A/N - This is the first chapter that I wrote mainly on the computer, since usually I use a pen and paper for the first draft (I'm so old fashioned). I'm surprised that I didn't get distracted by anything! Also, I seem to have a thing for German pet names, so Gilbert uses a couple of them in this chapter. Thanks to prussiablue from LJ and her cousin for them! Translations are at the bottom of the page. Also, I've discovered that Gilbert-Arthur interactions are the most fun things to write ever. In my head canon they're totally BFFs XD And while Hungary doesn't usually interest me in the slightest, she was surprisingly fun to write too.
It was day one of what Roderich was already thinking of as The Week From Hell, even though he hadn't even gotten dressed yet and so, in his opinion, the day had not officially started. Currently, he was standing in his pyjamas, staring helplessly at the outfit laid out on his bed and wondering why he was going to go through with this instead of doing the sensible thing and fleeing to some remote, unheard-of country until Gilbert had forgotten about the whole deal. Although, actually, he wouldn't put it past Gilbert to find some way of tracking him down and dragging him, kicking and screaming (though with dignity, naturally), back to Austria. Oh well. It had been a liberating fantasy while it had lasted.
"I can't believe you're making me do this," he said to Gilbert, who was already dressed and standing behind Roderich, wound around him in a way that Roderich had been unable to escape from and so was currently pointedly ignoring. "And I also can't believe that it only took you twenty minutes to destroy my kitchen," he added acidly. "That must be a new record for you." The day before, Gilbert had attempted to make, well, Roderich wasn't entirely sure what and he wasn't convinced that Gilbert did either, but he had tried to make something and failed spectacularly. What he had ended up with was a big mess and a smashed mixing bowl. There was also the mystery of the spoon that had somehow been tied into a knot, although Gilbert couldn't explain or remember doing it. It was rather worrying.
"I was hungry," Gilbert protested, as if this was a reasonable defence.
"There was plenty of food in the cupboards that had already been made," Roderich countered irritably.
"Well cooking looks easy when you do it," Gilbert replied sulkily, although the effect of this was lost as he was currently resting his chin on Roderich's shoulder. The shorter nation sighed.
"It's going to take me forever to clean it all," he said, miserably turning his attention back to the uniform that lay innocently on the bed. Last night, Gilbert had rung the usual cleaning staff for Roderich's house and told them to take the week off. Even worse, he had told them that it would be paid leave. He probably found it funny that Roderich would have to pay them for doing nothing while he took over the chores. Roderich didn't find this amusing.
"If it's going to take you so long then why don't you stop moaning like a pansy and get dressed so that you can start?" Gilbert asked, clearly getting impatient. Roderich sighed again. It appeared that he could stall no longer.
"All right," he said resignedly. "I'll put it on, so will you please leave the room?" He had expected some resistance to this, but, surprisingly, Gilbert left without a fuss. Roderich took this as an ominous sign that Gilbert was going to enjoy seeing him dressed as a maid too much for comfort. Not that Roderich could ever be comfortable whilst wearing a dress.
When Roderich was once again wearing the uniform, which, against all logic, seemed to have gotten shorter since the day before, he hesitantly stepped out onto the landing where Gilbert was waiting eagerly. Roderich didn't think that he had ever felt as exposed as he did at that moment. At least yesterday he had been distracted by trying to fight off Gilbert's advances, but today the Prussian seemed to have finally looked up the word 'restraint' and managed to grasp its meaning because he wasn't making any attempts at molestation. Instead, he was letting his gaze roam appreciatively over the other nation's body in a slow, deliberate way that made Roderich's cheeks heat up and forced him to look away.
"If my outfit has your approval then can I go and start cleaning what remains of my kitchen?" he asked stiffly, fidgeting a little self-consciously.
"Sure," Gilbert replied distractedly. "Just as soon as I've finished fucking you with my eyes." Roderich snapped his head back round to stare at Gilbert, shocked by his crudeness.
