A/N: Sorry I guess this two year posting cycle is going to continue. :X I started this back in 2017 when I was living in Berlin and as with many things have slowly been working on it off and on ever since.
Contains (probably too many) explicit sex scenes, but there is heart, hopefully. It's of note that the composer Roderich mentions he was playing at the concert is made up but if you want a soundtrack for that section, Sibelius' Violin Concerto in D minor does well.
When one looked at Feli Vargas, they wouldn't think, at first glance, that he was the first chair violist of the renowned Berlin Philharmonic.
It was a combination of his youthful appearance and equally 'youthful spirit' (if one wanted to say it politely) that made others doubt his capabilities to lead an entire section of gifted and often much older musicians in a world-class orchestra, but he managed. And Gilbert's younger brother happened to be dating him.
Just how Gilbert's stoic, blushes-at-the-word-"sex" younger brother managed to court and date the no-boundaries chatterbox that was Feliciano was still a mystery to him, but nonetheless they were together and happily celebrating their two year anniversary that month. Gilbert tried to not to be bitter about it.
But while Ludwig dating Feliciano came with a lot of annoying downsides, it did come with the perk of free concert tickets. And although Gilbert normally didn't take Feliciano up on the offer often, (he didn't need to third wheel at his brother's boyfriend's concerts to know that he was single) on a mild Saturday in March he somehow found himself waiting outside his brother's apartment in Charlottenburg for Ludwig to buzz him in so they could get going to the philharmonic.
Gilbert checked his phone impatiently and tapped his foot—he was wearing the second nicest pair of shoes he owned—against the concrete step. It was already five past the hour.
He was about to ring the bell again for an obnoxiously long amount of time just to prove a point when there was a rush of footsteps from the other side and suddenly the door was wrenched open and Ludwig, looking rather flushed, burst through the entryway with a mountain of items in his arms. Gilbert took a step back and raised one impressed eyebrow.
"Making a donation to the church or somethin', Lutz?" He followed the blond to the black Mercedes parked on the curb, retrieving the keys from their precarious perch off of Ludwig's pinky finger.
Ludwig shot him a grateful look. "Feliciano called right before you arrived and said he had forgotten several sheets of music that he needed me to bring with us," he said by way of explanation, dumping the load of items in the backseat of the car and then after a moment's eye twitch, arranging them neatly.
"And that's several sheets of music?" Gilbert eyed the pile dubiously.
His brother rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Among other things," he muttered.
Gilbert snorted and climbed into the passenger side while Ludwig slid into the driver's seat. Even though they'd been together for almost two years, Gilbert doubted that even Ludwig was completely used to the Italian-born brunet's chaotic lifestyle. But it somehow worked, and even if Feliciano was close to giving his brother a heart attack at times, Gilbert knew that Ludwig was the happiest he'd ever seen him.
It was why Gilbert didn't mind indulging his brother's boyfriend's insistence that he come to the night's concert, which apparently featured some hotti-totty big-name violinist as the star soloist. In a rather long-suffering under the breath utterance, Ludwig had told him that Feliciano had not stopped raving about the musician the entire time the symphony had been working with the man.
Gilbert knew more about the classical music world than most would expect purely by proximity to his younger sibling's SO, but name alone didn't mean anything to him. Roderich Edelstein. If Gilbert was being honest—and he usually was—it sounded like the name of a ne'er-do-well aristocrat. But if it made Feliciano happy that he attended...
It didn't take long for them to drive from Ludwig's flat to the Berlin Philharmonie located in the center of the sprawling city. Night had fast fallen by the time they arrived, but without Berlin's usual cloud cover the sky shone a painterly shade of blue. The sharp angles of the Philharmonic rose like a golden mountain in the background as Gilbert and Ludwig hurried into the main hall. Feliciano was there to meet them as soon as they entered.
"Oh grazi, Ludwig, thank you, thank you!" the brunet immediately lit up once they passed through the doors, an uncombed strand of hair bouncing as Feliciano literally bounded his way over to them. As soon as he pulled in front of Ludwig, he leaned up on his tippy toes to give the other a kiss, Gilbert snickering as his sibling's face flushed bright red.
"Hi Gil! I'm so glad you decided to come—oh wow, you look so nice, too!" Feliciano enthused as he once again bounced over and gave Gilbert two quick kisses on his cheeks in greeting. Feliciano spoke in rapid English, despite having lived in Germany for over three years.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Gilbert winked. He was well used to the other's enthusiasm towards greetings—and, well, everything. "Especially after you talked up this guy, Elberstein or whatever. Ludwig was telling me you're quite a fan." He shot a smirk in his sibling's direction; the blond, who was still holding all of Feliciano's requested items, looking as un-humored as always.
Feliciano's eyes immediately went wide with admiration. "He's amazing!" he gushed. "I've really never heard anything like him before, and he's only twenty-eight years old, can you believe it? I wish I had been that talented when I was twenty-eight, wow! Even though he insists it's just practice, I think he has real natural talent, it's amazing, Gil!"
Gilbert resisted the urge to ruffle the top of Feliciano's head. "Sounds like it," he grinned. Glancing towards his brother's still-full arms, he added, "Didn't you, uh, need your sheet music or something, Feli?"
"Oh! Right! Grazi, Gil! I better head back to the rehearsal room, but I'll see you after the concert, okay? Don't enjoy the bar too much without me!" he giggled before grabbing the stack out of Ludwig's arms and running off, nearly losing half the papers in the process.
Ludwig sighed and watched the brunet go with a slightly exasperated expression, although Gilbert could see the underlying fondness in his brother's eyes. It reminded him, unpleasantly, that he was still the third wheel in their night and he tried to push down the feeling.
But as if sensing the need for a distraction, Ludwig turned to look at him in that moment and arch one eyebrow.
"Bar?" he asked.
Gilbert grinned in response. "Bar," he agreed.
When they found their seats at the sound of the gongs, both could feel the alcohol warming their faces. Although Ludwig liked classical music enough to keep a few CDs in the car, Gilbert knew that the main reason the blond was at the concert was to support his boyfriend.
Gilbert had actually played the flute when he was younger, as part of his younger self's obsession with Friederich the Great. He hadn't been anything amazing at it, but he had been decent at it. If it wasn't such a damn expensive hobby to keep up, he'd take up lessons again in a heartbeat, but sadly his current job offered him neither the time nor the funds to do so.
But it still felt good, to be able to hold that little bit of musical ability over his brother. They were otherwise well-matched on everything else. Except that Ludwig had a caring boyfriend and a better job than him...
(Again, Gilbert tried not to let it get to him.)
Gilbert turned his attention back to the stage as the orchestra began filing in from the back. When Feliciano came on, he gave them a little—but characteristically enthusiastic—wave as soon as he spotted them in the audience, Ludwig's cheeks turning a shade darker as he waved pathetically in return.
Whipped, Gilbert mouthed to his brother.
Shut the fuck up, Gilbert, Ludwig mouthed back.
Or, Gilbert assumed that was what Ludwig mouthed back, because at that moment the concert master walked on stage and Gilbert turned back to the orchestra, clapping with a knowing grin on his face. The conductor entered afterwards right on schedule and once the orchestra members had all retaken their seats, the concert started off with a rapid piece to begin the night.
Gilbert let his eyes wander as the orchestra played. He'd met a few of the musicians via Feliciano during their post-concert re-meetings in the foyer: Feliciano's Japanese friend, Kiku, was the first chair flutist behind the orchestra, his dark brows furrowed in concentration as he played; another violist, whose name Gilbert hadn't bothered to remember, sat in the row behind Feliciano, his glasses steadily sliding down the bridge of his nose.
Most of Feliciano friends in the orchestra were on the younger side of its demographics, which was understandable when one was the younger side of the demographics in the orchestra. But Gilbert knew that the brunet had a knack of befriending everybody, and most everybody in the orchestra had a good opinion of him. If anything, the revitalization he had brought the often-neglected viola section had been appreciated.
As he watched the auburn-haired male play, Feliciano's eyes nearly closed as he swayed to the music, Gilbert could understand why his brother was smitten. A quick glance to his right was all he needed to confirm it, the embarrassed look that had been on Ludwig's face replaced with one of subtle adoration. The passion of a musician was hard not to admire, after all.
When the first piece concluded, the conductor turned to the audience with a flourish of his arms and bowed, settling down the applause as he began to speak. Gilbert began to zone out again as he began to introduce their star soloist (Roderich Edelstein, not Elberstein, Gilbert found out) for the night.
The way the conductor spoke about the violinist was the same as when Feliciano spoke about him, and Gilbert noticed (a bit uncomfortably, because hey…who exactly was this guy?) that the audience had taken on its own shift of anticipation to the conductor's words.
Gilbert felt like the odd man out as the conductor talked about the musician's rise from poverty in some forgotten Austrian village…his years of struggling to fame…getting discovered by some Swiss conductor or another who gave him a chance and the ensuing years of premier guest conductor spots and yaddah yaddah yaddah tonight it is the honor of the Berlin Philharmonic to welcome him on the stage.
The audience erupted into enthusiastic applause after that. Gilbert glanced around bewilderedly. The guy hadn't even played yet and the audience was already clamoring for an encore.
"How big of a deal is this guy?" he muttered in his brother's direction.
Ludwig didn't even take his eyes off the stage to mouth back, Big.
A moment later, Edelstein finally emerged. He was a thin man; the glasses and smartly-cut tux helped give him a mature appearance, but Gilbert could see the mark of twenty-eight years old when he looked closer. His chestnut brown hair was swept carefully to one side and before bowing to the audience, he carefully brushed a stray lock back into place with his free hand.
The conductor followed him out with a rather proud look and shook his hand before taking to the podium. Gilbert's eyes swept over the violinist and decided that he was not yet impressed.
Once Edelstein had tuned, he and the conductor exchanged a look and the latter raised his arms to bring the orchestra to bay. Still watching him with a critical eye, Gilbert saw Edelstein breathe out before raising his bowed head and looking somewhere beyond the audience as he set his violin under his chin.
The piece began on his introduction.
As soon as the first note rang out, Gilbert knew he had never heard a clearer sound in his life. Edelstein's concentration was evident as he played, his eyes completely closed as he swayed to the music, seeming completely transformed from the man who had first walked on stage. And in spite of himself, Gilbert was entranced.
Although the piece was set in a minor key, Gilbert had never heard a sweeter melody come from violin strings. He wasn't so far removed from the classical music world that he couldn't tell good playing from mediocre—and sure, every once in a while he even watched those videos Feliciano posted on Facebook about world-renowned musicians.
But this was beyond any of that.
Even the orchestra seemed charged by the young musician's performance, their accompanying sections responsive to simply how damn good Edelstein's playing was. As if unable to help itself, the audience erupted into another round of applause after the first movement, and Gilbert saw Edelstein give a rather abashed nod to the audience in response.
The rest of the piece passed in a mesmerizing blur. With a bit of a jolt, Gilbert realized that for the first time at any of the concerts Feliciano had invited him to, he had been engaged the entire time. Except to watch the musician while he played, his subtle body movements just as enchanting as the music.
The applause at the end lasted through five different bows, and only ended when the theatre techs finally threw on the lights for intermission. With a palpable buzz of energy over the performance, the audience slowly got up and began dispersing for the bathrooms and bar. Gilbert rose out of habit when Ludwig stood up to make their way to the drinks counter.
"You sure are quiet tonight," the younger observed after a while of Gilbert saying nothing. "Is everything okay?"
Gilbert blinked and glanced in the blond's direction, automatically raising his gin and tonic to his mouth to take another sip. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he waved away his brother's concern. "I'm just, uh, thinking about that Edelstein guy."
Ludwig nodded meditatively. "The music was good," he agreed.
"Yeah," Gilbert echoed. "Good…."
They stood in the foyer for a while finishing their drinks before being called back by the warning chimes. And as if he were the moth to the flame, Gilbert couldn't stop himself from thinking back to the Austrian musician. He even missed out on making a snide comment when Ludwig embarrassedly muttered, "I wish he wouldn't do that," at Feliciano's once again enthusiastic waving in their direction.
While the second half of the concert was good (the orchestra still undoubtedly invigorated from their last piece), there was something decidedly missing in Gilbert's mind. And before he knew it, he and Ludwig were standing in the foray waiting to meet Feliciano as patrons filed around them and shuffled to recollect coats. The concert was over.
"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Ludwig frowned after a while of standing in silence.
"What?" Gilbert blinked. "Oh, yeah, just still, uh, thinking about the music, I guess." He shuffled his shoes at the lame answer and tried to brush it off as casually as he could. Ludwig didn't look convinced.
But thankfully, Feliciano chose that moment to pop up in front of them, black viola case swinging in tow.
"Ciao Ludwig, ciao Gil! Sorry it took me so long to find you, I got lost but then I ran into Eduard and we started talking about his dog because he said it had gotten sick last week and I wanted to know how it was doing and I told him I had meant to bake some dog treats but I had forgotten and so I'd do it next week but he said that was okay because the vet said she wasn't allowed to have dog treats for two week—and that's so sad because what dog doesn't like dog treats—so I said I'd bring them for when she's feeling better and then he said that he and some of the other violas were going out for drinks and he invited me to come but I said I was already going out for drinks with you and Gil but maybe next time and then I got lost again but I found you! Did you enjoy the concert?"
Remarkably, Feliciano managed to deliver his entire explanation without taking a single breath. Gilbert was mostly just impressed that the brunet had done it without passing out at all.
"The music was good," Ludwig answered slowly, as if compensating for the lack of spaces in Feliciano's reply. The blond glanced over in Gilbert's direction. "I think Gil enjoyed Edelstein's performance," he added.
"What?" Gilbert automatically protested. "That's not—well I mean, he was good, but so was the rest of the music."
"He sat still for the entire concerto," Ludwig supplied traitorously.
Cursed with his light complexion, Gilbert could feel his cheeks starting to get red. "I said the music was good, of course I did," he rebutted. "Besides, it was the music I was into, not the soloist himself. He still sounds pretty stuck up to me," Gilbert tried to salvage.
"He's actually pretty quiet! He kept to himself almost the time we rehearsed as a group," Feliciano quipped. Gilbert's attempted criticism had seemed to hardly put a damper on his newfound idol. "Now that I think about it, I don't think he talked much except with the conductor—I think he's still self-conscious after all the controversy about him last year."
"Controversy?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, yeah," Feliciano tilted his head to one side. "Maybe you didn't hear, since it was only really big in the classical music world. There was a lot of controversy when he came out as gay."
Gilbert's brow raised further. "It's 2017," he said bluntly.
"Yeah," Feliciano shrugged, nonplused. "The classical music world is still a bit conservative. Plus it didn't help that he was found with the conductor that had first discovered him." Feliciano covered a giggle. "Apparently they were found together in a music storage closet."
Both of Gilbert's brows shot straight upward. Well that was something.
"That, uh…" he felt at loss to reply. A new voice saved him the trouble.
"Pardon me, I do not mean to interrupt," the new voice said. It sounded like fine silk and chocolate, musical even to its lilted English. And Gilbert turned and found himself facing the most stunning shade of blue eyes he had ever seen. Streaked with soft shadows from his own facial features, they almost appeared violet until Gilbert blinked and he wondered if he'd imagined the whole thing.
Roderich Edelstein's eyes broke away from his and turned to their true objective of Feliciano. "Feliciano, right?" the musician asked politely, holding out a hand towards the shorter brunet. Feliciano looked like he'd just died and gone to heaven.
"Yeah," he responded awestruck, before giving a little Oh! and hurrying to shake the other's hand. "I, um, it was an honor to play with you, Mr. Edelstein!" he burst out with quickly after. Ludwig took the liberty of looking embarrassed for him.
Edelstein's small smile in return seemed almost embarrassed at the praise. For a man who probably received compliments for a living, he sure did seem uncertain about accepting them.
"How kind of you to say," he finally said, although Gilbert thought it sounded rather hollow. "I wanted to say that it was a pleasure playing with you as well—I have never come across a viola section that was quite as motivated as yours. I appreciated the attention you took with the music throughout the whole week of rehearsal."
Feliciano absolutely beamed at the compliment. "Grazi! Oh, wow, I can't wait to tell the others! Wow, thank you!" he bubbled up, obviously enthused.
Gilbert thought that Edelstein didn't quite know what to make of the animated Italian. Which Gilbert couldn't blame him for—Feliciano was a bombshell to handle even when you did know him.
But he was not so prepared for Edelstein to suddenly turn his sights on him, the slight height difference making the musician have to look up to meet Gilbert's eyes. "But I apologize, I did not mean to be interrupting anything."
