Sex, Love, and Classical Music
Description: Gilbert was playing Roderich like an instrument and he needed to know how many notes he could make... "Ich lieb dich, Roderich, for a long time now."
Pairing: Prussia x Austria. Germany x North Italy casually mentioned in passing.
Rated: M for sexual content and language.
AN: Here's a little song I wrote... lemme play it for you note for note. Also, this is the first time I've written something like this – or these characters. Whoops!
This is also unbelievably corny. So that's also a thing. Maybe one day I will write a real Prussia x Austria story. Heh.
Gilbert would often lean on the door frame of the music room, watching Roderich feel the music he was playing on his piano. He would sway, eyes closed, his mouth curved in a blissful smile. Gilbert liked Roderich like this, he was quiet, relaxed, and seemingly unaware of the world around him. He was so stiff and proper any other time, he only seemed to let loose was when he was lost in his music. Gilbert could watch him all day. This was not to be, as eventually the song would end and Roderich's eyes would flutter open, the world materializing around him once again. Then, he would half turn and see Gilbert standing there out of the corner of his eye, all stiffness returning to his narrow shoulders.
"What do you want, Beilschmidt?" he'd spit. And, that's exactly how he greeted Gilbert this morning as he leaned, arms folded over his chest, watching the Austrian passively.
Gilbert is many things. Comfortable with his sexuality is absolutely one of those things. He enjoys a soft woman and big tits as much as the next straight guy; but, there was always something about Roderich that got him all hot under his skin. Something that his dear friend, Francis Bonnefoy, wholeheartedly agreed with. That agreement, of course, lead to a very animated argument (which Gilbert won) and resulted in Francis being banned from being within a certain radius of the Austrian for longer than two minutes unless absolutely necessary. It was never necessary. Gilbert had, as they say, "called dibs" (and threatened Francis' manhood quite explicitly).
While Gilbert had saved Roderich from the clutches of the Frenchman in favor of his own romantic pursuits, he never had any intention on actually trying to woo the Austrian. He had decided long ago that Roderich was unlikely to return the feelings, and simply admiring the man from afar was enough.
"Just watching the show," he smirked. He pushed himself away from the wall with his shoulder and sauntered further into the room. He loved the way Roderich's eyes flashed and he fiddled with his glasses, pushing them further up his elegant nose. He turned his head away, tucking stray pieces of his chocolate hair behind his ear with nervous fingers.
"I'm busy."
"Clearly." He wandered closer to the piano, leaning over the Austrian, looking for sheet music and finding only blank pages. "What are you playing?"
"Nothing." Gilbert snorted. Roderich fidgeted with his cravat, "my own work, if you must know." Gilbert hummed in thought for a moment, and Roderich glanced up at him, glaring. Roderich never played his own music, hardly ever, at least. He much preferred to lose himself in the melodies of the greatest composers. He was talented enough to write symphonies, but, as Roderich had mentioned in a brief moment of friendly conversation between the two, writing his own music felt a lot like sharing his deepest thoughts and secret desires with the world. Playing music was already the way he best expressed his emotions, he did not have the inclination to put his feelings in writing, too.
An idea occurred to Gilbert. He wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad idea, but he decided to run with it. So, he turned on his heel and left the room, calling over his shoulder, "I like it, s'pretty."
The next morning Gilbert arrived at Roderich's house, slender black case in hand. He did not often bring his flute out with him – he preferred to keep it quiet that he could play any instrument at all – but he felt today he would make an exception.
He found Roderich in his music room as usual, today he was sliding the bow across his violin strings, the same haunting melody from the piano the day before. It felt sad, but not without hope. He imagined lovers stuck, reaching out longingly for one another, just out of reach. The tune, to Gilbert, seemed to suggest that their fingers would just brush together, close enough to almost grab hold. Gilbert said nothing as he entered the room, clicked open his box, and started assembling his flute.
"What do you think you are doing?" Roderich hissed, music coming to a halt.
"I'm going to play some flute, der dummkopf aristocrat."
"You can't play flute." Roderich spluttered, his cheeks colouring. Gilbert watched him from the corner of his eye, amused, as he pieced the rest of his flute together. Making Roderich so damn flustered was his favorite hobby, he wondered vaguely why he hadn't thought to bring his flute to Roderich's house sooner. He was about to knock the man's gartered socks off.
Gilbert arched a brow, acting nonchalant, and brought his flute to his lips and slowly played through a scale. He finished and pointed the instrument at Roderich, "Go, I will follow your lead," Roderich didn't move and continued to glare, "just because your highness has never heard me play doesn't mean I'm not the best damn flute player in the world." Roderich sighed heavy, rolling his eyes skyward, before settling his violin under his chin and he began to play.
