Whiskey Lullaby

An adaptation of the Whiskey Lullaby CMV by VandettA Cosplay Group

Please see prologue for all disclaimer information.


Chapter 01


They buried Gilbert on a seasonably cool spring morning. Roderich could not remember if it had been sunny out or cloudy. He could barely remember dressing himself that morning, though he could remember that he had made sure to lay out his very best suit for the funeral. He remembered that Eliza had prepared him a hearty breakfast of wurst, eggs, pastries and tea, and had made some comment about how he was looking 'pale and sallow' today. He had barely touched the food, though he had inhale the tea in large, painful swallows that burned the back of his throat and made his eyes water. When she wasn't looking, he replaced the scalding amber liquid with liquid of a similar color and a much different burn.

Ludwig had not been cruel about it. Nor, thankfully, had he been descriptive about the way in which Gilbert had died. He had only disclosed that his brother had been the victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, and had left behind a note consisting of seven simple words in German - Ich werde ihn lieben, bis ich sterbe. I will love him until I die. Upon inquiring about what the note might mean, Roderich had forced a half-hearted smile and simply apologized, but he really had no idea, and he was very sorry he couldn't be of more help.

It was obvious that Ludwig had never read his letters to Gilbert, because he never would have asked what Roderich knew if he had. He had simply returned them, mostly because Roderich had been the original author of them and perhaps Ludwig felt that having them would bring the slim Austrian man some form of peace. He had accepted them graciously with outstretched hands and cradled them against his chest, though they were a pathetically poor substitute for what he truly wanted to hold in his arms.

Of course, Roderich had been blessed with quite the vivid imagination since he was very young, so even if the younger Beilschmidt brother had felt the need to be forthcoming with the details, there was not a single thing he could have told him that his mind had not already conjured up. His dreams last night had been nothing but nightmares, a slow-motion torture show of Gilbert putting the gun to his head, setting the chamber, pulling the trigger, his brains and his blood and fragments of his skull flying –

He had woken himself with his own sobbing, though thankfully Elizaveta was the heaviest of sleepers and she had merely grunted and stirred before rolling over and stilling once more. Past that point, he had been unable to sleep and had risen from the bed and journeyed to the kitchen, taking solace and company with a cup of tea until day broke and his wife joined him, none the wiser.

Eliza really had been his stronghold in his time of need. When the small funeral had come to its conclusion, she had taken him by the hand and led him back to the home they shared. She had not pressed for answers or asked too many questions. She had not, thankfully, asked him how he was feeling or if there was anything she could do to ease his suffering. In her blissful ignorance of the truth of the situation, she had backed off and mercifully given him the space he required. They had sat together at the kitchen table, drinking tea, her eyes directed at the morning paper while his eyes were directed out the window, his fingers entertained by the spoon he stirred mindlessly in his cooling beverage.

At some point, she left for the marketplace. Once she was gone, and the house was silent, he rose from his seat and disposed of his tea in the sink. He refilled the cup with a healthy dose of top-shelf whiskey, retrieved the first letter he had written to Gilbert from the top of the small stack, and sat down to read it.


"Gilbert, could you at least look at me?"

Roderich found himself shifting nervously back and forth on his feet. The boy who stood before him – and he felt justified in using the term 'boy', because the white-haired man really was acting childish – looked as though the last thing he wanted to do was make a new friend. He found himself wondering how someone as refined as Elizaveta Hedervary would come to know someone who looked as rough and rugged as Gilbert did. Obviously he worked as a stable boy on her family's lavish plantation, so it would make sense that perhaps she would know him in passing and even recall his name. But to feel so confident as to address him directly and to attempt to introduce him to someone of Roderich's class and birth… it was uncommon and downright improper in this day and age.

Perhaps they shared some form of secret relationship. Mingling between classes was not nearly as uncommon as people would like to think it was, and on a huge and isolated plot of land such as this one, no one would be the wiser if the affair was conducted with the utmost secrecy and care.

"Woman, I have work to do. Get off my ass."

Roderich crinkled his nose up at the gruff tone and even gruffer words that came out of Gilbert's mouth. If Elizaveta was indeed engaged in any form of relations with this undignified, uncultured oaf, then Roderich felt nothing but pity for the poor girl, and had every intention of informing her that she could do much, much better.

"Gilbert! That's no way to speak to me, and you know it! Now, stop being such a bastard and turn to look at us."

… then again, if a lady was using such language, perhaps they were better suited for each other than he originally believed.

