A/N - Sorry I'm a day late again - this time it's all my fault. I've started school again and since this is my A level year I'm very busy. I'll try not to let updates slip too much though. Also, a couple of awesome people from LJ made fanart inspired by this fic! I'll put links in my profile - go check them out and shower the artists with love! Oh and to the people who thought that there would be sex in this chapter - tough! But hopefully there's something almost as good
The third day of The Week From Hell was going to be a glorious day. It was going to be amazing, fantastic and brilliant. It was going to be the best day of the week. Roderich could hardly contain his glee as he stood in the hallway, a light breeze from the open front door ruffling the lace on his dress.
"I'll only be gone for a few hours," Gilbert was saying as he stood in the doorway. "If you suddenly find that you can't possibly carry on living without me, call Antonio's house. I don't think we'll be venturing out anywhere."
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Roderich responded dryly, inwardly thanking the Spanish nation for inviting Gilbert round to his house for the afternoon. He would have to find a way to show his gratitude without actually revealing what he was grateful for, because as far as he was aware, Antonio was oblivious to this whole escapade.
"Oh, and I want you to keep wearing the dress," Gilbert added sternly. "The deal is that you wear it for the whole week whether I'm here or not. If I come back and find you wearing one of your usual poncy outfits, I'm going to add a second week onto the deal as punishment." Roderich felt his good mood evaporate and he looked at Gilbert in unconcealed dismay. One of the main reasons for his joy at the other nation leaving him alone had been the thought of being able to wear normal clothes again.
"Why does it matter what I wear if you're not here to see it?" he asked rather irritably.
"Shouldn't you be happy that nobody's going to see you wear it?" Gilbert countered. "It's not like it'll be embarrassing for you if you're alone."
"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not crossdressing for fun," Roderich pointed out icily "I would much prefer to wear my own clothes. This ridiculous outfit is very uncomfortable." Actually, that was a lie. The dress, although unfamiliar with its skirt and lace, didn't give Roderich any discomfort at all. However, he wasn't going to admit that. Gilbert could get idea that he liked it, and then he would be plunged into an even deeper level of Hell.
"In that case, I suppose I can let you take it off later when I come back. In fact, I'll even help you out of it." Gilbert leered and Roderich wondered whether the Prussian's ability to twist everything he said into an innuendo came from spending too much time with Francis or whether he had been born with it.
"Just leave," he said through gritted teeth. Gilbert laughed.
"I will," he promised. "Just one more thing and then I'll go." He beckoned Roderich forward and the shorter nation warily moved closer, knowing that it wasn't a good idea but desperate for Gilbert to leave him in peace. When he was stood in front of the other nation, Gilbert quickly bent to close the gap between them and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. Roderich lifted his arms instinctively to push him away, but the other nation was already out of the door, moving fast to escape any possible consequence for his action. "Try not to miss me too much!" he called back gleefully before moving out of Roderich's line of sight. Having lost his target, Roderich glared instead at the innocent scenery, a breath of wind making the plants appear to tremble under his gaze. He closed the door harder than was strictly necessary in the hope that Gilbert would hear it slam.
Leaning back against the door, Roderich sighed and considered his options. He could ignore Gilbert and dress in his usual attire for a couple of hours, changing back before the Prussian returned, or he could obey the orders he had been given. Roderich scowled at the thought. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of orders, and the urge to rebel against them was rising within him. On the other hand, the thought of another week of being harassed as he was forced to wear such an inappropriate outfit was too much to bear, and it was entirely possible that Gilbert would return early or send someone to check on him in the hope that he would catch Roderich out. In the end, it all came down to whether a few hours of dressing normally were worth another week of humiliation. Roderich sighed. There was only one sensible choice.
Even the minor dampening of his joy caused by the continued wearing of the uniform wasn't enough to completely destroy his good mood, however, and Roderich allowed himself a small smile as he drank in the new atmosphere of the house. It was calm and peaceful and the only noise was the quiet ticking of the antique grandfather clock that stood in the hall. For the next few hours there would be no harassment, no lewd remarks, and no pair of intense red eyes watching his every movement with what Roderich thought was an almost unhealthy fascination. It was strangely elating. Roderich had never felt so free.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to get some chores out of the way, Roderich didn't waste time getting started. When Gilbert was around, even the simplest of tasks took twice as long as they should do, thanks to his interference, and Roderich was hoping to get everything done early enough that he would be able to rest that evening. The first thing he had to do was wash the dishes from their lunch, and then there were the many assorted cleaning activities that never seemed to end. He was starting to appreciate his normal cleaning staff much more than he had ever done before.