Gilbert felt like a deer in headlights, his thoughts captivated by the soft violet eyes in front of him. Ever the master of timing, Gilbert suddenly remembered that they had just been talking about Edelstein's personal affairs right before he had arrived. Somehow the thought engineered itself into an intelligible comment of, "Uh…."
Thankfully, Feliciano's naivety stepped in for him, and the shorter brunet quickly popped up with, "Oh you weren't interrupting anything! This is Ludwig, my boyfriend. And that's Gilbert, Ludwig's older brother!"
Edelstein's eyes were still trained on him when Feliciano made his introductions, so Gilbert could see the moment that boyfriend connected in the other's brain and a minute jolt of realization passed through the violinist's eyes. To Edelstein's credit, he made a quick recovery, his eyes once again turning away from Gilbert's to fasten instead on the blond.
"A pleasure to meet you," he said courteously, holding out his hand once more.
Ludwig took it with the kind of steadiness he always possessed, just a hint of playground shyness pink coloring his cheeks. "And you," he answered in his deep baritone. "It was phenomenal to see you perform."
"Thank you," Edelstein dipped his head lightly. Once more he turned to trap Gilbert in his sights, his blue eyes wide and observant behind his glasses. "And, Gilbert, was it?"
…don't think about him in the storage closet! Ludwig cleared his throat and Gilbert managed to clear up his thoughts enough to scrape together a reply.
"Er, yup. A pleasure to meet you as well, uh, Feli—I mean Feliciano—was excited about this performance all week. Your, uh, concerto, I mean."
Gilbert might've imagined it, but he swore he saw the corner of Edelstein's lip twitch in what might have wanted to be a smile.
"Thank you. Heike is one of my favorite modern composers to perform; he truly makes full use of all of the orchestra, which is why I appreciate enthusiasm like Feliciano's," he said, inclining his head toward the aforementioned violist. His eyes remained on Gilbert.
"Right," Gilbert said. His tongue shortly thereafter dried up of any more words to say.
Ludwig coughed again, politely. "We do not mean to keep you if you have plans, Mr. Edelstein."
"Please, Roderich is fine. And you are hardly keeping me from any plans. I was only planning on going back to my hotel and ordering room service. Travelling so much does not lend itself to going out as often as one might think," he admitted with a bit of a self-conscious chuckle.
Feliciano's eyes immediately brightened at the opportunity. "Why don't you come out with us, then?" he offered eagerly. "We were just about to go out for drinks—I'm sure it'd be more fun than sitting in your hotel room by yourself!"
"Feli, I'm sure Mr. Edelstein, er, Roderich, is very tired from his performance—" Ludwig began warningly but Roderich cut him off with a small shake of his head.
"It is fine," he said, "I appreciate the invitation. But I would hate to intrude any more than I already have—"
This time it was Gilbert who interjected, before he could even help himself. "Please, saving me from third wheeling with these two all night is hardly intruding."
Ludwig shot him a rather bewildered look while Feliciano continued to look on, oblivious. Roderich regarded him with a bit of surprise in his blue-violet eyes, his lips slightly parted as if he thought to say something but soon decided against it.
"Right…" Gilbert said again, and wondered if he should laugh to diffuse the awkward tension between them.
But Roderich seemed to have made up his mind and with a new, carefully guarded look that Gilbert couldn't decipher. He gave a slight nod in Gilbert's direction. "All right," he replied. "Then I will join you, thank you."
He lifted the corner of his mouth again in a more definitive smile and as Feliciano cheered, Gilbert swore that the violets of his eyes were staring right at him.
The bar they liked frequenting after Feliciano's concerts was not far from the Philharmonic and so they opted to walk after securing Feliciano's viola case in Ludwig's Mercedes. Naturally, Roderich was stopped a few times by admiring fans as they exited the building, the brunet handling each one in his same polite, but detached manner.
Gilbert wondered if it was due to the sheer volume of admirers he had to deal with, or if the young musician truly felt that way towards his fans. Although there were times Roderich's emotions were as plain as the glasses on his face, other times Gilbert could hardly get a line on what the other was feeling. It made him wonder just how much of the Austrian accepting their invitation had been from genuine interest.
But as they began to walk away from the crowds, Gilbert watched Roderich shed some of the careful composure he had displayed in the foyer. The waning moon had not yet risen above the skyrises of Potsdamer Platz, but in the cerulean glow of a city night, Roderich's features were cast especially delicate and Gilbert was reminded of the fact that the musician was only twenty-eight: three years younger than his brother, and seven years younger than him.
Gilbert couldn't even remember what he had been like at twenty-eight, but he sure as hell hadn't been mature enough to be performing on an international stage. Frankly, he'd hardly had his life fully together until he turned thirty-three. (It wasn't his fault that he happened to be the less successful sibling.)
But even in the face of his own perceived failures, Gilbert could never bring any of his resentment against his younger brother. Given the times they had grown up in, Gilbert was just happy that the most Ludwig had suffered through was a lonely childhood. He was proud that his little brother was living a successful life and in a caring relationship. At least one of them was happy.
Feliciano chattered happily next to Ludwig as they walked, leaving Gilbert to follow along with Roderich. The musician had fallen silent since leaving the Philharmonic, his demeanor showing someone who preferred to keep to themselves just as Feliciano had said.
Gilbert didn't really mind the silence (despite what some might think) but he did have the nagging feeling that he was supposed to say something to fill the space between them. He was grateful when they finally arrived at the bar, a few patrons already spilling to the outside on their smoke break. It was a Saturday night and with the weather as good as it was, plenty of young people were eager to take advantage of the night.
Although Roderich was younger than any of them, Gilbert couldn't help but wonder if this was a bit too lowbrow for the musician's tastes. By the way the other was dressed, he looked like he only went to high-end bars on the top of high rises. Not that they were necessarily going to some cheap dive or anything, but it certainly did feel a bit out of place with Roderich's well-tailored suit.
But if the atmosphere of the bar bothered the musician, he said nothing. Just as he had for the entire walk over, he simply followed along as Feliciano chattered their way up to the second floor where they usually sat.
By then all of the silence was beginning to get on Gilbert's nerves. Maybe inviting the Austrian out for drinks hadn't been a good idea after all, and now he was simply humoring them with getting a drink before finding an excuse to leave. He certainly hadn't bothered engaging with any of them since their first conversation, even if Gilbert could have sworn that the musician had moved a little closer to him once they'd entered the bar.
As soon as they'd claimed a table, Ludwig immediately got up again with the excuse of going downstairs to order their first round of drinks.
"Would you, uh, like me to order for you?" he asked Roderich a bit awkwardly.
"Beer is fine," the brunet answered. "Whichever you are ordering for yourself."
Ludwig hesitated before nodding. "Feliciano, why don't you stay with Roderich while—"
"Oh I can help you carry the drinks!" Feliciano pipped up mid-suggestion. Ludwig looked like that hadn't been what he was about to suggest at all, but Feliciano was already out of his seat and dragging Ludwig back towards the stairs.
"Er," Ludwig said.
"No worries," Gilbert cut in. "I can stay here and keep our guest entertained."
Ludwig looked a bit doubtful of that, but Feliciano was already halfway across the bar, and so he simply gave Gilbert a short nod before following after his boyfriend. Gilbert chuckled again and turned back to the table, chancing a quick glance towards the musician.
Just as he would have thought, there was a look of mild bewilderment on the other's face, although the dim lighting of the bar hid it well. Gilbert decided to take the gamble anyway.
"Going out with Feliciano is usually a bit of a circus," he offered.
Roderich's eyes shifted away from where Ludwig and Feliciano had disappeared and for the umpteenth time that evening, instead caught Gilbert's eye for a held breath before looking away again.
"It's not a problem," he answered. "Feliciano is…a very interesting character. I can now understand why he leads his section with such enthusiasm."
"Yeah," Gilbert snorted. "Sometimes people have trouble believing he's the section leader of a world-class orchestra. He holds his own, though."
Roderich hummed in response. "Do you play any instruments?" he asked after a moment.
"Nah," Gilbert answered automatically, and then hesitated. "Well…I used to play flute when I was younger, but that, uh, was pretty long ago," he finished quickly, wondering why he had even brought it up.
"Flute?"
Roderich's voice held a tone of surprise and Gilbert felt caught between embarrassed and indignant. With most other people he told that fact to, it tended to be embarrassed. But there was something about Roderich's tone of surprise that made Gilbert feel indignant that he would have ever thought otherwise.
"Yup," he kept his voice proud. "Took lessons and everything. I, uh, wanted to be just like Friedrich the Great when I was younger."
Great, now he really was telling him too much. What did Roderich even care—
"Is that so?" the brunet chuckled, and Gilbert's line of thoughts stopped as soon as he heard the soft sound from the other's lips. It was just as musical as everything else about his appearance, the Austrian's mouth curved up slightly. "My great-great-great-grandfather was a general in the wars against Prussia. He always saw the Prussians as his enemy, even when they needed to work together."
The surprise from the other's answer was quickly overtaken with a grin, Gilbert sitting back in his chair more comfortably now that he knew things were going well. "Maybe he met my great-great-great-grandfather on the battlefield. Lutz and I's family background is Prussian military through and through." He flashed a smirk easily. "So what do you think of the enemy territory, Austrian? A bit different than all of you aristocrats down in Vienna, huh?"
"It is, admittedly, very different," Roderich conceded with his own bit of cheek. "The first time I visited Berlin it was with my class, but of course that was only twelve or thirteen years after the fall of the Wall, and Berlin was still very different then than it is today."
Gilbert wrinkled his nose slightly. "Definitely different," he agreed. "When I was growing up, it was like the Wall might as well have still been there. These days the biggest difference is that all the hipsters live in the East.
"Of course," Gilbert continued as a fit man wearing a sailor hat and long pink trench coat passed by their table, "not all of the changes I mind."
Roderich's eyes had been tracking the man in the pink coat as well, and as soon as his eyes turned back to Gilbert, Gilbert's eyes were brazenly on him. A heavy blush quickly spread across the other's cheeks.
"Gilbert—" the brunet began when, as if right on cue, Feliciano and Ludwig reappeared with four tall glasses of beer in hand.
"Drinks are here!" Feliciano announced cheerfully.
Roderich's eyes quickly looked away from their previous occupation and Gilbert tried not to let his disappointment show.
"Great," he muttered.
They didn't talk again for the rest of the evening. Except for the occasional overlaps in conversation wherein Gilbert would grunt out a one-word answer and Roderich kept his eyes averted to the table.
Gilbert had tried catching the other's eye again after Feliciano and Ludwig had returned, but he'd given up after the second try. And yeah, maybe he was being a little rude in ignoring their special guest, but he wasn't going to put in the effort for someone who didn't want it. Apparently, Roderich thought the same way. (Gilbert tried to convince himself he wasn't disappointed.)
At some point, when Roderich had excused himself to the restroom and Feliciano had joined him to keep chattering on about some orchestra thing or another, Ludwig leaned over and scrutinized Gilbert with a concerned furrowing of his brow.
"Is everything okay?" he asked quietly, even though they were alone.
"Fine," Gilbert grunted.
Ludwig's brows furrowed further and Gilbert tried not to roll his eyes. "I'm just tired of sitting around with this prick all evening," he explained.
"Did something happen while we were downstairs?"
Gilbert let out an impatient huff of breath. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Lutz."
Ludwig's frown remained perceptive even as he leaned back in his seat. "Well…" he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "it is getting rather late. Perhaps it is better if we all head home."
Feliciano and Roderich had just returned from the bathrooms. "Aw, Ludwig, can't we stay out a little longer?" Feliciano bounced over to their table, a large pout on his face. Roderich followed slowly behind him, his brows creased slightly but expression otherwise unreadable. Ludwig glanced back at Gilbert before returning to Feliciano.
"It's getting late and I'm sure Roderich is exhausted after his long day," Ludwig restated evenly but firmly. He placed a gentle hand on Feliciano's shoulder. "It would be good for you to get some rest, as well. You still have the performance tomorrow."
"Aww," Feliciano pouted again before perking up. "I guess you're right. Is that okay with you, Roderich?"
In spite of himself, Gilbert looked up at the other's name, his sights sliding over to the Austrian. To his complete surprise, Roderich's eyes were already on him. After a lingering second, Roderich's eyes turned away from him and down to Feliciano.
"Yes, of course," he replied diplomatically. "Ludwig is right, it has been a rather long day. But thank you for allowing me to join you tonight, and thank you for the beer. It was wonderful to meet you all." Again, Roderich's eyes flickered to Gilbert, the older trying not to be taken aback by the intensity in their stare.
Ludwig seemingly missed the minute exchange between them. He gave a small nod in response and grabbed for his jacket. "The pleasure was all ours. I am sure that meeting his idol will keep Feliciano plenty occupied for the next few weeks," he managed to say without too much of a grimace while Feliciano nodded enthusiastically next to him. "Do you need a ride to your hotel?"
"No, that is quite all right," Roderich replied. "I get reimbursed for transportation."
Prick. Gilbert sneered in his head. They all shuffled downstairs and once coats were on and Feliciano had finished his most recent blubbering speech about how nice it had been to work-slash-meet Roderich, and had given him a hug (to which Ludwig had let out another long-suffering sigh and had to help gently pry Feliciano off of the brunet), Roderich thanked them again and stuck out his hand in polite farewell.
Ludwig shook Roderich's hand with the appearance of someone who was far more comfortable with formal gestures than hugs and cheek kisses. Gilbert hardly listened as his younger brother reiterated how nice had been to hear him play. At this point in the night, he was pretty ready to be home already watching dumb Krimis and drinking from the cache of beers he kept in his fridge.
But then Roderich turned to him, and for the nth time that evening, Gilbert found himself trapped in the intensity of the other's stare.
"A pleasure to meet you, Gilbert," Roderich said.
"Um," Gilbert fumbled. "Right. Uh, you too. Maybe we'll catch you the next time you perform in Berlin."
Gilbert held out his hand and as soon as Roderich returned the farewell, Gilbert felt something being pressed into his palm.
"I am sure you will."
Gilbert glanced sideways at his brother but Ludwig was caught up in helping Feliciano button his coat. When he looked back, Roderich was already turning his head away as if nothing had transpired. Gilbert frowned and pocketed whatever Roderich had passed onto him for later.
"I am afraid I must be going, but thank you again for the invitation tonight," Roderich said, picking up his violin case.
"Bye," Gilbert muttered as Ludwig and Feliciano gave their last farewells and good lucks. After a minute, he watched from the bar window as the musician hailed a cab and got in. The object in Gilbert's pocket burned a hot red hole.
"We should be going as well," Ludwig grunted, eyeing Feliciano putting on a scarf to make sure the auburn brunet did it right. He glanced over at Gilbert when the older didn't respond, raising an eyebrow at the sudden muteness. "Ready, Gilbert?" he prompted.
Gilbert's gaze shifted away from the window. "Yeah," he said. "Ready."
As soon as they left the bar, Gilbert let Ludwig and Feliciano take the lead ahead of him before shoving his hand in his pants pocket and digging out the object Roderich had passed to him moments ago. It was single white business card with Edelstein's information on it, simple black music notes embossed on the front. Gilbert's confusion increased until he turned the card over and found the name of a hotel scribbled on the back in messy, but elegant handwriting.
30 minutes. was written under it.
Gilbert felt a sense of honest shock at the gall involved in the blunt invitation. But then a slow grin climbed its way to his face, his eyes changing into a new kind of determination. So, the little priss wasn't just Vivaldi and chauffeurs after all.
He stuck the card back in his pants and slowed his walk, putting on a new expression. "Hey, Lutz," he called out casually. His brother turned around and stopped when he realized Gilbert was several meters behind them.
"Gil?" he questioned.
"I'm just gonna head back with the U-Bahn. That way you and Feli can just go straight home."
Ludwig's brows immediately furrowed. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Driving you home is not a problem."
"Nah, don't worry about it, Lutz," Gilbert waved away the concern. "You and Feli already did enough with the concert tonight."
"We're head back that direction anyway—" Ludwig began, but Gilbert was already saluting them and walking away, a mischievous grin on his face. Ludwig stood there for a moment longer, looking completely befuddled as to what had just happened. What was with his brother that night?
"Wow, that sure was weird. I wonder what's up with Gil?" Feliciano pondered aloud. Ludwig wondered too.
Gilbert rounded the corner to make sure he was out of sight of his brother and Feliciano before taking the card out of his pocket again. He knew the name of the hotel—it was one of the nicer establishments in Berlin, located right off of Gendarmenmarkt. How fitting, that the little master would be staying there.
