2P!Italy x Reader: May I have this Dance? (Ch. 2)

WARNING: swearing and mention of blood!

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Full title: 2P!Italy x Dancer!Reader: May I have this Dance? (Chapter 2)

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„I could call in the doctor.“ you called out to Luciano as you shoveled the spaghetti on two plates. „You can't possibly treat your broken leg and dislocated shoulder on your own without professional help.“

„No.“ Luciano replied.

You chose to ignore his objection. „I'm going to call in my family doctor. He's bound to secrecy, thus he's not going to tell anyone about you and your strange injuries. Medical confidentiality, y'know?“

You heard Luciano huff. „Cocciuta ragazza. (Stubborn girl.)“

You entered the living room, carrying the two plates, and nearly stumbled over your own feet as soon as you caught sight of Luciano being bare-chested. You sat down on the chair again, trying to keep your eyes off Luciano's muscles rippling beneath his skin.

Luciano ceased to wrap bandages around his upper body and took the plate you held out to him, noticing your gaze. He smirked slyly. „Like what you-a see, ragazza?“ he drawled.

„Yes.“ you spoke plainly.

Luciano raised his eyebrow. „Huh?“

„Huh?“

„What did you-a say, ragazza?“

„Nothing.“ You shoved a forkful of spaghetti into your mouth to prevent any further conversation whilst inwardly trying to fight back a blush dusting your cheeks.

Luciano began to eat as well. „I ruined your-a couch, by the way, ragazza.“ he said between two forks of spaghetti.

„Don't worry. I know how to remove bloodstains from furniture.“

He quirked an eyebrow yet again, but continued to eat. „The back of your-a shirt and jeans is ruined as well.“

You shrugged dismissively. „I also know how to remove bloodstains from clothing. Shall I wash your clothes as well? Well, they're too tattered, aren't they? You better throw them away. I can buy you new ones – given that you're planning on staying at my place. Hm, I'm probably not gonna let you leave without being all healed up again.“

„You're-a talking too much, ragazza.“

„I'm just talking to myself.“

Luciano shook his head and then furrowed his brow. „Well, anyways, back on-a topic. You-a know how to remove bloodstains?“

„Yeah, sure. I'm a girl.“

„So what?“

„I've got my period every flipping month. It can happen that I ruin my clothes or the furniture with blood accidentally.“

Luciano hummed in understanding, seeming completely unfazed.

„Huh. Every guy so far was grossed out when I've talked to him about my period. And you're eating spaghetti Bolognese to top it all. Isn't that at least a little bit disgusting?“

„Why should it-a?“

„Because of the red sauce, y'know? Blood and stuff?“

A crooked smile spread over Luciano's lips, but he remained silent, staring at the spaghetti on his plate.

„Alright.“ you slowly said, furling your eyebrows. „I'm not gonna ask. I don't want to know. So, is it alright with you that I'll call in my family doctor?“

„Va bene. (Whatever.) If he's-a as silent as a grave, then I don't-a care. But if he's-a not, he's-a as good as dead.“

„As I already said, medical confidentiality. He's not going to say anything.“ You stood and brought the plates back into the kitchen, putting them into the dishwasher. Then, you snatched the house telephone from its charging station on the chest of drawers near the frontdoor and dialed the number of your family doctor.

„Mr. Cross speaking.“

„Good evening, Mr. Cross!“ you greeted him. „Would you please come around? I'm direly in need of your help.“

„Of course, (Name). I'll be there in a few minutes.“

„Thank you very much, Mr. Cross. You probably have to bring the big guns in. The injuries are quite severe.“

„Roger that. See you soon, (Name)!“

„See you in a bit, Mr. Cross!“ You hung up and went into the living room after putting the telephone back onto the charger. „Mr. Cross, my family doctor, will be here in a couple of minutes.“

Luciano nodded, lying down on the couch again and staring at the ceiling.

You changed your clothes while waiting for Mr. Cross to arrive and then paced up and down in the living room until someone rang the doorbell. You hurried to the frontdoor and opened it to reveal Mr. Cross standing outside with a large metallic suitcase in one hand and a stretcher clamped under his other armpit.