Gilbert sighed and reached up with one dirty hand, plucking the toothpick clutched between his teeth from his lips. After a moment's hesitation, he directed his gaze from where it had been stubbornly directed at the stable wall to set it steadily on Roderich. His lips parted, no doubt in preparation for something utterly unfriendly and half-hearted at best to escape.

At the same time, their eyes met. Gilbert's lips immediately stilled, and Roderich felt the rest of the world around him grow suddenly immobile. Unconsciously his tongue darted from his mouth and licked his lips, and then his teeth parted ever so slightly so he could suck his lower lip inward to gnaw on it gently. Roderich wasn't sure why, but he felt as though he was staring into the single most beautiful pair of eyes that he had ever seen. They were ruby-red and glowed with a vibrant sort of ferociousness, their strange hue offset by the man's shockingly white hair and pale skin.

When their gazes broke, it was only so Gilbert's eyes could skim quickly but sensually down Roderich's lithe frame and then back up to his face. It was a move that was nearly undetectable unless one were watching for it, and it sent a pleasant shockwave up and down Roderich's spine and left his toes tingling and a warmth burning just below his navel that rose the slightest of blushes to his cheeks. Gilbert's lip curled up in a crooked half-smile, and Roderich felt his own mouth curve up in reply. When their hands instinctively reached out and met in the middle, Roderich had the sudden strange sensation of wanting to grasp on to that hand and never, ever let it go.

"… Gilbert Beilschmidt."

His voice was still gruff, but there was a sudden softness in his tone that reminded Roderich of the feeling of a horsehair brush running through his hair. Rough and a bit uncomfortable, but pleasing to the senses.

"Roderich Edelstein. Pleased to meet you."

Their hands lingered for just a moment too long to be natural before Gilbert pulled away and popped the toothpick back in his mouth, tearing his eyes from Roderich so he could settle them instead on Elizaveta.

"Is that all?"

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips, shaking her head.

"Your manners are nothing short of barbaric. But yes, that is all."

Gilbert nodded his head and turned to go, but not before dropping one last gaze on Roderich that left his legs feeling weak and his head swimming deliciously.

"I'll see you around, Little Master."

… Little Master? What was that supposed to mean? Where did such a ridiculous name even come from? Still, Roderich had to admit to himself that he didn't find the nickname to be quite as unpleasant as he would have assumed he would.

"… yeah. I'll see you around."


Roderich spent the rest of the day touring the grounds of Elizaveta's home, though he could not recall what it was they talked about or half the things she attempted to teach him. His mind was stubbornly fixated on the stables, refusing to deviate away from its racing thoughts concerning a foul-mouthed albino young man with a disarming smile and a handshake that sent shivers down his spine. If Eliza took any note of his distant demeanor, she accepted it in stride and undoubtedly attributed it to the fatigue of making the journey from Austria to Germany and nothing more.

When finally he was able to pry himself from her side, it was after dinner. He excused himself politely and journeyed away from the house, walking along the fence that marked her family's property line before deviating away and heading towards a thicket of trees. An evening breeze had cooled the oppressively hot summer air, and Roderich finally sank down to sit himself at a bald patch of the earth where the roots broke through the soil and no life could thrive in the dirt. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his forearms atop them, staring out at the tall grass that blew lethargically in the wind as his mind was finally able to shed its guilt at focusing more on Gilbert than on his gracious hostess.

Since he was little, Roderich had always suspected that there was something different about the way he thought of others. He had been too young to truly understand the ramifications of Hitler's movement against those he perceived as the weaker of the human species. Instead, he understood only that he was born of noble blood and was to keep his thoughts and feelings on most matters to himself, whether they pertained to the war or were something entirely more internal and personal. Likewise, he understood that he was expected to eventually marry and carry on the Edelstein name in all respects. His father had not outright said it, but Roderich had the sneaking suspicion that this sudden trip to Germany came about from his father's need to marry his only son off to a rich, high-born woman than it did to give the musician a much-needed break from his rigorous studies. Elizaveta was kind and sweet and very beautiful in her own right, and he remembered fondly that from time to time her family attended the lavish dinner parties his father put on when he was a child.

He did not, however, harbor any feelings for her. Not then, not now, and doubtfully ever. When it came down to it, he highly doubted he would ever harbor feelings for any woman, no matter her nobility, her monetary standing, or her beauty.

Now, when it came to the strange and curious case of a bad-mouthed, low-born, barely educated stable boy with red eyes…

"Little Master. I didn't expect to see you so far away from the house. Did you get lost?"