It would take him about twenty minutes to arrive, but Gilbert hardly minded the walk to help sort through his thoughts about the Austrian musician. Roderich was reserved, but he obviously wasn't oblivious to others' interest in him. Sly little mink. It made Gilbert wonder what the musician would have said if they hadn't been interrupted earlier. The business card certainly gave weight to the rumor Feliciano had mentioned earlier.
As he entered the hotel, Gilbert was glad that he was dressed for the concert. Every person inside the lobby looked like they owned real estate worth at least ten times Gilbert's yearly income, and although Gilbert wasn't a particularly self-conscious man, he still fidgeted with his jacket. But hardly anyone gave him a second look as he made his way over to the elevators, card in hand. Roderich had taken the care to imprint his room number on the back, allowing Gilbert to go straight to the suites on the fifth floor.
Of course he's staying in a suite, Gilbert thought as he adjusted his hair in the elevator mirrors. He kept the smirk on his face as he finally arrived in front of the suite doors, the large golden numbers matching those on his card.
Gilbert knocked, and then checked his phone. Right on time.
"Who is it?" Roderich's muffled voice called out from the other side of the door.
Gilbert's smirk grew and he made sure to look straight into the peephole on the door. "C'mon, priss," he responded. "You know who it is."
There was a moment's silence and then the sound of the door bolts being pulled back. Gilbert took a courteous step back just as the door swung open, Roderich's unusual blue eyes staring up at him.
"Gilbert."
"Little Master," he responded, giving a mocking bow.
Roderich's eyebrows drew together. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.
Gilbert snickered. "Don't worry about it. You gonna let me in?" he said, nodding to the door.
"I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" Roderich responded dryly, but Gilbert could hear what Roderich really wanted to say behind his aloof tone. The brunet took a step back and pulled the door with him, welcoming Gilbert into the suite.
It was just as impressive as Gilbert had expected it to be, the hotel suite opening into an enormous window view of the market square. The suite looked like it had been recently cleaned, hardly a towel out of place in the spacious accommodation. Gilbert let his eyes sweep over the space with an impressed raise of his brow. It came complete with a kitchen, living room, and mini bar. A staircase in the far corner of the living room led to what Gilbert assumed was the bedroom.
"Your manager sure does like to splurge on you, doesn't he?" Gilbert commented. He slowly brought his eyes back to Roderich, who had closed the door behind them and was standing with his arms crossed. Gilbert noticed he wasn't wearing the suit jacket from earlier.
"Did you come here just to make comments about my socioeconomic status?" Roderich asked flatly.
Gilbert chuckled and took a step forward. "I can't help it if you make it too easy," he smirked. He kept moving until Roderich's back was at the door, the brunet still watching him with an unreadable expression.
"Easy," Roderich repeated.
Gilbert's hands found themselves at the other's waist, and for the first time, Roderich's controlled stance changed as Gilbert felt a shiver run through the younger's body.
"I gotta say, Little Master," Gilbert continued conversationally as he began untucking Roderich's shirt from his pants. "I was impressed with your bold move back at the bar. Maybe there really is more to you than it seems," he teased.
"And how do I seem?" Roderich asked while Gilbert's calloused fingers undid the fastenings on his pants. The hitch in his voice was delicious, Gilbert drinking in every quickened breath that left Roderich's parted lips.
Gilbert couldn't help it. As soon as his eyes fixated on red-bitten lips in front of him, he needed to cover them with his own. His hand plunged into Roderich's pants at the same moment, and almost sadistically, Gilbert delighted in the gasp that broke through their kiss. Roderich's back arched off the door and he pressed unashamed into Gilbert's rogue touch. Gilbert chuckled and nipped at the other's lips.
"You seem like a present well worth unwrapping," Gilbert finally replied, letting Roderich half-rut against his leg as he worked the other into full attention.
Roderich's breathing came in barely restrained gasps, his teeth biting down harshly into his own lip. One eye snapped open to give Gilbert an attempted glare. "How cliché," he retorted.
Gilbert couldn't help but let out a sharp laugh, a genuine grin stretching his face. "I like you, Austrian," he decided, and leaned forward to capture the other's lips. As he pulled back he remained close, Roderich's breaths short against his mouth and his blue-violet eyes wide into Gilbert's own. "What do you say we bring this party upstairs?" he suggested lowly.
Roderich's lips pressing incessantly against his own contained the only answer Gilbert needed.
Gilbert could feel his back aching even before he'd woken up fully. Damn hotel mattresses always were too soft. He shifted to lie on his side with a grunt, the duvet rustling in the otherwise silent room as he slowly brought himself back into consciousness.
Although Gilbert had yet to open his eyes, he could sense Roderich beside him from the dip in the mattress on his right. Roderich had stolen most of the covers during the night, though Gilbert could hardly care with how much heat his body gave off when he slept. The musician probably didn't even retain any body heat, given how skinny he was.
Slowly, and with a fair amount of reluctance, Gilbert let his eyes open.
Soft light crept through the gaps between curtains, telling Gilbert that it was probably still early morning. Next to him Roderich was sleeping curled on his side, the brunet's hair a stark contrast against the white pillowcases. His skin was still bared from the previous night and Gilbert traced the milky curve of his neck that was visible between the sheets. It'd taken every restraint Gilbert had not to mark it the previous night; the temptation still swirled licentious beneath Gilbert's skin. He forced his eyes away before the thought dwelled.
It was actually rather surprising that the musician had allowed Gilbert to stay the night. Given the other's status, Gilbert had been expecting it to be a one night affair that included his leaving as soon as it was over. But Roderich had made no indication that Gilbert should leave, and had even said that he could stay with a note of indifference.
Of course, Gilbert hadn't been oblivious to the fact that an empty tumbler had been sitting on Roderich's bedside table when he'd said this. They'd broken into the minibar at some point during the night.
Gilbert looked over his bed companion once more before deciding to get up. He wasn't one for beating around the bush, for one, and two, he doubted Roderich was expecting him to stay long in the morning if he hadn't already overstayed his welcome. It wasn't like this was Gilbert's first time in a hotel with a (relative) stranger.
But despite his best attempts to stay quiet, the brunet began to stir as soon as Gilbert pulled back the covers.
"Gilbert?" Roderich's voice asked groggily. It was thick with sleep and felt far too vulnerable.
"Hi, Priss," Gilbert responded after a hesitation, temporarily stalling his attempts to get up. Roderich had shifted just enough so that he could look over his shoulder, his unusual blue eye still distinct even in the dim lighting as it squinted up at Gilbert.
Gilbert fumbled with his thoughts. "Uh, I was just about to head out," he said, but it sounded wrong as soon as it left his mouth. Apparently he wasn't the only one to think so.
"You're leaving?" Roderich frowned.
"I, uh…am I supposed to?"
Roderich didn't respond directly, instead reaching out to grab Gilbert's arm and tug him back to bed. "It's still early," he said, voice muffled as he settled back into the covers. "Just go back to sleep for now."
Gilbert wasn't sure how to make heads or tails of Roderich's answer. He wanted him to stay? Just what was Gilbert supposed to make with that?
With a sigh, he slid his legs back under the sheets and settled himself besides Roderich, lying on his back. He could hear early morning birds from outside the window, but they weren't as loud as the questions running around his head. What was the musician trying to play with? He was managing to make their one night stand awfully complicated, and Gilbert wasn't sure if he liked complicated.
Rubbing one hand over his face, Gilbert tried to get himself to relax in the stillness of the room. Roderich's breathing evened out besides him. And before he knew it, he'd fallen back to sleep himself, feeling like he was sinking further and further into the cloud of the hotel mattress.
The next time Gilbert awoke, Roderich was no longer next to him. Gilbert sat up with a start, his eyes immediately darting around the unfamiliar setting. A large window view of the Deutscher Dom greeted him.
And then, Roderich's voice.
"Yes, of course I am aware. I have already spoken with—no. No, I have already said—Arthur, I told you. It is for personal reasons. I will be back next week. I—we have already discussed this. …Yes, of course I am aware, I will take care of it. I understand that, but this is not up for negotiation. …Fine. We will talk later."
There was a soft thunk as Roderich assumedly placed his phone on the table. Silence stretched through the entire suite and Gilbert froze, suddenly feeling trapped. Just what had that been about, and who was Arthur? It had sounded serious, whatever it was, and Gilbert was reminded once again that he was overstaying his welcome with the world-famous musician. But how to leave without alerting Roderich that he'd just overheard his conversation?—
Apparently he needn't worry, because before Gilbert could even formulate a plan, Roderich was coming up the stairs. As soon as Roderich stepped into the bedroom their eyes met. The musician was already dressed, and Gilbert nearly had to do a double take because after their meeting the previous night, he never would have imagined seeing Roderich in…normal clothes.
"Uh," he said intelligibly. "Hey."
Roderich's patterned shirt was still tucked into his jeans, but the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons were undone. He looked…good. (Gilbert tried not to stare.)
"You're up," Roderich said, a hint of surprise in his own words. Gilbert immediately thought back to the phone conversation he had just heard. Roderich looked like he was thinking about the same thing.
"Yeah, uh," Gilbert cleared his throat. "I don't usually sleep in that late. Guess I must've needed it." He rubbed at the back of his head, unsure of what to do otherwise.
After a look of hesitation, Roderich took another step into the room. "Of course," he said. "Um, would you like tea or coffee? I still have a pot on from this morning."
Gilbert ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. What was Edelstein's play? he wondered again. It was beginning to put him on edge.
"Yeah, uh, sure. Coffee would be great. Thanks," he finally replied. Roderich looked like he wanted to say something else, but seemed to change his mind, shaking his head a bit before turning around to go back downstairs.
"There is an extra towel in the bathroom, if you would like to shower," he said over his shoulder, and Gilbert grunted a still-confused thanks as he watched the top of the brunet's head disappear down the stairs.
"Fuck," Gilbert rubbed a hand over his face. Of course he, of all people, would get caught up with some rich music kid who was complicated before things were even easy. This was probably why he was still single and third wheeling on his brother's dates.
Deciding to take up Roderich's offer of a shower (because damn if he wasn't going to do the walk of shame on the S-Bahn at thrity-four years old), he shoved the covers off and grabbed his clothes from the bedroom floor. Although they'd come in handy with getting into the hotel, Gilbert wished he had something else to wear other than his stuffy suit. After showering, he pulled on his shirt with a bit of a grimace, opting to leave the top buttons undone and his sleeves rolled. He looked like a damn waiter.
When he finally stepped off the stairs, suit jacket slung over one arm, Roderich was leaning against one of the counters looking at a sheet of paper. Gilbert cleared his throat as he approached, Roderich looking up at him with his stunning blue-violet eyes.
"I should, uh, probably get going."
Roderich's eyebrows immediately drew together. "Already?" he asked.
Gilbert swallowed thinking about how pretty Roderich looked in the late morning light. It was just one night, why was—
"Why are you trying to make this complicated?" Gilbert blurted out before he could help himself.
Roderich actually flinched back, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Complicated?" he repeated. "I'm not, I was simply asking—"
"Man, have you ever even had a one night stand before? You don't ask them to stay for breakfast and shit, that just makes it complicated," Gilbert grumbled, trying to look anywhere but at the brunet standing in the kitchen. "I heard your phone call earlier. All that shit about staying in Berlin longer than you're supposed to. Who's Arthur, huh? Your boyfriend or something? Because I'm not going to be your 'personal reason' or whatever for not going back to him," he muttered. "Leave me out of that shit."
Roderich was staring at him open mouthed across the counter, something between shock and indignation crossing his features. Indignation quickly won over. "I—how, how dare you accuse me of committing adultery!" he burst out. "Arthur is my agent, you moron! I wouldn't sleep with him if he paid me—which I don't think his British propriety would allow, anyway," Roderich added with a sneer, his unusual blue eyes directing a glare in Gilbert's direction. "I apologize if showing a bit of hospitality was beyond the socially accepted realm of sleeping with someone. I must have been raised wrong," he sniped, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
For a moment Gilbert wasn't sure how to react. As soon as Roderich said Arthur was his agent—not some lover—a weird skip happened in his chest. But that was just a small part of the brunet's response. All right, so he'd been wrong. (Mostly.) But damn if his pride was going to swallow it that easily!
Frustrated, he ran a rough hand through his hair, eyes shifting between Roderich and the floor. Even when he was angry, Roderich still looked like a perfect little prince. It really wasn't fair—
"Fuck, I need a cigarette," Gilbert finally mumbled, eyes settling on anywhere but the brunet in front of him. "'this a smoking room, or are they gonna charge your aristocratic ass if I so much as breath in here?" he asked gruffly.
Roderich's arms remained crossed, his lips pulled just as tight. "I'm not a smoker," he said bluntly.
Gilbert rolled his eyes and dug for his lighter as soon as he saw the balcony he'd missed the previous night. "Yeah, well, you had sex with one last night, sweetheart, so I don't know what to tell you," he bit back, not waiting for a reply before stalking over to the door. The gray, March air hit him as soon as he yanked on the handle.
"Excuse me!" he heard Roderich exclaim affrontedly once he'd stepped outside. Gilbert ignored him, but didn't bother with closing the door, either. Instead he pulled out his smokes and lit up the end, shoving both lighter and pack back into his pants pocket. Just half a second after his first drag, Roderich came sputtering after him, his cheeks a blustery red.
"Excuse me, but you do not get to spend the night in my hotel, deeply insult my person, and then leave the conversation without any sort of proper apology!"
Gilbert resisted the urge to roll his eyes a second time. "Well excuse me, I didn't realize there was a protocol for it, Your Highness." He blew out the smoke in front of him and watched Roderich through the haze of white. The other man's shoulders were stiff, his eyes narrowed in Gilbert's direction. "Fuck, you sure are a piece of work, aren't you?" Gilbert said, leaning back against the railing.
"I'm beginning to regret inviting you to my hotel last night," Roderich replied snootily.
Gilbert cocked one eyebrow. "Only now?" he said.
Roderich didn't reply, but Gilbert saw the way his lips tightened and his shoulders hunched a notch higher. Gilbert flicked the rest of his cigarette over the balcony and pushed himself from the railing, sauntering over to the other with his hands shoved casually into his pockets.
"I gotta give you credit, Specs," he said, "you've lasted longer than I would've expected from a priss like you."
Roderich hadn't moved from his position even when Gilbert was right in front of him, their bodies nearly touching. Gilbert kept his stance slightly slouched and regarded the other none too subtlety while Roderich continued to glare at him; Gilbert could almost see the other's heartbeat quicken. "Full of surprises, aren't you?" he jeered.
Roderich didn't object when Gilbert hooked his fingers in his trousers for the second time, pulling the other man forward with a characteristic rogue smile.
He didn't object when Gilbert's lips met with his, the same not-so-gentleness being employed in the kiss.
Too easy, Gilbert smirked to himself.
Roderich's lithe body was like putty in his needy hands, the other's hips already canting forward as Gilbert plundered his mouth. It was wet and messy and Gilbert relished every second of it. When they finally pulled away for a snatch of air, Roderich's eyes were trained on him in a convincingly near-loathing glare. "You-!" he managed to get out before Gilbert was shutting him up again, this time his hands wandering to Roderich's ass.
Gilbert broke the kiss and smirked down at the brunet. Roderich's dark blue eyes held a wanton edge, a few strands of his fine hair falling in front of them. "Now this is better, isn't it?" Gilbert said lowly, fingers edging under the waistband of Roderich's trousers. "None of that fighting nonsense, now."
Roderich was biting his lip in an attempt to mask his reactions to Gilbert's ministrations, his restraint betrayed by the slight rocking of his hips against Gilbert's. "Is this—ah…—how you solve all of your problems?" he ground out.
"Just the hard ones," Gilbert smirked, and angled himself so Roderich could feel exactly what he meant by hard. "I find it hot when you look all pouty like that. Makes me wanna fuck it out of you."
"Crude—" Roderich snipped but Gilbert was already pushing him back through the balcony door. Gilbert didn't have the patience for going all the way up the stairs to the loft, so he angled Roderich towards the couch instead. "Everything's still upstairs," Roderich said halfway into their backwards dance.
"We just fucked last night," Gilbert retorted. "It'll be fine. And I'll pull out."
A pair of blue-violet eyes glared up at him. "You don't bottom much, do you?" Roderich said.
Gilbert made a poor job of masking his grin, stalling his reply by pushing Roderich back onto the couch. He caged the other man against the cushions, one knee pressed teasingly close to Roderich's crotch. "Gilbert Beilschmidt doesn't bottom," he stated smugly. He took the opportunity to look the now-disheveled brunet over. "But little princes like you, on the other hand…."