Gilbert took a moment, soaking in the melody, feeling it, before he jumped in. He imagined the tune like braids of a cord, he could hear how the piano would fit in, how the violin leapt and ducked. Gilbert chased after the strings with his flute, following the movements like he knew where the song was taking them. Their instruments wound around each other, like playing tag, the violin always just one step ahead. Gilbert resisted the urge to overtake Roderich, and settled on letting him lead them. He imagined lovers finally clasping their hands together, pulling in to a tight embrace. He imagined warmth of arms intertwining, of breath lingering on skin, not quite a kiss but just as passionate. He looked up, Roderich was watching him closely, searching his eyes, as his fingers danced along the violin's neck.
When the song finally ended, they both half-lowered their instruments and stared at each other. Gilbert broke the silence, "See? Best damn flute player you've ever heard." His heart was pounding in his chest. The way Roderich could play music, the way his whole demeanor relaxed into a melody. He poured his heart into every note he played. It was hard not to fall in love with a man that was emotional if you knew where to look. What had inspired such a bittersweet tune?
"You have some talent." Emphasis on the 'some'.
"Some?" Gilbert growled and Roderich ignored him, replacing his violin in its case on the piano bench, his expression annoyingly passive. Gilbert marched up to him, flute waving in front of his slender nose. Roderich huffed and straightened, fiddling with his glasses as they slid down his nose. "You just can't admit that that was the sexiest thing to happen to you since your Spanish fling." The colour immediately rose in Roderich's cheeks, and he began to tug at his cravat, nervous. Gilbert slammed his flute down on the piano bench next to the violin case, preferring to poke at Roderich's chest with his finger. He would squeeze a proper compliment from the man if it was the last thing he did. It was, after all, well deserved. "My mad flute skills sent shivers up and down your spine. You had no idea I was so musically inclined, and if it didn't turn you on at least a little, I'm not sure what would." At least, Gilbert was a little turned on. He had never played music with Roderich (or anyone else) before, which was probably for the best. He didn't need the temptation.
Roderich took a small step back and Gilbert was happy to follow until the musician was pressed firmly up against a wall. God, he loved seeing him look so flushed and nervous, glasses sliding down his damn perfect nose, bottom lip caught between his teeth.
"You played half decently for not knowing the music," Roderich said finally, quietly, and that was as close to a compliment Gilbert was going to get. Roderich stopped chewing his lips, they were only just parted, his bottom lip swollen. His cheeks were the most delicious shade of pink, and his breath was coming fast and uneven. Gilbert couldn't help himself.
He leaned down and brushed their lips together. He just wanted, needed, to feel their warmth for a moment. Just to placate his curiosity. But, just wanting to feel quickly turned into just wanting a quick taste, and he ran his tongue over Roderich's bottom lip. He took a sharp intake of breath when Roderich's mouth willingly parted and he tilted his face up towards Gilbert. Their tongues, like their music, wove around each other, this time Gilbert taking the lead and not willing to let it go, no matter how hard Roderich fought for it. His hands found their way to Roderich's face and cupped it gently. Gilbert could hardly believe he was kissing Roderich. His lips felt like warm velvet, he tasted faintly of chocolate, and smelled like hazelnut coffee. The whole experience was leaving Gilbert light-headed, his stomach fluttering with butterflies. Warmth bloomed in his chest and spread to every corner of his person, even his toes, which he wiggled happily. He kissed him slow, light, frightened that too much pressure would scare away the musician. One of Roderich's hands lightly touched Gilbert in the centre of his chest, then slid its way up to rest on his shoulder.
Gilbert broke the kiss and looked down at the Austrian, who was peeking up at him through his long lashes and that chocolate hair. In that moment, Roderich was the most damned beautiful creature he had ever seen. He looked so timid, but the hand on Gilbert's shoulder was firm and determined. Gilbert forgot how to breathe and only remembered to exhale when that hand wound its way around Gilbert's neck and pulled him down, Roderich's chin tilting up, wordlessly asking to be kissed again. Gilbert was only too happy to oblige, and he brought their lips together again, firmer this time. Roderich's other hand finally joined its pair, tangling in Gilbert's hair.
The longer they kissed, the more heated they became. Gilbert could not get close enough, despite the fact that he found himself pressing flush against the him. How long had he always told himself that he could never have the musician? How long had he desired this? How many daydreams were burned in to his memory as he imagined the way Roderich's mouth would move against his own. Now that he knew how Roderich tasted, he would not be able to return to telling himself that distant admiration would be enough. Their kisses took a turn towards feverish, and the moment Roderich moaned in to Gilbert's mouth, he realized a simple taste was not enough. He needed more; he needed to feel all of Roderich.
There were too many damn clothes between them.
Roderich seemed to think the same thing, and there was a mad rush as his long coat became unbuttoned and fell to the floor in a graceless heap. Roderich started pulling at his cursed cravat and Gilbert settled on kissing deeply, aggressively, hands sliding down from Roderich's face to his chest and helping loosen the offending neck wear, whipping it to the floor when it finally tugged free.
