing again.”

Alfred mock gasped. “Excuse me, I’m only 19 and it’s not legal for me to drink.”

Lovino felt himself snort. At the moment he didn’t care that it was inelegant.

As they started to descend, still slowly turning in circles, Alfred smiled. “I’d love to dance with you, though. If you think you can keep up with me.”

“How rude. You know, as your elder —”

They touched down back on the grass just in time to hear a sharp gasp, the kind that came from someone who actually used the air they took into their lungs.

A man stood on the edge of the clearing they were in, staring in amazement.

Alfred and Lovino looked at each other. Then, graciously, Alfred stood back and indicated he should go first.

Lovino grinned at his companion, feeling his teeth start to elongate.

For the first time in a long time, he felt the burning ember of hope deep inside of him — hope for the future, the centuries stretching out in front of him seemingly without end.

Because maybe he wouldn’t be alone.

With Alfred humming a Van Morrison song from behind him —

All gifts should be ready for posting by the 24th/25th. You can submit your pieces here or post them on your own blog as long as you @ us and your reciepient.

If you need to drop out for any reason please let us know asap!

If you have any questions, please don’t be afraid to ask. I’ll be checking as frequently as I can to make sure everything goes smoothly.

That’s right! It’s happening again this year!

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Prompt: Finding out the other has an unexpected skill (needlepoint? sailing? anything!)

Recipient:  Piratecat 

A/N: I let this one get away from me a little, this year, but hopefully it’s still alright enough that you enjoy it! Happy Holiday, Hannah, and I wish you the best for the New Year! n.n~

The snow was coming down in sheets.

Lovino always hated being here at this time of year, when it was too cold and the roads were impossible to drive on. Loud trucks would roam outside at night and steal from him his beauty sleep with their bothersome lights flashing through the cracks of the blinds. He could live without it – How many years had he had to do so in his youth? - but it didn’t make him any less irritated at the horrible state of things. Even most of the residents of this place had no problem with agreeing whenever he expressed his disgust in the fluffy white flakes that covered the steel and glass buildings in which they lived their lives.

But still, every year without fail, Alfred invited Lovino back. Invited him home, as the American so cheerfully liked to refer to it as, even though he knew fully well that a proud Italian man like himself would sooner die than recognize foreign soil as his home. He can’t help thinking that the younger nation must be using some kind of slang when he says it, because when they spend summer days on the beaches of Capri it fluidly turns into sweet summer nights where Alfred would smile at him softly and suggest they go home, which never failed to make Lovino’s heart flutter a little.

It’s these memories that he holds onto now, as it’s the only thing keeping him sane in this frozen hell. He knew that his partner could be a little on the clueless side every now and again, but certainly even America can see the issue with inviting a Mediterranean to any place where the temperature frequently drops below fifty?

“Apparently not,” Lovino grumbled to himself, pulling the thick blanket around his frame a little tighter. His glare was trained on the window that he sat beside, sending his curses out to the weather beyond the glass barrier. He wondered when Alfred would be home, because whenever that ended up being was also when the idiot was about to get his ass kicked for making this man suffer so.

As if on cue, the front door opened and Lovino could just barely hear the wind whistling outside over the crackling of the fake fireplace Alfred had playing on his television in the other room. When Lovino had questioned him about such a useless practice, the American had quoted the necessity for ambiance and he really just hadn’t had the energy left to argue such a claim.

“Lovi! I’m home!” Alfred called, knocking his boots against the doorframe and loosening the snow stuck to them before stepping further into the house. He repeated the process again on the mat set out before the door, creating little piles of the white offenders in his very own house.

“Porca miseria! Close the door, Al! I haven’t lived this long to go by freezing to death!”

Alfred - instead of feeling any sort of sympathy for the poor Italian and his plight - simply laughed, but thankfully he had enough decency to do as asked and closed the door behind him before kneeling down in the front foyer to untie the laces on his thick, brown snow boots. He dusted the snow that had collected on the furry bit near the top before pulling his foot free of the shoe at last, only to repeat the process with the other. By this time, Lovino had emerged from his window perched to the doorframe connecting to the two rooms, leaning against it while still wrapped in his fuzzy cocoon. When his feet were finally free, Alfred set them aside on a mat filled with their various shoes and moved to hang up his coat.