"You-!" If there was a word insulting enough for what Roderich wanted to express, then he didn't know it. His mind seemed to be having a minor breakdown and, more worryingly, a hot and not unpleasant feeling had started burning in the pit of his stomach at Gilbert's words. Two crimson eyes flicked up to meet his and Gilbert grinned, although it was more of a leer.
"Do you like it when I talk dirty to you, Süsser?" he asked in a low voice that made Roderich shiver a little and then mentally curse himself as Gilbert noticed the reaction and adopted a victorious expression.
"No," Roderich lied firmly. "What I like is when you don't talk at all." He pushed past Gilbert to get to the stairs, not stopping when he was startled by a firm smack on his behind.
"A little less conversation, a little more action, huh?" the Prussia said gleefully. "You should have told me earlier – I would have woken you up in a much more pleasurable way."
Roderich fought back another shiver and didn't rise to the bait as he descended to the ground floor of the house. In his opinion, Gilbert had already gone too far with the method he had used to wake him. It had been a sign of Gilbert's frightening levels of enthusiasm that he had managed to get up and dressed early enough that Roderich was still deeply asleep when Gilbert had crept into the room at eight o'clock. Roderich had woken to find a hand creeping up under his pyjama top and a mouth whispering lewd suggestions in his ear. As he was no longer suffering from a hangover, he had promptly pushed Gilbert off the bed before he had even woken up properly. It was an ingrained response that Gilbert hadn't appreciated, if the curses that had risen from the Prussian's landing place on the floor had been any indicator.
As Roderich entered the kitchen, he felt a tick start twitching in his eye at the sight of his usually pristine kitchen resembling the aftermath of a warzone. In fact, warzones were probably cleaner than his kitchen was at the moment – after all, blood seeps quite neatly into the ground but there was food on his beautifully tiled floor and Roderich just knew that it was going to stain. He had wanted to clean it all up immediately after discovering the mess the day before, but Gilbert had restrained him and said that he ought to wait until he was properly dressed for such un-aristocratic activities. Roderich had protested this and almost resorted to violence in his attempts to get into the kitchen, but Gilbert was bigger and stronger than him and hadn't had any problems in preventing any cleaning. In the end, Roderich had retreated to his piano and played with as much murderous intent as he could muster. It had been the most homicidal rendition of Fur Elise ever heard.
"Before you start," Gilbert was saying now, "I'm going to get myself some breakfast." He started to walk past Roderich, but was thwarted by a hand gripping the back of his shirt collar and yanking him backwards. He stumbled a little in surprise and turned to glare at Roderich, only to find that the other nation was already glaring at him with a ferocity that would have made a less awesome nation than himself tremble with fear.
"If you so much as think about touching anything in here, no one will ever hear from you again," he threatened. Gilbert was rather impressed with just how much he had managed to incense Roderich this time. His chest swelled with pride. He was, however, curious as to the specifics of what Roderich's anger would drive him to do.
"Why won't anyone hear from me again?" he asked.
"Because you'll be buried in my back garden after I bludgeon you to death with the fruit bowl," Roderich growled in response. For a split second, Gilbert thought about asking if there would still be fruit in the bowl during the aforementioned bludgeoning, but decided that it wouldn't be a good idea to encourage Roderich to be too detailed in his murder plan. There was always the chance that he would find it so appealing that he would get carried away and the next thing you know there would be a suspiciously grave-shaped patch of freshly dug earth in the garden and Ludwig would be receiving a bill for a broken fruit bowl. It was better not to risk it. However, Gilbert was rather hungry.
"In that case, you can get me breakfast," he said, smiling in the hopes that maybe his awesomeness would remove the scary expression from Roderich's face. It was starting to activate his fight or flight response and the great and mighty Gilbert couldn't be seen running in terror from a prissy aristocrat in a dress. He would never be taken seriously again.
"I should let you starve," Roderich snapped, but he crossed the room, carefully avoiding anything that he really didn't want to step in, and rummaged around in one of the cupboards. Eventually, he retrieved a packet of store-bought pastries and tossed them over to Gilbert, who caught them easily. "Try not to get crumbs everywhere, would you?" he added, but he no longer looked as thought he was about to commit terrible and, in Gilbert's opinion, totally unnecessary acts of violence. He didn't even say anything when Gilbert hoisted himself up to sit on the counter so that he could have a good view of his – his! – maid while he ate.
