The Emperor's Guardian {Spamano}

Chapter 2

"Lovi! Wake up!"

"I don't wanna..." he drawled lazily, still under the spell of sleep, but Antonio refused to leave him be and shook him harder.

"Cyricus is here and waiting for you! Get up, Lovi!"

He groaned and smacked his lover's hands away, trying to pull the imaginary comforter over his frame in futile. "He can go fuck himself for all I care..."

Wait a minute. Who in Tartarus was Cyricus?

Brusquely, Lovino jolted awake and sat up, unwittingly slamming his forehead against Antonio's bronze helm with a cherry plume at the top. "Ow! What the fuck?!"

"Shh! He's outside speaking with Francis right now!" The older man briskly kissed Lovino's throbbing forehead before he tossed a crisp and pristine purple toga with golden accents at him. "Put this on, quick!" he hissed.

"Not with you in here!"

Without his permission, Antonio started pulling at his articles of clothing. At this, he started kicking and slapping at his inamorato and did so until he backed off, which was shortly after. "Do not do that!"

"I have seen you naked before though, my love."

"I don't care, don't look!" Shoving his face to the side and praying he wasn't looking (he was, Lovino could feel those perverted eyes burning into his backside), the emperor tore off his clothes and slipped the new ones on as swift as he could. "Give me a mirror!" The object he requested was in his hand quicker than one of Jupiter's lightning bolts sent down from the Heavens, and he immediately peered into it, combating his nasty bed head.

When he looked presentable enough, he tossed the mirror at Antonio. The latter was shoving Lovino's clothes under the cot, therefore, he was unprepared to catch the mirror and ended up sloppily juggling it for a bit before he swooped it up as it was about to hit the ground. "Be careful, Lovi!"

"Shut up! Send the bastard in already, would you?"

A sigh, and then, "Alright, alright. Gosh, you're cranky today!" Antonio sprang to his feet and set the mirror on the large chestnut desk before he hurried outside to invite "Cyricus" in. It was only a minute before he reappeared with said Frankish leader and Francis, another one of his generals and the one who would be translating everything for them, since he apparently knew the language.

Cyricus was large in stature and build, as well as intimidation, as were many Germanic men. A sepia cloak made of some sort of animal hide—maybe deer—adorned his body,  as well as the chain mail that secured his burly and taut frame underneath. There was a leather belt that snaked around his waist and over each shoulder, intersecting in the middle of his torso in an X shape, holding some daggers and throwing knives, a small ax, and other various weapons and tools that Lovino couldn't keep his eyes off of in suspicion. His mussed hair resembled stalks of wheat in color and shape, and rested no further than below his shoulders.

And then, there were those eyes.

Those walnut eyes that were—at the moment—calm and seemed almost harmless; there was a twinkle of curiosity and intrigue in them. Lovino knew that quicker than a lioness pouncing to finish off her prey though, those eyes could flash with rage, animosity, and bloodlust if he wasn't careful.

He stood by Antonio's desk when they entered and nodded his greeting to the chieftain, who acknowledged his greeting and presence by returning the gesture. The emperor motioned to one of the wooden chairs near the desk, and once Cyricus was seated, he sat down as well. Antonio moved to stand behind him, fingers curled around the top of the support tenaciously, ready to protect his Lovi if need be.