After most of these chores had been completed, Roderich ventured warily into the guest room that Gilbert had slept in for the past three nights in the same way that a soldier might enter No Man's Land. He was relieved to see that the room was still intact and that there weren't any gaping holes in the walls, which had half been what he was expecting. It was, however, obvious that Gilbert had been staying in the room as he seemed to have moulded it to reflect his personality. It was, simply put, chaos. In fact, it seemed to be a structured and almost artistic chaos that Gilbert had created purposefully, because nobody could possibly cover the entire floor with clothes after only two days, and Roderich was sure that some of the garments hadn't been worn at all and had merely been pulled from the wardrobe, crumpled, and arranged messily on the floor, the bed, and, interestingly, hanging from the curtain pole. The duvet lay half on the bed and half on the floor, the pillows poking out from underneath. Roderich wondered if Gilbert had perhaps been offended by the carpet somehow, because he seemed to be going to great measures to hide it from view.
As Roderich sorted through the clothes, trying to determine which needed washing and which could be hung neatly back in the wardrobe, he came across the t-shirt that Gilbert had worn to the bar on the night that they had all gone out drinking together. He shook it to try and rid it of some of the deeper creases, and the smell of the cigarette smoke that had lingered in the air of the bar reached him, and, under that, a smell that was purely Gilbert. Roderich had read books that described the scents of people as curious mixes of flowers, spices, fruit and all sorts of other unlikely things, and he knew that it was all absolute rubbish. The scent that he associated with Gilbert was faint on the t-shirt, smothered by the cigarettes and half washed away by the water he had poured over it, but it was recognisable as a heady, masculine scent that had no name and could only be defined by the feelings that it produced in Roderich. Right now, it was having the strange effect of making him almost wish that Gilbert hadn't gone out. But that was ridiculous. Roderich mentally shook himself and threw the t-shirt onto the pile of washing that was accumulating by the door, worrying vaguely about the domestic feeling that this was giving him.
When he was satisfied that the room was fit for a person to live in and the carpet was no longer being oppressed, Roderich decided that it was time to take a break. He could feel the call of his piano as it whispered sweet nothings to him from the floor below and before he knew it, it had seduced him into the room in which it stood. As he looked at it, Roderich got the strange sense that if it had been a person, it would have been making 'come hither' eyes at him. He wondered if Gilbert's constant presence was starting to affect his sanity, but then again he hadn't had a chance to play for several days so maybe he was merely suffering from withdrawal.
Halfway through Moonlight Sonata, his attention was drawn out of the haze that his thoughts became whenever he teased the notes of beautiful melodies from an instrument. He was vaguely aware of another presence in the room. This wasn't too unusual as Gilbert sometimes crept in when he was feeling too lazy to make a big entrance, but it had only been two hours since the Prussian had left, he couldn't possibly have already returned…Roderich's fingers slipped from the keys and left the notes to stutter and die as they were swallowed by the air. A sick feeling of dread had arisen in him. An unknown person was in the room, witnessing him dressed as a maid. Roderich tried to work up the courage to turn and see exactly who it was that he was going to have to bribe not to tell anybody about this, ever. The other person didn't wait for him, however, and an amused voice rang out from the other end of the room. It was a voice that turned Roderich's blood to ice.
"Please continue," came the lilting tones of Francis. "Don't let me interrupt." Roderich felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he slowly turned to see the other nation leaning elegantly against the wall.
"Can I help you?" he asked, standing and trying to inconspicuously tug the skirt down lower. His muscles were slightly tensed, in case he needed to run. Francis casually strolled towards him, being careful not to move too suddenly, as if Roderich was a frightened rabbit that he didn't want to scare away.
"Is Gilbert around?" Francis answered Roderich's question with one of his own. Roderich relaxed slightly. If the French nation was looking for Gilbert, he would leave as soon as he discovered that his friend wasn't in the building.