Gilbert had never before considered that it would be anything but boring to watch somebody clean a room. Yet, watching Roderich, he was anything but bored. Roderich's expression smoothed out completed as he focused on the task at hand and his self-consciousness faded away, allowing Gilbert to stare openly. He was enthralled. Simple movements that he would have overlooked in anybody else at any other time were suddenly alluring, such as the way Roderich's hips moved almost hypnotically as he swept the floor, or the movement of the skirt, which lifted here and dipped there, revealing another inch of those smooth, beautiful thighs before swallowing them up again. Gilbert idly wondered if there was something wrong with him for finding this erotic, but his thoughts were interrupted as Roderich either forgot that Gilbert was behind him or didn't quite understand dresses, because he bent down to pick something up, the skirt rising dangerously high until it was just shy of revealing what colour underwear Roderich was wearing today. Gilbert stared, the pastry held in front of his half-open mouth completely forgotten. He was going to have a whole week of moments like this, he realised, and wondered if it would be un-manly to cry tears of happiness.
Unfortunately, that was the moment when the doorbell rang. Roderich straightened up and turned towards the sound so fast that Gilbert was surprised he didn't get whiplash. The serenity caused by the mechanical actions of cleaning vanished and Roderich was looking panicked.
"Oh no," he said, biting his lip anxiously. He turned to Gilbert, who suddenly realised that there was still a pastry in front of his face and took a bite out of it. "Be quiet," Roderich ordered. "Maybe they'll go away." Gilbert nodded and chewed on the pastry as Roderich twisted his hands on the broom handle nervously. The doorbell rang again and Gilbert almost laughed at how frightened Roderich was at the possibility that someone might witness him dressed up sexily for Gilbert's personal pleasure. After all, they might get the right idea.
However, even Gilbert was surprised when he heard the door open and the uninvited guest step inside. It all made sense, though, when a familiar voice called out Roderich's name. Roderich paled even more, and this time Gilbert sympathised with him as his own blood ran slightly colder. It was Elizabeta.
"Go and get rid of her," Roderich hissed, gesturing frantically towards the kitchen door. Gilbert slid off the counter, leaving his half-eaten breakfast and acquiescing, if only because he was all too aware of what would happen if Elizabeta happened across this scene, and it was far too early in the morning to engage in an epic battle of the ages.
On entering the hallway, Gilbert managed to close the kitchen door enough so that neither Roderich nor the disaster area was visible. His footsteps alerted Elizabeta from where she had her back turned to him to close the front door securely, and she turned to him, looking disappointed to discover that he wasn't the person she was looking for.
"Oh, hello, Gilbert," she said in the same suspicious voice that she always used with him. "Where's Roderich?" Gilbert tried to school his expression into one of casual innocence. It wasn't a look that he was familiar with and so he wasn't entirely sure that he was pulling it off.
"He's not here right now," he said, supposing that he ought to act somewhat civil if he wanted her to leave any time soon. "He had to go out and visit, erm, Antonio, so I'm looking after the house while he's gone." Oh yes, Gilbert was a genius. Except…Elizabeta wasn't looking fooled by his amazing improvisational skills.
"That is the most blatant lie I have ever heard," she said, not looking impressed in the slightest.
"No it's not!" Gilbert snapped, his ego bruised by her seeing through him so easily. "The lie I told about Gilbird, the Eiffel Tower and your bra was way more blatant!" Elizabeta raised an eyebrow at him, and it slowly dawned on Gilbert that he had practically confessed that he wasn't quite telling the truth. "Fuck," he cursed. At that moment, a small noise drifted out from the kitchen and Elizabeta narrowed her eyes.
"I guess Roderich's come back from Spain," she said sarcastically, heading towards the room. Gilbert tried desperately to stop her, but his efforts were in vain. No mere unstoppable force or unmovable object could get in Elizabeta's way, and although Gilbert was clearly far superior to both of these options, he didn't stand a chance.
