A/N - First I'd like to thank Amethyst DragonRider for beta-ing this chapter for me, so my typo problem ought to be under control, and if not, I can pass the blame onto someone else, so that's great either way XD The rating in this chapter goes up again, though it's actually not as explicit as I'd originally intended it to be...in fact, this whole chapter sort of wrote itself and I just hung on and was dragged along for the ride. Also, this is the first chapter written entirely from Gilbert's POV. It was fun, but I kind of miss Roderich XD I hope you enjoy!
A little known fact about Gilbert Beilschmidt was that he was a morning person. Many people who met him, if asked, would assume that he was the type to laze about and sleep half the day away (which was sometimes the case if he had been drinking heavily the night before or received a particularly nasty blow to the head from a certain frying pan), but for the most part, they were wrong. The truth was that Gilbert was far too energetic to require much sleep, and why on Earth would he want to waste time doing so when he could be engaging in more productive activities such as hiding his brother's paperwork or sending bunches of dead sunflowers to Ivan? No, Gilbert Beilschmidt rose with the sun.
On this particular morning, the light that crept around the edges of the curtains was weak and pale. It wasn't even trying to make a good first impression, Gilbert mused as he slipped his legs out from under the covers and slowly stood up, stretching lazily. He yawned as he picked his way through the clutter on the floor to draw back the curtains, revealing Roderich's back garden drenched with the dawn. Frowning a little, Gilbert lifted his hands and counted on his fingers, stopping at six as he reached the day of the week that he had just woken up into. Could it really be the sixth day already? Where had the week gone? It felt as though the time had been whisked away and hidden amongst the piles of clothes on the floor. Gilbert had the sudden ridiculous urge to sift through the mess in search of it.
It didn't feel as if it had almost been a week, that was the problem. There was almost a worry eating at him, an urgency that something had to be achieved in the last two days before the clock struck midnight and the dress turned into a pumpkin. Oh, he couldn't say that he hadn't fulfilled his objective, but only because he wasn't entirely sure what his objective was or had been, because he thought there might have been a subtle shift in what he wanted from Roderich somewhere down the line. Whatever it was, he was pretty sure that progress had been made: boundaries had been erased and redrawn, walls had been torn down, and rules had been crushed underfoot.
And destruction was all very well (it was what Gilbert did best, after all), but then in the gaping, fragile space left behind – what then? Clearly something needed to be built to replace what had been there before, but that's a hard task when you don't know what you're building. It's the feat of a God who fashions men out of clay. Gilbert was no God; under his unskilled hands the clay would crumble, and no matter how gently and carefully he forced his fingers to sculpt, the shape he had worked so hard to achieve could still emerge from the kiln distorted and unrecognisable. And maybe in rage and despair he would smash it to pieces. But then again, even abstract art can portray the meanings and feelings poured into its creation if observed by the right pair of bottomless, violet eyes.
But whatever. It was far too early in the morning for intelligent thought, never mind intelligent thought in the form of literary metaphors, and so Gilbert's mind merely brushed against the edge of this idea before promptly forgetting it as he stepped on something sharp. "Scheisse," he swore, trying to balance on his uninjured foot and glaring down at where the mysterious object ought to be. He couldn't actually see it due to the other various items covering the floor, but he was confident that his anger would reach it and put the fear of Prussia into it.
When he was satisfied that he would no longer be attacked from below, Gilbert started to search for some clean, or at least cleanish, clothes to wear. He managed to locate some underwear that he was pretty sure hadn't been worn before, a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt that bore the legend of an obscure German rock band that even Ludwig had probably never heard of.
Now that he was decent (not that being decent was really a priority of Gilbert's, but other people tended to get upset if he wandered around without covering certain so-called inappropriate areas), he ventured out onto the landing. The rest of the house was quiet, and the atmosphere that lay over it gave the impression that the building itself was asleep. Gilbert smiled a little to himself. He liked peaceful atmospheres. They were more fun to destroy.