"He's spending the day at Antonio's house and he won't be back for another few hours. I'm sure they won't mind if you join them," he added, just in case Francis wasn't getting the hint. Francis beamed at him.
"I'm sure they wouldn't," he agreed, "but, as a matter of fact, it is you that I came here to see." Roderich's hopes of escaping unmolested plummeted and vanished into a pit of despair.
"Then why were you looking for Gilbert?" he asked.
"I wasn't," Francis admitted. "I just wanted to make sure that we were alone." His eyes slid down Roderich's body to take in the whole effect of the dress and he smiled approvingly, as if he were surveying a fine piece of art instead of a person. Roderich's eyes flicked to the door and Francis' smile widened as he noticed. Unfortunately for Roderich, in order to reach the door he would have to first get past the French nation. They both knew that this was impossible. Francis had quick hands from centuries of sly gropes; it would be child's play for him to grab Roderich as he tried to escape. However, Roderich didn't even bother to try. He knew that he was trapped.
"If you don't mind, I'm busy today so I'd prefer it if you left," Roderich said, but there was a note of hopelessness in his voice. Francis started to advance towards him, slowly but purposefully, and Roderich tried to back away without showing too much of his alarm.
"I'm sure you can make time for me," Francis purred, a predatory gleam shining in his eyes. "Ah, forgive me, I have not yet told you how beautiful you look." Roderich's back hit the wall and instantly Francis was in front of him, running a hand down the dress until he was holding the edge of the skirt, idly stroking the fabric with his thumb. "It suits you," he said, and his voice had deepened with lust. Roderich knocked the hand away.
"Stop it, Francis," he ordered, trying to sound authoritative. If he had succeeded then Francis ignored it.
"But, mon cher, you are a French maid, non?" he asked. "Surely this implies that you rightfully belong to me." Roderich would have protested that this logic didn't even make sense, but there was suddenly a mouth covering his and the Austrian abandoned that line of thought in order to put all his efforts into removing it. A hand slid smoothly up his thigh and Roderich was alarmed at how little his efforts of pushing Francis away were achieving. He had never before even considered that one day he might wish for Gilbert to unexpectedly barge in his home, but, right then, at the mercy of the biggest pervert in Europe, he had never wanted anything more.
***
Gilbert leaned back and took another draft of his beer. The warm, Spanish sun was making feel relaxed and sleepy. Or perhaps that was the alcohol. Either way, he felt that he could stay here, sat in Antonio's garden, forever. His host was sat opposite him, sipping occasionally from the glass of sangria that rested on the small table between them. At that moment, however, the other nation looked rather despondent, staring at an orange tree but not seeing any of the small, white blossoms that adorned it. Gilbert listened idly to the same old sorrows that he heard every time he visited his Spanish friend.
"Lovino didn't even come to Las Fallas this year," Antonio was saying at that moment, sounding so confused and depressed that even Gilbert felt a little sympathetic towards him. "He always comes to Las Fallas. He gets scared that I'll accidentally burn down the whole of Valencia if he isn't there to supervise. The only reason he wouldn't come is because he's avoiding me." Gilbert swirled the beer in his glass reflectively and wondered why Antonio couldn't see the obvious solution to his problem.
"Just throw him down and sex him up," he advised bluntly. "It's obvious that he's into you, he's just being a pussy about it, and there's nothing like sex for an ice breaker." Antonio managed an amused smile at that.
"You're so crude," he scolded lightly. "Although I'm sure you don't mean half the things you say."
"I never give advice that I don't follow myself," Gilbert replied, shrugging. Antonio smiled rather slyly at him.
"Does that mean you've already slept with Roderich?" he asked mildly. Gilbert froze for a second and then glared at him.
"No," he admitted, and Antonio smirked. "But not for lack of trying!" he added defensively. The other nation merely raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, that's different," Gilbert snapped, folding his arms over his chest. Antonio sat forward and leaned his elbow on the table, looking interested.
"¿Cómo?" he asked mischievously. "How is it different?"