He trailed off suggestively as one hand undid the fastenings on Roderich's trousers and reached in to begin stroking him to full erection. And just like the night before, Gilbert found himself immediately entranced by every gasp and moan that escaped Roderich's mouth, the musician's uncontrolled desire a private concerto to Gilbert's ears. Despite their earlier spat, Gilbert was more than willing to enjoy himself with Roderich. The younger's eyes were clenched shut, his teeth once more clamping down on his bottom lip. He looked delicious; like the kind of scenes that only played themselves out in Gilbert's head or on shameless websites late at night in his bedroom.
"Fuck," Gilbert grunted. He shifted back to begin unbuckling his own pants, hardly wasting a breath in yanking Roderich's pants and underwear off soon after.
"Patience isn't your strong suit, is it?" Roderich commented, the other man grimacing as Gilbert spit in his hand and began slicking himself up. In spite of the other's words, Gilbert didn't miss the way Roderich's eyes lingered.
"Would you rather wait?" Gilbert asked, gripping his own erection cockily.
Roderich narrowed his eyes like he was about to return with a sarcastic reply but Gilbert decided that he was done with talking and instead thrust his finger in deep. Roderich's beautiful blue eyes immediately flew open in surprise, his reddened lips parted in a gasp. "Gilbert!" he admonished.
"Sorry." Gilbert's grin was unapologetic, and he was unable to resist swooping down and claiming Roderich's lips for his own. There was a slight tang of blood from where Roderich's teeth had bitten earlier, and the taste nearly drove him wild. Austrian lost in enemy territory indeed, Gilbert's thoughts mused. He rushed through the rest of preparation, his other hand occupying itself with undoing the buttons on Roderich's crisp white shirt and twisting at the sensitive nipples underneath. Roderich's body was arched as if he was trying to make their chests meet, his breaths gasping and muffled between sloppy kisses.
When Gilbert finally lined himself up to enter, second time in less than twelve hours, Roderich's eyes turned and focused on him with such a sense of intensity that Gilbert nearly fumbled in his actions. The older swore he felt his heartrate speed up for a moment, the sight of those clear, dark blue eyes locking with his own leaving him with a feeling he couldn't quite pinpoint at the moment. But his body reminded him of other needs that needed to be taken care of and so leaving those thoughts aside, Gilbert pushed in.
"Sh-Shit—"
The swore fell from his partner's lips and Gilbert had to stop himself from the mountain of expletives that piled behind his own tongue at how fucking good it felt. He kept himself propped up with one arm braced against the back of the couch, his hips doing the work of rolling each grunted thrust into the body below him. Roderich's once-immaculate hair was tumbled around him, his glasses smudged and pushed too far up on his nose. One arm was thrown back above his head and Gilbert couldn't help the smirk that threatened whenever he saw the musician's long fingers curl into the couch arm at a particularly deep or angled thrust.
Maybe it was his German blood that channeled it, but Gilbert relished in the sadistic rush he felt at seeing the prim musician come undone. Throughout the entire concert, something had been nagging at Gilbert about how perfect the other looked, how put together the musician was from head to toe. It made him want to chip away at it, to tarnish it until Roderich was brought down to the same level as everyone else.
And with the musician underneath him, lips bitten red and stomach taut in arousal, Gilbert felt like he was damn near close.
Without warning, Gilbert detached his grip on the back of the couch and swept up Roderich's long legs so that the other was practically folded in half. He kept his arms hooked under the limbs, every motion mechanical as he fucked Roderich into the couch. And the brunet's responding gasp was reward enough, dark blue eyes blown wide and unseeing to the high ceilings above them.
God, the man beneath him was absolutely beautiful. Feeling almost feverish, Gilbert couldn't help letting his eyes roam over the lithe body beneath him. A perfect little prince all to himself, at least for the moment. Gilbert could feel his climax nearing and he thrust his hips even faster against Roderich, the brunet nearly crammed into the arm of the couch. He released one of Roderich's legs to take hold of the other's arousal, grinning unabashedly at the gasp that flew from the musician's mouth.
"Come for me, little master," he goaded.
"Stop calling me that—!" Roderich glared over his tumbled glasses, but Gilbert didn't pay it any mind because in the next moment Roderich's head was thrown back in a gasp, neck deliciously bared as orgasm rushed through his body.
Gilbert nearly came at the sight himself, rushing to pull out and take hold of his own erection before he broke his promise. "Fuck—" he grunted. He closed his eyes as he came, committing the image of Roderich climaxing to memory while he finished messily against the inside of Roderich's thigh.
For a long moment neither moved, both breathing heavily through the aftermath of their orgasm. Finally Roderich shifted, Gilbert's seed running down his smooth skin. "You made a mess," the brunet grimaced.
"So did you," Gilbert retorted. He moved so that he was no longer trapping the other against the couch, allowing the younger to finally sit up from the cramped position. "Either way, I'm not the one paying the cleaning fee," he snickered.
Roderich rolled his eyes. "That would be the job of my manager, Arthur." A box of tissues was sitting on the coffee table and Roderich leaned forward to grab a few, the open ends of his shirt brushing against Gilbert's thigh.
Gilbert leaned back against the couch, content with watching shamelessly as his bed partner cleaned himself off. "What was that all about earlier, anyway? The phone call between you and your manager," he asked after a moment.
Roderich glanced in his direction briefly before returning to his task, his expression kept steadfastly hidden. For a moment he didn't reply, and Gilbert figured he wouldn't get any answers from the musician. He didn't really have a stake in the other's life, after all.
"Did you know that the director of the Berlin Philharmonic is retiring this year?" Roderich finally said.
Lost in his thoughts, Gilbert was caught off guard by the sudden change in subject. "What?" he said.
Roderich continued as if he hadn't heard the question in Gilbert's voice. "The announcement wasn't supposed to come until later this month. As far as I understand it, very few others know. Even the orchestra does not know yet."
"What does this have to do—"
Roderich's piercing blue eyes cut into Gilbert's question like a knife. "I'm tired of being a soloist performer," he deadpanned. "It's like I am a performing monkey, paraded out on the whims of my contract. I am never home for longer than a month. I cannot have a stable routine, a stable job, or a stable relationship. And I have become tired of it." He shrugged, and in that moment, Roderich looked to be a lot older than twenty-eight.
"So…that's why you're staying in Berlin longer?" Gilbert asked. "To set up…whatever you need to set up with the Berlin Phil?"
Roderich nodded. "The director and I have been working on this proposition since December."
"And your manager doesn't even know?" he persisted.
A well-manicured eyebrow was raised in return. "You heard my conversation with him this morning," Roderich replied. "What do you think?"
"Shit…." Gilbert rubbed at his face, trying to process everything Roderich had told him. Which wasn't much, granted, but the implications seemed to hang heavy over them both. Feeling a bit helpless, he glanced over in Roderich's direction, who still hadn't taken his eyes off of him. "You really are making this complicated, aren't you?"
Roderich huffed and looked away with a roll of his eyes. "Complicated is up to you," he retorted. "After all, this was, as you said, just a one night stand."
"What did you want it to be? Since you're apparently the one pulling all the strings here," Gilbert shot back.
Roderich's lips pursed, his mouth pulled in a slight frown at Gilbert's tone. "The only thing I am looking for now is a stable contract with the Berlin Philharmonic. I am not asking you to suddenly view this encounter as anything more," he answered carefully. "But if I am going to be here for another week, then I do not see the harm in also enjoying myself in the meantime. Or am I wrong to think so?"
Gilbert was forced to look away from Roderich's cutting gaze, the musician's frankness suddenly overwhelming. "You're not wrong," he finally conceded with a reluctant mutter. "I just…I don't understand what you want from me."
A long sigh came from Roderich's direction. "I don't want anything from you, Gilbert," the musician insisted. "If you do not wish to see me anymore after today, then of course I am not going to keep you here. But I enjoyed last night and if you wanted, then you know where to find me."
Fuck…."Okay, fair," Gilbert finally answered. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, all too aware of Roderich's continued scrutiny of him. "But just for the week you're here," he added on quickly. It at least gave him the sense of pretending he was in control. "And just sex. No dinner or any of that shit."
"Of course."
And Gilbert could almost hear the amusement in the younger's tone.
Waking up the Monday after Roderich's concert felt like every shitty Monday Gilbert had ever experienced and then some. The pale-haired male woke up with a groan as the phone alarm he'd set jingled obnoxiously from the bedside table. Going to his job as a building inspector was honestly the last thing he wanted to do, after that confusing mess of a weekend.
Spoiled princes and complicated pricks; trust Gilbert to get involved with the best of them.
Gilbert tried to not roll his eyes first thing in the morning, but it was hard not to especially after seeing Roderich's business card, tossed carelessly from his pocket onto the nightstand the evening before, lying next to his phone. 30 minutes, it still read in Roderich's careful script. A part of Gilbert regretted not crumbling up and tossing the card as soon as the other had slipped it into his hand. With a flippant snort, Gilbert grabbed his phone and scrolled down to Roderich's number, lifting his boxers to snap a quick pic before typing Miss this yet? and hitting SEND.
He didn't bother waiting for a reply. It was still early in the morning and given that Roderich had no actual responsibilities in Berlin, Gilbert wouldn't be surprised if the other was sleeping in. Roderich didn't really seem like a morning person, being one of those creative types and all that.
As if to emphasize his point, Gilbert tossed the phone onto his pillow before rolling out of bed. The two bedroom apartment felt almost large and lonely without his brother living with him. Ludwig had actually left months ago to find an apartment with Feliciano, but Gilbert was still dragging his feet on finding a new roommate.
Truth be told, after nearly two years of living with his younger brother's fiancé as an unofficial third roommate, Gilbert had been more than glad to have the space back to himself. He could live however he wanted without having to listen to his sibling's nitpicking or worrying about walking in on Ludwig and Feliciano in the middle of the day (never again). But now the large space was starting to wear at him—not to mention, his bank account. Fuck, searching for a new roommate was such a hassle, though….
Gilbert went through his usual morning routine and by the time he came back into the bedroom to retrieve his phone and leave, Roderich had replied.
Why dont you find out for yourself the text read.
Eight tonight? said the next.
"Fucking desperate," Gilbert muttered under his breath, typing out yea same place? and shoving the phone into his back pocket.
It was a clear night, and despite the early hour the waxing moon could be seen poking through the tall buildings of Berlin Mitte as Gilbert walked to Roderich's hotel for the second time since the concert. Like before, Gilbert was able to sneak his way through the lobby, taking the elevator straight to the fifth floor. Same door, same purpose. Gilbert shoved his phone with the messaging screen still up into his pants pocket as he waited for the musician to answer his knock.
Unlike the previous encounter, Gilbert was wearing his normal everyday clothes, the black t-shirt he'd thrown on slim-fitting in a way he knew was flattering. He wondered if Roderich would be dressed the same as he had been on Sunday. The man looked like he wouldn't know casualwear if it hit him in the face.
But ever the master of surprise, when Roderich finally opened the door he was wearing…nothing.
Or rather, there was a white hotel towel looped around his waist, but everything else was left entirely for Gilbert's viewing pleasure—and he didn't need much imagination to know what was underneath.
"I apologize for the wait—I just got out of the shower." Roderich's offered apology barely broke into Gilbert's thoughts, his eyes briefly shifting upwards long enough to register the damp curls of dark brunet hair against pale skin.
"You really are desperate," Gilbert smirked, ignoring Roderich's response as he stepped into the flat, hands already at his belt.
Roderich closed the door behind him and eyed his cocky actions distastefully. "Aren't you the desperate one, if you're already undressing before I have even closed the door?" he retorted.
"Pot, kettle," Gilbert grinned. He let the front his jeans hang open to clearly display the erection he'd been fostering since he'd stepped into the hotel elevator and moved forward, pulling the other male to him. Hands immediately found themselves on Roderich's ass and in a crude thrust that made the musician gasp deliciously and Gilbert's groin twitch, he lowered himself to growl into the other's ear. "Tell me how much you want my dick."
The glare in Roderich's violet eyes turned sultry. "Why don't I show you?" the brunet responded and managed to slip out of Gilbert's grasp enough to sink to his knees, the towel coming loose and pooling around his feet.
"You are a little minx, aren't you?" Gilbert said. He let his head tip back and his fingers curl into Roderich's still-damp hair, the violinist making quick work of the rest of his pants fastenings; heated breath teased his arousal and a ski jump nose bumped against his clothed cock, Roderich's lips just barely brushing the erection. Gilbert's fingers tightened against Roderich's scalp. All of his willpower in the moment was being directed into not just thrusting his hips forward. When Roderich's ministrations didn't move beyond teasing, he snapped, "Get a move on with it, will ya?" and the other's breathy laugh tested him all the more.
"We have the whole night," Roderich's eyes looked up at his mockingly. "What's the rush?"
But in spite of his words, the next moment Roderich was slipping his fingers under the waistband of Gilbert's underwear, freeing his erection with a satisfied hum. A warm mouth enclosed itself around the length and Gilbert felt his stomach tighten in response. Fuck, he could get used to this. "That's right, baby," he murmured, letting Roderich's head bob in and out.
He tipped his head against the shut door, eyes slipping closed as he concentrated on the feeling of the hot mouth around him. It felt as silky as the chocolate strands between his fingers, the younger's hair finally drying off from his shower.
Although Roderich's glasses bumping against hips didn't actually bother him, Gilbert reached down to ease them off, Roderich hardly missing a beat to his rhythm. Without the frames, Roderich's face was more open, almost younger. Long lashes fanned his unusual-colored eyes and Gilbert got lost in their elegant swoop—just like the musician's pointed nose.
Roderich's fingers curled in their hold on Gilbert's hips and Gilbert was snapped back from his mesmerized staring. Keep it simple, stupid, he mentally slapped himself, pulling on Roderich's hair a bit harder than necessary to compensate.
See, for Gilbert the problem was that Roderich was too pretty. The musician looked like any other playboy millionaire model and yet unlike any of the other pretty boys Gilbert had spent plenty of time acquainting himself with, there was something about Roderich that kept drawing Gilbert deeper. The warning signs were there, but it was still early on in the week and Gilbert had plenty of other things on his plate to worry about besides a pretty boy musician from Vienna.
Speaking off…
Roderich had his long musician's fingers curled around his own erection, his measured pumps proportionate to every bob of his head. Gilbert tsked as soon as he noticed and without warning pulled the other to his feet, Roderich's sputtering confused and indignant.
"Nu-uh, little master. I'm the only one allowed to get you off here," he smirked, replacing the brunet's hand and giving the length a playful squeeze.
The tease drew out a surprised squeak from the brunet that turned Gilbert on far more than it should have, and Roderich's hands came up to clutch at Gilbert's arms. "Would you stop calling me that?" Roderich's glare was almost comical, the other man's pale cheeks colored rosy red.
"Why? Hitting a bit too close to home?" Gilbert snickered. His free hand creeped over Roderich's hip, squeezing and keeping the other close. "I bet you get into all sorts of kinky shit with your servants, don't ya? Have them call you Master Edelstein and all that."
Roderich's cheeks were flushed deep red by that point. Tiny shivers ran through the brunet's body at Gilbert's work and the German relished in every minute shudder that made Roderich's grip on his upper arms tighten. "I hate to spoil your fun, but I don't have any servants," Roderich managed to grit out. "That was my parents' generation."
"Aha," Gilbert grinned triumphantly. "I knew it came from somewhere. You're just too proper for your own damn good." He gave Roderich's cock another squeeze and in the next moment the musician's grip was vicelike, his head falling forward to stifle a moan against Gilbert's shoulder as orgasmic bliss rolled through his body. It felt like the sweetest rush of power; everything sweet and then some.
Gilbert smirked in satisfaction, not even minding the mess Roderich had made in his hand. Maybe a week wouldn't be so bad after all.
Gilbert hid a yawn behind his hand as he walked through his second inspection of the day. It was the second late night at the hotel that week, and he hadn't arrived home until well after the last S-Bahn train. While Gilbert still had work during the week, Roderich had no such obligations and as such had no qualms about staying up late and indulging himself. It was a lifestyle Gilbert normally had no issue fulfilling, but with his early wakeup call, doing so was easier said than done. That didn't mean that extracting himself from the Austrian's bed was an easy task, however….
After Gilbert's rather motivated opening to the night, they'd paused long enough to finish a bottle of wine provided by the hotel before going at it again. Gilbert didn't mind the absence of variety in their rendezvous; he actually preferred it. His sex life hadn't been lacking as of late, per se, but having Roderich for the entire week eliminated the whole hassle of going out, meeting someone new, and playing the game of whether or not they'd end up in bed.
And Gilbert certainly had little to complain about with Roderich. The younger's figure was lithe and attractive, with plenty of pale skin to mark and admire. Although the musician's hair was normally immaculately arranged, Gilbert liked it best when it was thrown and messy, tossed against the white sheets in complement with the cherry flush on Roderich's cheeks.