He entered the bathroom and plucked a toothbrush at random from the cup that rested on the sink. If Roderich knew how little attention he paid to whether he was using his own or not, there would probably be Words had about hygiene and such crap, but as far as Gilbert was concerned, if he was on kissing terms with somebody then there was no need to make a fuss about who used whose toothbrush. With that in mind, he didn't even bother to check whether he had grabbed the right one before using it, absentmindedly trying to tame a piece of hair that was sticking up in a Mariazellesque fashion. Clearly Roderich's hair was being a bad influence on his own. Gilbert had never quite understood what it was about nations in human form that caused strange flicks and curls of hair to blatantly disobey the laws of physics, but he would be damned if he let his own hair jump onto that particular bandwagon.
After finally forcing the stray lock of hair to admit defeat, Gilbert spat out the toothpaste victoriously and splashed some water onto his face to complete his morning ritual of Stuff That West Says I Have to Do. Now that he had acceptably gotten up, it was time for the best part of spending the night at Roderich's house: waking Roderich up.
Gilbert crept along the landing and carefully opened Roderich's bedroom door as quietly as he could. As usual, he had woken up before the other nation, who lay motionless on the bed, his soft breaths the only sound in the room. The same weak sunlight trickled in through the window, and even though it was still dim in the room, Gilbert suddenly found himself noticing the length of Roderich's eyelashes and the fullness of his lips. He padded like a cat over to the bed and then stood, taking the rare opportunity to just look at Roderich. It had been the third morning when he had first stopped and stared at the sleeping beauty on the bed, and since then it had become a habit. Vaguely, Gilbert thought that it was probably a little creepy to scrutinise someone as they slept, but it was so unusual for him to see a calm side of Roderich that he found it fascinating to witness the other nation's face when it wasn't adorned by an expression of annoyance or exasperation.
After a couple of moments, however, Gilbert mentally shook himself and snapped out of his trance. While looking was good, and he would never grow tired of looking at Roderich, there were better things that could be done when the Austrian was awake. Well, actually, some of the things that Gilbert was thinking of didn't require Roderich to be conscious as such, but since he wasn't entirely sure that it would be legal to do said things as Roderich slept, he supposed that he ought to wake the other nation up. Not that Gilbert had all that much respect for the law (he was above the law, as he was constantly trying to convince West and, occasionally in the early hours of the morning after several drinks, police officers), but the last thing he needed right now was a restraining order when the aim of his master plan was on the tip of his tongue, teetering on the edge of his consciousness.
With this thought in mind, Gilbert bent over Roderich's still form, close enough that his breath touched the other nation's neck and he could feel Roderich's body heat on his lips. Then he closed the shred of distance that remained between them, kissing a path upwards from the juncture between neck and shoulder. He sucked lightly on the skin and Roderich made a small mewling noise in his sleep, shifting a little beneath the duvet. Gilbert allowed himself a small smirk before continuing, pressing his mouth to Roderich's neck more firmly now. He was rewarded with another incoherent noise that signalled Roderich's slow return to consciousness. It wasn't until he bit lightly on the shell of Roderich's ear, however, that the other nation managed to rouse himself enough to realise what was happening and press a hand weakly against Gilbert's chest in a frail, sleepy attempt to push him away. Gilbert was a little surprised at how pathetic the resistance was. Even when half asleep, Roderich was usually a lot more violent than this. He pulled back out of the other nation's personal space and grinned in the face of the bleary glare that was being directed at him.
"Guten Morgan, Sonnenschein," he said brightly. "You're not very with it this morning. Were you up late last night thinking about me?" He leered, but it was apparently too early in the morning for Roderich to spot innuendos because he merely looked a little confused and said, "No." Pushing the covers off his chest, he raised himself sluggishly to lean on his right forearm. There was something off about his movements, Gilbert considered, frowning slightly.
"I don't feel well," Roderich said, his voice still thick with sleep. Gilbert sat down on the bed and looked at him closely. From this angle he could see that Roderich's face was slightly flushed and his arm was trembling minutely under the weight of his upper body as if the strength had been drained out of it. Gilbert reached out and pushed on Roderich's shoulder experimentally. The other nation offered no resistance, practically collapsing back onto the mattress.
"I think," Gilbert said in the thoughtful tones of one who is about to solve the greatest of life's mysteries, "that you're ill." Roderich raised an eyebrow.