Gilbert was saved from floundering for words as a faint but insistent ringing floated out from the open door of the house. "Your phone's ringing," he said instead. Antonio shot him a look that meant 'this isn't over', but moved into the cooler air of the back room to take the call. Gilbert frowned to himself and wondered exactly what he had meant by claiming that Roderich was different from the other affairs he had had in the past. He honestly didn't know; all he knew was that he had meant it. He was spared from further reflection as Antonio called to him.
"Gilbert, it's for you." Well, Gilbert thought as he rose from his chair, that was unexpected.
"Who is it?" he asked as Antonio passed him the phone, but the Spanish nation just gestured for him to answer the call, so Gilbert curiously obeyed. "Hello?"
"You bloody moron," was the greeting he received in return. Gilbert laughed and leaned against the wall, grinning widely. Antonio walked over to the doorway and lounged against the frame, far enough away that it looked as though he was being polite and giving Gilbert his privacy, but close enough that he could eavesdrop.
"Hey Arthur," Gilbert said, winding the phone cord absentmindedly around his finger. "How's your holiday in France going?" He didn't even understand some of the words he got in response. "Wow, so bad that you had to invent new curses for it? Don't you already have enough of those?"
"There will never be enough words that express my feelings for Francis," Arthur said darkly. "Guess where I am right now."
"Did you wake up in his bed with no idea how you got there and a sore ass?" Gilbert hazarded, still grinning.
"You're close, love, but no cigar," Arthur replied drily, clearly not finding the thought amusing in the slightest. "I am, however, handcuffed to the bedpost." Gilbert burst into laughter.
"So," he said in a mock seductive tone when he had calmed down, "what are you wearing?"
"Clothes, actually," Arthur responded, and Gilbert frowned, genuinely surprised. "Francis went out," the English nation added as an explanation, his dark tone making Gilbert a little uneasy.
"What could he possibly have to do that's more important than molesting you?" he asked.
"Molesting someone else," Arthur replied, "which brings me back to why you're a bloody moron. You left Roderich alone, you twat! Didn't you ever think that maybe Antonio had invited Francis round to his as well? That wine bastard knows that you're going to be out all afternoon." Gilbert felt himself pale a little, and he gritted his teeth against the anger that was building inside him at both the French nation and himself for his own stupidity. He knew that if he was in any sort of actual relationship with Roderich, Francis wouldn't touch him, but technically they weren't anything at all, and so Francis wouldn't have any qualms about trying to seduce him. Usually, Gilbert was also a firm believer in the view that if someone was single, it was fair for anyone to have a crack at them, but as he had said earlier to Antonio, Roderich was different.
"Oh Scheisse," he swore.
"I'd say I told you so, but I'm rather hoping that you'll come and rescue me as soon as you're done saving your boyfriend," Arthur added. "I have an ominous feeling that I'm being saved for later." Gilbert nodded vaguely, forgetting in his urgency that Arthur couldn't see him.
"Right, OK, I'll do that," he said distractedly. "I've got to go." He hung up the phone without even waiting for an answer.
"Is everything all right?" Antonio asked, not even trying to pretend that he hadn't been listening in on Gilbert's side of the conversation.
"I have to go back to Roderich's," Gilbert replied, walking quickly through the house towards the front, knowing that Antonio would follow him. "Oh, and can you do me a favour? Nip over to Francis' house and liberate Arthur from a pair of handcuffs, will you?" Antonio didn't show any surprise at the request, which wasn't really all that unusual, but he was worried about Gilbert's clear frustration.
"I will, but what exactly is going on, Gilbert?" he asked. The other nation threw open the front door and stepped out, not pausing but calling back over his shoulder to Antonio as he broke into a run.
"I don't have time to explain. Ask Arthur." And he was gone, leaving a bewildered Antonio to lock up the house, wondering what Francis had done this time and if he was going to survive the consequences when Gilbert caught up with him.
***
"I said let me go, you pervert!" Roderich strained his arms, which were pinned to the wall above his head by one of Francis' hands. The French nation had a surprisingly strong grip and it didn't seem like he would be letting go any time soon.