“Is that the mail?” Lovino inquired, nodding towards a stack of boxes and envelopes sitting on the small table beside the door, nearly threatening to evict the key dish from it’s rightful place. Alfred dropped his own set into that very dish before retrieving the pile and moving across the room.

“Yep!” Alfred chirped, shuffling through the various letters. “Most of them seem to just be letters or bills… Oh! This one is from the Obamas! I hope they’re having a happy holiday.” The western most nation moved in for a kiss on the Italian’s cheek, which he was just a touch to slow to evade. The other’s freezing face touched the Italian’s skin and he let out a shriek of horror and frustration.

“Cazzo! Stronzo! Mi stai rompendo i coglioni!” Lovino hissed, loosening his enclosure just enough to land a punch on the nearest part of his partner that he could. Alfred had managed to turn his body to take the brute of it upon his shoulder. Again, no remorse was to be had; Only laughter. “You try that shit again I’m gonna make you sleep on the couch!”

“You’re gonna make me sleep on the couch in my own house?” Alfred countered, hiding his obvious amusement with a fist to his mouth. Nothing could be done for the clear emotion in his eyes.

“Absolutely I will! Don’t test me!”

“I’m not, Babe. I’m sorry.”

“You better be!”

“I am.”

“Good!”

There was a moment there were they just stared at each other, with Lovino giving his very best of a try me look and Alfred swallowing his laughter, but eventually the Italian simply folded his arms and turned his attention down to the other things in his partner’s hands.

“What about the box?” he asked, referring to a small box also in Alfred’s hands, which rattled every time it was moved and gave off a sort of metallic sound. Alfred flipped it around as he asked this, curiously.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, excitement written across his face, “It’s from Arthur! It must be those cookies he promised me!” Reaching into his pocket, Alfred pulled out his pocket knife and started tearing into the box with all the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. Lovino was less thrilled, his nose crinkled in disgust.

“What am I, your mother? You should know better than to be eating anything that man gives you!” Lovino scolded, reaching out and swiping the box out of the American’s hands as soon as he’d managed to pry the top open.

“Lovi! Wait! They’re really not that bad! Lemme show you?” Alfred held out his hands for the box. The other would not be so easily tempted away from them.

“Alfred,” he began, gently so that he was certain the clearly idiotic nation would understand him. “You know I love you, but so help me if you try and get me to eat one of these I promise you I’m going to-“

“Hon, it’s really not-”

“Alfred! Do I have to pull them out and show you how bad they are? Because I can do that! I can absolutely do that!”

“If you’d just-“

“Here I go! I’m opening them!” The Italian reached into the box and pried off the lid of the metal tin waiting inside. He expected to see burnt charcoal within but was surprised what he found instead. “See? They’re pitch… Huh?”

“I tried to tell you,” Alfred replied, taking Lovino’s flabbergasted pause to reach in and grab himself a cookie, which he then proceeded to shove into his mouth. “Arthur is actually surprisingly good at baking.”

The American reached for a second, but Lovino had recovered enough by this point to smack his hand away, earning himself a pout from the nation. “Just because they don’t look like shit doesn’t suddenly mean they are edible. You’re gonna die if you go eating strange things.”

“I haven’t died eating his food thus far, I highly doubt that I’m suddenly gonna start showing symptoms, now.” He made another move to snatch the desserts and this time Lovino evaded him by shifting to the left to bodily block any further attempts.

“When you suddenly develop a heart condition and go blind, you better not expect me to sit at your bedside and give you any sympathy,” Lovino returned with a huff.

“That is not gonna happen because I’m gonna be young and powerful forever,” Alfred snarked back. Lovino simply gave this a judgemental glance and the American sighed. “Lovi… Just try one? You’re gonna be surprised.”

“I’m gonna be dead is what I’m gonna be,” he grumbled, but Alfred just shot the nation a pleading look and Lovino groaned in defeat. “Fine… One! But then you have to cover all the medical bills.”