But what Gilbert found most intriguing in Roderich's figure was his eyes. Such a deep shade of blue that Gilbert had never seen before. At times the swirling indigo of a stormy sky, and in others the clearest cut sapphire in all the world's fineries. The number of times he'd caught him staring at the other's eye color was probably veering into the territory of being a little gay—but Gilbert justified it with the assertion that Roderich didn't always express himself fully except through his eyes. And his music. But Gilbert hadn't heard Roderich pick up a violin since the concert Saturday night.
That was fine by Gilbert. Roderich's music was breathtaking (Gilbert wasn't enough of an idiot to deny it), but in their current situation he preferred to separate the two things. There was the Roderich he had seen on stage, and then there was the Roderich between the sheets. Different Roderichs, for different purposes.
By midafternoon, Gilbert was surprised that he hadn't yet heard from the musician. Not that their little arrangement had any rules or expectations, of course, but it still would be nice to have a bit of a heads up beforehand. Common courtesy for hookups and all that.
Almost as if reading his mind, ten minutes after the reflection his phone buzzed with a new text from Roderich.
Can't do tonight. Apologies for the late notice.
Gilbert raised an eyebrow at the message. So the little master had made other plans, huh? Another suitor to take to bed, more likely—
—Which was fine, of course. They'd certainly never said anything about being exclusive for the week, and considering how the musician had propositioned him in the first place, Gilbert wouldn't be surprised if he was off frolicking with half of Berlin's queer population even on the days they were meeting up. (Plus, Gilbert didn't care what the priss did. The brunet was just an easy distraction for the week.)
Or maybe Roderich just needed a break from all their "activities." Gilbert snickered to himself considering the possibility, and cockily assured himself that that was the most likely explanation to the Austrian's last-minute cancelation. Gilbert had run him pretty hard in the past three days, after all. Anyone would need a break from a Beilschmidt.
Satisfied with his self-diagnosed explanation, Gilbert typed back a quick sure (; and tossed his phone back on the desk. He'd see the little master on Wednesday, of that he was sure.
Gilbert wiped the sweat from his brow and then wiped his hand on the sheets, pulling away with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Roderich was utterly debauched in front of him, the other's glasses forgotten somewhere downstairs and his brunet locks in (to Gilbert's absolute pleasure) artful disarray. The musician's eyes were still darted away while he caught up on breaths, pale chest rising up and down like a bird's feathered bosom.
"So," Gilbert began innocently, leaning back on his arms in a way that still displayed himself unapologetically. Roderich's cornflower blue eyes immediately turned his way and Gilbert had to ignore the rush of, well, whatever that went through his body when the other's eyes focused on him. "You still haven't told me who you were sexing up yesterday instead of me." Gilbert made sure to say it with a leering smirk on his face, in case Roderich got any wrong ideas about the inquiry.
Roderich simply rolled his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position before responding. Gilbert shamelessly watched his every movement.
"Well firstly, you didn't give me any opportunity to say anything. Secondly, I do not see that being any of your business anyway," the younger quipped.
Gilbert snickered at the first (it had been another energetic entry into their night) and let out a short laugh at the second. He would never get tired of their banter—it was what kept the musician interesting.
"I think it is, since you're the one who propositioned me to be your little bed buddy for the whole week you're here," he smirked, just barely disguising his grin. "Why, did you go somewhere so shameful you don't want to tell even me? The famous Roderich Edelstein, caught in a compromising position at one of Berlin's sex clubs, hm?"
As if the violinist had ever gone anywhere indecent in his life. Actually. He probably had, knowing what he did of Roderich. Gilbert tried not to think about it. (Don't think about him at a strip club!)
"No!" Roderich snapped back with a look of annoyance that just made him look pouty and cute. "It really is none of your business, but if you must know I was having dinner with a former conductor I worked with. He happened to be in Berlin this week and I wanted his advice on my proceedings with the Berlin Phil."
Former conductor? Something about the title rang a bell in Gilbert head and he furrowed his brows, trying to recall why a red flag had been raised in his mind. "Oh yeah, maybe you didn't hear, since it was only really big in the classical music world, but there was a lot of controversy when he came out as gay."
The lightbulb in Gilbert's head immediately went on with a ping!
"Wait a minute," he cut in, grin slowly spreading triumphant on his face. "This wouldn't be the 'former conductor' you were found in a storage closet with, would it?"
The expression on his face was already at full I knew it! and Gilbert didn't even bother to hide the shit-eating grin. Roderich, on the other hand, looked caught between mortified and infuriated.
"Just how do you know about that?!"
Gilbert shrugged. "I have my sources," he said innocently.
Roderich gave him a stink-eye. "Feliciano told you, didn't he?" he demanded.
"Ah-ah, this isn't about Feliciano, this is about you and your escapades." Gilbert smirked. "So you were off shacking up with your former lover, huh?"
Except that as soon as the words were out of his mouth Gilbert felt a sour feeling in his stomach, the mental image of Roderich meeting up with his past relationships spoiling his thoughts like an unwelcome guest. The corner of his smirk twitched, but only for a moment before he got a hold of himself.
What do I care, he reminded himself.
Roderich rolled his eyes again. "Hardly," he scoffed. "Basch and I ended our…relationship, long ago. We quickly found out that mixing work and romance did not work. Things between us are professional now, and last night could hardly be called an 'escapade.'"
Gilbert forcefully ignored the rush of relief that flooded through his body. "Heh, well," he set to recover, "I still bet you called him over just so you could have a break from all the sex we've been having. Sex with a Beilschmidt is a mind-blowing thing, after all."
"Don't flatter yourself," Roderich scoffed, but Gilbert could've sworn that he heard a note of amusement in the other's voice.
Not that he wanted to, of course, but Gilbert couldn't help but wonder what Roderich and that former conductor of his had been like when they were together. Just what kind of compromising position had they been found in inside that storage closet? A dozen images floated through Gilbert's mind unsolicited and he quickly shook his head to get rid of them all. He did not need that to sour his good mood for the evening.
"Actually, I was supposed to be having dinner with the conductor of the Berlin Phil tonight, but he had to reschedule to tomorrow at the last minute," Roderich said, reaching over the edge of the bed to pick up the shirt Gilbert had made quick work of disposing of as soon as he came in. He slipped it over his head, Gilbert appreciating the way the Austrian's lean body stretched with the movement.
"Oh?" Gilbert prompted.
Roderich shrugged. "Some kind of family matter. I did not ask about the details. But since I have not yet eaten, I was going to order room service, if you would like to join?"
"I mean, if the little prince is offering to pay…" Gilbert replied automatically and then immediately felt the same feeling that had been pegging him all week twist his gut. Just sex. No dinner or any of that shit. His own words from the weekend echoed to him like a phantom menace, and Gilbert felt his fight or flight response peeking its head. This is getting too complicated—
—And yet, for reasons Gilbert wasn't quite ready to explain, a growing part of Gilbert's subconscious was telling him to ignore it.
Next to him, Roderich seemed entirely unconcerned with the turmoil Gilbert was facing, the little prince already looking through the pamphlet of food options the hotel provided. "Do you eat steak tartar?" he asked distractedly.
Jesus Christ. Gilbert breathed out slowly and mentally lined up his options. It wasn't like they were eating out somewhere where they could be seen (not that Gilbert was particularly worried about some kind of paparazzi following them around—Roderich was famous in the Classical music world, but he wasn't that famous), or getting dressed up with predetermined plans to meet for dinner, after all. Rather, they were still quite naked in Roderich's hotel bed. And it wasn't like Gilbert was going to stay the night, either. Roderich hadn't asked him to stay since that first night they slept together….
"Gilbert?"
Gilbert looked up and into Roderich's violet-blue eyes regarding him quizzically.
"Uhm," Gilbert said, and made his decision. "Yeah, tartar is fine."
After Roderich ordered the food, he rolled out of bed and pulled on his boxers and pants, brushing his thick brunet hair back with a sweep of his hand. It was odd seeing the musician out of his usual uptight attire, but Gilbert found that he didn't mind. The v-neck tee Roderich was wearing was slim cut and accented the litheness of his body nicely, and somehow made him all the more human. Gilbert had enjoyed what he'd seen on the stage that first night, but there was something equally enticing about seeing Roderich stripped down a bit more.
"Do you mind if I practice for a bit?" Roderich asked, glancing back at Gilbert, still on the bed, with a quirk of his eyebrow.
Gilbert realized he was staring and quickly cleared his throat, averting his eyes a bit awkwardly. "Uh, no, of course not," he said, looking away in the pretense of searching for his phone before realizing he should probably get dressed first. He grabbed the t-shirt he'd been wearing and shimmied into his jeans, Roderich already heading down the stairs to the living room area. Right….
Well, now what? Gilbert scratched at the back of his neck and scrubbed his hand through his hair to keep it from settling into its bedhead style. Food probably wouldn't arrive for another thirty minutes, and Roderich clearly wasn't looking to do anything else in the meantime. Gilbert found his phone tangled in the covers and pulled it out, checking through the couple of notifications he had from various social media apps before closing them out to pull up Viber.
Frannypants
Whats up?
He found Francis' icon and sent the message off, suddenly feeling antsy. Downstairs, he could hear the click of Roderich's violin case being opened and the gentle pluck of strings as the musician pulled the instrument out. Francis, thankfully, responded almost immediately.
Good evening to you too, Gil (-;
What do you need?
The Frenchman knew him too well. Out of the two guys Gilbert considered his best friends, Francis was the one who was always had the right thing for the right time. Or, 'right' might have been a strong way to put it, but he certainly always had something for every moment. But he always had the right advice for all things relating to sex, which was exactly what Gilbert needed for that exact moment.
Think I might be in danger dude
Remember that concert Feli dragged me and my brother to
Well
Dragged me too
Luddy's as good as whipped lmao
But yeah
The one with the famous Austrian musician?
?
Yeah
I uh might've made a mistake and slept with said 'famous Austrian musician'…
Oh la la (-;
Gilbert rolled his eyes. He was sure Francis would want all the juicy details later.
Ok yeah but
Now things are getting weird
He was just supposed to be here for a week and we said only sex
But now he's ordering room service and were eating dinner together
And apparently he's trying to get a job in Berlin
He said he wants stability
Wtf is that supposed to mean
Despite the note of hysteria to Gilbert's texts, the pining notes of the violin wafting from downstairs did sound enchanting. Roderich was practicing a piece with lots of flowing long notes, each phrase warbling with vibrato as he drew out the sound. The man was talented, there was no denying that.
Ah, l'amour
Shut the fuck up Frenchie, Gilbert cut in before the other continued. Francis, as always, dutifully ignored him.
If you are so unhappy with how the week is progressing, then just leave. It was only supposed to be sex while he was here for the week, no? You do not have any obligations to him.
Easier said than done. But it wasn't like Francis was wrong…but somehow the idea of just...ending their arrangement didn't sit well in Gilbert's stomach. In a city like Berlin, Gilbert had plenty of choices on who to date, fuck, and hang out with. But Roderich was a good lay, first of all, and secondly, there was something rather intriguing about the world-famous violinist from Austria….
Gilbert sighed and tossed his phone back on the bed. Roderich was supposed to leave by the end of the week, so there was no use in making a big deal out of it if it was only two days more. And Gilbert had needs too, after all.
Downstairs, Roderich had paused in his playing and from the rustle of papers, Gilbert assumed he was jotting down notes on his music. The flute lessons he'd taken as a kid felt like another lifetime ago, but Gilbert could still remember looking through old sheets of music, dreaming of being able to play like a professional someday. His skills had never developed anywhere near Roderich's caliber, but he'd still taken a lot of pride from his accomplishments. And, despite the ear-wrenching atrocities of an eight year old learning how to play a wind instrument for the first time, Gilbert always suspected that his parents just enjoyed the fact that their oldest son was doing something that kept him out of trouble, for once.
"Alright, little prince, we'll play your game," Gilbert said to himself, standing up and stretching out his back.
Roderich was still scribbling down notes on his sheet music when Gilbert came downstairs, the musician carefully holding his violin and bow in one hand while he bent over the hightop table, face scrunched in concentration. Even from behind his glasses Gilbert would see the Austrian's eyes flickering back and forth as he read through the music like a book, hardly seeming to notice that Gilbert had descended the stairs.
"What is the maestro playing today?" Gilbert asked, not in the mood to be ignored. He flopped back on the beige hotel couch, propping his head up with his elbow against the back cushion. Roderich glanced his way briefly and then returned to the scores in front of him, though Gilbert noticed the other's eyes straying on his figure.
"Paganini's 24 Caprices. They're a warmup, more than anything," he replied.
Gilbert gave a low whistle. "One hell of a warmup," he commented.
The brunet gave a somewhat modest shrug. "They are standard repertoire."
Gilbert snorted, but he couldn't help the fondness tugging at his lips. Little master indeed. It didn't take much imagination for Gilbert to picture Roderich as a young noble in the eighteenth century, clad in one of those froufrou outfits with lace and gold trimmings, complete with little heeled shoes that were pointy on the end.
"What are you smirking at?" Roderich asked.
Gilbert chuckled and shook his head. "Just imagining you are some sort of eighteenth century duke, playing your violin for royalty and wearin' a powdered wig and a frilly cravat and everything. I'm sure you would've fit in real good with all those fancy ne'er-do-wells back then. Though I'm not sure if they would've appreciated your homosexual tendencies," he smirked.
Roderich rolled his eyes but he couldn't hide the faint red coloring his pale cheeks. It was different than when the Austrian was flushed with exertion, lying under Gilbert with a strained pleasure…but Gilbert found that he enjoyed it all the same.
"For you your information, my family actually comes from a long line of farmers in Styria and for most of my childhood we were quite poor, but I suppose I'll take it as a compliment," Roderich sniffed.
Gilbert held up his hands in mock defense, replying, "Hey, I read your Wikipedia page."
Roderich's blush grew even stronger at that, and damn, he really was kind of pretty when he blushed liked that….
Thankfully, room service chose that moment to knock, giving them both an excuse to look away from each other. Gilbert heard Roderich clear his throat self-consciously before replacing his violin in its case and going to the door, exchanging a muffled conversation with the hotel employee before returning to the living room with the tray of food. There was a moment's pause before he said, "Well…if you are hungry, please eat."
Gilbert reminded himself that it was only because Roderich was paying. "Alright," he grunted, pushing off the couch, "thanks."
When he got to the table, Roderich had set his violin aside and arranged the food off of the hotel tray. The Austrian wasn't sitting, but when Gilbert started hovering awkwardly, Roderich quickly gestured for him to sit down. Gilbert tried to not overthink it.
"So…" Roderich ventured, after a few moments of very uncomfortable silence between them. "I don't believe you ever told me what you do, exactly."
"You mean other than seek out famous sugar daddies who bring me to their hotel rooms and buy me food?"
Damn, sometimes his wit-as-a-defense-mechanism-when-things-were-becoming-too-uncomfortable really was annoying. Even Gilbert cringed a bit as soon as it was said, chancing the smallest glance he could manage in Roderich's direction to see how the other had reacted.
The young musician's face looked baffled, more than anything, and, at the very corner of his mouth, amused…?
"Is that what I am?" he mused, without sounding very offended at all. "I never thought one could be considered a 'sugar daddy' at twenty-eight."
Gilbert internally breathed a sigh of relief, letting his nerves relax into a more genuine smile. "You got the money, that's all that really matters," he played back.
Roderich chewed on a bite of tartar thoughtfully. "You're more at the 'daddy' age, though, are you not?" he asked innocently.
Gilbert gaped, and then immediately felt his cheeks flood with color. This music director wannabe really was something….Roderich, looking pleased with himself at catching Gilbert with nothing to say, thankfully changed topics back.
"So…what was it that you do for a living, then?" he asked again, sounding polite.
Gilbert attempted to get his blushing cheeks under control. "Erm, I'm a building inspector," he said, already knowing it sounded lame. "I contract with the government, mostly. Make sure buildings are up to code 'n all that shit." Certainly nothing glamorous….
Still, Roderich nodded respectfully. "Sounds like important work," he offered.
Gilbert shrugged it off. "It gets my bills paid," he grunted.
"What would you want to be instead, if you could choose?" Roderich asked.
There was a familiar question. Gilbert couldn't even count the number of times he'd be asked that question, by his brother…his mom…his friends….He shrugged again, avoiding making contact with Roderich's curious eyes. In that moment, the Austrian's blues felt far too similar to his younger brother's, who was probably wondering when Gilbert would find a better job, or settle down instead of going out and sleeping around and partying with friends.