"Don't be so difficult, mon cher," Francis replied into Roderich's neck, which he was currently showering with his affection. "A few kisses here and a touch there will not hurt you." Roderich twisted in his grip, trying to break free. This was ridiculous. It seemed that Francis' strength, when confronted with a victim that he couldn't resist, became ten times what it usually was.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you that when someone says no, it means fuck off?" Roderich snarled, starting to lose his temper because he didn't like being helpless and he definitely didn't like being molested. Not by Francis, anyway. It was different to the way he didn't like being molested by Gilbert, where he said no but actually meant 'well, OK, go on then, if you must'. No, when it was Francis, he would happily kick the other nation in the vital regions, except that, unfortunately, Francis seemed to sense this desire and was standing at an angle that made this mode of attack impossible. It was very inconsiderate of him, Roderich thought.
"Oh my, what strong language," Francis said, sounding amused at how flustered Roderich was becoming, his tone irritating the Austrian even more. He raised his head to look Roderich in the eye, smirking a little as the other nation glared up at him. "You have so much fire burning in your eyes," he commented, stroking lightly over Roderich's cheek. "That's good. It shows that you have passion in your soul; a quality I require in all of my lovers."
"Too bad he's not your lover," a voice growled, startling both nations. "Let go of him, Francis." Roderich looked over Francis' shoulder and saw that Gilbert had entered the room without either of them noticing. He didn't look happy. Francis tutted at him.
"Now, now, no one will want to play with you if you don't learn to share," he lectured in a light-hearted voice, unconcerned, if a little disappointed, that he had been interrupted. He stepped quickly away from Roderich, however, when Gilbert moved forward, the expression on his face a clear indicator that he would not be above using force to remove the French nation if necessary. Roderich lowered his hands and stepped away from the wall, retreating towards Gilbert. His anger evaporated into relief.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Gilbert asked, his narrowed eyes never leaving Francis. The French nation smiled innocently.
"I was merely keeping your beautiful friend company," Francis replied, adding a slight emphasis to the word 'friend'. "That isn't a crime." Roderich suddenly became aware of the heavy tension filling the room. He could practically smell the testosterone in the air as the two blond nations tried to stare each other down. He hoped that it wouldn't end in violence, because that was the kind of stupid, unnecessary thing that Gilbert would do, and they were in Roderich's house, things could get broken…
A piercing whistle made all three nations jump and turn, startled, towards the door. Arthur lowered his fingers from his mouth and put his hands on his hips. "All right, time out," he said in his best no-nonsense voice. Antonio stepped into the room behind him and, either ignoring or totally missing the atmosphere, bounded over to Roderich and started fussing over how cute he looked in a dress, as if it were perfectly normal to find his friends crossdressing. This managed to dispel most of the animosity in the air, and Gilbert shot one final glare at Francis before averting his eyes, a sour look still on his face. Francis, however, lit up at Arthur's presence in the room.
"You just couldn't stay away from me, could you?" he asked delightedly. "I am so sorry if I made you jealous, mon amour, but you know that my heart belongs only to you."
"I don't want it," Arthur replied flatly. "And I've confiscated your handcuffs." Francis shrugged, brushing off the rejection easily.
"I have more," he said, smiling at Arthur in a way that made the English nation repress a shudder and turn away.
"Don't worry," he said to Gilbert consolingly, "I'll give him such a bollocking that he won't dare step foot into Austria for at least a month. Antonio!" The Spanish nation looked up from where he was examining the dress closely enough to make Roderich blush and try to shoo him away. "We're leaving."
"Thanks," Gilbert muttered, and Arthur nodded at him as he herded Francis and Antonio out of the room.
"Any time, mate," he said, "but you owe me big time." When he wanted to, Arthur could make his personality larger than life, Roderich mused as he listened to the front door slam. It was probably a trait left over from his days as the British Empire. Either way, it certainly had its uses.
"What did he do to you?" Gilbert asked suddenly, and Roderich turned to see that the Prussian still looked rather annoyed. Roderich wasn't entirely sure why, though, because really he, as the victim, should be the one who was angry, not Gilbert.
"Nothing really," he replied, and suddenly felt gratitude wash through him as he realised that if Gilbert hadn't turned up, he might have been molested much more. He moved closer to stand in front of Gilbert and let a genuine smile grace his features, something that he didn't often show to the Prussian. "Thank you," he said, and Gilbert's expression lightened a little. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back. I appreciate –" Gilbert cut him off by gently but firmly taking hold of his chin and tilting it so that their eyes locked.
