- Day 2 -
It was early, too early.
The alarm sounded at 6:30 a.m. the next morning. The coach bus would depart for the ski resort at 8, which gave them plenty of time, but Roderich was in no mood to fight with the other three over showers, so he simply woke up earlier than they did. When he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his compression shirt and ski pants, he found that Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio had not moved an inch from their beds. Why was he not surprised? He had half a mind to wake the others, but decided that they were adults who should be responsible for waking themselves up. He continued to gather his belongings and prepare himself for a day of skiing. Still, the other three did not stir. He was just about to head out the door to get breakfast downstairs when Francis stood, walked over to the bed where Gilbert and Antonio slept, clapped his hands, and announced, "Bonne matin, mes amis! Get up!"
After eating breakfast and clambering back onto the coach buses with all their ski gear, everyone finally arrived at Stowe Mountain Resort. They piled out of the buses, pulled on ski boots, stepped into their skis, yanked goggles down over their eyes, and prepared for a day on the mountain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alfred strapping his feet into the bindings of a snowboard. The university did in fact have a snowboard club – why didn't Alfred join it instead? Roderich and many of his skiing friends found snowboarders to be annoying. They were always spraying snow in other's faces, doing reckless tricks, scooting along with one foot out of the bindings, and sitting down in the middle of the ski slopes…
An almost blindingly bright swirl of orange and red silenced Roderich's thoughts. Standing before him was a cheerful and grinning Gilbert, dressed in some of the most obnoxiously colorful ski gear the Austrian had ever seen. He wore an orange, red, and white checkered jacket that brought out the ruby hue of his eyes, which had barely been dimmed by the pale tint of his ski goggles. His matching white pants were almost as baggy as the kind one typically saw snowboarders wearing on the half-pipe. His pale gray skis were decorated with a yellow, orange, and red flame design. Only his slouchy hat and his ski poles and boots were of a conservative charcoal gray color. Roderich had to admit that it was a pretty cool setup. His appeared rather dull and conservative by comparison. "That…that's a nice setup, Gilbert," he said.
"Thanks!" Gilbert said, tossing his head back a little "It's just as awesome as me!" The albino's eyes moved to survey Roderich's ski gear. "Oh, that's a quality pair of skis you got there," he remarked, humming a little in approval.
"Oh, ah…thank you," Roderich said, surprised that Gilbert had noticed.
By this point, most of the club members were heading toward the ski lifts. "This way, guys!" Gilbert called to Francis and Antonio as he waved the two toward the mountain. They headed straight for the gondola at the center of the mountain, which would lead them to several black-diamond slopes. Roderich frowned and made a face in the general direction of the three as they disappeared into the distance. Apparently, they were going to take a reckless risk and start off on some of the resort's most challenging runs without first warming up on easier trails. Have fun getting yourselves hurt, Roderich thought to himself as he headed for the nearby ski lift, which should take him to some easier green and blue trails to start off with. Though Gilbert, Francis, and Antonio would probably be fine skiing on the difficult trails without a warm-up, it was a risk the Austrian was simply unwilling to take.
Roderich boarded the ski lift and let it carry him to the top of the mountain. The world beneath him shrank as an icy breeze ruffled his hair and stung the exposed skin on his face. When he reached the top and made his way down a reasonable-looking slope, he finally found a moment of peace. He was away from the responsibilities of school, from professors and exams. He was away from the practice room and from the piano – which was a rare, yet necessary, occurrence. And he was away from that obnoxious Gilbert Beilschmidt, at least for a few hours before the club would meet for lunch. With fresh powder gliding seamlessly beneath his skis, the familiar motion of bending around his ski poles, the sky mostly clear above him, and the rush of the wind whistling past his ears, Roderich could not have asked for a better day on the slopes.
Noon came too soon. For a few hours of skiing, it seemed as though time had ceased to exist. It felt as though it was just him alone on the mountain, with no one and nothing else to bother him. But his legs did feel a little tired, and his stomach growled, so lunch was probably just what he needed. Roderich took the gondola at the center of the mountain all the way up to the top, where a restaurant was perched among the challenging black-diamond trails that wound their way around the slope. He took off his skis and set them carefully on the rack just outside of the restaurant. As soon as he made his way inside, he could hear a loud, German-accented voice talking cheerfully from a few yards away. Gilbert. That voice cut through the din of lunchtime chatter at the packed café. Roderich got into line and ordered a sandwich wrap with duck and brie cheese. It sounded decent enough.
Carefully, he carried his tray of food down a few stairs to the table at which Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis sat. Another table nearby was filled with ski club members, but he didn't know any of them that well. He couldn't believe he was going to voluntarily sit with these three – but it would be better than eating alone. "Is it okay if I sit with you?" he said.
"Of course, mon ami!" Francis replied cheerfully. "We don't mind…" he paused for a moment and gave the albino a teasing glance, "do we, Gilbert?"
Both of Gilbert's pale eyebrows shot up. "Wha – I –" he said in surprise. Then, he regained his composure. "I mean, I guess the priss can sit with us," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.