Roderich turned his face away, "no," he whispered, "not here. Upstairs." That was more than enough invitation for Gilbert. He led them stumbling from the room, lips, tongues, hands barely parting as they crashed against the stair banister. They only made it halfway up the stairs, the buttons on Roderich's shirt much too complicated when he needed the thing on the floor. He wasn't sure if he ripped it or finally got the buttons to cooperate, but the shirt was being tossed over his shoulder a moment later. He ran his fingers down Roderich's bare chest, earning a moan from the Austrian, and Gilbert could not resist tasting the smooth flesh. God damn, how did this man have such soft skin? Under his lips he felt like the silken shirt Gilbert had just ripped off. Roderich's long, pianist fingers were tugging at Gilbert's shirt, he broke away long enough to pull it over his head before returning to his task of tasting every inch of Roderich's bare skin.
They slowly made their way up the stairs, pieces of clothing discarded with each step. When they fell against a door, Roderich was playing with Gilbert's belt buckle, his fingers shaking, Gilbert felt it tug and fall away. He slid his tongue back to Roderich's velvet lips, kissing him hard, and grabbing at his hips, grinding them against his own, delighting at the hot, hard feelings of desire between them.
Gilbert kicked off the remainder of his own clothing as the door swung inward. He did not take the time to admire the room's surroundings, and mercilessly pushed Roderich on to the bed. He knelt at the foot between Roderich's knees and pulled at the last piece of clothing between them, eyes flicking up to meet Roderich's. He was watching him, mouth parted and panting, his eyes dark with need. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly, teasingly slid the cloth away, down Roderich's legs, taking his time in removing it completely, the musician breathing fast and heavy above him. Then, he took Roderich into his mouth, and chuckled in the back of his throat as Roderich threw his head back, a strangled cry bubbling up from his chest. He was playing Roderich like an instrument and he needed to know how many notes he could make.
.
Roderich did not often find himself desiring a cigarette with such intensity. Cigarettes are a terrible habit, smelly, and most importantly, dirty; however, he was already drowning in filth, one more thing wouldn't make a difference. He was desperate for something, anything, to take the edge off.
The air in the room felt heavy, smelled musky, and the ache was still fresh from recently transpired events. He clutched his silken bed sheets closer to him to give the illusion of modesty. He could have closed his eyes and willed himself far away, but a snore from beside him shattered his reverie.
Dear God, how quick Gilbert had fallen into a coma-like sleep was beyond even Roderich's comprehension. Gilbert lay sprawled like a drawn starfish, pale limbs haphazard, his mouth slack-jawed and quietly snoring. Roderich was quite certain that, had Gilbert been sleeping on his side, there would be a line of drool sliding down the man's chin. He shuddered at the very thought.
Roderich was filled with a sense of - actually, he wasn't sure how exactly to dissect his current influx of emotions. One one hand, he felt a deep revulsion, on the other he felt utter bliss. Really, it could go in either direction at this point.
What was Gilbert dreaming about? Roderich stole a glance at the sleeping form. His face was completely relaxed, and if not for his mouth hanging open, Roderich would have fancied him as peaceful, bordering on quite handsome. Then Gilbert snorted, one hand moved in his sleep to scratch his bare belly, before falling still again.
He was completely exposed. Roderich felt the heat rising in his cheeks as his gaze traveled further south, mulling over exactly where those parts had been and what they were doing earlier in the afternoon. He had to make a conscious effort not to lick his lips. Instead, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Scheisse, scheisse, scheisse.
How did he even end up in this position?
It must have been the music. Gilbert had been right. Their duet had left him turned on – clearly more than a little.
He desired to duck under his covers and hide while he processed everything. But, it was hard to pretend not to be there while another body lay so close in proximity. A warm body belonging to one handsome German. The slow rise and fall of Gilbert's chest was hypnotic. It was odd seeing him laying so still when the memory of him towering over Roderich, lust-crazed grin spread wide on his face, was still so fresh in his memory. He sunk further into his bed, willing the hot memories to leave him. He wasn't ready to face the fact that he adored it.
He wasn't sure he liked the feeling of laying naked in his expensive bedding. Roderich wondered how he was going to remove any offending stains - perhaps he should wake Gilbert and kick him out of the bed. Maybe he could convince Gilbert to buy him new sheets - that would be easier than explaining away any awkward stains to his dry cleaner. Oh Gott – what had happened to his clothing in the journey from the music room to the bedroom? In a wrinkled mess on the floor or ruined from when Gilbert tore them from Roderich's body? Wrinkles he could at least have ironed out, torn, however...
"Ugh, you are so loud when you fret." Roderich jumped at the sudden voice. He poked an eye out from under his sheets.
"I beg your pardon?" He locked his uncovered eye with Gilbert's who responded with a slow blink and lazy smirk. Roderich had not even noticed Gilbert had stirred awake.
"You are having a fucking mental meltdown."
"I most certainly am not!" Roderich resisted the urge to pout and settled on thrusting his chin out with an air of indifference. He ignored the lump of panic rising in his throat. Gilbert had the audacity to chuckle.
"I know you better than that, old man," Roderich gave an offended huff in response. "I just fucked you so hard I'm surprised the bed didn't break!" The German continued to laugh to himself, quite pleased. Roderich buried his face back into the depths of the blankets groaning in exasperation and turning his back to Gilbert, face flushed.