"I'm sure you do," he said, and there was a note of possessiveness in his voice, "but how about you show your appreciation through a real thank you." He brushed his thumb lightly over Roderich's lips, his gaze intense. Roderich shivered a little at the suggestion, finally realising why Gilbert had been so angry at Francis. He was jealous. Which was stupid, because Francis wasn't Roderich's type in the slightest. He had a beard for God's sake. It seemed that Roderich had no choice but to show Gilbert exactly how stupid he was being.
"If that's what you want," he said, and he leaned forwards to press his lips against Gilbert's in a firm kiss. Gilbert was a little taken aback by the action, not having expected Roderich to acquiesce so easily, but his mind went blissfully blank as the other nation caught his bottom lip in his mouth, dragging his teeth over it and nipping it at the edge, causing a small shock of pain that succeeded in turning Gilbert on far more than it should have. When Roderich pulled away, he leaned in, greedy for more, but Roderich pressed his hands firmly against Gilbert's chest, stopping him. Gilbert was about to complain, but Roderich suddenly pushed him hard enough that he had to take a couple of steps back, and the back of his knees hit something hard. He half sat, half fell onto the piano stool, although he barely had time to register this before one of Roderich's legs was kneeling on his thigh and an arm leant past him on his other side to lean against the piano, effectively trapping him. Not that he was complaining.
And then Roderich's lips were on his again, harder and more forceful than before, teasing his mouth open to deepen the kiss and slide his tongue skilfully along Gilbert's, first lightly and then firmly, advancing and then retreating like some kind of maddeningly addictive dance. Gilbert reached out blindly and found Roderich's thigh, slowly sliding his hand up under the dress and feeling the smooth, warm skin until Roderich firmly grabbed his wrist and, without breaking the kiss, moved it back until Gilbert's arm collided with the piano keys. The loud medley of notes startled the Prussian a little, and he tried to move his arm away, but Roderich kept his grip firm, pinning it down with a dominance that Gilbert had never seen in him before…and he would be lying if he said he didn't like it.
When Roderich finally pulled away, both nations were slightly breathless and flushed. Roderich finally removed his hand from pinning Gilbert's arm so that he cold take off his glasses and reach to deposit them on top of the piano. Without them, his face looked more open, more enticing, and more fuckable, Gilbert thought.
"You're getting serious," he observed. Roderich smirked in response and trailed his hand down Gilbert's chest, tracing the shape of the other's body with his fingers until he reached the waistline of Gilbert's trousers, pausing to stroke along the skin there teasingly before slipping down between his thighs to where Gilbert wanted him most. Several notes rang out from the piano as Gilbert involuntarily twitched his fingers.
"I'm always serious," Roderich purred, delighting in the gasp that escaped Gilbert's lips at his touch. The blond nation spread his legs further apart in wordless encouragement, and Roderich rewarded the gesture by firmly stroking the hard length that he could feel through the denim. Gilbert's eyes clouded with pleasure as the pressure of Roderich's strokes increased and the brunet's lips found his pulse point, sucking lightly on the skin. Gilbert reached out with the hand that wasn't gripping the piano and slid it down Roderich's hip and onto his ass, squeezing it firmly and receiving a more vigorous kiss on his neck in return.
Suddenly, Gilbert felt a slight release of pressure from his jeans and realised with a shiver that Roderich had unfastened the button. Roderich's teeth grazed lightly over his throat as the slow, deliberate sound of his fly being unzipped reached his ears. A wordless sound of pleasure fell from his lips as Roderich slipped a hand inside his boxers and let it slide gently and teasingly along the full length of his cock. Gilbert moved his hand from Roderich's ass to grip in his hair, pulling the other nation's head sharply up and eliciting a small gasp from Roderich before he crushed their lips together desperately and forcefully. He moaned into Roderich's mouth as the hand around his cock tightened and started to move rhythmically, causing sparks of pleasure to flare and burst behind his eyes like stars, the white-hot heat of them so intense that it flooded his body and melted him into a molten rush of sensations. Roderich pulled back from the kiss and looked at him, his eyes dark with lust and his lips parted alluringly and irresistibly.