The kitchen door was flung open and Elizabeta stepped inside, only to freeze at the unexpected sight that met her eyes. Roderich stood in the centre of the room, caught like a deer in the headlights, an expression somewhere between shock, panic and despair on his features. No one moved for a moment, until Roderich fell back to deep-rooted survival techniques and raised a finger to point at Gilbert.
"It's all his fault," he accused, and Gilbert's mouth dropped open at the utter betrayal. Elizabeta turned very slowly, and Gilbert took an involuntary step back at the expression on her face. She looked as though she couldn't quite decide what would be more appropriate for the situation: a camera or a weapon of mass destruction.
"Roderich," she said, her voice slightly higher than usual. "Can I borrow your frying pan?" She had chosen the second option then. Before Roderich could reply, the phone started ringing out in the hallway and Gilbert seized his chance to escape. It wasn't as though he was scared of Elizabeta, what a ludicrous idea, but frying pans hurt, damnit, and he wasn't the biggest fan of pain…unless it was happening to someone else, in which case it was hilarious.
"I'll get it," he volunteered hastily and ducked out into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. He grabbed the handset and pressed it to his ear. "Whoever this is, you're now officially my new best friend," he said. A familiar laugh came from the other end.
"You mean I wasn't already?" replied the mock offended tones of Arthur. Gilbert brightened up considerably.
"You've always been my best friend when I've had a few too many to drink," he said comfortingly. Arthur merely snorted in response.
"Thanks," he said sarcastically. "You're a mate, Gilbert."
"I love you too, honey," Gilbert replied, blowing a kiss down the phone before suddenly remembering that there was a woman in the house who had a history of trying to kill him. It was a sobering thought. "So what can I do for you today? Please don't tell me that you want to talk to Roderich. If I'm left alone with his psycho ex-wife, I think that bad things will happen. I mean, I don't want to hurt her, but she may leave me no choice."
"Don't worry, she'll have probably knocked you out before you get a chance to fight back," Arthur said soothingly. Gilbert scowled at the phone, forgetting that the other nation couldn't see him. "Actually, I was calling to talk to you anyway," Arthur continued, and his tone changed into a more serious one. "I was wondering about how you were getting on with the maid costume and then I remembered something. Gilbert, you do realise that Francis knows about the bet, don't you?"
"Yeah, so?" Gilbert asked, not immediately picking up on what the problem was.
"Did you even listen to what I just said?" Arthur said in exasperation. "Let me spell it out for you. Francis knows that Roderich is going to be wearing a French maid outfit for the next week. Can you honestly tell me that no part of that sentence sounds sinister to you?" Well, when it was put that way, the problem was obvious.
"Don't worry, Francis won't get anywhere near my maid, never mind molesting him" Gilbert replied confidently and with a certain amount of innocence that must have set alarm bells ringing in Arthur's head because when he replied, he sounded highly suspicious.
"How can you be so sure?" he asked.
"Because you're going to distract Francis for me." It was amazing, Gilbert thought. Just when he was sure that he had reached the pinnacle of his genius, he came up with another brilliant idea. His mental congratulations were cut off, however, when Arthur replied.
"Yeah, you wish," he said, and Gilbert stared at the phone in outrage. No one would defy his genius!
"I saved you from being taken home by Francis the other night when you were too smashed to know any better," he reminded Arthur. "You owe me!" A rush of static sounded in his ear as the other nation sighed in defeat.
"Well he did invite me to spend a week over at his place during the summer," Arthur said grudgingly. "I suppose I could take him up on it." Gilbert grinned victoriously.
"Good boy," he crowed. He almost felt the glare through the phone.
"Good luck with Elizabeta," the English nation said sweetly, and hung up the phone before Gilbert could call him a bastard. What a nerve.
Unfortunately, this also left him with the dilemma of what he should do now that there was no valid reason for him to stay in the hall. He could have just stayed there talking to himself into the receiver, but that would be cowardly, and if there was one thing that Gilbert Beilschmidt was not, it was a coward. He was also not weak. Or lazy. Or any of those long words that Roderich used that he knew were insults, even if he didn't quite understand what they meant. Or – but, well, OK, there were a lot of things that Gilbert Beilschmidt was not, but a coward was definitely one of them.
