Hi there.

For the love of God, I'm begging you not to punish me cruelly in case you read the text bellow. I am not an English-speaking guy, you know, and my poor English leaves very much to be desired so... So. But still, no pain no gain. I wrote it and still want it to be read by someone.

Anyway, here it is.

AU, Gilbert/Arthur story with slight Arthur/Antonio

- Arthur, just get away, huh.

Gilbert's pale fingers are moving nimbly all over the keyboard. His look is locked tightly with a laptop screen. It's covered with a thick layer of dust, absolutely unnoticed by Gilbert. Or he just pretends not to notice it. Beilschmidt waves away, not looking at Arthur, and the Englishman dodges adroitly. He straightens up and crosses his arms, staring disappointedly at the obstinate Prussian's body, doubled up in the chair.

- Come on, Gilbert, let'd do it.

- Just don't. Go and ask Jones.

- Gilbert, please.

- Quit your whining, Kirkland, you're not a pussy.

Gilbert doesn't take his eyes off of the screen for a moment, continuing to type unceasingly.

- Right, there is another pussy over here, you butthead, - Arthur mumbles.

- I hear you, bugger.

- Gilbert, in case you don't come off of the fucking screen I'm going to pay a visit to Francis.

- Suck off.

Arthur falls silent. And Gilbert, who is distracted from his blog for a second, decides that Kirkland has finally become quiet. Beilschmidt looks around his room - the Englishman is nowhere to be seen.

- On his way to Francis, huh? He knows where to go, fucking queer.

Gilbert shrugs indifferently. And just when his fingers touch the keyboard he nearly jumps with surprise. He stares under his desk, just between his legs where Kirkland is working with enthusiasm.

- What the fuck are you doing?

Gilbert's penis slips out of Arthur's hands. The Englishman glowers at perplexed Prussian, his pointed elbows, his gray T-shirt which is too big in size. A smirk spreads over the face.

- It is your idea.

Gilbert rolls his eyes and moves off to the wall sitting in the chair. He starts to zip up gloomily. Arthur gets out of under the desk and buttons his upper button up.

- Give up drinking, Kirkland, - irritated, Gilbert spits out and stands up. And he adds, slamming the door behind him: - I'm not a fucking gay.

Arthur is left alone. The computer is working quietly. The Englishman casts a glance at the screen. Gilbert left everything on and Kirkland, not taking his eyes off the square of the monitor, rolls the chair to him, sits down and scrolls the page.
It isn't Gilbert's blog, but here and there (read: everywhere) Arthur can see a little icon with Prussian's photography. Arthur's look locks with one of the photos. Erzhbeta and don't-even-dare-to-call-this-moron's-name-in-front-of-me guy - that's what Arthur remembers about Roderich Edelstein. Of course, according to what Gilbert has told him about Austrian.

So, Elezaveta and Roderich.
Cheerful, happy, together. Gilbert won the first comment to be his (actually, as everywhere in Erzhbeta's blog): 'dont even wanna know u. get away from deutschland, u morons'.
Arthur giggles. As far as he knows, Prussian had been trying to win Hungarian, and when he nearly did, said 'moron' Roderich Edelstein had suddenly appeared on stage. Once Arthur even told Gilbert that he should have believed deeply. And not to be such a fool. So now Elezaveta Hedervary's blog is embellished with Gilbert's silly comments.
Kirkland is reading Prussian's fits of jealousy and that amuses him. He laughs out loud but suddenly abrupts and falls silent. Arthur zooms a browser out, then hurries to zoom it in - it's better to leave it as it was before.

.

There's no one who remembers when they have started hanging around together. For the first time it was a glass of cognac which apparently gave rise to their acquaintance. Gilbert wasn't able to pay for this and Arthur, being irrefutable gentleman, kindly helped a poor guy out of troubles.

For the second time they got drunk together.

On that day Arthur had had a row with Jones and was trying to sink his fury towards American in green colour of Chartreuse. After that Gilbert literally manhandled Arthur to his place. Of course, not to that one where the Englishman lived with Jones. After that event Arthur didn't look to Alfred's face for a long time, hiding his glance in gray coat collar.

Once more - drinks.

For the third time they spent all night at Kirkland's place. The Englishman managed to go down where a wine cellar was, and Gilbert followed him. They were sitting on the soft leather couch, wrapped themselves in a terry rug, breathing slight dampness of the room and finishing the fourth bottle of Petit Chablis.

It was the time when Arthur looked at Gilbert and saw a man who could have been desired. It was the first and only time Gilbert allowed himself to be kissed. Without passion or arousal, without any hint of sexual continuation - just to touch his half-opened lips with a hot tongue lightly, press to them with their own and silently put their head on his shoulder. Arthur was breathing hot somewhere in Gilbert's neck, and Beilschmidt in his turn was sitting quietly but straight, with his eyes closed and his lips parted.

And one more time they were brought together by alcohol.

Gilbert left on the next day, saying to Arthur in the end:

- I don't remember what has happened at night, and that's a nice reason to think that nothing has happened. That's exactly what I'm going to think.

Arthur just nodded, crossing his arms. In some sense Gilbert was right - nothing had happened.

Everything but what Arthur wanted to happen so much.

TBC

-sighs-

Ahh. Let's hope to Christ it's okay.