written for frukmerunning, who asked for pruaus and fruk, and an orchestra au

"Where is he?! After nearly a year of complaining about the lack of flutes in our performances, he finally gets a solo - and he doesn't even show up to practice it!"

Roderich paced, angrily muttering some very choice things about the absent first chair flutist, beneath his breath. "Gilbert Beilschmidt sure is a piece of work!" he huffed, throwing his hands up in a fury. "Whenever he gets here, I'm going to–"

"Mount his head on a bassoon?"

"Shove that flute so far up his ass he'll be able to play it by simply breathing?"

"Slit his throat with piano wire and use a muscle sinew to replace it?"

"Furiously make out with him?"

If looks could kill, Francis would have been disintegrated into a pile of ashes because of the glare Roderich shot him. "All of those, except that one," he said coldly, frowning at the rest of his fellow first chairs.

Francis smirked but remained quiet, looking down at his manicured nails (his little sister had painted them lilac last night and she'd done a marvelous job).

Arthur pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and put his hands on his hips. "If you're so angry with him then why don't you go find him yourself?" he said, sounding a trite annoyed. "He was here earlier, so he has to be in the building somewhere. You know how that Swiss kid will get if you traumatize his sister by decapitating Beilschmidt with your bow right in front of her. And plus, you know how the frog is with blood, and I don't want to get stuck with the task of lugging his unconscious sissy body to the nurse like I always am."

Roderich paused to consider this, then sighed, tucking a strand of brown hair behind his ear. The flyaway lock that bobbed above his head frazzled at the thought of a shotgun muzzle getting intimate with the underside of his nose because he'd frightened Lili. "I suppose you're right, Arthur," he admitted. "But.. we could always send Lili out of the room before I murder Gilbert…"

The look the other first chairs gave him made him frown, and he heaved another sigh, letting his crossed arms drop to his sides. "Alright, fine," he said, defeated. "I won't murder Gilbert. But I won't promise that he'll escape any grievous bodily harm. How does that sound?"

"Jolly good, actually. He does deserve a good punch or two for being arrogant." Arthur glanced behind him; Toris and Francis, the only other first chairs still gathered outside, all nodded their agreements.

Roderich watched them all turn to file back into the orchestra chamber, then turned on his heel, staring down the hallway. He began to slowly walk down it, his footsteps echoing off the plainly decorated walls. The doors he passed had glass panes in them, and he peered into each one with light coming from in it, trying to locate the absent first chair flutist he swore he was going to throttle.

The hallway split into two different directions, left and right, and he paused, looking down both hallways. He kept looking between the two directions, trying to decide which to look down first. The curious squawk of an instrument - maybe a clarinet? - made him raise an eyebrow at the left corridor, and Roderich made his way down it, heading toward a room with the door half open. He peered around the door frame and looked inside.

A familiar figure was sitting on a stool, indeed holding a clarinet. The shock of silvery blond hair and bright red jacket confirm who it was, and Roderich stepped into the room, putting his hands on his hips.

"Gilbert!"

The first chair flutist nearly leapt out of his skin; he knocked his stool over as he jumped to his feet, whirling around and nearly dropping the clarinet. Round red eyes took in the stiffly standing newcomer, and Gilbert relaxed almost at once. "Jesus Christ, Rod," he said, putting a hand over his heart. "You almost scared me shitless! What are you doing here?"

"Me? What are YOU doing here?" Roderich demanded hotly, crossing his arms and glaring.

Gilbert looked down at the clarinet he held, then back up at Roderich with a sheepish smile. "Extra practice?"

"You're a flutist."

"Alright, alright, I was messing around in here. No big deal, right?" Gilbert walked over to the rack and placed the clarinet back, then went to pick up his stool. "I wanted to see if I could play clarinet too. I totally could! I'm so talented, hehe!"

"That wasn't what it sounded like in MY ears," Roderich said, recalling the odd squawk he'd heard earlier. He frowned as Gilbert walked toward him, stopping in front of him. "And it IS a big deal! You're supposed to be back in the main room, practicing the symphony with us, not goofing off in here!"

"Nah! I got here early today and decided to squeeze in a little private practice." Gilbert pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch. His grin faded, though, and he brought his wrist up, tapping the watch. "Uh… it's not three anymore, is it…"

Roderich put a hand on his forehead, closing his eyes. "It's almost 4:30," he confirmed. "We've been practicing without you for almost an hour, but we've never been able to get past your solo because you weren't there to perform it!"

Gilbert scratched the back of his arm, his ears turning a light shade of pink. "Aw jeez.. now I get why you're so pissy."

Roderich scowled. "Finally. And I'm not the only one! You'd better be able to play that blasted solo you nagged for in your sleep, Beilschmidt!"

"I will be, Edelstein, don't worry." Gilbert looked around, then smirked. "Want me to make it up to you?"