“Fair,” the American agreed. Lovino hesitantly took one of the cookies out of the tin and inspected it for any flaws. Unable to find any sizable enough to bring attention to, he took a small bite of the offending dessert. Alfred watched on with curious interest. “Well?”

The first bite was surprisingly good and so Lovino went for a second… And a third… And then he was reaching into the tin for another one of the cookies with determination. “Like I said; Absolute shit. I better hold onto these just so you don’t hurt yourself trying to eat them.”

“What? No fair!”

“I’ve officially confiscated them!”

“Hey! It’s Christmas! You have to share!”

—

The tin sat empty in the middle of the living room coffee table, resting beside two empty mugs of what had once been coffee. Two nations sat curled up on the couch, staring longingly at it while the credits for some cheesy Christmas classic that Alfred had insisted on played in the background.

“I hate to admit it,” Lovino said, turning the tin over and finding not even crumbs falling out of it; Alfred’s cat had come by and relieved them of those some time ago. “But I’m kinda disappointed that they’re gone. Maybe we should suck up to the eyebrow bastard so he’ll send us more of them.”

“I guess,” Alfred shrugged. “Or we could just make them ourselves… Your plan sounds easier, though.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t know the recipe for these things,” Lovino insisted. “You think I would have eaten any of them if I could just have made them myself?”

Alfred gave him a funny look. “Maybe not, but I do.”

“What?”

“Arthur taught me.”

“What!?”

“Yeah. He showed me how a couple decades ago; Said something about passing on the family secrets to his little brother or whatever that means.”

“WHAT?!”

Alfred gave the other a confused look, his brow furrowing. “I don’t see why this is such a surprise to you, Lovi. We both know he’s a sentimental old geezer.”

“No! Not that! I can’t believe you’ve known how to make these things this entire time and not once did you give me any!”

“Oh. Uh… Sorry? I can make them for you now if you want?”

Lovino held up the empty tin, with a very pointed look in his eye. “I want.”

Alfred laughed, taking the Italians hand and pulling him to his feet. “Come on… Just don’t tell Arthur I told you the recipe after we’re done here, alright? He told me if I started telling his secrets to other people he was gonna hex me or something and I really don’t wanna know what that means.”

“I won’t,” Lovino promised, allowing himself to be dragged towards the kitchen, sparing only a moment’s glance back towards the window where the world still was encased in a flurry of white.

So many things have happened to make this belated Secret Santa gift...so happy day after Christmas to conflicted-in-wonderland, and this is a submission so I have no idea how to @ or tag this. BUT this can also be read over at ffnet, just in case the format turns out wonky. 

This started out for the prompt of a Prince and the Pauper AU, but I tried putting a twist on it and then it got out of hand. THANK YOU for your continued beautiful contributions to this lovely rarepair, and hope your holiday season is going well!!

good times, riches, sonuvabitches

Lovino knew that shit was about to go down when he came in to work (at precisely 7:30, which was a godawful time to even be thinking about being awake, much less at work) and his phone was already ringing. His phone ringing was never good. On the plus side, his boss — Utley —wasn’t in yet, so it was unlikely it was him on the other end with yet another unreasonable and smarmy request. So he sighed, put down his coffee, and answered the phone.

“Yes, Vargas speaking.”

“Oh shit, someone actually answered!” came an all-too-chipper voice through the headset. Lovino briefly pulled the phone away from his face and closed his eyes, already able to tell this was a capital M capital P Morning Person. Ughhh.

“Yes, I answered my phone, because it was ringing,” he said pointedly once he’d collected himself.

“Oh yeah I tried a bunch of random phone numbers already but you’re the first to pick up. I guess not a lot of people are in at this time?”

There was literally no one else on Lovino’s floor.

“Is this a prank call?” he asked, much more politely than he was thinking in his head.

“Whoops, no, it’s not! I need someone to help me out with something, and it’s kind of important? I figured anyone who was willing to here this early would be exactly the kind of person for the job, but I guess there’s not a lot…”

Lovino held back a groan. Great. He’d been here for less than five minutes and already someone had a task for him. “I’d love to help,” he said, maybe a bit too dryly because the person on the other end picked up on it.