The gruff voice came out of nowhere, breaking into Roderich's silent thoughts, and he nearly jumped in shock when the young man appeared from seemingly nowhere, his movements slow and lazy and a half-smile dancing across his lips. His white sleeves were rolled up and his shirt untucked, and Roderich could see specks of dirt at the front of his shirt and down his pale, muscled arms. How was it possible that someone who had undoubtedly worked under the blazing sun all summer long was still as pale as though it were the dead of winter?

It took his brain several moments to realize the implications behind Gilbert's words and Roderich bristled in reply, adjusting his glasses before standing to face the albino more directly.

"I am most certainly not lost, Herr* Beilschmidt. I simply came away from the house to clear my head is all. Traveling does nothing to afford a person any form of good health, and Elizaveta is a woman who at times can be hyperactive and prone to over-explanations. I required time to myself."

"If you mean that she's nosey and doesn't know how to shut up, I can agree with you there. Every time I turn around, she's trying to introduce me to new people. It's uncomfortable and strange. I'm not here because I'm part of the elite class like she is. Some of us actually have to work for a living. However…"

Gilbert paused and allowed his eyes to trail up and down Roderich's body, and just the same as before, a pleasant chill ran up and down the musician's back as a ball of heat settled in the area directly below his stomach. His face grew warm and Gilbert grinned and then laughed, a noise surprisingly pleasant given the gruff nature of his voice.

"… I have to admit that meeting you wasn't so bad. Given that you're an aristocrat and all."

Roderich's face felt as though it was suddenly on fire and he sputtered indignantly, struggling for a proper response and lifting his hands up to adjust a cravat he suddenly remembered wasn't there. His traveling clothes were much simpler than his usual attire, and he forced himself to blame the basic slacks, long-sleeved white shirt, and suspenders as the reason to why he suddenly felt so naked and exposed.

"Calm down, Little Master. I don't mean anything by it. Now, about you not being lost…"

He took a step back and stretched his arms out as though the entire area was his to put on display. The early evening setting sun caught his ruby eyes and practically lit them on fire, bringing out underlying hues of red; rose, crimson, maroon, rust, lust. If lust could be a color, it was there, and it was strikingly vibrant.

"Could you find your way back from here?"

Roderich balked at the question and looked around frantically, realizing that he had absolutely no idea how he had come to be where he was, or even where he was. The comforting landmark of the fence was swallowed up in the early evening haze, and Roderich was completely disoriented and absolutely mortified when he realized that fact.

"… I suppose that I could not, no."

Gilbert's smile was triumphant, but held no malice, as his hands dropped to his side and he made his way back to the tree, leaning against it as he looked at Roderich over his shoulder.

"So I suppose that you'll have to rely on me to get you home. I'll be more than happy to help, but don't expect it for free."

Roderich crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled sharply, darting his glance over towards where the trees became thicker. If need be, he could just stay where he was until someone at the house finally noticed how late it was getting and sent out a search party. But that could take hours, and he was already fatigued from the heat of the day and the long journey.

"… I don't have any money with me."

"I don't want you money. God, I'm not that desperate."

"… then what do you want?"

A small smile graced his lips as he lolled his head further back on his shoulder. Roderich suddenly realized how close they were and took a step back, even though everything in his mind was screaming at him to close the distance between them. He had desired the touch of a man before, and had even dared to kiss one, but never so much as the way in which he suddenly, unexplainably desired Gilbert.

"Let's talk. Tell me about Austria, and I'll tell you about Germany. Not the Germany that your precious Elizaveta knows, of course. The Germany that the rest of us live in."

Roderich registered that Gilbert's lips were moving, but he was having the hardest time focusing on the words. A long pause lay between them while Roderich struggled to say something, anything comprehendible, as a tension built between them that turned the air electric and conceived a pregnant silence that twisted and writhed in its placenta, screaming breathlessly to be born.

"Okay, I'll start then. And here I'm always told that the aristocrats can talk for hours about anything. Let's see…"

All Roderich could fixate on was Gilbert's lips. The way they moved, the way he would dart his tongue out to moisten them, the way he would crook them up into that damn addictive half-grin at the end of nearly every sentence. How they looked so soft despite the fact that Gilbert was anything but soft, the way that thinking about how they would feel against his own left him growing hard in his trousers, the way he somehow wanted the man before him to be the one to take care of that problem. Roderich had been raised to be rational, level-headed, and socially appropriate. He had not been raised to desire a man's hand touching his naked body. He had not been raised to reject the societal norms of his homeland and his family. He had not been raised believing that being homosexual was acceptable.