"Really?" he deadpanned. "What gave it away?" Apparently his sarcasm was still fully functional. How disappointing. However, instead of gratifying the other nation with a response, Gilbert placed his palm on Roderich's forehead instead. He wasn't happy with what he felt.
"You're pretty warm," he commented.
"I could have told you that," Roderich sighed, but he lifted his own hand to press it against Gilbert's, keeping it in place as he let his eyes slide shut. Gilbert waited for a second in case an explanation was forthcoming, but none materialised.
"Why are you holding my hand hostage?" he finally asked, giving in. He wondered if the fever had already turned Roderich's brains to mush; the brunet was acting strangely.
"Your skin's cold," Roderich mumbled. Gilbert frowned and tried to pull his hand away.
"Hey, I'm not your personal temperature control!" he protested. Roderich made a small, unhappy noise as Gilbert managed to reclaim his hand.
"You're always so mean to me," Roderich mumbled without opening his eyes. Gilbert felt an unprecedented sting of hurt at the words, although he wasn't sure why.
"No I'm not," he argued. "I'm looking after you now, aren't I?"
"Not really," Roderich replied. Then he sighed and opened his eyes again before trying to struggle into a sitting position. Gilbert immediately pushed him back down.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"Getting up," Roderich replied. "I have things to do today." He tried to wriggle out from underneath Gilbert's firm hold that was doing a good job of keeping him pinned to the bed. "Gilbert, please! I have to get up."
"You're not going anywhere," Gilbert said firmly, leaning over Roderich so that their eyes met.
"But the chores –" Roderich tried to protest.
"I'll do them," Gilbert replied. Roderich looked at him doubtfully. "I'll do them," Gilbert insisted. "So you can stay here and sleep. Then you won't be able to complain that I don't treat you right," he added somewhat defiantly. Roderich looked at him for a long moment, Gilbert staring stubbornly back, and then he slumped back onto the mattress.
"Fine," he said, grudgingly admitting defeat. "I'll stay in bed today. But there's really no need for you to do the housework. I can catch up on it later."
"I said I'd do it so I'll do it," Gilbert replied. For some reason he suddenly had the desperate desire to prove himself. He wasn't mean. He was just occasionally highly amused by other peoples' misfortune (especially if said misfortune had been caused by him). Was that really so bad?
He was distracted from his indignation by Roderich reaching out and lightly taking hold of a small fold in the material of his top. Surprised, he glanced at the other nation, but judging by Roderich's distant expression, he was too deep in fever and tiredness to have any idea what he was doing.
"Thanks," he said quietly, and Gilbert leaned down to kiss him lightly on the lips. Roderich turned his head away. "If you do that, you'll get sick too," he chastised. Gilbert shrugged and kissed him on the temple instead, feeling the unnatural heat of the skin under his lips.
"I'm too awesome to get sick," he reassured the shorter nation, who closed his eyes again, barely awake.
"Mm," he managed, which Gilbert decided to interpret as 'of course, what was I thinking? You're far too sexy to get ill' and then Roderich's breathing evened out as he drifted back into oblivion and surreal, fever-induced dreams.
Gilbert watched the rise and fall of his chest with mild concern. He was thinking back to how Ivan had drugged them the day before. Could Roderich's fever be some sort of side effect of the drug? Of course, Gilbert himself had been doused with it and he was fine, but as he had said, his awesomeness was so great that it gave him immunity against everything. Idly, he stroked his fingers through Roderich's hair. Even Mariazell was drooping slightly. Gilbert frowned. Maybe he was worrying unnecessarily and Ivan's lie about cold and exertion hadn't been too far off the mark after all.
Either way, whatever was wrong with Roderich didn't seem to be too serious, and since Gilbert had volunteered to do the housework, he didn't have time to sit around doing nothing. He was already starting to regret his offer a little – he hated doing any kind of work – but he would look stupid if he refused to do it now when he had insisted. Besides, how hard could a few small chores be?
The answer, when it came several hours later, turned out to be: 'you should have let the man in the maid uniform handle it'. Gilbert was fairly indignant that an aristocrat who had never had to lift a finger for himself found such things so effortless whereas he, the pinnacle of everything manly and successful, was finding supposedly simple tasks rather more challenging and time-consuming than they really ought to be. It wasn't that he was causing rampant destruction – in fact, he was completely each task perfectly – but he wasn't finding it as easy as he had anticipated. The trouble was that he had a very short attention span. A mind as great as his needed constant stimulation – he was completely unsuited to menial labour such as this.