And so, in order to prove this fact to anyone who dared doubt him, he strode back into the kitchen, confidence rolling off him in waves. The other two occupants of the room didn't seem as impressed as they ought to have been, though, because instead of immediately falling at his feet and praising him, they merely spared him a glance and then proceeded to ignore him. Gilbert knew that he was pouting, but didn't care. He would have complained, but it didn't escape his attention that a rather large frying pan was sitting on the kitchen counter, quietly threatening. That traitor Roderich would so be getting a spanking later.
"So you have to wear this for a whole week?" Elizabeta was asking faintly. Roderich must have told her the story while Gilbert was out of the room, no doubt placing all of the blame on him when it was actually – wait, actually, it was all his fault. Gilbert grinned proudly, his resentment towards Roderich already forgotten in the face of his glorious achievement.
"Unfortunately," Roderich replied, glaring at Gilbert, who grinned even more.
"You know you love it really, Herzblatt," he replied, advancing towards the shorter nation. "What could possibly be more enjoyable than serving me and catering to my every whim?" He trailed a hand down Roderich's side to rest on his hip, feeling the heat of Roderich's body beneath the smooth fabric of the dress. In response, Roderich grabbed his wrist and removed the unwanted hand.
"I can think of many activities that would be preferable," he snapped, and Gilbert nearly laughed.
"Wow, what a coincidence," he drawled, and let his eyes wander over the other's body. "So can I."
A gasp interrupted whatever retort Roderich was going to make, drawing their attention to where Elizabeta was leaning against the counter to support herself, her face flushed and her eyes wide. "I – I think I need to sit down," she said breathlessly, before sinking down to the kitchen floor. Gilbert was disappointed to see that she had sat on one of the spots that Roderich had already cleaned.
"Are you all right?" the Austrian asked worriedly, hurrying to crouch by her side.
"I think I'm in shock," Elizabeta replied weakly. She looked up at Gilbert, who hadn't moved. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day when Gilbert made a positive contribution to the world!" Roderich looked confused, but Gilbert burst out laughing. He should have known that she would be thanking him. After all, she was almost as much of a pervert as Francis, no matter how much she tried to deny it.
"You're welcome," he said graciously. "But you're also in the way. My sex slave is supposed to be cleaning." Roderich glared at him, not entirely realising that Gilbert had just gained Elizabeta's approval, but back on familiar ground with inappropriate comments.
"I'm not your sex slave," he said acidly, helping Elizabeta to her feet. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?" he asked in concern. "Would you like a glass of water?" Steadying herself, Elizabeta shook her head.
"No, but I'll help you get rid of this mess if you like," she offered. Gilbert scowled.
"You're not allowed to help," he said firmly. Elizabeta reached casually towards the frying pan, causing Gilbert to hastily back away, but Roderich stopped her.
"Please, don't worry about it," he said. "I don't mind." Elizabeta cast a longing glance towards the frying pan before turning back to Roderich with a smile.
"In that case," she said cheerily, "would you mind if I stayed and supervised? Just to make sure that you aren't harassed too much." She sent an icy look at Gilbert, who ignored it. He wasn't fooled. He knew that she wanted to watch Roderich for the same reason as him.
"Now who's telling the blatant lies?" he muttered to her as he sat back on the kitchen counter. She blushed a little at being caught out and pulled herself up beside him.
Admiring Roderich's amazingly sexy legs and basking in his own superiority was a lot harder with Elizabeta there, Gilbert thought sulkily as Roderich continued to meticulously clean the floor and surfaces. Elizabeta was chatting cheerfully to her ex-husband, taking the occasional break to stare at him with wide eyes when his back was turned. She was stealing Gilbert's thunder, which was unacceptable. However, just at the moment when Gilbert was about to make a grab for the frying pan and turn the tables on her, Roderich's stomach rumbled rather loudly. He looked embarrassed and put a hand over the complaining area, as if he could quieten it that way.