"Suck me off," Gilbert gasped breathlessly. Roderich flicked his tongue out over his bottom lip, looking sexier than Gilbert had ever thought possible.
"It's the duty of a maid to do whatever his master tells him," he breathed huskily, and Gilbert wondered through the pleasant haze of his mind why those words alone hadn't been enough to finish him right there and then.
As Roderich moved to kneel between Gilbert's thighs, he kept their gazes locked; his intense amethyst eyes never flickering as he slowly grazed his tongue up the underside of Gilbert's cock and softly kissed the head. Gilbert let his head fall back as Roderich took him into his mouth, the slick heat overloading his senses.
"F-fuck," he gasped, instinctively bucking his hips and running his hand along the piano keys, barely hearing the scale of notes that rose sweetly into the air and lingered there. "Oh God." Roderich caught him by the hips to keep him still and in return Gilbert tangled his hand in the other nation's hair so that he could feel as well as see the way that Roderich's head bobbed up and down between his thighs, pleasuring him with the pressure of his lips and the strokes of his tongue that were first soft and gentle, then firmer and rough. Each time that skilled mouth slid down his length, Gilbert felt himself being swept nearer and nearer to the overwhelming bliss of orgasm. His breath was coming in shallow pants and deep wordless moans, and it hitched as Roderich drew back and breathed on the damp, sensitive skin before kissing his way back up from the shaft and swirling his tongue around the head. Gilbert's pleasure spiked and he pulled lightly but desperately at Roderich's hair, trying to form the words to warn him.
"Roderich," he managed to moan, "I – ah!" The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a gasp, but Roderich must have understood because he let Gilbert tug his head back, reaching up a hand instead to finish him off. It only took three rapid strokes to tip Gilbert over the edge and into the blinding oblivion beyond; his whole body caught in the spasm of his hips and the explosion of ecstasy that raced through his blood and escaped him in a wordless cry.
As the last waves of pleasure faded, leaving him spent and sated, he was vaguely aware of Roderich standing and stepping back. A sigh broke through his daze, followed by words spoken in a calm, level voice.
"You just can't help but make a mess, can you?" Roderich asked, and Gilbert opened his eyes to see the brunet looking at him mildly and touching a finger to his cheek, which was splattered with something sticky and – Gilbert's thoughts derailed as his brain caught up with his eyes and realised what he was seeing.
"I'd apologise," he managed to say in a voice that wasn't quite normal, "but that's fucking hot." Roderich's lip twitched in a small smirk and he casually stroked his finger down his cheek before slowly licking the digit and sucking it into his mouth to clean it of the remaining stickiness. Gilbert stared, his mind wiped blissfully blank. Roderich smiled coyly at him and located a box of tissues on a coffee table, using one to wipe his face clean.
"Why don't you act this sexy all the time?" Gilbert asked weakly as Roderich leaned past him to collect his glasses and place them back on his nose.
"Because then it wouldn't leave you speechless every time I did," he replied, "and there are so few things that keep you quiet that I have to make sure to preserve the methods that work. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a small problem of my own to take care of." Gilbert lowered his eyes and saw that yes, there was a rather obvious problem creating a bulge under the aproned skirt of Roderich's dress.
"I'll help you," he offered, but Roderich shook his head and headed towards the door.
"I can manage," he said over his shoulder. "Clean yourself up while I'm gone. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll be thinking of you." He flashed another uncharacteristically flirtatious smile at Gilbert as he left the room, and, well, what was there to say to that?
And so, once again, Gilbert Beilschmidt was left utterly and absolutely speechless.
Translations and explanations
Las Fallas - a Spanish festival held in Valencia and celebrated from the 13th to the 19th of March where statues are built during the year and burnt in the streets on the last night of the festival
¿Cómo? - Spanish for 'how?'
You're close, love, but no cigar - In England, the pet name 'love' can be used for absolutely anyone, it's in no way intimate. You could call a total stranger 'love' and they would find it normal. However, a man using it on another man makes him sound a little metrosexual or gay, so it amused me to let Arthur use it XD
Scheisse - German for 'shit'. Actually written as Scheiße
Mon cher - French for 'my dear'
Mon amour - French for 'my love'