Therefore he was grateful to the distraction caused by the chime of the doorbell sometime shortly after one. Although Roderich hadn't mentioned that he was expecting anyone, Gilbert had stopped being surprised by uninvited visitors since they seemed to turn up every five minutes. It was probably because they had all heard that the mighty Prussia was staying here and they wanted to bask in his presence. Any other reasons were clearly just lies to cover their real intentions. They thought they were clever, but Gilbert was onto them.
So, when he opened the door to find Toris once again standing outside, he realised that he had somehow attained a number one fan who just couldn't stay away.
"Back so soon?" he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.
"I'm on another errand for Ivan," Toris explained, looking bored at having to carry out the duties of a messenger boy. "He says that if you don't return what you stole then he's going to free all the faucets in Germany from their oppression under your brother and put them to good use in the Russian military." He sounded doubtful as to whether what he was saying actually made sense.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Gilbert replied, but the huge grin on his face betrayed the lie. "I would never steal so much as a bottle of vodka from Ivan. Well, OK," he relented at Toris' disbelieving look, "maybe I would accidentally and completely unintentionally misplace a bottle of vodka in my pocket and unknowingly walk off with it, but that's different. Alcohol is magnetically attracted to me. No matter how hard I try to avoid it, it always turns up in the end."
"What about coats and scarves?" Toris asked, ignoring the total crap that was coming out of Gilbert's mouth. "Are they magnetically attracted to you as well?"
"Oh, there's nothing that can resist me," Gilbert replied in total seriousness. "It's my amazing sex appeal, you see. It's a curse as well as a blessing." Toris suddenly felt a deep, resounding pity for Ludwig, Roderich and anybody else unfortunate enough to have to spend more than five minutes of their life in this arrogant bastard's company.
"Can you please give me Ivan's things so I can leave?" he asked, trying not to let his irritation show.
"No," Gilbert replied pleasantly, taking rather an unhealthy amount of joy in denying Ivan his belongings. "As a matter of fact, I was planning on keeping them. Maybe I'll burn them on a cold night." He grinned at the thought.
"Do what you want," Toris replied, "but Ludwig isn't going to be too happy if Germany suddenly suffers a massive shortage of faucets. Who knows what he'd do to you if he found out that you were to blame." Gilbert hesitated and then glared.
"You wouldn't," he challenged. Toris looked him firmly in the eye.
"Try me," he said. A staring contest of epic proportions commenced, only to finish a few seconds later when Gilbert decided that maybe it wouldn't be wise to risk the source of all his finances for a scarf. He broke the eye contact, bitterly disappointed.
"I'll go and get them," he muttered before leaving Toris standing at the door. He found the coat in the lounge, draped over the sofa. The scarf had been neatly folded and placed on the coffee table. As Gilbert picked it up, something caught his eye and he turned to see a pair of scissors lying on the mantelpiece. Well, Toris had never said that Ivan's clothes had to be in one piece when they were returned…
"Don't even think about it," a voice reprimanded him as he was about to make the first cut. He jumped, almost injuring himself. Toris was standing in the doorway, eyeing him fiercely.
"Hey, don't you know it's rude to barge into other peoples' houses uninvited?" Gilbert said angrily, hiding the scissors behind his back. "And I'm not thinking about anything!"
"I can believe that," Toris deadpanned. He picked up Ivan's coat and draped it over his arm, then held out his hand for the scarf. Gilbert handed it over sulkily. "Thank you," Toris said. "By the way," he added, hesitating in the doorway of the lounge, "where's Roderich?"
"Upstairs," Gilbert replied, still sulking. "He's sick." Toris looked at him suspiciously. "He is!" Gilbert insisted. "It was nothing to do with me. Blame Ivan for abducting him yesterday!" If the look on Toris' face was anything to go by, he hadn't heard anything about the events of the day before.