“You sure, dude? You don’t have to.”

He stopped, took a breath, and tried to think about what his brother had told him about self-sabotaging. “No, I can do it,” he finally said. “Just...haven’t gotten through my coffee yet.”

“Yeah, I get that!” was the reply, sounding like a person who’d never needed caffeine in their life. “Well come on up to the top floor, I’ll meet you up here!” And then they hung up.

Lovino put the phone down, mind suddenly racing. The top floor? As in the floor where all bigwigs hung out? Who the hell would be calling down here from all the way up there?

Only one way to find out, he decided, and downed his coffee.

He headed for the elevator.

  The person who had called, it turned out, was named Alfred — a fact that Lovino learned as soon as he exited the elevator from a very loud and very enthusiastic voice. He was so taken aback that it actually took him a moment to visually process the person standing in front of him. The guy was blonde, wearing glasses, and seemed to be fairly well-built under the ridiculous T-shirt he was wearing, featuring a screen-printed Errol Flynn with his stupid distinctive mustache.

Seriously, did they just let the people on the top floor dress however the hell they wanted?

Aside from the terrible fashion sense, he was actually pretty good looking. Not that it mattered to Lovino, who just wanted to know what awful task he was being setting up for now.

“Did you get your coffee? I got some more if you want.”

Lovino considered it. Top floor coffee was tempting, but really he just wanted to know what he’d been called up for. So: “No, not at the moment. Thank you, though. What was it you needed help with?”

Alfred looked almost disappointed, but soon enough he was smiling again, although a bit sheepishly. “Right, that. It’s gonna sound like a really weird request.”

“Okaaaay,” he said warily.

“You know that big meeting happening down in Florida the day after tomorrow?”

He sure did. Everyone who was anyone was going — so basically, all of higher management was having a “conference” down in the Florida keys while some important CEO meeting happened between seven of the top-ranking companies on the East coast. Utley had been rubbing it in everyone’s faces for weeks that he was going.

“Well, it’s about the actual meeting, between the big seven. I need someone to present some information at that meeting, someone reliable and who’d be able to answer questions about the information, so like, someone who knows a lot about what we do and has a good head on their shoulders, and I know it’s usually the ground-level guys who can answer the questions like logistics, what actually needs to get done…”

True, and gratifying to hear acknowledged, but. “Isn’t that meeting between the CEOs of these companies, though? Do you mean you need someone to give this information to Mr. Jones before the meeting?” He glanced at the double doors at the end of the hall, which had a plaque reading Jones, A. F. The mysterious CEO of their company — no one seemed to actually know what he looked like, just that he had a head for business and finances. When he looked back, Alfred was giving him a funny look.

“Right...um, well. This would actually be a job that involved. Um.” He looked at the ceiling and rolled his head back and forth nervously, like he was trying to crack his neck.

Lovino took pity on him. “I’ve been asked to do all kinds of off-the-wall things,” he told him. “Just tell me.”

“Okay, well, it would involve...pretending to be the CEO at the meeting and presenting all the information yourself,” he said quickly.

“What.”

Alfred chuckled weakly. “Uh, yeah. Y’know, the dude’s just been an isolationist so long, right? And he’s super nervous about this, and it’s not like any of these guys knows what he looks like, so why not get someone else to do that part?” He phrased it like he was actually asking, so Lovino gave him an incredulous look.

Alfred hurried to continue. “And obviously you’d be paid for the trouble, and you’d be doing him a huge favor, so....” He trailed off and looked at Lovino expectantly.

“Where’d you say that coffee was?” he asked in lieu of an answer.

“Oh! Right over here.” Alfred motioned to an open doorway. Lovino walked through in a daze and briefly noted that what appeared to be a break room wasn’t that much bigger than the one on his own floor, except fewer people used this one. And it had a really super nice Keurig. “Is it okay if I use this?” he murmured, pointing at the bag of coffee grounds and the resuable K-cups beside the machine.