That was a thing that had happened.
Roderich clutched at his head, desperately trying to untangle whatever was going on in there. Gilbert has seen him naked, whatever that meant. Not to mention, much to Roderich's horror, he recalled screaming out the German's name as he – scheisse.
"You're doing it again," Gilbert's voice broke Roderich's train of thought and was much closer than anticipated. A quiet gasp escaped his lips as an arm snaked its way around his waist. He found himself being pulled out of his hiding spot and against a warm, firm chest at his back. Gilbert's lips were hovering over his neck just under his ear, his breath warm. Scheisse, scheisse. "Try and relax, ja?"
"I am not freaking out." A feeble attempt to save face. How undignified.
"Nein? Then what are you?" Gilbert's voice was softer than Roderich had memory of ever hearing it; it sent shivers down his spine and filled him with a dull sense of apprehension.
"Revolted," Pleasant, mortified, surprised, shocked, embarrassed, overjoyed, content, worried, aching, longing, hungry for more... these were all words Roderich could have used in response. He chose to sound as indifferent as he could and sniffed.
"Oho?" Gilbert's hands began to wander. Had it not been beneath him, Roderich would have squeaked in surprise. "Me too, then," Gilbert purred in to Roderich's ear and he was unable to mask the shiver that shot through him from the base of his neck to the end of his tailbone. God, he could sound so sexy. What made matters worse was that he knew it. Roderich tried to focus on being angry at what had transpired earlier, but it was so hard to concentrate when a hand was sliding down his abdomen, the other kneading circles on his hips. It was hard to remember to feel - what was he suppose to feel?
Gilbert was trailing light kisses down Roderich's neck, the hand on his abdomen slowly sliding further and further down. Roderich was becoming more and more agitated that the German was so close to discovering just how 'revolted' he was. He wondered if he should be ashamed by how quick his body was to respond to a few kisses, light touches, and oh God that voice.
"I could have sworn I left you satisfied earlier, Specs. Was I not actually as awesome as you had screamed?"
Roderich broke through his haze of lust long enough to respond with an angry grunt. Then, he dissolved into an incomprehensible (and highly improper) sigh of desire as Gilbert brushed his hand down his length. Roderich arched his back, involuntary of course, grinding against the German now flush behind him. He felt Gilbert's own renewed desire pressing against him. He enjoyed the moan that escaped Gilbert's lips, his cool composure slipping for the briefest of moments. However, he did not enjoy this victory for very long before Gilbert was holding him firm in that rogue hand between his thighs. Roderich recalled his anger - he was not supposed to be enjoying this, he was supposed to be revolted at the very notion of being in such a... compromising situation with the German. He tried to politely tell Gilbert to "fuck off", but he only managed to get out the first half before Gilbert was rolling him on to his back and crawling on top of him.
Much to Gilbert's amusement, an unflattering squeak of surprise snuck past Roderich's lips before he could contain it. He stared wide-eyed at Gilbert leaning over him, one hand pressed in to the pillow by Roderich's head, his face stretched in a devious smirk. The mirth in his eyes was fast overshadowed by lust, his other hand slid down, slipping behind one of Roderich's knees, coaxing his legs to encircle him. Roderich obliged and Gilbert rewarded him by rocking their hips together.
"Scheisse," was all he could breathe out in response. Gilbert chuckled and leaned down to deliver a bruising kiss to Roderich's lips.
Conflicting emotions be damned! Roderich now wanted nothing more than to dig trenches in Gilbert's back with his nails. Gilbert's tongue swiped at Roderich's bottom lip before swirling into his mouth, moaning and grinding their hips together again. His hands roamed from Roderich's hips, sides, abdomen, chest, up in to his hair - Roderich couldn't keep up with where the hands would be next. How ever much it was, it was not enough. The plea for Gilbert to put him out of his misery and just make love to him again was nearly on his lips when Gilbert pulled away. The sudden loss of physical closeness caused him to flutter his eyes open. Gilbert was gazing down at Roderich with a confused expression on his face.
"What did you just say?" His voice was husky with lust, but his eyes shone clear.
"I - what?" Had he said something? Had he just begged Gilbert to fuck him aloud? He was pretty confident that he had not finished contemplating the idea of begging just yet.
"You just said - " Gilbert was pulling further away and Roderich found himself clawing at the German to remain close. He wasn't done yet! He needed more still. He need to feel Gilbert again. And again, and again, and again...
"Fuck me, you uncultured swine, or I swear I'll..." he wasn't sure where he was going with that sentence so he resigned himself to reaching up and grabbing hold of Gilbert's head, bringing him down for a heated kiss. Gilbert responded, hesitant at first, before giving in to the sensation of Roderich lightly trailing his fingers down his spine.
He made a point of parting his knees a bit further, and arching up in to Gilbert, hoping to convey exactly what it was he wanted. Just in case the words "fuck" and "me" were lost on him. Perhaps he should have added a "now" and "please" for good measure.
