"I fucking hate Canada."

That was the first thing that came out from Lovino's mouth as he stomped inside the house, fingerless gloves caked with snow and teeth chattering.

Antonio frowned from his spot on the couch, looking so goddamn cozy and warm under his big, fluffy comforter, reading some book and drinking hot cocoa.

"Lovi, that's not very nice. Canadians are very kind people."

"Alright, let me rephrase that, then. I fucking hate Canada's weather."

"That's better. Mmm, well, I don't see what's so wrong with it."

"Yeah, okay, says the one with a blanket, on the fluffy couch, drinking hot cocoa like those English motherfuckers drink their goddamn tea," the Italian grumbled, kicking off his boots and hanging up his jacket. It was just a natural habit of Lovino's to be cranky when he's cold. Of course, he doesn't stay cold for long, because he has Antonio to warm him up, meaning he also doesn't stay cranky for too long.

Antonio crinkled his nose in that cute way he always did when something irritated him. "Please don't talk about British people, Lovi. Especially during the holidays."

"Oh, yeah, I keep forgetting how much you and Sir Mister Corporal Eyebrows detest each other. Are my hands cold?"

Ice-cold hands suddenly pressed against the Spaniard's warm cheeks.

Oh, Lovino, that little bastard.

When Lovino's cold hands came in contact with Antonio's warm face, the reaction was instantaneous.

A loud, startled yelp escaped the Spaniard, and he flinched so bad he almost flung the hot cocoa mug in his hand across the room.

"Lovino!" He squealed, his eyes wide with shock and his heart racing. "Don't…do that! Your hands are so freaking cold!"

But Lovino barely heard him. He was too busy giggling that sweet giggle crazily, obviously pleased with the reaction he got from his boyfriend.

"Your face," He spluttered.

"Oh, my fucking God, my sides hurt…"

More giggles.

Antonio pouted, pretending to be cross at Lovino, and folded his arms across his chest (after setting down his mug) and looked away.

The laughter died down, and Lovino plopped down on the other side of Antonio.

"I mean—" Here he cleared his throat, pretending to sound formal. "—that wasn't funny."

The Spaniard didn't respond. His lips remained in that adorable pout, and his arms were tightly crossed.

"Oh, come on," Lovino drawled, leaning against his boyfriend, his head on the other's shoulder. "It was pretty funny."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was."

"I'm not laughing."

"Because you decided to be a Mr. Grumpy Face about it."

"Go away."

"Aww, why?"

"I'm mad at you."

"No, you're not."

"Yeah, I am. Can't you tell?"

"Oh, babe, I can totally tell."

"Good. Now don't talk to me."

"But I want to talk to you."

Lovino leaned towards his boyfriend, his lips aiming to press against a butter-soft cheek, but the Spaniard (that bastard) got sneaky and turned his head at that exact moment.

Their lips connected, soft and sweet. The Italian could taste the warm, chocolatey taste of his boyfriend's drink on his lips, creamy and milky. His tongue flicked against those perfect, smooth lips, and feeling the other shudder, that's when he pulled away.

Antonio's cheeks flushed darkly, and his gorgeous emerald eyes were turned shyly to the floor.

"…Okay, it was kinda funny," He admitted, his voice soft and shy.

Lovino grinned, triumphant, and leaned in to peck Antonio's lips once more.

"You're so shovelling snow tomorrow."

"Am not!"

"Am too. If I don't see you outside when I wake up, I will personally drag your ass out."

"You're so mean."

"Pfft, you adore me."

"Aw, that's true. Can't deny that one." The Spaniard smirked. "You're very cute, Lovi."

With a light flush of his cheeks, Lovino pouted. "Well, I can't be cute. Manly men are supposed to be handsome, and strong, a-and buff, and sexy. So are you telling me that I'm not manly man, but a puny, pathetically cute guy?"

"Well, yes," Antonio replied nonchalantly. "Even though you're all of those things. Well, at least half."

"Go fuck yourself."

Antonio giggled. "I would, but I have you to do that for me~"

The blush on Lovino's cheeks grew redder. "Whore."

"But I'm your whore, Lovi~"

The Italian rolled his eyes, and slid under the covers beside his boyfriend. "You fucking wish you were my whore."

"Ah…that's also true. There's room for only one king here, and that is…me~" Warm arms welcomed Lovino, wrapping around his waist and pulling him in close.

"Oh, of course, my lord," the Italian purred.

Antonio pouted. "I've always wanted somebody to say, 'my duty to your honour' in real life."

"That's hot."

