The first time he saw Roderich, really saw Roderich was through the smoky haze and strobes of his most frequented haunt.
Then like an apparition the man was gone, all haughty elegance and pretty features fading into the darkness.
Warm arms wrapped round him, nearly hauling him from his bar stool as the familiar body of his best friend pressed to his back. "Ze air is electric tonight." Words were near purred into his ear, a lazy smile stretching over his pale features as he inclined his head to the blonde. "Did you see him Francis?" A curious look stole the Frenchman's face as he focussed on his friend properly. Within dark eyes there was a gleam, one that had been missing for a long time.
Curiously he looked around but he could not see much other than darkness and strobe lights that jumped to the throbbing beat of the club. "Zee who mon amis?" And then he followed the other's gaze to one of the most attractive men he'd ever seen washed up at The Cockpit. Other than himself, Gilbert and Antonio, of course, whenever he deigned to make an appearance. "Now zat is some fine ass my friend." A dull whistle was offered as the blonde brushed his whiskery chin against his cheek.
It was then that the man of their observations nervously fiddled with his glass, as though he knew he was being watched. A pretty girl of about the same age grasped his hand, flowers in her long wavy hair. And he smiled. Gilbert felt the mighty strike of Thor's Hammer against his chest as he wondered if he could make the younger male smile so prettily for him.
In all the years they had known one another it was the first time Francis could recall Gilbert taking real interest in anyone… ever since the incident anyway. Feeling a little stir of hope he seized his friend's face and tilted his head in.
"I see, I see well Gilbert my friend, I wish you luck with zat. For you chere I will be ze fairy godfather."
Kissing his friend firmly with an adequate amount of tongue he pulled back and winked. Then all confidence and dashing looks he made his way through the crowds, engaging the pretty girl in conversation, slowly working her away from her friend so Gilbert could catch him alone.
Francis loved everyone, he just loved humanity and it was with a wry smile Gilbert watched him work his magic. The longer the blonde crooned the more agitated his target seemed to be and it was high time he made a move. Picking up his drink he casually slipped over, settling next to the peeved brunette. "You'll have to forgive my friend; once he sees a pretty girl he can't help himself."
"Isn't this meant to be a gay bar?"
For a second Gilbert was stunned, the way the words came out almost seemed like an accusation, as though such things were -beneath- the refined tastes of the man he'd been trying to casually slope his arm around.
"Aren't gay men meant to like other gay men and not women?"
It was then their eyes met, distain burning in the younger's which held a hue that looked almost like amethyst. It had to be a trick of the light, or contacts maybe. Feeling his heart sink Gilbert tentatively placed his arm back down by his side.
"Well kid, generally that's the idea. Men, who like men come here to drink, get drunk and then fuck."
A haughty sniff.
"How unrefined."
Why that little priss! Anger started to swell in his frame, the deafening bass of the track vibrating through his body a second heartbeat. "If it's so unrefined what the fuck are you doing here?" Before the man could answer he found himself staring into calm blue eyes, hands that smelt so wonderfully sweet wrapped around his cheeks. "Chere, ze night is young, come let us dance! We will have a wonderful time!"
Unnoticed a faint sigh of relief was offered by Frenchman as he allowed himself to be led away. Francis always looked after him, though mostly he either blatantly ignored or chose not to examine the fact he worried the blonde so much. Wherever he was, at whatever time he knew Francis was watching, observing for any warning signs.
Deep down he was grateful and mostly he resigned himself to his friend's loving care. At times though it aggravated him beyond belief and he just wanted to scream 'I'm not a child!' at the top of his lungs but he couldn't bear to watch his friend's face crumple with distress. So mostly he allowed it. Besides who else could he drag with him to bar after bar until the light of dawn peeked over the horizon? Antonio was often busy and no one could be a better wingman than Francis he was -convinced- of this fact.
Bold kisses peppered his cheeks and soon he was smiling again, letting the lull of the music twine him and his old friend together. Playfully they touched, squeezed and stroked. Simple affection and there was love there even if it would never bloom into that thing Francis called 'l'amour'. At one point it had nearly happened and then they had merely laughed at the idea and cracked open another few cans of beer.