"In that case, I'll ask Feliks to have another little talk with Ivan about kidnapping and why he shouldn't do it," he said wearily, taking this new information in stride. After all, it wasn't the first time that Ivan had mistaken 'I said no, aru!' for 'yes, of course I'll become one with Russia, just let me pack my bags'. Meanwhile, Gilbert saw an opportunity for petty revenge.
"Why does Feliks have to do the dirty work?" he asked slyly. "Or are you just too busy quaking in your boots to say anything that Ivan might not want to hear?" Toris turned away, gritting his teeth in anger. Gilbert had effortlessly hit the nail right on the head.
"Don't be stupid," he snapped. "Although I know that must be hard for you. I'm only asking Feliks because his level of sanity is closer to Ivan's than mine is. There's less of a communication problem between them."
"Well that's definitely true," Gilbert agreed. "And that was a pretty good attempt at saving face – well done!" He laughed as Toris slammed the front door on his way out. It had been a low blow, but turning the tables on the Baltic State had cheered him up a considerable amount.
As he was in too much of a good mood to go back to doing chores, Gilbert decided that now would be a good time to check on Roderich, just to make sure that the other nation was still somewhat alive. He was quite disappointed that Roderich had gotten sick during the one week when he was bound to dress like a maid and obey Gilbert's every order. This was a once in a lifetime experience! And since the average life expectancy of a nation was several thousand years, that was really saying something.
In Roderich's bedroom, the curtains were still drawn, but the amount of sunlight sneaking in had increased. Gilbert tried not to make any noise as he entered, but, unfortunately, he had the same capacity for silence as a small child who has just been given a whistle by an insipidly stupid parent. As a result, he couldn't possibly not trip over absolutely nothing and fall heavily to the floor. He blamed the lack of clutter as he sat cursing loudly at the pain in his backside. He never fell over in his room where there was a sufficient amount of mess to make people think more carefully about where they were putting their feet.
"What are you doing?" a sleepy voice asked from somewhere above him. Shit, he had woken Roderich. That hadn't been part of his plan.
"I'm taking a holiday on your bedroom floor," he replied, getting to his feet. "The carpet's very nice at this time of year." Roderich stared at him from the bed, looking utterly bemused. "I was kidding," Gilbert added, just in case Roderich's fever-addled brain couldn't quite grasp the difference between reality and blatant lies at the moment.
"I'm ill, not stupid," Roderich replied, sounding half-amused and half-offended at Gilbert's underestimation of his mental ability. Even though he was finding it hard to think in a straight line, he would never admit it. "What time is it?"
"About half one," Gilbert guessed. He moved over to the bed and pressed a hand lightly to the other's forehead to check his temperature. It was still too warm to be healthy. "Want me to get you something to eat?" he offered. Roderich considered the question and then shook his head.
"No thank you. Eating would require far too much effort," he mumbled. Gilbert laughed.
"Then I'll leave you to starve," he replied, and turned to go, but his attempts to leave were thwarted as a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him backwards with surprising force. He half fell, half sat onto the bed. "What?" he asked, turning to look at Roderich with mild confusion. "Did you change your mind already?"
"No," Roderich replied. He tugged on Gilbert's wrist again, but more weakly now, trying to bring him closer. "Stay here for a minute." Well this was odd.
"Why should I?" Gilbert asked.
"I want to ask you something," Roderich explained. His eyelids drooped as he fought against sleep. Gilbert, intrigued, stretched out on the bed and propped his head up on his palm, making himself comfortable.
"OK," he said. "Shoot."
"Why did you do this?" Roderich mumbled. Gilbert raised an eyebrow as if to say 'you're going to have to be more specific'. "The dress," Roderich expanded. "This whole week. What exactly were you hoping to achieve?" Gilbert opened his mouth to give the obvious answer, then hesitated. Then he dispelled his doubts and continued.
"Sex," he said bluntly. A gnawing feeling started in the back of his mind, protesting that no, no, sex was only part of it.
"It seems like a lot of trouble just for sex," Roderich replied sceptically, although his voice was starting to slur from tiredness.
"Well I didn't really think beyond the short term aim," Gilbert said without thinking.
"There's a long term aim as well?" Roderich asked. Gilbert paused, wanting to say yes and not knowing why. This was what had been bugging him that morning and he was still none the wiser.