"Maybe you should take a break and have something to eat," Elizabeta said, trying not to giggle.
"No, I'm fine," Roderich replied and turned back to sweeping. Gilbert frowned, suddenly remembering that while he had eaten earlier, Roderich hadn't had anything. What a fool! Did he not realise that breakfast was the most important meal of the day?
Roderich was about to regain cleaning when a pastry suddenly appeared in front of his nose. He turned to see Gilbert holding it, smirking at him in his usual way. It was one of the pastries that Roderich had given him for breakfast earlier that morning, and the smell of it was making Roderich's mouth water. He hadn't realised how hungry he was.
"Eat," Gilbert ordered. "I can't have you complaining that I don't treat you right."
"I said I was fine," Roderich protested, just because he was used to protesting against anything that Gilbert suggested. The pastry bumped against his lips.
"Bite," Gilbert commanded, and Roderich gave in and obeyed.
"Now chew," Gilbert continued, grinning that maddening grin, and Roderich glared at him.
"And swallow," the Prussian finished in an almost sing-song tone. Roderich did so.
"I know how to eat," he said, taking the pastry in his own hand.
"Well of course you do now that I've taught you!" Gilbert replied, looking incredibly pleased with himself, as if he truly believed that Roderich would have starved to death if not for his instructions. He took a closer look at Roderich's face and tutted before brushing his thumb across the corner of the shorter nation's mouth. "You're not as good at it as me, though," he said. "I would never make such a mess." Roderich wondered whether he should point out that a crumb of pastry on his lip paled in comparison to the destruction Gilbert had wreaked on his kitchen, but Gilbert cut off his thoughts by leaning in closer to him and whispering in a seductive tone, "Maybe you should practice on my –"
There was a scraping sound as Elizabeta picked up the frying pan. Gilbert backed off a little and eyed it warily, but it didn't look as though she was going to use it for violence. She clutched it tightly to her chest as if for moral support, her face flushed, looking incredibly annoyed at herself for distracting them. "Carry on," she squeaked.
"Um," Gilbert said, looking at her questioningly. She raised the pan into a more threatening position.
"Carry on," she repeated more forcefully. Gilbert could barely believe it. Now he would be beaten up if he didn't molest Roderich? Couldn't this girl make up her mind?
"Gladly," he replied, deciding to take advantage of it while it lasted, but Roderich had already moved out of his reach. He was leaning against the wall at the other side of the kitchen, eating the rest of the pastry, muscles slightly tensed in case he needed to make a quick escape. Gilbert considered his options and came to the conclusion that it wouldn't be worth trying anything while Elizabeta was still here. There was no way that Roderich would give in while she was watching, plus there was always the chance that the crazy woman would change her mind and attack him with the pan.
As if Elizabeta sensed his thoughts and realised that there wouldn't be anything more to see, she let herself down from the counter and sighed a little disappointedly. "Well I suppose I ought to be going," she said. "I've imposed on you enough for one day." Gilbert eyed her suspiciously, but Roderich seemed alarmed that he would be left alone with the Prussian again.
"You're not imposing at all," he said, a hint of pleading in his tone, but Elizabeta shook her head sadly.
"I have things to be doing at home," she replied. "I only came round for a quick chat because I hadn't seen you in so long." She walked over to Roderich and wrapped her arms around him in a hug that caused Gilbert to send his iciest glare at the back of her head. However, it was wasted on her because when she let go, she left the room without even a backwards glance at the blond nation. How rude!
"Don't look so disappointed," Gilbert snapped as Roderich's face fell at the sound of the front door closing. Roderich turned to look at him in surprise and Gilbert tried not to look jealous. He was way more awesome than Elizabeta, so how could Roderich possibly want her here when he had Gilbert? Roderich gave him a cool, appraising look for a moment before something that was almost a smile twitched at his lips and he made a shooing motion with his hand.
"Stay out of the way for five minutes and I'll be finished," he promised, and Gilbert obediently backed off because when someone who looks like the embodiment of a wet dream tells you to do something, you don't think twice.