But as Gilbert continued to speak, and the breeze picked up and blew in Roderich's direction a pleasant blend of soap, clean sweat, earth, and something distinctively Gilbert, Roderich found that he didn't care how he had been raised. In the span of only a few hours, and with a single handshake and a few suggestive glances, this man before him had taken his rational mind and managed to toss it to the first careless wind. It drifted away like a forgotten memory, whimpering one last cry of indignation before it died and dissipated away like morning dew in the rising sun.

It was like being reborn.

Roderich wasn't sure what Gilbert was talking about when he reached over and silenced the endless prattling with a kiss. The move was awkward at best, his slender fingers and small hands closing around the defined curve of his companion's jawbone moments before their lips were pressed together.

Gilbert immediately froze as every inch of his body went rigid in shock. A moment later his stance shifting to turn in to Roderich as his hand came up to settle on the shorter man's arm, his fingers drifting up and down the supple skin in a timid attempt at caressing. Roderich could feel callouses on Gilbert's fingertips, signs of a life spent working, and felt almost ashamed that his own hands were nearly flawless and almost womanly in comparison.

They drew away from each other only slightly, just enough that their eyes could meet. If Roderich had perceived the color of lust in Gilbert's eyes before, it was nothing in comparison to now.

They met again in the middle, but this time the motion was fast and reckless. Gilbert's hand slid up to cup at Roderich's cheek, then pushed itself back into the hair at the nape of the Austrian's neck as his free arm caught his waist and pulled them chest-to-chest. Their lips mashed together sloppily, and when Gilbert parted his lips and darted his tongue out to run it across Roderich's lower lip, he didn't even have to think twice before he opened his mouth and granted instant access.

"… God…"

Gilbert laughed throatily and pushed himself ever closer to Roderich, tugging at the musician's tucked-in shirt and freeing it from its confines at his waistline before he pushed his hand under the thin cloth, his fingertips ghosting over Roderich's spine in such a way that the smaller man cried out in pleasure, melting helplessly into the touch.

The evening haze seemed to fill Roderich's head, making information processing a complete impossibility. At one point, he was suddenly off his feet. At another, he was laid down upon the sun-kissed earth and his shirt was undone. There were hands, lips, a tongue, and they were all touching him in places he should be shameful of, but was not. The sun was sinking below the horizon when cool air brushed against his heated flesh and he whimpered, not in fear but in delicious anticipation of what was to come.

"Mmm… Little Master...

"… Roderich. It's Roderich."

"… very well, then. Roderich."

And then he was there, at the climax, his feet dangling over the edge of a cliff, his heart clenched firmly but cautiously in his companion's teeth. And despite not being able to see what lay below, he closed his eyes and sank into it as though the action were as natural as breathing.


It had been only a day since his encounter with Gilbert, but it felt as though it had been eons. When it was all over, and Roderich had come back to earth from wherever it was his mind had ended up, the taller man was lying, fully clothed, next to him in the soft grass. The sun had dipped down below the mountains and the stars had come out to play with the moon, and though he could not recall all that had happened between them, that didn't seem to matter.

Gilbert had talked incessantly for hours about Germany, paying special attention to a place in München he was convinced they had to go together. Roderich had simply listened, nestled contently in the Prussian's warm embrace, inhaling the sweet scent of sweat and earth and lust, occasionally breaking his companion's train of thought to pull him in for another long, sweet kiss.

At some point, voices calling his name had broken through their private moment and they had risen hastily, giving Roderich barely enough time to make himself appear proper before Elizaveta and a few men from the house had rounded the bend and spotted them, sitting together on a rock and pointing out stars together as though it were the most normal thing to be doing.

Gilbert dominated his waking thoughts; his touch haunted his slumbering hours, as few as they were. Early in the morning, before the rest of the house was awake, Roderich rose from his bed and made his way across the room to the desk. Eliza had provided him with plenty of paper and ink, and he turned on the small bedside light and took a moment to reflect on what he wanted to say before he delicately dipped the quill and began to compose.

Gilbert,

It's been a pleasure seeing you all these times. Last night was amazing and I want you to know that I have never felt this strongly towards anyone before.

Forgive my straight-forwardness (is that a word? You're injecting my mind with nonsense, fool) but I really feel that I must tell you this. Everything. You told me about a place in Munchen, I'd love to go there with you.

Until then,

Roderich


TBC


A.N.

*Herr = "Sir" or "Mr." in German.