"I dunno," Gilbert said, "I used to do some construction work to help my family when I was younger, and I guess I liked that. It's not like I hate what I do, it's just, y'know, not traveling the world, playing concerts everywhere levels of exciting."
The corner of Roderich's mouth twisted funny. "Travelling from contract to contract isn't quite as thrilling as it sounds," he said. "You get tired of it after a while. It is why I'm pursuing the position at the Berlin Phil so strongly."
"Yeah, but you only get to say that because you have experienced traveling around all the time for your job. I don't think I'd ever even get that opportunity if I wanted," Gilbert countered.
"I suppose that is true," Roderich said after some consideration, and for a few moments they lapsed back into silence, although this time it felt far more comfortable between them.
"Anyway," Gilbert eventually broke the silence, "isn't twenty-eight a little young to be leading an internationally-renowned orchestra?"
"For some, yes," Roderich shrugged. "But I would not be the first, nor certainly the last. By any chance, have you ever heard of Gustavo Dudamel? Just a few months ago, he was the youngest conductor ever to conduct the Vienna Philharmonic's New Year's Day concert. One day, I would like to beat that record."
Roderich looked up at the last sentence and caught eyes with Gilbert, the young musician's violet irises simmering with a blue fire behind them. Gilbert felt almost taken aback by the intensity in the other's eyes. For a man who seemed so blasé in all other affairs of his life, there was little doubt in Gilbert's mind that Roderich intended to make good on his goals in the music world. It was little surprise, then, that the Austrian had achieved so much from so little.
Maybe this was what Feli had been obsessing over….
"Would you like to open a bottle of wine?" Roderich then asked, most of the food between them gone. His eyes were still focused on Gilbert, and they were still the most stunning shade of blue Gilbert had ever seen. The tiny voice in his head telling him to leave went ignored in favor of the other, far less trustworthy voice, that reminded him Roderich was the one paying.
"If you're offering," he grinned.
The empty bottle of wine sat abandoned on the hotel table, innocent to the sinful sounds coming from Gilbert's mouth as he curled his fingers into Roderich's soft brunet hair, not even having to press down for the other to deepthroat his cock. God, for a Classical musician he was far too good at this.
From the corner of his eye, the hotel phone blinked 23:59 on the receiver, very nearly on the precipice of turning to midnight. "Fuck, Roderich—" Gilbert managed in a strained breath. "I've got work tomorrow, I really should go—"
Roderich didn't let up in his actions, his long violinist's fingers curling against Gilbert's bare thighs. "Just stay the night," he murmured between breaths.
Why was this musician so damn good…!
"Well, this is hardly surprising for you, Roderich."
A heavy British accent broke into the fog of Gilbert's deep slumber, the posh tone serving as an annoying alarm clock breaking into the best dreams and bringing him quite unwillingly back into reality. The red wine they'd consumed the night before still lay heavy on Gilbert's tongue and mind, making it difficult to fully rise to consciousness even as he heard the impatient tapping of unfamiliar shoes on the hotel floor.
The first thing Gilbert realized as he began to stir, was a distinct lack of clothes, the heavy hotel quilt rough against his bare skin, as it seemed the top sheet had gotten twisted half-off the bed during the night.
The second thing Gilbert realized, was Roderich: equally undressed and curled into his arms, the musician's lithe body pressed against his chest and it felt…good?
And the third thing Gilbert realized, was that standing not even a meter away from them, was a very aggravated looking man who had the most impressive set of eyebrows Gilbert had ever seen on a person. (Not necessarily in a good way.)
"What the hell?" he mumbled.
The British-sounding gentleman seemed neither amused nor surprised at the scene in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest and an expression that distinctly said 'I Suck Lemons For Breakfast' on his face. The man hardly seemed to be sparing Gilbert a second glance, instead concentrating the efforts of his glare towards the one still sleeping in Gilbert's arms.
Still not entirely sure what to make of the novel situation, Gilbert nudged Roderich, growing increasingly conscious of their rather intimate position. But first things first; the ever more complicated booty call situation could be discussed later.
"What time is it?" Roderich grumbled, eyes barely squinting open.
Gilbert ignored the question and instead nudged the brunet again, nodding towards the still-ignoring-him man standing beside the bed. "There's, uh, someone here to see you," he said, feeling a bit stupid as he said it.
Roderich lifted his head a bit more, seeming to take a moment to fully focus on both Gilbert's words and the sight in front of him, before the Austrian's shoulders dropped in either annoyance or nonchalance.
"Oh, hello, Arthur," said Roderich.
Gilbert's mouth fell open a bit. Now wait a goddamn minute, wasn't Arthur his—
The weight in the bed shifted as Roderich reached over to the nightstand and picked out his glasses, unfolding the arms and pushing them on in a most unhurried fashion. "I suppose you two haven't made introductions yet. Gilbert, this is my agent, Arthur Kirkland. Arthur, Gilbert."
Uhh—
Before Gilbert could get himself to function enough to even process the introduction, Arthur cut in with an exasperated flail of his arm. "For God's sake, Roderich! Who the hell is he supposed to be? Is this your 'personal reason' for staying in Berlin an extra week? You have bloody business to attend to!"
Gilbert wasn't quite sure that he appreciated the way Arthur gestured to his (still very naked) body or said his name while railing on Roderich, who, for the record, looked completely unphased by it all. (It made Gilbert wonder just how many times the musician had been caught in these kinds of situations….)
"He's not, and I do have personal business I've been attending to in Berlin this week. I do not recall paying you to play babysitter for me and check up on me at your whim and fancy," Roderich retorted, reaching down to pick up a discarded shirt from the ground. To Gilbert's surprise, the younger also threw him his shirt, which after an uncertain glance in the Brit's direction, Gilbert pulled over his head.
Still seeming amazingly calm about the two semi-naked men across from him, the blond replied, "I wouldn't have to play babysitter if I didn't have to follow after you cleaning up your little publicity messes all the time."
Great, now Gilbert was really wondering just how often Roderich was in such situations.
"I thought British people despised exaggeration," Roderich scoffed.
In Gilbert's opinion, it looked more like what Arthur despised was the fact that they were having the conversation at all. The blond's arms were back to be crossed tightly in front of his chest, almost to the point that Gilbert thought he was about to cut circulation to something, and Gilbert could've sworn a vein looked like it was about to burst over his bushy eyebrow.
"I'll be downstairs. Meet me down there in five minutes looking decent, please."
The man turned tail and began heading down the stairs, Gilbert watching him go and not for the first time, wondering just what he was still doing with this complicated-as-all-hell musician.
"You'll have to excuse his poor behavior," Roderich said, already swinging his legs (goddamn they were good looking) over the side of the bed and sitting up. "Arthur doesn't do well without his morning tea."
"I can still hear you, Roderich!"
Roderich ignored the call from downstairs. Gilbert, still not knowing quite what to do, slowly began to follow suit in pulling on his scattering clothing from around the bedroom. As he started searching for his phone, he happened to catch the time on the bedside alarm clock and immediately felt another cold dose of reality splash over him.
"Fuck," he groaned.
Roderich raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"I'm going to be late for work," Gilbert explained. Vaguely, he remembered something from the previous night about needing to go home because he had work the next day….
"Do you need me to call you a cab?" Roderich offered.
"It's fine, I'll just walk. Nobody will even notice that I'm wearing the same goddamn shirt as yesterday," Gilbert grumbled. "Besides, it seems like you have some stuff you need to talk about with your, ahm, agent downstairs."
Roderich rolled his eyes. "We'll see about that," he replied cryptically.
Gilbert opened his mouth, and then figured he'd be better off saving his breath. Goddamn twenty-eight year old was impossible. Also, feeling this hungover on a workday was starting to feel a bit below his age. Muttering a half awkward 'Bye' to Roderich and a much more awkward 'Nice to meet you' to Arthur (who still did not look amused in the slightest), Gilbert ducked his way out of the hotel room, closing the door behind him with the two men still staring each other down.
Lord, did he not envy being in Roderich's position at the moment.
By the end of a very long and very hungover workday, Gilbert still hadn't heard from Roderich so he figured the best cure for his wine hangover from the previous night was to go out with friends and nurse it with beer instead.
Thankfully it didn't take too much effort to round up his two best friends; Antonio, who ran a daycare in Schöneberg and thus was always looking for an excuse to be around people actually his age, and Francis, who undoubtedly was still looking to hear the details of his whole Roderich Edelstein headache.
"So—" Francis wasted no breath as soon as the trio had sat down at a table, "what exactly is he like? How did you meet, how much money does he have, and," the blond leaned in lecherously, "what is the sex like?"
Gilbert rolled his eyes to it all and gave a halfhearted shove to the other's shoulder, Francis falling back in his seat with the same air of dramatics he always carried. He wasn't offended so much as he was used to it, Antonio sitting on the other side of Francis sipping his ridiculous-looking piña colada with a bit too much naivety to mask the fact that he was just as curious as Francis was.
"We met at a concert he was playing at, I don't know how much money he has but he's famous in Classical music circles, and the sex is good. Next," he deadpanned.
Francis scoffed. "Details, darling. We want the juicy details."
"Well, what do you want to hear? Half of the kid's goddamn life is already posted on Wikipedia." And it wasn't like Gilbert had already read and reread it…
"Well, let's start there," Francis interjected, his French accent still pulling languid at his German even after years of living in Berlin. "How old is the boy?"
Gilbert glanced at the tables around them, feeling the back of his neck prickle. "Jesus, don't say it like that. He's twenty-eight, it's not like I'm sleeping with a minor."
The Frenchman held up his hands innocently, looking nonplussed. "I was simply copying your language, darling."
Francis always did have the kind of face you wanted to punch….Gilbert rolled his eyes and forced his self-conscious feathers to settle. "I just mean, he's like any other twenty-something year old. Christ, you remember what we were like at that age."
"Horny?" Antonio supplied helpfully, finally unsticking himself from the straw of his piña colada to join the conversation.
"What? No—er, yes—I mean, would you two just shut up for a minute and actually let me talk?" Gilbert scowled at them both, not for the first time wondering why he hung out with such boneheads. "Feli dragged me and Lutz to one of his concerts because he was excited about some violinist performing with them and after the concert we got to talking and went for drinks and he slipped me his hotel address at the end of the night. He said he was just looking for some fun for the week he was here, but then I learned he's actually trying to move to Berlin and now it's complicated. That's it."
Across from him Francis fanned himself with his hand, batting his eyes dreamily. "My my, our rough and tough Gilbert getting out of sorts with a musician, of all people," he swooned. "And music royalty, for that matter! You, my friend, are trying to give my little escapade with the British monarchy a run for my money…"
Gilbert took a swig of his beer, scowling into the glass. "It's not like I'm in it for the money, okay. This morning his fucking manager showed up while we were still in bed, talking shit about Roderich needing to face his responsibilities and stop fucking around and shit."
"Que? What did he mean by that?" Antonio asked.
For not the last time that night, Gilbert looked around them uncertainly. Nobody in the bar they were sitting at particularly looked like the kind of people involved in the Classical music world, but one could never be too sure in a city like Berlin.
"Well…the reason Roderich is trying to move to Berlin is because he's supposed to be taking over as director of the Berlin Phil. The news hasn't exactly gone public yet," he trailed suggestively.
"Ohh," Antonio's eyes were wide. "Oy, primo, you're really going to be living fancy then, eh?"
How were his friends still missing the point? He jabbed a finger in both of their direction. "Are you two even listening to a single thing I say? This was just supposed to be a hookup for the week, and now Roderich's trying to make it all complicated! That's what the issue is!"
Francis didn't look entirely convinced. Tossing his blond hair back flippantly, he countered, "I already told you in my text, darling. If you didn't want it to be complicated, then you could just stop seeing him."
Gilbert gaped at his friend for a moment before remembering his dignity and snapping his mouth shut with another characteristic Beilschmidt scowl. "Easy for you to say," he grumbled.
"Well what is not easy about it?" Francis shrugged. "Berlin is a big city. And I am sure Feliciano would understand if you would prefer to not attend concerts anymore. He still has Ludwig to drag to them on his, as you say, short leash."
Francis wasn't wrong, per se, (about either point), but somehow, the idea still just didn't sit right in Gilbert's head. He didn't have any doubts that Roderich had had many lovers and love affairs, and would probably not be terribly broken up if Gilbert wanted to end things, but he wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse about the whole thing. And the idea of knowing Roderich was living and working in Berlin, but not seeing him….
"It's just not that easy," he repeated a bit more glumly, shoulders slumping.
Francis tutted pityingly and leaned across the wooden table to pat Gilbert on the shoulder. "Cheer up, mon cheri, being in love is not the worst thing in the world, although I know the concept is foreign to you stubborn Germans—"
"Now hold on," Gilbert straightened up. Despite his best efforts he could feel his cheeks starting to color, and it definitely wasn't the alcohol. "Nobody said anything about love, you goddamn frog."
Francis shrugged innocently. God, Gilbert really wanted to punch him sometimes….
"But isn't it obvious?" Antonio said, looking like he was just then putting the pieces together. Gilbert would have liked to punch him too, but the poor Spaniard probably wouldn't even have enough brains to know why he was being punched to make it worth it.
Instead Gilbert scowled and pointed his ill-tempered look down at the table. "Shut up, both of you. Nothing's obvious and that's part of the problem. You all aren't even listening to what I'm saying."
"We are listening, darling," Francis soothed. "The problem is that you are not listening to yourself."
"Whatever," Gilbert muttered, slamming back the rest of his drink. "I need a cigarette. We staying and getting drunk, or are you two ditching out on me like last time?"
Francis clicked his tongue again, neither he nor Antonio looking like they had taken Gilbert's jab too seriously. "Nonsense, darling, we know when there's a friend in need. Go have a cigarette and I'll buy us another round of drinks, mm?"
Alright, yeah, maybe Gilbert had been a bit of an asshole to them…Francis and Antonio were his best friends, after all, and had seen him through worse. (It wasn't his fault his stupid brain came up with stupid decisions sometimes.)
"Thanks, Franny," he sighed, already digging his pack out of his back pocket. Francis reached over to pat the back of his hand comfortingly (it still felt a bit like pity, in Gilbert's opinion, but he'd let Francis off the hook for this one time) before standing up and heading back to the bar. For a moment, Gilbert stalled in getting up, Antonio still sitting across from him sucking out the last of his piña colada a bit too obliviously like the Spaniard was waiting for him to say something.
But Gilbert's Prussian heritage only allowed for so much emotional vulnerability in one evening, so with a nod in the brunet's direction, he excused himself from the table and left to get some fresh air in the Berliner evening.
Around four-thirty in the morning, Gilbert woke up to the bright screen of his phone lighting up with a new message from where he'd left it thrown haphazardly next to his pillow after crashing in bed and passing out the hour earlier. Raising himself blearily from the puddle of drool on his pillow, he dragged his phone closer and squinted at the screen, ignoring the host of other app notifications filling the screen and focusing on the newest message at the top.
From: Roderich
Let's meet for coffee tomorrow. 11 work?
He hadn't heard from the priss all evening, and suddenly at—Gilbert checked the time—four-fucking-thirty in the morning the Austrian wanted to talk?
Somewhere, swirling in the back of his still-tipsy mind, the words of his best friends at the bar floated around…but Gilbert quickly stuffed them away before his mind could start going down that rabbit hole again.
Yeah thats fine text me a location and i'll meet u there
Fucking complicated musicians who were also fucking twenty-eight years old and complicated.
Without bothering to wait for a reply, Gilbert threw his phone back on the nightstand facedown and flopped back to his pillow with a groan. Whatever Roderich wanted to talk about at eleven in the morning was Tomorrow Gilbert's problem….
Despite Gilbert's uncouth demeanor and debatable morals (at times), he maintained a remarkable amount of structure in his life. His mother had always attributed it to his ancestry of Prussian military, or maybe it had just been growing up in East Germany, but regardless to the reason, it meant that even on his worst nights of drinking, Gilbert still woke up at the good hour of seven in the morning.
"God I hate myself sometimes," Gilbert groaned as he rose out of bed like Nosferatu leaving his coffin. (Sometimes he felt a bit like Nosferatu, too, with the pale appearance and crooked nose….) He grabbed for his phone and squinted at the screen. The only notification on it was from Roderich, sent shortly after five, giving the name of a café close by to the hotel. Even if Gilbert wanted to speculate about what the musician wanted to discuss—and he didn't, really—the alcohol-induced fog surrounding his brain functions prevented him from getting much further than an impassive grunt. A few more hours of sleep wouldn't kill him….
…But four hours later, standing outside the café waiting for Roderich to show up, Gilbert definitely would have killed to just go back to bed and forget the whole thing.
He checked his phone again and then shoved both phone and hands back into his jacket pockets, clenching his fists against the brisk March morning. Stupid Austrians and their stupid senses of timing.