Finally, Gilbert's hands were deliciously wandering again, and he moaned at their travels, enjoying when they found their way down and around to give Roderich's ass a firm squeeze. He did not bother to hide the shivers of excitement that arced through him as Gilbert's traced teasing touches across his skin, feeling every inch of flesh he could reach, almost like he was trying to commit Roderich's body to memory. He sighed aloud as those fingers traced patterns over his abdomen and up his chest, one hand sneaking further down between them to wrap fingers around him, he rolled his hips into the touch.
Gilbert chuckled at Roderich's breathy sigh of contentment and how he threw his head back, exposing his slender neck for the German. Gilbert seemed more than happy to pepper soft kisses down Roderich's collarbone, then he retraced his movements, open mouthed, lightly swirling his tongue against his skin. When he reached the spot where Roderich's neck met his shoulders, he bit down, sucked, and began leaving a purple trail in the wake of his perfect mouth. Scheisse. Roderich loved how his skin burned where Gilbert kissed him, marked him.
He was not sure when Gilbert's wandering hands had found the time to locate the lube, but with a start, Roderich could feel him there, cold and slippery, pressing against him, evident that teasing touches were no longer enough. When he slid inside, without preparation but with much more ease than earlier, Roderich did not try to withhold his strangled cry; utter discomfort and pure pleasure coursed through every fiber of his being. He was not sure if he said anything at all or released only senseless sounds. He could not decide if he wanted to feel the movement of muscles in Gilbert's toned back, or dig his nails into his shoulders and cling for dear life. Roderich was pretty sure swore aloud when Gilbert grabbed the backs of his knees, folding him nearly in half, as he fucked him hard into the mattress.
Roderich settled on one hand clutching at Gilbert's shoulder, the other tangled into his mop of silver hair. He swallowed the desire to scream out the German's name with each thrust. That would only inflate his already over-large ego.
Gilbert's jaw was clenched tight, his face twisted in concentration. His breath hissed out between his teeth when Roderich arched into him. Before this whole debacle began he had quite proudly declared that he never finished before his partner. Roderich was quite pleased to see him look so close to his limit, undone by the pleasure that Roderich's body gave him. The hand knotted in Gilbert's hair untangled itself to slide down his pale face, red eyes fluttering open to lock on to Roderich's. And, he couldn't help himself but to lean up and start placing soft kisses along that filthy German mouth and jaw.
The pace slowed and Gilbert returned the sentiment, catching Roderich's lips in a slow, almost lazy kiss. Their breath mingled together between kisses, sighs exchanged. Roderich felt like he was talking, but ignored it and kept placing light touches of affection with his mouth all over Gilbert's face.
His chest swelled with warmth when he looked up at the albino above him, brow shining with sweat. He adored the way Gilbert's hair fell into those strange eyes, colourless lashes curling over crimson irises. Perhaps to some his eyes were unnerving, but to Roderich, his eyes were everything. They held such wonder for the world around him, like a child even though he was fully grown. Those eyes that were so honest, his inner emotions and thoughts on display for those who to took the time to search for them there. He loved the sound of Gilbert's breath as it hitched in his chest when Roderich moaned, openly, loudly, uncaring of who heard him enjoying what the German was doing to him. Further, he hated to admit, he loved the smirk that played on his lips when Gilbert knew he did something that felt divine.
He would put those lips on a pedestal and worship them if he could. Those lips that could kiss away pain and discomfort or destroy Roderich with pleasure. The words that would tumble out of those lips could make him weak in the knees or stir up uncouth amounts of detestation for the man they belonged to. Those lips that housed that devilish, wicked, flawless, coquettish tongue. Perhaps he had grown to care deeper for the asshole; or, perhaps it was a reaction to the way their bodies slid so perfectly together.
Gilbert was regarding him with a strange expression. Roderich had half a mind to question him about it before he felt the distinct feeling coiling deep in his core that he was close to release.
He pushed all thoughts aside and focused on enjoying the feeling of their bodies pressed together. He reveled the sensation of their hips colliding. He could feel every shallow, shuddering breath that Gilbert took, his silver hair once again woven around Roderich's fingers. With his other hand, he held Gilbert as close as he could, their chests firm together. It felt as though he couldn't hold him close enough, he never wanted to let go, he wanted to melt into him. Gilbert released one of Roderich's legs and slid his arm under his shoulders, holding him closer to his chest, returning the tight embrace; his other arm held him up, elbow looped around one of Roderich's knees, hand clutching desperately at the sheets. Roderich wanted to reach one of his own hands out, to interlace their fingers, but he could not bring himself to let go of Gilbert's hair. He was about to admit aloud that he loved the feeling of Gilbert inside him when his toes curled, unable to hold back any longer.
"Scheisse! Oh, God!"
