The Lovely Wounds (SpaMano)

The Bad-Touch Trio

The silence of nightime... Lovino craved it after a week of Feliciano's obnoxious friends. The French-speaking bastard and his two equally obnoxious, foreign companions. These three had caused hell for Lovino. He had dubbed them the 'Bad-Touch Trio'. And, hell, did they live up to their name. Antonio, Gilbert, and Francis caused trouble wherever they went. Despite Lovino's meticulous plans for avoiding them, they'd dragged him into quite a few of their schemes. This time, however, left Lovi baffled.

The three foreigners sauntered down the street to Vargas house while Lovino was mindlessly playing guitar. His fingers ran against the metal strings of the Breedlove acoustic softly. He had a natural talent for playing the instrument. He plucked out a few cords, the melody from 'In My Arms' by Plumb resonating from the guitar. He found himself humming and singing.

"Rains will pour down, waves will crash around, but you will be safe in my arms..." he sang just as her noticed the trio walking towards his door.

The bell rang only moments later.

God no. He couldn't answer it... he had to pretend he wasn't home. He wouldn't be caught up in any more of their antics. Of course his heart fell to his stomach when Feliciano opened the door with a cry of delight. Only moments later, Lovino had sprung to his feet to slam and lock his door. There was no way in hell he was letting them in. This was one of those times that the Italian was grateful for having his own room. Lovino settled back onto his bed, leaning back against the pillows. Laughter filtered its way through the walls, reaching Lovino's ears. He shuddered and shook his head, letting loose a yawn.

The sun was already setting outside. Lovino found himself drifting off to sleep in the twilight, his chest riding and falling evenly. Just as the tendrils of sleep were about to envelope him, the door to his bedroom burst open. Lovino sat up quickly, looking around.

"I knew Grandpa had a spare key!" Feliciano exclaimed, holding up a small, silver object. "He keeps it for when he thinks Lovino has a pretty girl in his room."

The peals of laughter echoed throughout the small bedroom. They belonged to the Bad-Touch Trio. They advanced further into Lovi's room, taking a look around.

"Your room is cleaner than mine," Francis said simply, his brow raised.

"Yeah and?" Lovino shot, snorting slightly. "I don't have to be messy pig, you do realize..."

Francis shrugged, walking to the closet. He flipped on the light and began to rummage through the clothes. Lovino stared at him baffled.

"What the hell are you doing?" he stammered.

"We're going out. Antonio, you've got the tight jeans, right?" Francis paused and looked at Antonio expectantly. The Spaniard held up a bag, wagging his eyebrows. "Okay. Get those on him, and I'll find a shirt..."

Lovino stared at the two of them like a deer caught in headlights. "Get the hell at way from me, bastards!" he yelled, hopping to his feet. He had to make at way run for the door. There was no way in hell he could let these lunatics dress him to 'go out'. God no. Just as Lovino was inches from the exit of his room, a strong hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Fuck. He had forgotten to watch for Gilbert. The 'Prussian' had latched onto him with a strong hold and had no intentions of letting go. That left Lovino with one choice. He managed to slip his body from his t-shirt before darting for the landing. Freedom from these crazy bastards was so close... and totally out of reach. Lovi had run into a tall blonde. Ludwig. Where the hell had he come from? As if on cue, Feliciano started yelling. "Gilbert!" he called, his voice shrill and happy. "Ludwig is here! He said he's either going with you or you're not going at all!"