[A/N This is a blurb for the sequel to Gilbert Beilschmidt, Private Eye. In the interest of making it easier for my fans to be alerted when I actually start this story, I've provided this blurb to A) inform the reader of what is to come B) provide the place where I will be placing the story so that one can add a story alert and not have to frequently check my page for activity.

Unlike the prequel, this story will be rated M as it will be exploring more in depth Roderich and Gilbert's relationship. To put it another way, there's going to be sexy time! Ahahaha. Why yes, I am in fact a terrible person XD XD XD XD

THIRD NOTE: Title will inevitably change when I think of something better. Now onto the blurb!]

Gilbert Beilschmit—other than having a name more German than you can shake a stick at and being world famous for his awesome swagger—is an ace detective. And don't you forget that. Six months ago, I was considerably less awesome. I'll be honest. I was flat broke, down on my luck, case deprived, and a confirmed bachelor.

Six months later I'm playing life on challenge mode and winning. My private detective business is booming. Sure, I'm on the Italian mafia's payroll but it isn't all bad. Romano has lots of friends looking for a free lance they can contract to get the skinny on a tough situation. There's been quite a learning curve but I feel like I've really gotten the hang of this detective business. Hell, if my bank account that is currently one hundred percent in the green, baby, is anything to go by I must be doing something right.

I've also been dating a kickass, sexy piano player who drives me nuts in a good way. That seems to be going pretty well. I mean, Roderich hasn't thrown anything at my head or gotten overly pissed at me so I must be doing something right. Right now my—er, Roderich is on a tour. Yup, that's right. My, er—alright. My boyfriend is delighting concert halls the world over with his sweet, sonorous music. It makes me proud as a peacock but I still can't wait for him to come home next week.

So that's all the stuff that's been going right in my life. But I wouldn't be Gilbert Beilschmidt if I wasn't fucking something up, now would I? Ok, so maybe my cases are a little boring. I mean, on your second or third hour of staking a place out you tend to get pretty damned bored. I want some adventure. I want some excitement. I'm starting to get a little restless here. I'm a man! I thirst for danger and adventure!

Sure, having boring cases is a bit of a problem. But it's nothing but a minor inconvenience in comparison to my real problem. Can I be honest here? I'm going to be honest here. Are you ready for me, being completely straight with you? Don't laugh. Here goes. I'mterribleinbed. What? You didn't understand what I'm trying to say? Don't make me say it again. Aw, you're going to make me say it again, aren't you? Ok, fine. I'm terrible in bed. I told you not to laugh. It's not funny. It's a serious fucking problem. Of course, Roderich has assured me that I'm fine. He says I'm perfectly fine in bed. But that's the problem; 'perfectly fine' doesn't translate into 'sexually satisfying.' And I can tell. When we get funky he kind of just seems like he's politely waiting for it to be over. And that's a real blow to my inner man. Worse still, I can't hardly seduce the guy into bed. How am I supposed to practice when my boyfriend prefers strictly above-the-waist cuddling? You can see how this is a problem for me.

But anyways, I shouldn't brood on this sort of stuff, I suppose. Here I am, still in the same cruddy apartment with the dripping corner, still sitting behind the same old desk, sorting through paperwork. The thing about being a legit private eye that nobody tells you about is the paperwork. Every fucking client wants something to show for their money. Preferably in the form of mutilated trees and blue ink. Fucking slave drivers. Is my word good enough? Nope. They all expect pictures and time logs and detailed reports.

I was roused from my paperwork by a quiet knock at the front door. "Come in," I bellowed, fully expecting it to be West or Feliciano. Instead, the door opened hesitantly and a man I've never seen before crept in. "I am sorry," The man said, bowing his head. "Is this the office of Gilbert Beilschmidt? I would like to talk to him in regards to an…. Issue I'd like him to look in to."

"Well, that's me," I said, stuffing papers back in their folders as I stood up to introduce myself. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, private eye. Have a seat, Mister….."

"Honda. Kiku Honda. Can you really help me, Mister Beilschmidt?" Honda's voice was soft and slightly accented. Compared to the bellowing Italians I usually had in my joint he seemed to be out of place and too slight with his thin frame and quiet demeanor. He looked uncomfortably serious in the suit pants and dress shirt he was wearing. Even his hair seemed to be serious in its straight, glossy black texture and severely trimmed angles. I'm sure to him my lackluster apartment, messy desk, and sloppy dress were red flags of inefficiency.

"Well. Have a seat and tell me your problem. I'm sure we can come up with something." We both took a seat and I waited for Honda to begin. He looked up at me and blushed when he realized that I was waiting on him to begin.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Yes. My problem. Well, you see Mister Beilschmidt, I have an expensive hobby. I collect rare, valuable breeds of cats." Oh, god. I do not like where this is going. "Several days ago some person unknown broke into my house and stole three of my five prized cats. They left a ransom note. If I do not pay up I will never see my animals again."

"I don't think I'm the right person—" I began gently.

"Please," Honda interjected. His eyes were shimmering and he looked quite distressed. "To me they are more than just cats. I have raised them from kittens and care for them very much. I'm wealthy. I can pay you. Just, please. Please help me."

And in the face of a grown assed Asian man who looks like he's about to cry over some damned cats I could do nothing but reluctantly agree to find his cats.

What is my life coming to?

[A/N oh my. I can only imagine what you guys are thinking about me right now. It's probably not complementary. But bear with me. I'm going to try my hardest to make this as un-lame as possible. So don't forget to story alert this bitch! Just remember that this story is going on the back burner for some time. But never fear, I shall be back! How can I resist a story all about cats? Come on, you have to admit you're at least a little excited. Ok, maybe not. But you should be. Trust me, I'm a doctor.]