This chapter is comprised mostly of sheer fluff. First physical contact that goes a bit beyond platonic and Gilbert starts to develop a soft spot and does something nice (gasp!). Yeah, I'm just churning them out today, aren't I?

The first night that Gilbert had decided 'Hey, I think I'm gonna sleep over at this guy's house and get pancakes in the morning, that'd be awesome!' there were Rules set. Capital letter and everything. He had refused the couch (it was too tiny and cramped for either of them, both of them fairly tall and not 'fuckin' short'—as Gilbert had said—like Arthur) and the floor, and Matthew—surprisingly stubborn—had refused to give up his bed.

So, Gilbert had demanded and nagged and persisted and Matthew had eventually given up and said "fine, you can stay in my bed, but we're laying down some Rules first."

The first: there was no crossing of No Man's Land. Or, the middle of the bed, as Matthew called it.

The second: there was to be no jerking off. Matthew had said this as he stared hard at Gilbert, who had looked away and scratched his hair. And if Gilbert tried it, Matthew would show him exactly why he was so good at hockey.

The third: no physical contact. No groping, no poking, no punching or kicking or hair tugging or clamping Matthew's nose shut to wake him up at 3 AM to cook pancakes (which had happened before, something the Canadian didn't want a repeat performance of). That also applied to anything like cuddling—not that Gilbert liked that kind of thing, but, hell, look at Matthew! He carried that bear around with him half the time; he had to be a cuddling person!

So, those Rules had been in place for a good year and a half, even after Gilbert moved in. And, the Prussian thought as he squinted up at the ceiling, they were kind of stupid now that he thought about it.

I mean, hell, the Canadian himself had claimed he was the 'wife' (though he had said it partially in jest, Gilbert had ignored any protests thereafter about his position in their house).

He had been a good one so far, making meals (though he demanded Gilbert cook once in a while which the former country of Prussia did very grudgingly), cleaning and keeping everything tidy despite Gilbert's honest efforts to make everything messy. He did all that, yet kept that invisible wall up in the middle of the bed.

Gilbert squinted his red eyes and looked over at the back of the sleeping blond. 'Hmmmm…' Hey, what kind of wife didn't want to cuddle with their 'husband'?

Of course the tough, awesome, cool and amazing Prussia didn't like to cuddle. But Matthew probably did, and, c'mon, who wouldn't feel honored waking up in his arms?

So, Gilbert set to the arduous, careful task of scooting closer. For some reason, he felt as though there might be alarms or traps strung up over No Man's Land and they might trigger as soon as he got a toe over it. There might. Matthew was a tricky bastard and difficult to anticipate. His fingers crawled over the mattress very, very slowly to the middle of the bed, which had no indentations from sleeping bodies. He was almost wincing as he pushed his fingertips across.

There was no sudden roar of Mounties at the doors or explosions from mines possibly hidden in the mattress. Gilbert opened his eyes (he hadn't shut them from being afraid, really) and lifted his head slightly. Matthew was still fast asleep, and he could see the profile of the man's face, wayward curl drawn in and blown away with every one of his breaths.

Gilbert grinned a little, rolling over cautiously as his body crossed No Man's Land and into the enemy's territory. One of his arms lifted slightly under the blankets, fingers wiggling as they extended towards the pillow clasped in Matthew's arms ('Definitely a cuddler, look at 'im!'). He began to pry it loose, but thankfully the clasp of Matthew's arms was light. He sighed a little in his sleep, however, as it was pulled away and Gilbert moved the pillow carefully to the empty bed behind his body.

Unconsciously, the Canadian wriggled, rolling over to face Gilbert, and the man blinked down at him, surprised. One of his arms had lifted, hanging like a puppet on the end of a string, hand finding a warm waist before sliding over it. Matthew snuggled slightly into him and Gilbert stiffened, blinking.

Sure, yeah, he had anticipated the cuddling, but not immediately like that. "Huh," he mumbled quietly, looking down at the top of a blond head, nestling slightly against his chest. Any thoughts he had about teasing Matthew in the morning about latching on while he was asleep promptly fled, though he wasn't sure why.

Awkwardly at first, Gilbert slid his arms around him, around his waist with his hands folding together and settling at the small of his back. Matthew shifted slightly, the top of his head bumping Gilbert's chin lightly, and the man puffed some of the hair away from his mouth and nose—it tickled, damn it.

"Mnn," Matthew mumbled contentedly in his sleep and he nuzzled his head into Gilbert's chest. Gilbert's arms tightened slightly around him and he felt oddly, strangely comfortable. It was way warmer, having two bodies close like this, but it was progressing towards autumn, so it wasn't stifling like it would have been a month or two ago.

Gilbert sighed a bit, let his chin fall slightly on top of Matthew's head, his eyelids feeling heavy all of a sudden. This was way too relaxing—way too comfortable. 'Probably slipped something into the maple syrup,' he thought, letting his eyes closed. 'That bastard's a sly one…' His thoughts trailed off into darkness and peace and quiet, body relaxing in sleep.

Matthew yawned slowly as he stirred, blinking open his blue-violet eyes drowsily. The bed next to him was empty (weird, considering that Gilbert liked to sleep in and wake up to a pancake breakfast) and he sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't remember what he dreamed about last night, but it must have been good, because he hadn't felt as well-rested as he did in a long while.

He yawned expansively, and then caught a whiff of something that smelled good. Matthew blinked, combing a hand through sleep-rumpled hair and sliding his feet out of bed.

"Hey! No, get your feet the hell back in there!" a voice exclaimed from the door and Matthew looked up in surprise. Gilbert was standing there, gripping a tray in his hands and scowling and was that—a blush on his face? Matthew rubbed his eyes and it was gone. 'Of course it was a hallucination.'

"What's that?" the Canadian asked bemusedly, but slid his feet back under the blankets all the same.

"The hell d'you think it is," Gilbert grumbled, walking over to the bed and gripping the tray with tight hands. "It's breakfast. Stupid." The last part was added on for the benefit of his own shriveling pride. Matthew looked up at him with a puzzled, though grateful, little smile.

"You made breakfast?" Matthew said, raising his eyebrows as the tray was placed in his lap. "For me?"

"No, I made it for England's freaking fairies," Gilbert scoffed and turned his back to him, arms folding over his chest.

'He's wearing my apron,' Matthew thought with quiet amusement as he looked down at the food. Wurst, of course, and slightly burnt-around-the-edges but still good-looking pancakes slathered with syrup. And some clumsily chopped up cantaloupe, balanced precariously on one corner of the plate. "Thank you, Gilbert. It looks great."

"Course it does," Gilbert proclaimed arrogantly, though his back was still turned to Matthew. "I made it, after all! You'd better be damn grateful!" He shot a look over his shoulder as the blond began to eat, smiling all the while.

'Old Man Fritz,' Gilbert thought, tearing his gaze away from Matthew, still looking sleepy and far too cute to be allowed, and scratching his hair, 'I think I'm turning into a sentimental pansy.'