He felt his whole body convulse, every muscle constricting, and he threw his head back, vision tunneling, ears ringing, and uncaring that a colourful array of words, in English and German, burst from his lips as he came. Gilbert hissed out a long, shuddering breath, his nails digging painfully into Roderich's back, biting down on his shoulder as he followed shortly after. They rode out the euphoric sensation before Gilbert collapsed, half on top of Roderich, finally releasing his other leg from his shaking arm.
They lay panting, unmoving, Roderich secretly enjoying the weight still on top of him (and trying not to think about the mess that was just created between them). He could feel Gilbert's heart racing against him, his breaths coming shallow and fast against Roderich's neck. He carded his fingers through Gilbert's hair with a trembling hand. Sleep was beginning to pull him into a warm embrace, and he was quite happy to let it take him over when, "I love you too, prissy pants."
That got Roderich's attention. His eyes snapped open, and he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating before it began again, even more rapid than before.
"Wait, what?" Gilbert's eyes were shut and he rolled on to his back, pulling Roderich on to his chest, damp with sweat. One crimson eye squinted open.
"You've been practically screaming it at me all afternoon."
"I-I-"
Gilbert forced Roderich's head to rest on his shoulder, his fingers weaving through his hair.
"Shh, you dummkopf aristocrat. The feelings are mutual. You can chill out and just enjoy this afterglow, ja?"
Well then.
"Although," Gilbert continued, an annoying smile loud in his voice, "I'm not sure what all languages you used. I really only caught the English and German." He laughed, "Ich lieb dich. You're such a fruit."
"I... I hate you."
"That's not what you were squealing at the top of your lungs not two minutes ago!"
The sex was good, he had to admit, but... love? Roderich felt as if all his limbs turned to adrenaline-filled noodles.
He recalled how he hated when Gilbert would turn up at his house, unannounced and a whirlwind of mess, yet when a day went by without Gilbert bursting through his front door, his heart felt heavy, and he hated that feeling more.
The blood in his veins felt like it was made of ice.
He thrived on their petty arguments, because Gilbert would laugh, and the sound made his heart stutter, flip, and jump in to his throat. His stomach would come alive with acrobatic butterflies when Gilbert would look at him, eyes filled with mirth.
His heart continued to hammer an an alarming rate and he positively forgot how to breathe.
He lived for moments when, perhaps Roderich would stumble, his sheet music flying to the floor in every direction, and Gilbert would help him collect the scattered papers. His skin would burn where Gilbert's fingers would brush against his hand as he handed the papers back to him.
Love?
The sound of Gilbert's laugh, his voice, the light touch of his hands, his stupid grin and insufferable smirk. The annoying way he would scratch his nose when he thought he was particularly clever. The way his face would soften around any sort of feathered creature. He could be so goddamned gentle one minute and a flying disaster the next, and he was perfect for it.
Love. His ears were ringing.
"...Rick? Roderich!" Gilbert was over him again (when had they moved?) holding his shoulders and shaking him, eyes wild with concern. Roderich opened his mouth and gasped for air. "Are you alright?"
"Ich..." What language was he speaking? He couldn't remember what to do with his tongue, it felt too large for his mouth. "I'm... going to be sick."
Gilbert jerked back, eyes widening, "whoa, scheisse! Please don't!"
At some point, he didn't know how and he didn't know when, but he had fallen in love. He. Roderich, neat, organized, dignified, of the elite, Edelstein in love with Gilbert, crazy, disorderly, son-of-a-bitch, self-proclaimed-Prussian Beilschmidt.
The moment the thought processed in his sluggish brain, the world seemed to tilt, Gilbert's voice sounding very far away. And, of all things, Roderich thought of Christmas:
Of sugar icing dusted on cakes, the scent of cinnamon and hazelnuts, and photographs taken in front of a roaring fire. He thought of marshmallows swirling in hot chocolate and mistletoe hanging by the front door. He thought of glittering garlands woven around the railings and banisters, of slow dances on Christmas eve, and light kisses as snow fell. He thought of warm arms wrapping around him as he lay in bed and smiling at the thought that, when the sun went up the next morning, he would not be alone. He thought of matching ugly Christmas sweaters and, even though he hated the idea of wearing one, he would do anything Gilbert asked of him. No matter how much it clashed with his complexion.
.
The moment Roderich seemed to slip from consciousness Gilbert flew into a panic. He called out Roderich's name, but he did not respond, eyes glazed and staring unseeing up at the ceiling, his mouth parted. He jumped from the bed, holding his head. What does he do? There didn't seem to be enough clothes to make himself decent on the floor in the room, but he did find a plush, purple bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. He threw it on and ran down the stairs two at a time.
It took him a minute to find his pants, and with shaking hands he fished his cell phone from the pocket.
"What do you want, bruder."
"Oh Gott, West!" He tried not to let the relief reach his voice, but was unsuccessful. "West. Roderich has gone... noodly."
"Was?"
Gilbert wasn't sure what to say to his brother – what was too much information? He was pretty sure he killed the most beautiful man in the world, and he needed someone to tell him what to do and bring a shovel. 'We had awesome sex, twice, the L word came up, and now he's slipped into a coma'. He couldn't say any of this, of course, and settled on breathing heavy into the receiver.