“Yeah, go for it!”

While he waited for the coffee maker to warm up and brew his coffee, Lovino turned and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as he thought. Alfred imitated his position, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he looked at Lovino consideringly, and also, thankfully, not saying anything.

“I guess none of these big seven guys know what Mr. Jones looks like either,” he mused.

Alfred shook his head, smiling vaguely.

“How long is this meeting supposed to be? Not that I’ve decided I’m doing it yet or anything.”

“In theory about an hour, it really is just a show-and-tell kind of thing to compare notes on trends and stuff. These are all guys we’ve been friendly with in the past but we’re trying to strengthen relationships, y’know? And like, I’m really not trying to pressure you here, if you don’t wanna do it I’m sure that uh, Mr. Jones can suck it up but he really really doesn’t want to.”

Lovino raised an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

This seemed to stop him short.

“Personal reasons?” he tried, weakly.

Lovino bristled. “‘Personal reasons’ better not mean ‘I think I can foist all my work off on my poor underpaid and overworked minions because I wanna vacation in the Florida keys —”

“No!” Alfred interjected. “Really, it’s not that. Um. Anxiety kinda runs in the family? And I, uh, well I heard his brother has it even worse even though it would be super convenient if he could do it because they’re twins, actually, and it’s dumb because Jones is a cheerful enough dude, I feel like he does well enough interacting with people but for some reason it’s just the idea of going to this meeting —”

This time Lovino was the one who interrupted. “Well, anxiety doesn’t always work out in a way that’s convenient! You should know better, honestly, who talks about their boss like that?” This was conveniently ignoring the shit he’d said about his boss, but Utley didn’t have anxiety, he was just an asshole.

Alfred blinked. “Right. Sorry.” He seemed genuinely sheepish, so Lovino let it go. For now.

“How extensive do you think the Q&A session would be?” he asked.

“With seven people there all trying to talk about their own accomplishments, shouldn’t be too long.”

“Yeah, except we want to impress everyone not just sit there in silence.”

“Haha, yeah, ideally. But we could have a plan to like, extract you if you needed an out.” He perked up. “Oh man, ‘extraction,’ makes it sound like a secret mission, right?”

Lovino rolled his eyes and picked up his coffee, taking a sip.

Fuck it was good.

“Okay, I made up my mind. I’ll do it if you put one of these coffeemakers in the lounge on my floor. Lord knows we need one down there”

“Done!” Alfred said immediately, like he was afraid Lovino would take it back.

“Done,” he repeated. And stared at Alfred for a second. “So, do you have the information for me to look over or…?”

“Oh, yeah, I pulled some stuff together for you to look at, you can tell me what else you think you’ll need.”

Well at least he wouldn’t have to do that himself. This was probably the weirdest thing he’d ever done, but already it beat the hell out of the work he usually did.

The next day, he was on a plane to Florida.

  Lovino ended up being chauffeured — chauffeured, damn he could get used to this — to a restaurant on Key West, where the meeting was being held in a private room above the bar. Alfred was texting him nonstop the entire ride, which usually would have been annoying but the man was so earnest and nice that Lovino couldn’t really bring himself to be annoyed. Even if the guy did use an unnatural amount of emojis.

He was the first one there, and the staff had already put a bunch of food on the side table, so he took some pictures of some truly beautiful sliders that he sent fo Alfred before he put his phone away, munching on a caprese skewer as he looked over some of his last minute notes.

He’d spent the entirety of yesterday with Alfred, going over graphs and charts and all kinds of information collected into easy-to-digest yet impressive tidbits for the other CEOs. Some of the information had been outdated, from what Lovino had seen on the floor, and he’d made Alfred update it accordingly. Also some of the graphs were just confusing, so he’d edited those, as well. But all in all, the info provided had been excellently organized; “of course,” Alfred had said, “I wasn’t going to ask you to do all that after asking a huge favor like two days beforehand!” Which was more consideration than he got from his own boss, so that was nice.

He was feeling pretty confident, until the door opened and his brother walked in.

“Porca vacca.”

“Lovi?!”