Roderich set his tray down and settled into the open seat. He had no idea what that tiny moment of awkwardness had been about, so he simply decided to ignore it. He bit into his wrap. It was actually really good for ski lodge food. The meat was moist and the cheese had melted just the right amount. "Oh, look, the prissy boy has a prissy lunch," Gilbert commented between spoonfuls of what looked like New England clam chowder in a bread bowl. "It's duck meat, isn't it? Fancy-schmancy. And what the fuck kind of cheese is that?"
"It's brie," Roderich said humorlessly, even as Gilbert chuckled.
"Wait, they had sandwiches with brie?" Francis chimed in with an eager look on his face.
"Oh, Mein Gott, Francis. You're not going to take Roderich's side here, are you?" Gilbert said.
"I have to agree with him on this one, Gilbert," the French boy replied. "I am French, after all. I love brie."
Gilbert gave a conciliatory little nod. For the rest of lunch, the conversations they shared were surprisingly…normal. They talked about skiing, professors, exams, and where they might go on spring break. Gilbert, of course, made a few requisite teasing remarks, most of which Roderich decided not to scold him for. He reminded himself that he was here to have fun, and arguing with this incorrigible German wasn't going to get him anywhere.
When they had finished eating, they all stood and prepared to head back to the slopes. Roderich made his way up two of the four stairs before his clunky ski boots slipped on the third step. He tripped and slid backwards, catching himself on the railing before he could fall all the way back down to the bottom step. He straightened himself and glanced over his shoulder. Just as he expected, Gilbert and the rest of his entourage were staring at him. Gilbert laughed – a full-bodied, strange-sounding laugh. "Not so graceful now, are you, Roddy?" he called as the Austrian stepped carefully to the top of the small set of stairs. Ski boots really were a pain to walk in.
"You can't give it a rest for even one minute, can you, Gilbert?" Roderich shot back.
Gilbert just shrugged. "Ah, ski boots," he said with a smirk. "The great equalizer."
After lunch, Roderich again tried to avoid the three friends. Skiing alone was much more relaxing. This time, he ventured onto the more difficult trails. Just as he had expected, the mountain had so many possible trails that it was relatively easy to go for hours without seeing anyone from the ski club. Sometimes he wondered why he had joined that club. He had done so in order to interact with people outside of the music program, but found that the ski club was too unconventional, too loud, and too focused on partying for his taste.
An hour or so had passed since lunch when Roderich saw a flash of orange and red out of the corner of his eye at the top of a mogul run. "Gilbert? Seriously?" he said. Of all the trails he had to choose, he wound up choosing the same one Gilbert had.
"Oh…" Gilbert said in a voice that sounded surprised and hurt at the same time. "I…I lost Francis and Antonio," he said as he stared down at his skis. "The trail we came from branched into two parts. I think they went the other way."
Roderich was surprised to hear the German boy sound hurt. Was it something he had done? He had perhaps seemed as though he'd been a bit annoyed to see Gilbert. "Ah, well, I'm sure we can find them at the bottom of this run," he said, and offered the other boy a smile. Skiing with Gilbert for a whopping ten minutes surely wouldn't kill him.
Gilbert smiled right back. He shoved off with his ski poles and took off toward the moguls. Roderich followed, though he tried to ski a little more slowly than Gilbert. Though conditions on the mountain were fairly good today, there did seem to be a few ice crystals in the snow. If the snow from which the moguls were built had those ice crystals in them, they'd be unforgiving if a skier made a mistake traveling through them. He and Gilbert wound their way through the maze of raised domes of snow. Gilbert was picking up speed in front of him, flying effortlessly through the moguls. "Hey, you want to slow down a little?" Roderich shouted.
"Why?" Gilbert shouted back. He laughed and leaned downward into the mountain. He started to pivot around a particular mogul, but he'd picked up too much speed to make the turn. Instead, he flew over the top of it and through the air. When he landed, his right ski rocked onto its edge as he smashed into a second mogul. He fell onto his side. The ski was ripped off his foot, and it started to drift down the mountain. Gilbert lay motionless on his side, clutching at his ankle, breath coming in ragged gasps. "Ow! Ow! Shit! Ow!" he yelped.
Roderich skidded to a stop, sending a flurry of snow into the air as he did. "Gilbert, are you okay?" he said, his voice laced with concern.
"No, I…Roderich, my ski!"
Gilbert's ski had now slid a good ten feet down the mountain. It would continue sliding if no one caught it, and it would be impossible for Gilbert to reach the bottom of the trail with only one ski. Roderich lunged after the escaping ski and pinned it between his ski poles. Gilbert managed to stand shakily and limp a few feet toward the Austrian before he tripped and fell on his face in the snow. He lifted his face and wiped the snow away form his ski goggles with the back of his gloved hand. "Oh, fuck," he muttered, a look of wounded pride in those crimson eyes.