The atmosphere felt a lot more relaxed, at least for Gilbert, during those last five minutes before, true to his word, Roderich leaned the broom against the counter and gave the kitchen a tired but satisfied look. It may have taken him a couple of hours, but now everything was in order again.
"Great!" Gilbert said happily. "Now I can try again!" Roderich's inner feeling of peace evaporated and he turned to stare at Gilbert as if the other nation had lost his mind. Which he must have done if he thought that Roderich was ever going to let him try to cook in his house again.
"No," Roderich snapped. "If you want to cook, go home and destroy your own kitchen." Gilbert had the nerve to look affronted.
"I don't always make a mess," he argued. "I can cook, just not your stupid Austrian sweets." Roderich looked at him in surprise.
"What exactly were you trying to make?" he asked, but Gilbert turned away, looking a little embarrassed.
"That's none of your business," he snapped. Roderich looked at him in exasperation for a moment before sighing and making a decision that he just knew he was going to regret later.
"I suppose that if you must make something, I could help you with it," he said grudgingly, and was shocked by the delighted expression that appeared on Gilbert's face. "But you're going to have to tell me what we're making."
"That apple thing that you make a lot," Gilbert replied immediately and Roderich already regretted his offer. No wonder Gilbert hadn't been able to make it if he didn't even know what it was called, he thought.
"Apfel strudel," he said wearily and Gilbert nodded enthusiastically. "All right, let me find the ingredients." If another warzone was created, it would be Gilbert who would be cleaning it the second time, drunken deal or no drunken deal.
However, Gilbert was acting oddly well-behaved and he followed Roderich's instructions to the letter as he measured out the correct amounts of flour, salt, eggs and oil to make the pastry. Roderich felt himself relax slightly, although he eyed the mixture in the bowl carefully nonetheless.
"You're being too rough," he said as Gilbert mixed, reaching out to take the other's hand and guiding it in slower, careful circles. "If you're not gentle then you'll spill it everywhere again." He suddenly became aware of how close he was standing to the other nation, and how his skin was tingling where his hand was touching Gilbert's. He tried to move his hand away, but Gilbert grabbed it by the wrist. Roderich looked up in surprise, and knew that trouble was coming when he saw that predatory smirk on the other's face.
"You have batter on your hand," Gilbert purred, and without waiting for a response he licked – actually licked – up from Roderich's wrist to the tip of his little finger, not breaking that far too intense eye contact at any point. Roderich felt himself blushing at the feel of the other's tongue on his skin, shivering a little and – was that a flash?
Gilbert let him go and spun around. Elizabeta was standing the doorway, lowering a camera from her face and practically trembling in excitement. Roderich stared in horror, but Gilbert growled in irritation and started towards her.
"You were supposed to stay at home, you voyeur!" he snarled, making a snatch for the camera, but Elizabeta dodged.
"I'm sorry, Roderich!" she called back gleefully over her shoulder as she ran towards the front door. "But don't worry – it's for my personal collection!"
"Come back here!" Gilbert roared, giving chase. Roderich stood for a moment, trying to decide what to do, before giving up and raising a hand to massage his temple, leaning against the counter. He would leave it to Gilbert to try and retrieve the evidence, and if he failed then, well, the first aid kit was always well stocked in case of a situation like this and there would be other ways to destroy the picture. Until then, he might as well seize the opportunity to finish off the strudel before Gilbert returned because the mixture would spoil if he just left it here and it had been a while since he had been able to cook in peace. Well, peace that was occasionally interrupted by shouts from outside or Elizabeta's victorious cackle, but in Roderich's world, that was as close to silence as he ever got. Humming absentmindedly, he picked up the mixing bowl and ignored the sight of Elizabeta running past the kitchen window, Gilbert not far behind.
Translations
Herzblatt - sweetheart
Süsser - sweetie (Technically, it's written as Süßer but I've been told that a double s is also fine since the letter ß is a sharp s sound)
Apfel strudel - apple strudel, which I totally didn't know was Austrian but apparantly it's a traditional Viennese sweet
Reviews are received with love