So naturally, a moment later Roderich rounded the corner from across the street and began walking towards the café, looking every bit as impeccable as he had the first night Gilbert had met him.
"You're late," Gilbert groused as soon as the musician was within earshot.
Roderich simply brushed a lock of chocolate brown hair out of his eyes. "Apologies, I had a bit of a late night," he replied. And to his credit, even from a distance Gilbert could see the deep rings of purple under the other's eyes, a tired, but still composed look to his appearance. "But so," Roderich ventured, "did you, it seems, given the early hour you responded to my message at."
Gilbert rolled the question off with a shrug, keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Had a few drinks with some friends," he grunted in reply.
He could see the question peaking behind Roderich's deep blue eyes, but the Austrian didn't pry, instead gesturing to the front door of the café. "Shall we sit down?" he asked.
About time! Gilbert nodded and let the other lead the way in, a bell on the door jingling to announce their presence. Situated in a well-known tourist area of the city, the shop was already beginning to fill up with tables of visitors huddled around maps or busy using the café's free WiFi before moving on to their next sightseeing destination. In some ways, Gilbert was glad that Roderich had chosen something close to the Market, because the atmosphere of people in transit meant that any conversation they had would be kept in relative anonymity.
And there were a million different things running through Gilbert's head about what conversation they might have in the next two minutes.
He snuck a glance in Roderich's direction but if the other was feeling any sort of particular emotion about what was going to happen, he didn't show it. Mostly, the musician just looked like he'd had a long, sleepless night…which made Gilbert wonder just what had happened with the other's agent after he left the hotel.
After ordering their drinks they found a table in the corner, away from the majority of the tourists without appearing too obviously covert. Gilbert tried to keep himself casual, slinging one arm over the back of his chair while he regarded Roderich sitting across from him.
"So…what did you want to talk about, Little Master?"
Roderich rolled his eyes at the nickname (although Gilbert could've sworn it almost appeared affectionate) and kept his hands folded politely in his lap. The younger looked like he was trying to pick his words carefully, the river of thought practically visible behind his glasses.
"Last night I had my dinner with the conductor of the Berlin Phil…" he started out slow, "I had thought it would just be a dinner to become more acquainted and to talk over the position, but as it would turn out, he officially offered me the position last night."
Gilbert felt his jaw drop and he quickly picked it back up, eyes wide. "Holy shit, Roderich, that's amazing—congratulations!"
Roderich nodded slowly, still seeming to be processing the news himself. "I was not anticipating discussing anything officially until next week," he admitted. "So I was quite surprised when he told me."
It would certainly explain why Roderich had texted him so late—the Austrian probably had a lot to think through after that. So the only question then, was…
"Well, what did you say?"
But instead of answering, Roderich sealed his lips and leaned back in the chair, a conflicted look settling over his expression. For the life of him, Gilbert couldn't imagine why there'd be any question about it. Wasn't it what Roderich had come to Berlin for in the first place?
"Did you accept?" he prompted.
"I—" Roderich started just as their coffee order was called out, and the younger all but shot out of his chair, mumbling that he'd get their drinks before turning tail and heading to the bar. Gilbert resisted the urge to slam his face into his palm. Fucking twenty-eight year olds and their dramatics.
When Roderich returned to the table, carefully balancing the two coffee cups on their saucers, there was a faint tinge of red to his cheeks, like the brunet was embarrassed about his own hasty exit. Gilbert decided to give the other his good grace of not pushing further, and instead took a sip of his drink while he waited for the other to speak. Hm, tourist traps always brewed it too light.
"I told him yes," Roderich finally said, looking a fair bit calmer than he had moments before. "I told him I would be honored to accept the position, of course."
Gilbert let out the short breath he'd been holding and set his cup back down on its saucer. "Well, there you go, then," he said. "Congratulations Herr Edelstein, the next director of the Berlin Phil."
The soft pink returned to the Austrian's pale cheeks, and for a moment it looked like Roderich was trying to determine whether Gilbert was being facetious in his congratulations. "Thank you…" he said cautiously, looking to gauge Gilbert's reaction.
Gilbert shrugged, mostly to try and lighten the mood. "I mean that seriously, Roderich. I might just be a buildings inspector, but I know that's quite an accomplishment at your age. You should be proud."
A shy smile broke the corner of Roderich's lips, and Gilbert tried to not fixate on it. "Thank you, Gilbert. It…still feels so surreal. I have been working towards this goal for so long, I never even imagined it would happen. I stayed up all night thinking over it, after I got back to the hotel. And actually…you are the first person I have told about it." The Austrian chanced a small look in his direction and Gilbert made a poor attempt at disguising the surprise on his face.
"Me?" he sputtered.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the conversations from the night before about the situation becoming very complicated drifted innocently.
"What about—what about that agent of yours? The one with the eyebrows?" he managed, hoping the panic didn't come across in his voice as much as it was in his head.
"Arthur?" Roderich scoffed. "He will get to know in his own time, when I tell him that renewing our contract is no longer needed."
"Well," Gilbert scrambled, "why me?"
Oh, and there it was. Roderich's collected demeanor finally cracked in full, and once again, that delicious—er, charming—er, cute—dammit! a pink flush flooded his cheeks. His unusual-colored eyes were averted to the table, and the Austrian seemed to be struggling to compose his thoughts, his hands visibly fidgeting under the table.
"To be honest with you, Gilbert. I am not fully certain as to why either. It just…felt right."
Dammit, Gilbert swore he wasn't the type to go blushing so easily….
"I know this past week has made things a little more complicated than what we had originally agreed to," Roderich continued, still looking anywhere but Gilbert's face. "And if you would like to leave this week as a one time thing and move on, I understand. But I did enjoy our time together, and if I am moving to Berlin…it would be nice to have at least one good friend in the city."
A pair of apprehensive violet-colored eyes peeked up at him from behind Roderich's glasses. Gilbert felt something catch in his throat at the look, and although Roderich was still young, the expression didn't look boyish so much as it did vulnerable. Gilbert thought back to Francis' words from the previous night as well as over text. If there was ever a moment to make a decision, this was it. If you don't want it to be complicated, then you can just stop seeing him. You don't have any obligation to him.
Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck reflexively, struggling to find the words. These kinds of things weren't his strong suit, dammit. "Look, Little Master…these are a lot of changes happening in your life right now. Don't you think it'd be better to settle into your new job and your new city first before starting anything else?"
Ouch….The hurt look Roderich gave him pierced straight through Gilbert's heart and immediately he knew he'd said the wrong thing. But he couldn't take it back now.
The young musician's shoulders slumped a bit, like Roderich was shrinking in on himself. "Oh…" the brunet said, and then immediately straightened his posture. "I suppose you are right. I was being silly."
There wasn't an edge to Roderich's words so much as there was a sense of disappointment. Gilbert wasn't sure which cut deeper.
"You're not being silly," he sighed. "Let's just…start with being friends while you get everything straightened out, okay? And once the news is publically announced, I'm sure Feli would be thrilled to help you get to know Berlin better as well."
Okay, throwing his brother's boyfriend into the fray was a bit of a copout, but Gilbert needed something to neutralize the conversation. And he just couldn't stand seeing Roderich that sad….
Roderich put on a small half-smile and glanced up in Gilbert's direction, the color still fresh on his sharp cheeks. "I would appreciate that," he said genuinely, and despite everything Gilbert had said over the past week about Roderich still being young, he had the feeling that in that moment, Roderich was making a great deal of effort to stay mature about it all.
"So when will we see you conducting the Wiener Phil, then, huh, Little Master? I give it two years, max," Gilbert teased, shifting back in his chair after realizing just how close he'd been leaning towards Roderich.
Roderich chuckled, the sound like chimes, and the atmosphere between them flooded back in something comfortable and natural. Gilbert couldn't help but smile in response as he traced over the image of Roderich laughing, wondering if it'd be the last time he got to see such a sight.
"Gustavo Dudamel was thirty-five when he conducted the New Year's Day concert. I think I still have some time," Roderich smiled.
And Gilbert smiled back.
The news was announced to the orchestra in the following week, which meant that despite plans to make an official public announcement in April, the news had already been leaked and making headlines before the week was even over.
Gilbert hated lying to anybody, especially a person as innocent as Feliciano, but both he and Roderich had decided it best if Gilbert pretend he knew nothing about the announcement, in order to avoid any further media attention. To Ludwig's chagrin, it mostly meant that for the next week and a half, it was the only thing Feliciano talked about, and he griped as much to Gilbert during one of their weekly meet ups for beer after work. One day, Gilbert swore that he was going to surprise his younger brother with noise cancelling headphones as an early birthday or Christmas gift. Yeah, he really was the best fucking big brother out there.
"—and now Feliciano won't stop talking about him because the other day, Mr. Edelstein asked if Feliciano would like to help him get to know Berlin better…if this is how Feliciano acted when I first asked him out, then God help his brother who undoubtedly had to hear about it like I'm hearing about it now," Ludwig groaned, smacking one hand to his forehead (Feliciano always asked about the little red spot that appeared between Ludwig's eyes, and Gilbert sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to explain it to the brunet).
Gilbert snorted and took a swig of his beer. "When you asked him out! Ha! That's a good one, Lutz."
Two ice blue eyes glared over in his direction. "You know, this is your problem too, Gilbert. It would not surprise me if Feliciano invites Roderich over for dinner or for drinks when you are at the house; and the night you met, you two did not seem to get along very well."
Ludwig probably thought he was being clever…if only he knew. Gilbert snorted again, rudely, and scratched at the back of his head. "Yeah, Edelstein did seem to be a bit of a prick, but don't worry, Lutz, your big bro can handle himself with some pansy Austrian," he retorted.
"Gil…please try to not make a scene," Ludwig sighed, looking like he had another migraine incoming. "If you were to do something to upset Mr. Edelstein, Feliciano would be devastated. The man is his idol, even if he is three years younger than him."
Gilbert held up both hands with an innocent expression stretched across his face. "C'mon, Lutz, you know me better than that. I'm a zero nonsense, zero drama kind of guy."
"Only one of those things are true," Ludwig accused.
"Exactly," Gilbert grinned. "The zero drama one."
Ludwig groaned, knowing it was pointless, and muttered about going to get another beer. Gilbert snickered as he watched him leave, but as soon as the blond was out of sight it slanted into a frown. Damn, even with his brother, he couldn't escape the Austrian.
In the two weeks that had elapsed since Roderich told him he'd accepted the position at the Berlin Philharmonic, they'd reduced communication significantly. Roderich was still staying at the hotel at Gendarmenmarkt while he finalized finding a place of his own in the city, but after their conversation at the café, Gilbert suspected that neither one wanted to be the first to cross the barrier of trying to just be friends.
Friends….It had felt like an empty promise, anyway.
But if Roderich was making serious on Gilbert's suggestion that he let Feliciano show him around Berlin, then that was going to complicate things, and somehow it felt like they were right back to where they had been. Goddamn that Austrian…just what was going through his pretty little head?
Gilbert wondered if Roderich had slept with anybody else since they'd last seen each other. Probably, knowing the younger's track record. And actually, Gilbert didn't really want to wonder about it at all, now that he thought about it.
Francis had made a half-hearted (read: pity) attempt to hook Gilbert up with somebody he knew, but Gilbert had brushed the Frenchman off. Work had been keeping him busy, anyway. (Poor excuse, he knew.)
But he'd been the one to tell Roderich to not rush into anything, so now he had to pay the consequences.
…And as it turned out, one of the consequences Gilbert discovered was having Roderich show up to a dinner Feliciano and Ludwig had invited him to on a random Sunday in April.
"Oh," Roderich blinked, surprise obvious in his violet-blue irises. "Hello, Gilbert."
Gilbert kept the rude comment he'd been saving for Feliciano's older brother Lovino, who he'd been expecting to be behind the door, under his tongue, and then choked on it a bit. "Uh," he said instead, "Roderich."
"Gilllllllll who is it?" Feliciano called from the kitchen, where he was busy working on the dinner that was two hours behind schedule.
"Uh," Gilbert said again. "It's Roderich. Er, Mr. Edelstein, I mean."
Still standing in the doorway, Roderich looked both flustered and out of place, a deep red color staining his cheeks. "Erm, just 'Roderich' is fine," he said a bit awkwardly, after a long pause.
"Oh!"
The excited squeak from the kitchen was accompanied by what sounded like several pots crashing into each other and an exasperated "For goodness' sake, Feli," from Ludwig before Feliciano came tearing into the hallway, bouncing on his heels like always.
"Roderich! Oh yay, you came! I wasn't sure if you were actually going to accept my invitation because I know you're so busy with the orchestra and moving and getting to know the new city and everything but I made extra pasta just in case because I told Luddy that even if you didn't come over for dinner, there's nothing wrong with leftovers and then he could take it for lunch during the week instead of those yucky ham sandwiches he always takes even though he says he likes them and doesn't like to eat a lot for lunch anyway but now you're here so it's not a problem anymore! Wow, your cheeks are really red, did you run all the way here?"
If Gilbert wasn't still working on picking his jaw up off the floor at seeing Roderich not even a meter away from him, even he would have been impressed by the one-breath greeting from Feliciano. But even after Feliciano's rather chaotic entrance, Gilbert still hadn't been able to take his eyes off of the Austrian.
Roderich, too, looked like he was still trying to digest the entirety of the situation, including Feliciano's comment at the very end. "Oh," he jolted, his cheeks turning an even darker shade in embarrassment. "Erm, it was a bit brisk outside…" he said lamely.
"Is it?" Ludwig appeared in that moment, still wearing his apron from the kitchen that said TROPHY HUSBAND on it in big red letters (Feliciano had gotten it for him the first Christmas they started dating and that's how Gilbert had known his brother was screwed). "I thought it was expected to be nearly fifteen degrees today."
Gilbert wanted so badly to snicker at his brother's propensity to be offended that the weather people had lied to him rather than Roderich's obvious lie, but he was having a hard time focusing on anybody in the room other than Roderich. Other than seeing his photo in the occasional news clipping after the announcement broke, he hadn't seen the musician since March. And seeing him in Ludwig and Feliciano's apartment, where they usually held Sunday dinner, almost felt natural.
Suddenly realizing that Roderich was still looking at his brother like a deer in headlights, Gilbert cleared his throat and threw on his usual jaunty grin. "Aw, come off it, Lutz, you haven't even been outside today, since Feliciano's kept you stuck in the kitchen all day, Herr Hausmann. Or, 'Trophy Husband,' rather," he snickered, watching the blond's expression go from suspicious to confused to beet red as he glanced down at the apron still tied around his waist.
"Oh, ahm—" Ludwig sputtered, and Gilbert cackled as his brother spouted some excuse about needing to check on the pasta sauce and turning full heel back down the hallway. Even between his mirth, Gilbert chanced a glance in Roderich's direction, feeling a funny, warm jolt in his stomach at seeing the Austrian's demeanor having relaxed significantly, Gilbert's distraction with Ludwig successful.
Feliciano, ever-oblivious to it all, bustled to help Roderich take off his jacket and "make himself at home!" mostly while looking like an eager dog who waited all day for his owner to come back. Gilbert tried to mind his own business but he didn't miss when Roderich shot him a grateful look and mouthed 'Thank you.' Feeling a bit sheepish for reasons he didn't feel like explaining, Gilbert simply rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm going to go help Ludwig in the kitchen, but Gilbert can show you around the apartment and make you comfy! He's great at talking to guests," Feliciano beamed, leaving little room to argue before bustling off to the kitchen and leaving the two of them alone in the foyer.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Gilbert wasn't quite sure where to start, even, and neither, apparently, did Roderich.
"Um, hey. Good to see you again," Gilbert finally said, feeling rather stupid for it.
"…You too," Roderich replied after a pause, and when Gilbert looked up at the other, Roderich quickly looked away.
Fuck…Gilbert rubbed at the back of his neck again, starting to suspect that there might be a red spot there by that point. Goddamn his pale East German genetics. Or his German propensity to blush at the slightest mention of emotions. (His brother seemed cursed with that one too.)
"So…you wanna see the rest of the apartment?" he asked with some kind of muster of feigned enthusiasm. In the background, Feliciano could be heard chattering away while undoubtedly doing ten different tasks in the kitchen. Every so often, Ludwig's baritone voice mumbled something in reply.
Roderich made some sort of awkward half-gesture and adjusted his glasses. "That would be nice," he finally said, in the same sort of attempt at politeness as Gilbert.
Jesus Christ, Gilbert didn't even believe in God or religion anymore, but if God, or any willing deity, really, had any sort of inclination to smite him and put him out of the miserable situation in that moment, he would have already been on his knees praying.
