#romespa

Let Me Go — mature, engspa — quite possibly my fave fic i've written from an antonio character study and historical engspa perspective.

“Am I allowed to ask why I am here? Your letter was a little bit… vague on the matter.”

“Yet you still followed it here,” Antonio replied, his smile returning.

“And you were not surprised to see me,” Arthur concurred, albeit, not entirely happily.

“For a simple reason,” the other claimed.

“Oh?”

“I believed you would come. And so you have.”

Holiday — teen+, turkspa — my second favourite antonio character study fic, with a somewhat more modern setting and duo.

It took a little while to sort out papers, but eventually, Mr Mateo Romero Vázquez, a man from some inconsequential town out in Castilla-La Mancha, was driving his little grey car out of the airport carpark and in the direction of the EO16.

His destination was Sarti, a coastal town with beautiful views out across the Aegean sea. A vast blue horizon. A chance to forget.

Fortuna — explicit, engspa — you have no idea what this fic and au mean to me. oh my word. the insanity i feel. the potential. oooh.

“It’s been a few days since we saw you here last,” someone greeted him.

It shamefully wasn’t the bartender, who was caught up further down the line, but instead, a new neighbour. A neighbour who preferred to stand. A neighbour wearing a very nice suit and an expensive wristwatch.

Arthur straightened himself up as he sat in the man’s shadow. Then he glanced at his neighbour, and said, “Miss me?”

“Hardly,” replied Abel with a light scoff.

Encounter — explicit, engport — this fic lives in my head rent-free and i have never looked at lavender soap the same way since. just fyi.

As the world's worst blind date hits rock bottom, Gabriel seeks refuge and privacy in the grotty bathroom of a pub so he can plot his escape. Little does he know that, once the door is locked, there's someone waiting for him who's willing to give him a good time.

Damnatio — explicit, romespa — the start of an obsession, i will admit. though perhaps i should call it a guilty pleasure these days!

His head hangs in his hand. A glass of water keeps him company as he sits on his favourite table, tucked in a corner out of view of both kitchen and front windows. He could squeeze in a nap. Hop in his car, lie down, close his eyes. Sleep it off. Sleep off an oncoming bad mood, before he had to deal with more members of the general public…

It’s a nice idea the more he thinks about it. Trouble is, getting to his car means being seen, and he doesn’t much like the idea of any of his colleagues watching him go to his car and taking that nap. So he scraps the idea. Maybe he’ll nab a coffee from behind the bar—

“Ah, I thought you might be hiding around here.”

“Oh—”

Antonio blinks and fixes his posture, slapping a clumsy smile on his face. Another person sits down at the table with him, and that person just so happens to be the owner of the restaurant. His boss. Someone he really doesn’t want to see him like this for reasons he would never divulge.

His face warms. He begins to fiddle with his own fingers on the tabletop.

“I didn’t realise you were coming in so early today,” he says.

The other hums. “Neither did I. But I had this feeling I should, so here I am.”

“Is everything okay?” Antonio presses, his brows furrowing slightly. “Did you… need me for something?”

“Well, I did, and still do, but that is something we can discuss later,” replies Romolo as he makes himself comfortable. “Before that, are you okay?”

The server battles against a wince, and gives a slow nod. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Absolutely. Why?”

“You seem a bit… unlike yourself,” Romolo observes. There is a glint in his eyes that hints at something—a forbidden knowledge—and he continues: “Have you eaten yet today?”

The question leaves Antonio defenceless. He is so taken aback that he is unable to respond either convincingly or in time, and it leaves the other assuming what is, by all accounts, the truth. But a truth that Antonio does not care for.

“I’m going to get you something to eat,” Romolo says, immediately scooting his chair back.

Antonio interrupts him swiftly, not wanting him to go—not wanting the other to think badly of him.

“I’m fine. Really,” he insists.

“You don’t look fine,” Romolo argues. At least, for now, he is still seated.

“I’m just a bit tired,” Antonio goes on warily. “I’ve got a headache. That’s all.”

His boss stares at him. He stares, surveying his employee’s face, before he asks, “So have you eaten today?”

Antonio takes a slow breath. There’s no use in denying it at this point, because Romolo’s mind is already made up and, well, perhaps skipping breakfast had been a bad idea (and a contributing factor to his state). That doesn’t mean he’s happy about admitting it, though!

He feels only more foolish, in fact. He feels it will only make others judge or pity him, and neither is an outcome he wants. That's not what he needs. Not right before work. Not before another service.

“Do I need to send you home?”

Antonio’s hand falls down to the table and he gives Romolo a look that contains a sort of warning, and a sort of ‘polite notice’. His back twinges.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Romolo correctly deduces with a chuckle. A soft but warm one, like rays of sunshine on a crisp autumn morning…

(It is a distraction, the alluring tendrils of a fantasy; Antonio has to rescue himself from it fast, lest he be lost in it for too long.)

Suspicions confirmed, Romolo gets up from his seat and clamps a hand down gently upon Antonio’s shoulder as he goes to leave that quiet corner of his restaurant. “I will be quick and sly as the fox, mh? Come see me in my office in five minutes. You can eat in private there if you like.”

With a somewhat surprised look on his face, Antonio looks up at Romolo, and a smile once more glides onto his face. It’s a kindness he’s never expected, but… knowing Romolo, it is expected in some ways. He has a good heart. He cares about his staff. He means well. And damn… Antonio has come to find that somewhat painfully attractive about him.

Yeah. Yeah, that is Antonio’s situation. A big headache in one hand, and a different kind of headache in the form of a silly little crush on a man over twice his age. His own boss! No biggie!

Antonio sighs. It’s his own doing. He’s the one still working there. He could have left. He could have done the sensible thing. But he likes his job, likes his colleagues, likes his boss, and, well… looking for a new job would just be another headache, wouldn’t it?

So he sits there and waits for the minutes to slowly pass. Then he gets up from his seat and he makes his way to the back of the restaurant and Romolo’s office.

Inside, it isn’t Romolo but a toasted panini that awaits him, melted mozzarella glooping down onto a plate. And next to it sit a glass of water, and a lone packet of painkillers.

Damn him!