And then Beilschmidt walked in behind him, and everything got even worse.

“Feliciano, why is your brother here?”

Lovino groaned, pulled out his phone, and opened his conversation with Alfred.

Hey about that thing you said about underpaid and overworked minions, Alfred’s last text read. He ignored that in favor of sending, Well this is a fucking mess

He immediately got a reply: oh god do you need an extraction???

No, just going to have to talk to you afterwards

That sounds super ominous :((((

Feliciano had started making confused noises so he put his phone away without answering and started on damage control.

Because of course. He’d been so focused on the information he was presenting, he’d forgotten that his fucking twin was the assistant to one of the CEOs attending the goddamn meeting. God he was an idiot.

But he plastered on a fake smile — which was enough to make Feliciano recoil warily, but Beilschmidt didn’t know any better — and started bullshitting.

“I’m Mr. Jones’s assistant,” he told them. “He got food poisoning so I’m here in his place.”

“You’re going to be giving his presentation, then?” another voice came from the doorway. Kirkland, if Lovino remembered correctly from his prep. “Bit rude to send an assistant to a meeting like this.”

Lovino grit his teeth and kept smiling. “Beilschmidt brought his.” And he just happened to be his brother. Dammit.

“Yes, well, he’s not the one giving the presentation, ‘izzee?”

“Well, food poisoning, it can’t be helped, non?” Bonnefoy had arrived, and was examining the food suspiciously.

Kirkland opened his mouth, no doubt to complain some more, but Lovino beat him to it. “I assure you I’m well-prepared to present this information.”

There was some minor grumbling, but no one else objected. The last of the bigshots filed into the room. Braginsky actually started eating the food, despite Bonnefoy’s protests, while Wang and Honda looked on in what looked like either mild disgust or vague amazement.

His brother kept trying to get his attention, tugging on his sleeve and whispering, “When did you get promoted? Why didn’t you tell me, fratello?”

“Not now,” he hissed back. Then he addressed the room. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  Afterwards, he met Alfred at Ernest Hemingway’s house. The man was crouched next to a bush in the backyard, petting a six-toed cat. His other hand was clenched on the bottom of his T-shirt, loosening and tightening reflexively.

“Hey, quit that,” Lovino told him as he approached. “You’ll wrinkle your..” he looked closer, “Star Trek shirt?”

It said, in large letters and no accompanying picture: BEAM ME SOMEWHERE MR. SCOTT. What a weirdo.

Alfred startled and made to get up, but Lovino beat him to the punch and sat down instead, reaching out to pet the cat, who seemed thrilled to have two people’s attention on her.

“How’d it go?” Alfred asked, seeming scared of the answer.

“Well. They didn’t think I was Jones, because it turns out that my brother was there as Beilschmidt’s assistant. And we’re twins, so that one wasn’t getting explained away. So I told them he was sick and gave his presentation anyway.”

Alfred sighed. “I guess it’s for the best? I was thinking about it and I’d have to send you in his place every time we met with these guys in order to keep up the lie. Not really my best plan.”

Lovino nodded. “Shame, though,” he said with a barely contained smile. “Because I was really good.”

Alfred looked up at him and grinned. “Yeah?”

And he sounded genuinely excited about it, which made Lovino’s grin come out full-force. “Yeah, I fucking aced it.”

“Nice!” Alfred exclaimed, and offered his palm for a high five. Lovino indulged him.

They smiled at each other for a few moments, but were interrupted by the last voice Lovino wanted to hear right now.

“Why the hell are you down here?” Utley demanded, strolling up with a posse of his insufferable friends (who were also higher management demons). “I know you weren’t invited to the conference, I would have seen you at the orientation this morning. And you definitely don’t have the vacation time to have taken a trip just to follow your betters here.”

“Who,” Alfred cut in, “are you?”

“Who are you? With Vargas, are you?”

“Alfred,” he introduced himself mildly. “I’m with the Jones company.”

“Mike Utley, junior second-level assistant manager.” He paused to preen. “I haven’t seen you around before, but if you’re associating with Vargas you must be another one of the peons. Honestly, the shitty quality of the people we hire never ceases to amaze.”

