(1/?)
Every Saturday night for lovino Vargas was his night to relax
To forget all about his countries issues, the wars going on around him, the annoying germans who just didn’t seem to leave his brother alone; all forgotten, for one night. It was the night he could simply be ‘lovino’ to the club going humans and dance to his hearts content, maybe get wasted, maybe go home with someone for the night. It was an evening of possibilities; and the Italian loved it.
But one Saturday in particular, something changed. The night had stated out normally enough- he had made his way to the club of his choice, dressed in his best form fitting black v neck and khaki skinny jeans that made his ass look great, and gotten in with minimum wait time in line. Hell, he even had a glass or two of wine at home before his evening really kicked off, so he was already in a good mood. But none of these things was the game changer. Instead, it was what happened when he finally set foot on the dance floor, his hips already swaying to the beat of the music
And Lovino didn’t notice the presence of a certain someone until they were right up on him; sun kissed hands reaching down to grip the hips of the Italians in front of him, while the unsuspecting Lovino's arms were raised in the air as he danced. Of course, Lovino was used to grabbing. He had experienced it quite frequently at this club and at others, and had found that he actually enjoyed the feeling of another warm body pressed against his own, the music thrumming through them as they danced to their hearts content.
But what he wasn’t expecting was the quiet grunt that reached his ears as he ground against the newcomer, and the lightly accented voice that mumbled “God, lovino, give a guy some warning before you go and do something like that.”
Freezing in place, lovinos eyes grew wide, spinning in the others grasp to come face to face to the one and only alfred f jones, the mans blue eyes twinkling in the dark club as his eyes raked over the form of the man in front of him. Before he even had time to collect or organize his thoughts, like- ‘why is he here, why does he have his hands on me,’ or ‘why does this feel so good?’, he felt the American start to grind back against his front, his hand moving across the Italians lower back, pushing his shirt in the process “damn, you… You look good”, he murmured, and Lovino could swear he watched the blonds eyed darken.
Glancing over the man, Lovino was astounded to find he thought the American looked pretty damn good as well. Starting at his chest, the Italian saw that he was wearing a tight blue shirt with the first few buttons undone, and fitted, dark pants that hugged his hips in a way that Lovino found sinful. Glancing back up at the (now amused) mans face, Lovino gulped and licked his lips before he could answer, his voice low and rather hoarse “you don’t look too bad yourself, alfred.”
It didn’t take long before words were lost between them, their bodies pressed together once more by Alfred’s hands and the insisting crowd around them. The best of the club spiked, and before he knew it, the Italian was lost in the others movements, following the grinding of his hips and the push and pull of Alfred’s hands. Every once in awhile a groan would fall from one or the others lips, but the sound was lost along with the beat of the club. Panting and sweating, Lovino looked up at alfred with half lidded eyes, only to meet the baby blues of Alfred’s dead on. Pushing a leg in between the other mans, alfred gave lovinos hips a squeeze, one of his hands traveling along the Italians ass as he tugged him closer to mumble in his ear, bodies close and heads bent together