"Oh. This has happened to Feliciano. Bring him some water, he will be fine."
Water! "Don't hang up!" he said into the phone, bounding for the kitchen.
Once back in the room, he skidded to a stop near the bed and sat carefully beside Roderich, who was chewing on his lip but otherwise still unresponsive. Gilbert perched his phone between his shoulder and ear, slid his hand under Roderich's head and brought the cup to his mouth.
The moment cool water touched his lips he came to his senses. He struggled to sit up and took the cup from Gilbert, drinking deeply.
"Oh, he's coming back, now! Der liebling... Roderich? Can you hear me?"
"I can hear you, arschloch." He coughed, handing the cup back, Gilbert set it on the bedside table.
"He's okay!" Gilbert cheered in to his phone.
"Gilbert." Roderich's face was pale, his eyes pleading. Gilbert's stomach dropped to his feet and he held the phone away from his face a bit, nodding that he was listening, "promise me something," he nodded again. "Promise to never ask me to wear an ugly Christmas sweater." They stared at each other a moment, Gilbert blinking, Ludwig's voice coming faintly from his phone, asking if he was still there and "can I hang up now?"
"West," Gilbert said slowly in to the phone, bringing it back to his ear, "he's awake, but he's not making sense... He's saying something about Christmas sweaters. I don't know if he realizes it's May..."
"Verdammt, Gilbert!" Roderich lunged so fast for Gilbert's phone he did not have time to react. With deft fingers the musician disconnected the call and tossed it to the foot of the bed.
"Hey!"
A flurry of emotions danced across Roderich's face. Panic, concern, brief anger, an expression Gilbert couldn't place, panic again, shock and then, "Are you wearing my robe?"
"Listen, Ludwig said that this sort of thing happens to Feliciano when he gets overwhelmed." Gilbert grabbed both of Roderich's hands in to his own and squeezed them. "He gets lightheaded and faints and wakes up disoriented. It's common after an awesome fuck from a Beilschmidt." Gilbert burst out laughing as Roderich snatched his hands away, glaring.
"I did not faint. I was thinking."
"Whatever you say, du prinzessin." His laughter slowly died, and the concern crept back in to his face as he started chewing on the inside of his cheek. Roderich's cheeks flushed and he refused to meet Gilbert's gaze.
This annoyed Gilbert. What on earth did he have to be embarrassed about? He'd seen him naked – heck he was still naked (Roderich seemed to realize this at the same moment, and clutched at the bed sheets, drawing them to his chest). Roderich had said the "L Word" (much to Gilbert's delight), breathed, whispered, moaned, screamed it several times and in more than one language.
The first time Roderich breathed it in to his hear, his heart stopped beating and ice ran down his spine. Did he just...? Gilbert chalked it up to the sex talking, his resolve solidifying when Roderich snarled at him to fuck him, forcing his head down in a hot kiss. But then he said it again, louder, biting down on his lip. And then, those three words (mixed with a healthy dose of swearing and peppered with several 'Oh my God's) were the only thing that slipped past Roderich's velvet lips. "I love you, ich lieb dich, Oh God, I love you," It became his mantra, his arms circling around Gilbert and holding him closer. The more he said it, the more Gilbert came to believe it, his own heart dancing in response.
Had it just been the sex all along? The very thought threatened to shatter Gilbert's heart. This bothered him. He did not like feeling so vulnerable after a few short hours. He'd had casual sex before. Woman (and the occasional man on especially drunken nights) had screamed his name and their undying devotion before, never really meaning it, and it hadn't bothered Gilbert in the slightest. Why should this time be any different? Why else would he refuse to look at him now, why else would he cover himself up like he was ashamed? Unless he knew he had said too much and never meant any of it. Gilbert wanted to reach out and tell him he was beautiful, he was handsome, he was awesome, he shouldn't hide. But the look on Roderich's face caused him to bite down on his tongue.
Watching the emotions play on Roderich's face was like watching a seizure. They kept changing, he was clearly deep in thought. He fiddled with the sheets, with his hair, he chewed on his lips, his thumbnail, the inside of his cheek, processing whatever was going on in that head. He glanced at Gilbert briefly, his heart leaping in to his throat, and quickly looked away again. The colour in his cheeks darkened, a small noise coming up from somewhere in the back of his throat. Gilbert tried to be patient and wait for Roderich to finish sorting out the inside of his head, but he couldn't wait much longer with him fidgeting like that.
"Oh mein gott, stop doing that!"
Roderich flinched and turned to face Gilbert, releasing his lip from his teeth. He felt the frustration ready to burst out of his chest, and he struggled to keep it in check when Roderich looked at him with those panicked eyes.
"I... what am I doing?" The way Roderich could sound so innocent and so confused and be so blind to the mental turmoil he was causing in Gilbert (and Gilbert Beilschmidt did not suffer any kind of turmoil easily) made him snap.