"I don't know," he admitted, figuring that Roderich probably wouldn't even remember this conversation later. "I haven't quite worked that one out yet."
"Knowing you, it's probably 'more sex'," Roderich said wryly. Gilbert laughed loudly. That wasn't the answer niggling in the back of his head, but it certainly wasn't something he would turn down.
"That's a great idea!" he said gleefully, grinning. However, Roderich didn't look amused.
"No," he said quietly, and he sounded unusually sombre. "It's not." While the response didn't surprise Gilbert at all, the tone of voice did.
"Why not?" he asked, unsure why there had been such a sudden shift in Roderich's mood. "It sounds pretty good to me." Roderich curled up more and let his eyes finally succumb to the force that pulled them shut.
"I don't like that idea," he managed to mumble so quietly that Gilbert barely caught the words, then he sighed softly and drifted back to sleep. Gilbert frowned, resisting the urge to wake the other nation again and ask him exactly what was wrong with having a lot of sex.
"Typical," he muttered under his breath. Of course Roderich would fall asleep just as things were getting interesting. Not that it was rare for Roderich to play hard to get, of course, but the strange thing that Gilbert had noticed was that Roderich hadn't complained at all when the short term aim had been mentioned. What did that signify? Whatever it was, it had left Gilbert feeling slightly uneasy, although, like many of his feelings recently, he had no idea why. What did he want from Roderich, goddamnit? What did either of them want?
Frustrated and not in the mood to go back to work, Gilbert stayed where he was, staring unhappily down at Roderich. A cliché was ringing in his head: 'I've never felt this way before'. But that was stupid, that was ridiculous. It was also true in a literal sense. He had never felt such an insecure jealousy over another person before, never felt such a strong protective instinct, never felt a force like gravity pulling him as it was pulling him now, dragging him closer to Roderich. He brushed their lips together so lightly that it was like kissing a feather, and it made him feel broken as if he had somehow misplaced the axis of his entire world.
Suddenly feeling weak and lethargic, Gilbert lay down properly on the bed, but it wasn't enough. There was too much space between himself and the sleeping body facing him. Gently and hesitantly as a child taking his first steps, Gilbert moved closer, resting his forehead against Roderich's chest and sliding an arm around the other nation's waist. He was terrified that Roderich would wake up and find him there, but he could no more move away than he could fly. Their closeness calmed him and made him feel safe. He had been working hard all through the morning, he reasoned sleepily, it was time for a break. He would just stay here for a moment and rest his eyes. Just for a moment. Just for a…
***
There was the soft click of a door closing. A drawer slid open; a pause of silence, and then it closed. The sheets were soft and cool under his skin. Soft and cool and…empty.
Gilbert's eyes snapped open. Oh shit. He had fallen asleep, and for quite a long time judging by the strength of the sun and the depth of the shadows. What really caught his attention, however, was the distinct lack of Roderich on the bed. He bit his lip as he remembered the position he had fallen asleep in. Great. Just great. How was he going to explain –?
"Oh sorry," came Roderich's voice from somewhere behind him. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Gilbert warily sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Roderich was stood paused in the act of putting several neatly folded shirts back into a drawer. He was wearing the dress and looked a lot fresher and healthier than he had done earlier. He hadn't opened the curtains and the little sunlight in the room felt heavy, giving the room a calm, almost surreal atmosphere. Gilbert felt as though he had been tugged out of one dream straight into another.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he explained, painfully aware that there was a silent question in Roderich's gaze about why he had been curled around the other nation in the first place. He pretended not to see it and studiously avoided eye contact. Roderich accepted his inability to answer complacently and turned to finish putting away the shirts.
"Don't worry about it," he replied in an unusually gentle tone. Gilbert felt his stomach clench with fear, or maybe hope, that Roderich understood why he had found comfort in their closeness; why he had needed it more than he had needed his heart to beat.
"How do you feel?" he asked, noting that although Roderich looked better, there was still a slight flush on his cheeks.
"Much better," Roderich assured him. "I had a shower and some food and now I feel fine." Glancing over at the clock, Gilbert saw that it was almost eight in the evening.
"How long have you been up?" he asked, shocked at how long he had slept for.
"A while," Roderich replied vaguely, shutting the drawer and moving towards the window.