„Come in, Mr. Cross. Your patient is in the living room.“

„What happened?“ Mr. Cross asked as he stepped inside and followed you in the living room.

„He fell from the cliffs and hurt himself pretty badly.“

Mr. Cross heaved a sigh. „Youth of today.“

„Exactly.“

„What are his injuries?“

You started to sweat. „Uh … Well … You have to check yourself.“

The both of you entered the living room to see Luciano sitting upright on the indeed bloodstained couch.

„May I introduce L–“

„The name's Feliciano Vargas.“ Luciano interrupted you, cracking a friendly smile. „Nice to meet you, Mr. Cross.“

„The pleasure is all mine, Feliciano.“ Mr. Cross replied, smiling warmly.

„Yeah.“ You glanced at Luciano. „He's my best friend.“

Mr. Cross looked at the partly blood-soaked bandages around Luciano's torso, the wounds in his right shoulder and hip and then turned to look at you. „Would you mind wait outside?“

„But I can assist you, Mr. Cross.“ you protested.

„Please, (Name).“

You sighed. „Alright. I'm outdoors then. Good luck, I guess.“ You left the living room through the terrace door with the clanking sound of Mr. Cross tilting up the stretcher. You strolled across the terrace towards the small pavillon on an elevation of the cliffs.

You turned on the CD-player standing beneath the pavillon, and the tunes of (favourite song) filled your ears. A smile spread over your lips, and you closed your eyes and started to move to the beat, dancing under the pavillon and a couple of meters away from the edge of the cliff.

This was your hobby – your passion ever since you could remember.

You loved to dance to every song you liked, be it a popular one or a rather unknown one. You could dance the samba, the tango, the wist, you could waltz, tap-dance, you could dance to hip-hop, to disco, to everything.

You had always dreamed of dancing in front of a large audience and exciting them, charming them. Unfortunately, you were still searching for the perfect dancing partner, since most of the dances requiered one, hence dancing was nothing more than a hobby as yet.

After a while, someone turned off the CD-player and cleared their throat, claiming your attention.

You stopped and opened your eyes to see Mr. Cross stripping off blood-smeared surgical gloves.

„Feliciano is doing well. The scratch and bite marks are bandaged, just like the bullet wound and the graze wound. His broken leg is in plaster. He has to walk with crutches for several weeks. His dislocated shoulder is put right again, and the arm is put in an arm sling.“ Mr. Cross said.

You smiled bashfully. „Thank you very much, Mr. Cross.“

„I'm going to come by from time to time to check on Feliciano. See you again, (Name).“ A smile played around the corners of his mouth as he turned around and mumbled: „Jumping off a cliff and getting shot, huh?“

„See you, Mr. Cross.“ you called out to him while he was walking past your house. „Thank you!“

„You're welcome, (Name).“

You entered your house again, spotting Luciano standing in the middle of the living room, leaning with his left hand onto a crutch. His entire upper body was covered in bandages as well as his right shoulder and his right leg, his whole left leg was put in plaster, and his right arm was put in an arm sling and hung useless in front of his chest. Luciano was naked, except for his underpants showing the Italian flag.

You crossed your arms over his chest, stifling a snicker. „Well, you're not going anywhere in your state, Luciano. You're staying here at my place until you're cured. You can stay in the guest room. But me no buts.“

Luciano glared at you. „I have to-a keep a low profile anyways, ragazza. Staying at your-a place can do no harm.“

„As long as I'm not at risk because of your strange business, I don't care.“

„As long as you-a don't mention that I'm-a staying here, you're not at risk, ragazza.“ he retorted.

„Wanna talk about your business?“

„No way, ragazza. That's none of your-a damn business.“

„Well, whatever. The guest room is upstairs. Good luck walking up the stairs with that crutch and that arm sling, Lu.“

„Don't fucking call me that, ragazza!“

„What'cha gonna do about it, Lu? Dagger me? Don't overstay your welcome.“ With that, you turned around and walked upstairs.