"Great," Gilbert mumbled and cleared his throat before brushing past Roderich to move into the living room. Like most apartments in Berlin, Feliciano's flat wasn't necessarily spacious, and Gilbert was ninety-five percent sure that the younger had chosen the place based on kitchen alone because everything else the Italian owned seemed to be crammed into the living room/dining room space with the bedroom door peeking out between stuffed bookcases and the couch.
Much like how Feliciano ran his state of affairs, the apartment was cluttered from floor to ceiling with mementos, loose sheet music, books about cooking and art and music, and miscellaneous art supplies. Roderich gingerly stepped over a teetering stack on the floor and looked around with an expression between concern and confusion on his face.
"Well," Gilbert said, "here's the living room."
He watched Roderich's eyes trace along the various stacks of things in the room.
"I did not realize that Feliciano was an artist as well," the musician finally said, his gaze catching on the easel set up in the corner, covered in drips of paint with a similarly-adorned smock draped haphazardly over the back of the couch. The half-finished painting on the ledge looked to be a study of flowers in a vase that Feliciano had perched precariously on a stack of art books. But while the bouquet had long-succumbed to the fate of time (and a lack of water, more likely), the bouquet in Feliciano's painting was vibrant with rich colors and a sense of joy. Gilbert couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight—Feliciano really was too good for the world.
"I think the arts are just in his Italian blood," Gilbert shrugged. "His brother helps run an art gallery in Berlin and supposedly his grandfather was a well-known collector in Italy. It's part of the reason why Luddy, who has negative artistic talent, and him work so well, opposites attract and all, I guess," he snickered.
"You really think so?" Roderich asked, raising an eyebrow in his direction. "That opposites attract?"
Gilbert stared at him feeling like he'd missed something. "Uhh…" he said, not for the first time that evening.
Timely as ever, Feliciano chose that moment to burst out of the kitchen, at least three different cooking utensils in his hand. "Dinner will be ready in a few moments! Gil, can you set the table, please!"
"Sure thing," Gilbert answered quickly, ever so glad to have the excuse to look anywhere other than the musician.
Gilbert had been in a lot of awkward family dinners (the night he first came out to his family, as a teenager, for example; and then the nearly exact same scenario ten years later when his brother finally came out) and on a lot of awkward first dates (…he wasn't going to bother listing those ones out), and somehow that Sunday dinner at Feliciano's was managing to feel like all of them at once. It fucking sucked.
To his left, Roderich sat at the head of the table (Feliciano had insisted) looking extremely uncomfortable while trying to maintain a polite disposition to Feliciano having invited him to dinner; Feliciano, of course oblivious to it all, was busy gossiping away about recent drama in the Berlin Classical community; Ludwig, finally out of his TROPHY HUSBAND apron, was slumped exhausted after a full day of cooking with Feliciano (which, without fail, was always a circus) and otherwise didn't look particularly engaged in the current table conversation; and then Gilbert himself, who was just wondering when dinner would end.
"So Roderich," Ludwig finally broke in, once Feliciano had taken a break to remember to eat his mostly-cold food. "Have you found a place to live yet? Feliciano mention that you were still staying at the hotel."
For his part, Roderich looked just as grateful for the change in topics. Gilbert guessed it must get a bit boring to be surrounded by work talk all the time—the benefit of being a state building inspector and all, he supposed.
The musician dabbed at his mouth with a napkin like they were at a fancy dinner, nodding slightly to Ludwig's question. "Yes, I am still staying at the hotel. Which has proven rather convenient, actually, as I can take the U2 straight to Potsdamer Platz." Ludwig nodded in sage agreement at the utility. "But unfortunately I am still looking. It has been a little hard to find time to tour apartments while trying to get caught up at the Philharmonic…as you know, they are in the middle of finishing the season with the current conductor and then I will be brought on fully as the director of the Berlin Phil for their 2018/2019 season. But in the meantime there is more than enough transitional work to keep me occupied."
"Where have you been looking?" Ludwig inquired. "You know, Charlottenburg is a nice, quiet area, and you could still take the U-Bahn in…" the blond said, to which Feliciano looked like he could barely even contain himself at the thought of his idol living in the same neighborhood as him.
Roderich certainly didn't miss the less-than-subtle suggestion, the Austrian chuckling lightly in a polite deflection. Gilbert resisted voicing aloud his comment about how Schloss Charlottenburg would have been the perfect place for a prissy princess like Roderich to live.
"Yes, I have taken a look at a few apartments available in the area," he admitted. "But actually, there was a place in Schöneberg that I had my eye on. It would have enough space for my piano and there is plenty of transportation in the area which is necessary as I do not have a car."
"Ach so, Schöneberg," Ludwig rubbed at his chin before looking Gilbert's way. "Doesn't your friend Antonio live just off the S-Bahn station?" he directed the question in the older's direction.
Gilbert looked up from trying to ignore the entire dinner and grunted. "Antonio? Oh, yeah, on Fritz-Reuter Straße, right above his kindergarten. It's a nice area. Keep your doors locked, though," he shrugged.
Ludwig's lips slanted into a slight frown like Gilbert had said something wrong, but Gilbert was already looking back down at his plate again, picking at the last of his meal. Across from him, Feliciano cheerfully asked if anybody wanted seconds.
The rest of dinner, including a rather grueling dessert session, passed in much of the same fashion, with Feliciano filling the table with a deluge of talking before running off to get something from the kitchen, and then Ludwig trying to awkwardly fill in the silence with mundane, but practical question and usually trying to drag Gilbert into the conversation with him. Gilbert would answer as much as was necessary, but otherwise he wasn't interested in playing the game. Or at least, not while sober. He had taken note that unlike their usual Sunday dinners, Ludwig hadn't offered him a beer while waiting or during dinner, and while Gilbert had debated hard on whether he'd risk his brother's ire for grabbing one from the kitchen, ultimately he'd decided that he didn't want to risk ruining Feliciano's special night with his idol just for the sake of his own emotional shortcomings.
He did make the excuse that he had to be up early the next morning as a means of escaping Feliciano's usual insistence that he stay and have some more coffee or beer. It was time to get the hell out of dodge.
"Aww, Gil, are you sure? You know you're always welcome to stay longer," Feliciano pouted at him with his famous puppy eyes. Soon after meeting Feliciano for the first time, Gilbert trained himself on how to resist the Italian's hypnotic powers, but damn if it didn't whittle at his willpower every time.
"Sorry, Feli, duty calls and if I don't get my beauty sleep in, I get cranky and you don't want that," Gilbert winked, stacking the plate he'd been drying on top of the others.
The kitchen was nearly back to its usual impeccable state, with leftovers labeled and placed neatly in the fridge and dishes washed and dried. Another Feliciano-ism Gilbert and Ludwig had quickly discovered was that unless they took the lead on cleaning and putting food away, Feliciano was content with leaving the kitchen looking like World War Three for days. Roderich was still sat at the table, looking somewhat awkward while he sipped the coffee Feliciano had handed to him some while ago. All three of them had all insisted the musician rest despite his numerous offers to help, and even though Gilbert had been satisfied to see the other offer because it meant the Austrian had at least a shred of decency, even his sense of Teutonic chivalry wasn't going to allow one of Feliciano's guests to clean dishes.
There was a soft cough from the dining room and all three of them looked up to see Roderich placing his emptied coffee cup back on its saucer and standing up hesitantly. "Actually, I'm afraid I should be going as well…" the brunet started.
Gilbert narrowed his eyes, wondering if the Austrian did these kinds of things intentionally, or if he really was just that naïve. Briefly, he wondered if it would make him look too much of the asshole to suddenly rescind his earlier statement about needing to leave early.
"Awwwww," Feliciano pouted even harder. "I know you still have a lot to do…but you are always welcome to stay as late as you want, Mr. Edelstei—oh, I mean, Roderich," Feliciano said hopefully.
Roderich gave him a small, genuine smile and inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, Feliciano. And Ludwig. I truly appreciate it, and I truly appreciated your invitation for dinner tonight. Your hospitality was extremely gracious. But I should get back to the hotel before it gets too late."
"I can drive you back to the hotel, if you would like," Ludwig offered, drying his hands on a towel. The TROPHY HUSBAND apron had made its way back on during cleaning.
"That is okay," Roderich shook his head. "I have been trying to take public transportation so I have more familiarity with it, otherwise I have a tendency to get lost."
Gilbert snorted to himself, but it still sounded endearing. Goddamn aristocrat.
Always the gracious host, Feliciano insisted on helping Roderich with his belongings as they got ready to leave, the flustered dusting of red on Roderich's cheeks again bringing up that same word in Gilbert's mind. Endearing….
In many ways, Roderich had matured a lot in Gilbert's eyes since he'd first met him. Whereas the young musician had come across as so aloof and above everyone else at the beginning, now he just seemed remarkably more human. Then again, when Gilbert had first met him, Roderich had just come off of, quite literally, needing to perform. So maybe it had been too early to tell.
With Feliciano waving enthusiastically from the door to show them out (Ludwig opted for a practical and conservative hand raise), Gilbert and Roderich began to descend the stairs in a silence measured only by the sound of their steps as they circled down the stairwell to the ground floor. Just like before, neither of them wanted to be the first to break the barrier, which Gilbert was really starting to get tired of.
"...So you found a place in Schöneberg, huh?" Gilbert finally broke the silence at the exact same time Roderich asked, "How have you been doing, Gilbert?"
They'd reached the bottom of the stairs and were standing in front of the building, the darkening streets empty around them. Both turned to each other in surprise, as if they hadn't expected the other to be the first to dare.
"Uh," Gilbert said, "you first."
"No, it's okay," Roderich hurried, a touch of red already on his cheeks. "Please, what was your question?"
Gilbert shuffled his feet and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, glancing away. "Oh, uh, I was just asking about your place in Schöneberg. It's a good area, yeah. Tonio likes a lot, 'n everything."
God, this sucked.
"Oh…yes." Roderich also seemed uncertain what to do with himself while they were standing there, the last lights of the day slowly slipping below buildings around them. "It is a nice place, with a lot of space, not that I have much besides my piano and books of music."
Gilbert let out a low whistle. "Travelling with a whole piano, huh? You really are a little master."
But instead of being offended or scowling at the nickname like he usually did, Roderich actually smiled, and brushed a lock of hair out of his face in self-admitting embarrassment. "Moving companies do not usually like me," he conceded. A street lamp popped on behind him and just like all of the other times Roderich had trapped him by looking absolutely stunning, Gilbert felt another part of him becoming smitten.
With smooth, milky skin and long eyelashes that framed his large dark blue eyes, Roderich's youth was as striking as it was disarming. Because once you got past the dandy charm, you could see the age and elegance in the Austrian's high cheekbones and tired, side swept hair. The dark circles under his eyes had been there since Gilbert had first met the other, but there was something about the fading dusk lighting that made them seem permanent, another inevitability of growing older.
"Why don't you let me help you out, Little Master?" Gilbert blurted, before he could help himself.
Roderich's eyes widened behind his glasses. Gilbert felt his cheeks beginning to grow warm and he quickly averted his eyes. "Um, I mean, if you want help, that is," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"No—" Roderich interjected, and Gilbert winced, wondering why he continued setting himself up for failure. "Ahm, no, I mean—" Roderich stumbled to continue, "I'd—I would appreciate that."
Gilbert chanced a look at Roderich's expression, which looked flustered in fever. "…Yeah?" he asked.
Roderich's violet-blue eyes shyly slid his direction. "Yeah," he responded.
This beautiful, complicated musician. Gilbert let out a breath and gestured with his shoulder down the street. "Wanna grab some beers from a Späti and go somewhere? I know a place."
He'd expected Roderich to be suspicious or make some kind of excuse to let him escape, but to his surprise, Roderich actually looked relieved, like he'd been waiting for Gilbert to ask. "I thought you needed to go home and get your beauty sleep," he said, and the coy smile Gilbert still dreamed of shyly graced Roderich's lips.
Gilbert found himself smiling back, and he knew that the touch of red on his cheeks wasn't from the brisk onset of dusk. "It's a risk I'll take," he replied.
In the hundreds of thousands of kilometers Gilbert had traversed across the city, he still swore that there was no stretch of Berlin more beautiful than tracing the historic skirt of the city on the Ringbahn. For the entire duration, he and Roderich sat in comfortable silence as the S42 ambled along the tracks, passing abandoned industry buildings and pastoral Kleingarten plots still waking up from their winter hibernation.
Not that the train was terribly busy on a Sunday night to begin with, but they'd found an empty corner booth to steal away in, Roderich staring out the window lost somewhere between the scenery and his own thoughts. Gilbert was sat across from him and although his head was technically turned to the window, he couldn't help his eyes from straying back to the musician. Even in the dying light of sundown, Roderich looked like a noble painted onto canvas, all the poise of a lost musician and an air of immortality to match.
After switching to the U-Bahn, they stepped off Boddinstraße Station in the heart of Neukölln and Gilbert led them through the still-bustling Berlin nightlife like he'd done thousands of times with his friends. They grabbed a few beers at one of the Spätis near the park and slipped through the gates just before closing time, joining the hundreds of other Berliners enjoying the abandoned airfield in the warming April weather.
"Y'know, I still remember when this place was an actual airport," Gilbert asserted as they wove between clusters of young Berliners and tourists picnicking on the field. The dying sunlight didn't dissuade many from throwing out blankets or sitting in the short grass, the smell of barbeque in the air.
"Are you trying to impress me with how old you are?" Roderich asked, a smile to his voice.
Gilbert blushed, caught in his own lapse. "'Guess that depends, are you impressed?"
Roderich simply laughed and Gilbert ducked his head bashfully, electing it better to not speak as they made their way to his goal, a short concrete lookout tower with a staircase circling to the top. There was a solitary ribbon of yellow caution tape that looked like it'd been tied to the railing more as a prank than an actual warning and they both stepped over it without much regard.
Once atop of the tower, the height didn't necessarily give them much of a view of the surrounding city, but it did bring into focus how large the field was, the abandoned runway next to them stretching beyond sight to the other end of the park.
"Is this where you bring all of your 'friends' you are trying to impress?" Roderich asked innocently, taking in the twilight lighting around them.
Gilbert was sure that even in the dark blues of the disappearing light his blush was visible, splotchy red on his pale cheeks. He busied himself with cracking open both of their beers with his lighter, hurriedly handing one to Roderich who accepted it with an amused half-smile.
"Well, usually I'm not quite this romantic," he said.
"Oh? Then I must be lucky."
Gilbert glanced his direction and then quickly looked away when he realized Roderich was watching him back.
"You do seem to have a lot of that, don't you, Little Master?" he grunted, still averting his eyes to drinking his beer.
Across from him, Roderich took a thoughtful swig of his own drink. "Yes, I do seem to be rather fortunate in that regard," he pondered aloud.
The Austrian was leaned against the railing of the tower, head tilted back slightly as if he was looking at something in the sky. In the quick onset of darkness, Gilbert couldn't make many details out, the ambient lighting of the city around them just a pale smudge of sapphire blue on the horizon.
"Still happy with your decision?" he asked after a moment of heady silence between them.
"My decision?" Roderich prompted.
Gilbert jutted his chin slightly. "Moving to Berlin; taking the music director job," he said.
"Oh…" Roderich trailed off, seemingly caught between hesitancy and thought. "Well, I cannot deny that I have been very lucky in life. I do not think that anyone can ever fully imagine how their life will turn out when they are younger, but when I look back to picking up my first violin…it wasn't even mine, it was a neighbor's who was kind enough to risk letting a five year old handle his livelihood…it feels surreal to think that would change the trajectory of my life forever. And yet here I am, twenty-four years later. I am not sure if it was my decision, or if it was just being lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time." Roderich looked up with an almost sheepish smile, the brunet's thin eyebrows furrowed. "But yes, I am glad that I am here."
By the Austrian's expression, Gilbert had the feeling that Roderich was talking about a 'here' that was more literal than just referring to his career, or moving to Berlin. And for as badly as Gilbert wanted to blurt out a defensive retort that Feli was definitely glad he was here, he couldn't find the will to get the words out of his mouth.
"I'm glad you're here, too."
And Roderich's smile was small, like the musician didn't want to fully risk getting his hopes up yet, but even Gilbert could see the spark of courage behind it.
The brunet turned to face the twilight haze of Tempelhofer Feld and Gilbert did the same, the sweetness of an oncoming Berlin summer floating on the breeze.
And when Roderich moved closer, until he was standing right next to Gilbert, shoulder to shoulder, Gilbert's breath caught.
And when Roderich reached over and entwined their fingers, Gilbert breathed out and knew there was something better awaiting them on the horizon.
END