"You should have stayed in bed for longer," Gilbert chastised. "You can't get over a fever in less than a day. If you were hungry, you should have woken me and I'd have got you something."
"And trust you with my kitchen?" Roderich teased. Gilbert was about to defend his culinary skills when Roderich grasped the curtains and pulled them open, finally letting in the burst of sunlight that had been longing to fill the room with its warmth all day. Roderich closed his eyes briefly against the glare of the sun, now low in the sky, and then turned back to Gilbert. His lips curved shyly into one of his rare, genuine smiles and Gilbert's words died in his throat. His first thought was that the light was like a halo, but that was wrong: Roderich was the halo. The sunlight merely accentuated his beauty, making it look almost ethereal, because – and the realisation hit Gilbert with the force of worlds colliding – Roderich was beautiful. Truly beautiful. Heart-stoppingly, mind-blowingly, breath-takingly, world-rockingly beautiful. How had he never noticed before?
Almost unaware of what he was doing, Gilbert slid off the bed and stood up. He felt as though something hot and unstoppable like emotion made molten was filling up his chest. He saw something flicker in Roderich's eyes and wondered if he felt it too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought drifted lazily along the edge of his consciousness; something about filling empty spaces and sculpting clay into what forever would look like if it had physical form. But then he was at the window too, cupping Roderich's face in his hands and kissing him and tasting forever in his mouth, and Roderich was holding him tightly and his arms felt like devotion.
All the desire they had been holding in suddenly came to a head as clothes were cast to the floor, skin desperately seeking skin. Even the dress wasn't given a second glance. Roderich's glasses were dropped carelessly onto the windowsill and Gilbert was pressing their bodies together, whispering into Roderich's ear, trying to tell him how beautiful he was.
Somehow they made it over to the bed, tumbling onto the sheets, not pausing their kisses or touches, unable to keep their hands away from each other. Each time a gap appeared between their bodies, one of them moved to fill it, craving the heat and the passion that came with it. Then the plea for more fell from Roderich's lips in a sweet gasp and Gilbert complied, kissing Roderich's thighs before lifting them up, slicking his fingers and sliding them into Roderich's body. And God, but he had wanted this: to hear Roderich's breath catch and turn into moans, to see the need, no longer hidden, in his eyes, and to know that there was something deeper than lust exhaling with his breath.
Roderich gasped Gilbert's name as the other nation entered him, and Gilbert let his eyes drink in the sight of the body trembling beneath him as he paused to give Roderich time to adjust to this new level of intimacy. Roderich reached up a hand to stroke tenderly and hesitantly along Gilbert's jaw, and Gilbert turned into it, kissing the palm as gently as if he were worshipping it. Then he was moving above Roderich, over him, inside him, like the tide that is powerless to resist the pull of the moon. Roderich's arms clung to his shoulders, and with each thrust of Gilbert's hips, the world around them became steadily more meaningless, the pleasure connecting them more and more intense.
When orgasm came, it was like colours exploding; like fireworks pinwheeling under the skin and sparks of white hot heat colliding with live electricity. It was the jerk of the hips and the arch of the spine; it was toes curling, fingers tightening, a wordless cry, and Roderich's name lingering on Gilbert's tongue before falling free as a honeyed note of bliss.
And then Gilbert collapsed onto the sheets, his breath still coming in pants but starting to slow. His hand found Roderich's and he intertwined their fingers as they lay still for a moment, recovering side by side on the bed. Then Roderich turned towards him and drew their joined hands to his chest, curling his other arm around them. And Gilbert looked into his eyes with a sort of wonder, gently tracing Roderich's cheekbone with his fingers and feeling the shape of the future he hadn't known he wanted.
Outside, the sun dropped another inch in the sky and the tinge of pink on the clouds grew deeper, as if they had fallen into fever.
Translations of German Word and Phrases
Scheisse - shit (also written as Scheiße)
Guten Morgan, Sonnenschein - Good morning, sunshine
You know what would make me really happy? If you guys left me a review, because when I'm feeling uninspired I read the reviews to make me feel more motivated. And with all the schoolwork I've been getting recently, I really need some motivation! (Though thanks to all the people who watch and favourite this too - you guys make me feel so loved).