“All the work I’ve seen so far from Lovino has been excellent,” Alfred said, and although he was still speaking calmly and politely, Lovino got the strong sense the guy was pissed. Actually it was kind of hot.

Utley sniffed dismissively. “I’m sure you think so, but as his supervisor I can tell you his work really is abysmal. I’d find a better role model if I were you.” He turned and walked off without another word.

Alfred stared after him. “What an asshole!” he exclaimed after a minute of silence.

“You’re telling me.”

“That guy is your boss?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah. He’s pretty typical for that management level, unfortunately.”

Alfred huffed and resumed petting the cat, who had been plaintively nudging at his stationary hand.

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered. “Hey, how would you feel about a promotion?”

Lovino laughed, not sure if he was being serious. “Gonna put in a good word for me with Jones?”

Alfred looked at him blankly, so Lovino prompted, “Your boss? The CEO?”

“Oh, right. Seriously, though, would you want to be in a higher position? Like, managerial?”

Jesus, he wasn’t joking. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“Nah, I figure that meeting counts as a trial-by-fire interview, right? You’ve definitely proved you’re more than competent. And you’ve basically dressed for an interview, too, right?”

“I’ve what now?”

He had dressed nicely, like how he thought a CEO would.

“I just, I mean, you look real good?” Alfred offered, crooking a half-grin at him.

And, oh. That was an awfully sweet smile.

“This coming from a guy who seems to always wear shitty T-shirts,” he grumbled.

But he smiled back.

The next week, he was back on his own floor. He and his coworkers were all at their desks, sharing looks and grimaces as Utley’s voice drifted through the door to his office, complaining as usual.

The elevator opened, and Alfred stepped out. His T-shirt read, HAS ANYONE SEEN MY SALT SHAKER? Lovino had just enough time to roll his eyes before Alfred hopped up on a desk and cleared his throat.

“I have an announcement!” he announced, very loudly. He waited a few seconds for Utley to emerge, giving him a pointed look but continuing before the man could launch into a tirade.

“My name,” he said, “is Alfred F. Jones. You all work for me, and can I just say, I really appreciate it, because everything I’ve seen coming out of this department has been excellent.”

Lovino’s jaw actually dropped, because wait, what?

And more importantly— he stole a glance at Utley, who’d gone ashen. Oh my god.

“And while you’ve all been doing awesome, it’s come to my attention that there have been some managerial issues, so I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m going to be doing a review of some of the positions on this floor and the others.” The beautiful bastard actually turned and smiled at Utley while he said it. Lovino’s coworkers started whispering frantically amongst themselves, but he was too caught up in watching Alfred’s performance to join them.

“Helping me do that,” the CEO continued, “will be my new COO, and my brother, that’s President Williams if you don’t know, tells me that stands for chief operating officer, which is very exciting, I’ve never had one before.” He beamed down at the crowd, who were all staring at him in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, and the COO is gonna be Lovino Vargas.”

Everyone went nuts.

Alfred jumped off the desk and made his way to Lovino, who was standing stock-still in shock. He gently guided him towards the elevator with a warm hand on his shoulder — past Utley, who had sat down with his head in his hands, and past all of his coworkers, who congratulated him and cheered as they went by.

Once they were safe in the elevator, Alfred gave him a shy smile. “Was that too dramatic? Mattie said I should just ask you normally but I thought it would super cool that way.”

“When you asked if I wanted a promotion I figured you meant something like an assistant, not…” He trailed off but collected himself. “Mattie is your brother? You mentioned a twin?”

“Yep, that’s him! And, uh, I’m sorry about the whole thing where I didn’t tell you who I was, I just, I got nervous, and uh.” He stopped and shrugged. “It was nice just being Alfred for a while.”

“What does the F stand for?” Lovino asked suddenly.

“Hm? Oh, uh, nothing, actually. My middle name actually starts with a D, but I wanted to put Jones AF on my business cards, so…”

Lovino laughed, which made Alfred visibly relax.

“I think we’ll make great partners,” Lovino told him.