"And just how are you going to do that?" Roderich snapped, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Gilbert always managed to rile him up, and it gave him a headache.

His eyes flashed open as an arm slipped around his waist. "Gilbert, if you think forcing me to make out with you will make me forget why I'm angry then you're even more stupid than I initially thought."

"It's not forcing if you're just as into it as I am. And hell, it worked last time, so I'm guessing my chances are pretty high." Gilbert plucked the glasses off of his face and pocketed them, and took one of Roderich's hands. He put it on his shoulder. "C'mon, let me make it up to you."

"You could make it up to me by learning that dumb solo you begged me for."

"Psh, the only one who begs here is you."

"Now you're just spouting lies," Roderich breathed, letting his chin be pulled upward. "I can remember a few times when you– mm…"

He slipped his arms around Gil's neck and closed his eyes, tilting his head into the kiss. Gilbert wasn't a very experienced kisser, but he was learning; he could hold one for quite a while, and he'd finally figured out that still lips didn't steal breaths. Roderich carded his fingers through the flutist's silver locks and pressed close, his anger disappearing as a tongue traced his bottom lip. With a spark running down his spine, he parted his lips and tilted his head again, unable to keep from making a quiet moan as their tongues pressed and twisted together.

His lungs were beginning to burn for fresh air, and he lightly tugged at Gil's hair, moving back from the kiss. Gilbert leaned back in to peck the corner of his lips as Roderich gasped for air.

Gilbert pulled back. "Have you forgiven me yet?"

"For what?" Roderich asked, still a little more dazed than he'd care to admit. His knees felt weak, and he was a little grateful for the arms around him keeping him up.

Gilbert grinned, and snickered as he leaned down for another kiss. "Told you you'd forget," he crooned, silencing a protest of 'wait, what?' from Roderich and feeling a jolt of glee as the words turned into another groan. His hand slowly slid down the occupied Austrian's back and into the back pocket of his trousers. Gil smirked, baring his teeth against Roderich's mouth as he squeezed his hand and enticed a surprised squeak.

"Oh my… this is quite a scene we've accidentally walked in on."

Gilbert pulled back, his smug pleasure miffed with annoyance. "Yeah, you should accidentally walk out and pretend like you never saw anything either," he remarked, pulling his hand from the dazed Roderich's back pocket and flattening it against the small of the violinist's back, pulling him closer.

Francis only glanced over at Arthur, as the Brit approached his side. "It appears that our private room is occupied," he reported.

Arthur watched Roderich seemingly pull his head from the clouds and struggle in Gilbert's arms. "I always pegged him to be the type to sneak away and shirk work by necking," he quipped, jerking his head at Gil, "but YOU, Roderich? I'm impressed."

"N-no, it isn't like that..!" Roderich pulled out of Gil's arms, cheeks burning red as he looked between the pair in the doorway. "He… I didn't even… I'm…!"

Francis snickered at how flustered the snooty first chair violinist seemed, and Arthur only smirked. Roderich scowled at them.

"And you're so innocent?" he snapped. "It isn't like we were the only two to sneak off to… 'neck'.."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but his ears turned dark as Francis elbowed him and Gilbert gave a little whistle of suggestion. "I only agreed because… because he would admit that English tea tastes much better than coffee! That's the only reason why!"

"As if I would ever do that," Francis snorted, "you agreed on your own will!"

"I did not! You put your filthy French hands on my very sensitive places, that's the only reason why I agreed!"

"Psh, you certainly weren't calling my hands 'filthy' the other day, when we snuck into the bathroom and–"

Gilbert chuckled as Arthur desperately pressed his hands over Francis' mouth, trying to smother the rest of the sentence and maybe his air supply. He snuck a glance at Roderich, who only looked adorably embarrassed at the entire situation. "Hey," he said, nudging him with an arm. "Wanna maybe come over tonight after we're done here? Grandpa is out of town and Ludwig is at some friend's sleepover thing. You can help me work on my solo, since you think I'm so unprepared to perform it."

Roderich frowned up at him, looking confused. "Oh, yes, that," he said after a brief moment of retracing his mental steps. "I.. would like that. I-I can't have you embarrassing yourself, after all."

Gilbert pulled his folded glasses from the pocket of his red hoodie, and offered them. "Can't have that," he agreed, smiling as Roderich took them and pushed them onto his face. He snuck a look over at Francis and Arthur, who looked like they were going to violently tear some clothes off. "I say we skedaddle so we don't see more of Francey-pants than we're already forced to." He took Roderich by the wrist and began to lead him out, carefully inching by the wrestling pair nearby.

Roderich made to pull his hand away, but instead, he twisted his wrist and clasped their hands together. "I agree. You're already almost two hours late for practice, so you still deserve a tongue lashing."

"Hehe, I thought I already got a bit of that back in the woodwinds room."

"The tongue, maybe. The lashing? That comes later."