"Isn't it? I got it from reading Hamlet." The Spaniard picked up his book and waved it in front of Lovino's face. "Horatio sounds like he was a pretty sexy guy."

Silence.

But then, cheerful laughter came from the young Italian. He shoved Antonio away from him, giggling all the while.

"You're such a dork," He spluttered, grinning widely.

His Spanish boyfriend squeezed him even tighter, and then he dropped his voice down to a fake 'manly' voice. "What was that? Was that a laugh I heard? Perhaps this requires some disciplining?"

Lovino smirked. "Yes."

"Revolution, I say, heresy, traitor, blasphemy! Arrest this young one at this moment! Guards! Guards!"

With a snicker, the young Italian man turned his head and leaned up close to his boyfriend's ear.

"You have no guards," He whispered. "You are powerlessssss~"

Faster than the blink of an eye, Antonio found himself flat on his back on the couch, his Italian boyfriend hovering above him.

His breath caught in his throat, resulting as a small gasp, and he felt his eyes widen. But that devil Lovino was smirking, and fuck, he always looked so sexy when he did that.

Biting his lip and blushing, Antonio squirmed slightly, whining, "I-I'm not powerless…"

"Yes, you are," Lovino replied matter-of-factly, chuckling. "I'm the king now."

The young Spaniard pouted, and uselessly attempted to push Lovino onto his back. "Bollocks."

Small, delicate, but somehow made of fucking iron steel hands clamped onto Antonio's wrists, pinning him to the couch. "Nuh-uh. Not this time, sir."

The Spaniard scowled, but the bitter face only made him look cuter. The phoney prince scheme kept playing on. "When my father finds out about this, I shall have you beheaded!" He growled, wiggling about under the Italian.

The threat didn't seem to faze Lovino at all, for he simply licked his lips and pushed his hips against Antonio's. "Mmm, keep squirming, baby~ Oh…your father's going to save you?"

The blush on Antonio's face was almost too cute and red to be legal. "Wh-What is this erotic kind of statement you would use while…while…degrading me?" He stuttered, and he managed to slide one leg out from under Lovino. Unfortunately for the Spaniard, the new position his legs were in only made the situation that much more suggestive.

A throaty hum escaped the sexy, young Italian's lips. "Oh, yes, Antonio…spread your legs, baby…"

So Antonio actually knew his boyfriend was just teasing him, but using that voice, putting on that smirk…it would turn anyone on.

He almost got heart palpitations when Lovino leaned down just inches away, close enough to feel his warm breath against his lips.

"Daddy can't save you now," the Italian murmured, his hazel eyes flashing just as dangerously as his smirk.

God, why did he have to naturally be so freaking hot. It was not fair at all.

But Antonio was utterly shocked when Lovino burst into a fit of giggles, and rolled off him onto the floor with a plunk.

"I can't help it," He squealed in midst of the giggling. "I-I'm sorry, you're just…so…cute…~"

Antonio frowned, pushing himself up onto his elbows to glare at Lovino. "Am not. You were trying to molest me. Victims are not supposed to look cute."

"Oh, please. Victim, my ass. You were as willing as a whistle."

"…Whistles aren't willing, Lovi."

"Alliteration, sweetie, adds elegance to any awkward sentence."

"Oh, sure, sure. I don't dare mock your knowledge, my liege."

Lovino smiled, a sweet, honest, cute little grin, and hopped back onto the couch. "Another Hamlet line?"

"Of course," The Spaniard replied, sitting up completely to squeeze his lovely boyfriend into a hug. "Adds elegance to any awkward response."

The younger of the two turned his head, planting a soft kiss against the other's jawline. "Dork."

"Pansy."

"Twat."

"Pervert."

"You love it."

"I'll deny that all the way to my grave."

"You won't."

"Oh, but I will."

"I know the truth."

"No, you don't."

"I'm always in your head."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

These two definitely had a strange relationship. They were polar opposites, completely different people. Occasionally, they switched personalities, but somehow they've grown to love each other despite the other's differences.

We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.

"Lovi, don't touch me with your feet; they're even colder than your hands."

"But you're so warm!"

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

- William Shakespeare, A Midsummer's Night Dream

A/N:Sup. Hey, happy new year, everyone! I was planning to post this as well as another Feed chapter before New Year's, but things came up, and bleeh. 'w' Hope you enjoyed!

A/N 2:Yes, Antonio was definitely OOC in this one. Both of them were. *sob* I'M SORRY I SWEAR THE NEXT ONE-SHOT NO ONE WILL BE OOC.

Thanks for reading!