"You get this verflucht look on your face and start chewing on your lips and twiddling your thumbs. Then, you start muttering under your breath. I can't understand what you're actually saying, so it's annoying! If your glasses were on, you'd start fiddling with them – I'm surprised you haven't absentmindedly broken them by now with how much you fucking fiddle when you panic." Gilbert huffed, "if you're really freaking out, then you chew on your nails or pull at your hair or adjust your fucking cravat like it's choking you – why the hell do you wear a cravat, anyway? They aren't in damn fashion!" Gilbert could feel his face was an astonishing shade of red, Roderich's, meanwhile, had lost all colour. "And another thing! You whimper!" He spat the last word out with more venom than he had intended.
Roderich jumped back, hitting the headboard behind him. He clutched at his chest, and Gilbert suddenly felt a wave of sickness at the realization that Roderich looked frightened of him. "I do not whimper!" the Austrian managed to choke out, leaning as far back into the headboard as it would allow, away from Gilbert.
"You were whimpering just now! You whimper like a little lost puppy."
"Why are you so angry?" Fear seemed to dissolve from Roderich's features, replaced by creeping anger. His eyes flashed and he was breathing heavy out of his nose.
"I'm mad because I don't understand why you are whimpering. I'm furious because I love it when you get all flustered and worried even though it's so fucking annoying."
"Oh." And just like that, all of the anger seemed to drain out of Roderich. Watching the whirlwind of emotions was exhausting! They fell into silence, and Roderich began chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyebrows drawn in thought, muttering under his breath.
"For fuck's sake," Gilbert snapped. He reached out and grabbed Roderich by the shoulders and yanked him forward, crashing their lips together and kissing him deeply, one hand sliding up his neck and cradling the back of his head. He tangled his fingers in Roderich's hair, his tongue licked at his bottom lip, swollen from when he had been chewing on it. "Why are you freaking out?" he breathed in to Roderich's mouth so softly he barely heard it himself. Gilbert slowed the kiss, lightened the pressure, until he was only brushing his lips against Roderich's as he played with the hair on the back of the Austrian's head.
"Because I... enjoyed the sex." Gilbert laughed quietly, of course he enjoyed sex with The One and Only Gilbert. He continued brushing his lips along Roderich's jaw.
"Why are you panicking?" Another quiet question. He hoped Roderich wouldn't get all high and mighty now. Now was not the time to be a pompous ass. Not when his heart was hanging in the balance.
"Because I realized I fell... for you..." Gilbert froze for a moment, then continued his kisses, "without my consent, I might add." He rolled his eyes. There was the aristocratic dick he knew and loved.
"Of course you couldn't help but fall for me," he said, pulling away, "I am awesome. I would fall for me." He smirked, Roderich blushed and attempted to look indignant. "And why do you whimper, Roderich?" Gilbert delighted in the way Roderich shivered when he used his name; he was using his sexy voice. Gilbert resumed trailing soft kisses along Roderich's jaw.
Roderich was silent for a moment before he responded, "because... actually, I don't know why. I didn't know that I whimpered. I'm not entirely sure I believe that." Gilbert rolled his eyes, and pulled back, searching Roderich's face. There was no more fear there, no more anger. He did not fidget or chew on his lips. He stared back at Gilbert evenly, his eyes wide, honest, waiting for Gilbert to respond. Maybe...
"Don't freak out," he sighed heavily, "I enjoyed the sex. Don't panic because you told me you loved me and I said I loved you back, and..." And? "And, I meant it." His heart flipped as Roderich stopped breathing for a second, he was towards Gilbert with each word he spoke, slowly inching closer until their noses were almost touching. "And don't whimper, it turns me on."
There was a beat of silence between them before Roderich placed his hands square on Gilbert's chest and he shoved, hard. Gilbert almost fell off the bed, just managing to catch himself on the night stand, the cup there flying off and rolling away across the floor.
"Hey!"
There Roderich sat, looking all but perfect, one hand over his mouth, eyes shining, as he laughed silently. Gilbert gave his best withering glare and Roderich attempted to sober himself.
"I do not whimper, so I can make no such promise." Gilbert let him laugh it up, and he sat there, feigning hurt feelings until the light, polite laughter died and silence settled in the room once again.
"Hey, Roderich?"
"Yeah?"
"Ich lieb dich," he looked straight at the Austrian pointedly. "For a long time, now." Roderich's cheeks grew pink, and he started fidgeting with his bed sheets.
"I..." he met Gilbert's gaze. "Me too."
Gilbert leaned in, placing a finger under Roderich's chin, tilting his head up. Their lips met, soft, sweet, and chaste. He felt, more than he heard, Roderich breathe, "ich lieb dich auch," against his mouth.
"Roderich?" Gilbert asked again, unable to help himself. Roderich's eyes were shut and he struggled to flutter them open, still engrossed the feeling of their lips together.
"You slept with someone, twice, before even having a first date. Hah! What a whore!" Gilbert didn't even have time to react to the fist coming for his head. The whole way to the floor he laughed to himself.
This was the start of a wonderful, loving, meaningful relationship.
.
Fin.