"Come on, Gilbert, I'll help you up," Roderich said as he bent down and offered an outstretched hand to the albino. Gilbert accepted the hand and used it to haul himself into a standing position. As he put weight on his right foot, he whimpered a little, and his face contorted in pain. "Oh, Gil, are you all right? Are you hurt at all?" Roderich asked, suddenly genuinely worried about the well being of the boy he couldn't stand.
"Oh – ow, my ankle," Gilbert said. "I…it isn't sprained, is it?" Panic suddenly filled Gilbert's voice. "I'm supposed to ski again tomorrow! I don't want to miss out on another day of skiing!"
"We won't know if it's sprained until we get you off this mountain," Roderich said firmly. He lifted one of his skis and used it to hold Gilbert's loose ski in place. "Here. Put this ski back on. I'll help you get to the bottom. Then you should sit down for a while." Gilbert nodded, and with Roderich's help, stepped into the binding and secured his foot back in the ski. The two made their way slowly and carefully down the rest of the trail. From the look on the albino's face, it hurt a lot to put weight on his injured foot. Every subtle movement, every turn and pivot, looked as though it was a struggle for him. Roderich found himself feeling sorry for Gilbert. For reasons he couldn't quite describe, the desire to help the other boy filled him.
When they reached the bottom together, Gilbert instantly stepped out of his skis and placed a hand on Roderich's shoulder to steady himself. Roderich removed his skis as well and carried them in his right hand. He wound his free arm around Gilbert's waist. "Come on, Gil," he said, and helped Gilbert limp down the snow-covered stairs that led to the ski lodge. They set their skis on the rack outside and hobbled together inside the building. Warmth flooded their bodies, banishing the chill of a late January afternoon on the mountain. Gilbert slid into a chair at one of the tables set up inside the lodge, which was mostly abandoned. Almost everyone at the resort was still out skiing. The mountain closed at 4:30 p.m. It was now almost two in the afternoon, so the skiers and snowboarders were out making the most of their last few hours on the slopes for the day. "All right, let's get you out of those ski boots," Roderich said.
Gilbert nodded and said nothing as Roderich bent to undo the buckles that fastened the albino's ski boots. As he pulled the right boot away from Gilbert's foot, the other boy whimpered again and bit his lip to keep from yelping in pain. Even through his thick sock, it was easy to see that the ankle was swollen, though it didn't appear to be twisted too badly. "Gil, it doesn't look that bad," Roderich said as he pulled the albino's other boot off his foot. Gilbert's ruby-hued eyes were aimed at the carpeted floor, which was littered with the scattered remains of the snow that had fallen off the two of them. It seemed as though he was trying to avoid looking straight into Roderich's eyes. "I think we should just stop skiing for the day, go back to the hotel, and rest. You will probably be fine to ski again tomorrow," the Austrian said.
"Okay, that sounds like a good – wait, we?" Crimson eyes stared into purple ones, questions looming in their depths.
For a moment, Roderich had to pause to recall the words he had just spoken. Had he really just offered to go back to the hotel with Gilbert and give up an extra few hours of skiing? Yes, yes he had. But for some reason, he didn't like the thought of leaving the German boy alone. "Yes, we," Roderich replied in a tone of voice that left no room for debate. "The officers said this morning that there's a shuttle that will take us back to the hotel if we wanted to leave early. Come on. Get your stuff."
They both fished for their backpacks on their storage shelves, put on sneakers, collected their skis from outside, and waited for the shuttle in front of the lodge. When it arrived and they shuffled inside the vehicle, they sat in silence, occasionally sneaking glances at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Part of Roderich wanted to break the silence – to say something, anything – but the other part of him wanted to sort out his thoughts. Why was he being nice to Gilbert? After all, they couldn't stand each other! Right? The Austrian started to wonder if he didn't actually care about Gilbert just a little bit. No, that was impossible! He was just being a generous person. He told himself that he would have done the same if had been any other of the ski club members, though he didn't fully believe it.
When they arrived back at the hotel and made their way into the lobby, Gilbert lost balance as he limped, and grabbed at the back of a nearby couch for support. "Ahh, Mein Gott…" he gasped.
"Gil, why don't you just sit down?" Roderich said. "I will go upstairs to the room and get you some painkillers and some ice. It's probably best if you stay off that foot for a while."
"Oh…okay," Gilbert said quietly. Roderich turned and was just about to head for the elevator when Gilbert's voice stopped him in his tracks. "But Roderich, why are you being so nice to me? I thought you didn't like me – I mean, we don't like each other."
That was exactly the question Roderich had struggled to answer himself. "I…well…you're hurt, Gilbert," he said at last. "People deserve to have someone help them when they're hurt. And it's not as though you're a bad person. Annoying, certainly, but not bad at all."
"Okay," Gilbert said as he slumped onto the couch and stretched his injured leg out in front of him. Roderich rode the elevator up to the fourth floor and slipped inside the room they shared. He fished inside his suitcase for the bottle of painkillers he always brought with him. After that, he pulled the plastic liner out of the little provided icebox and wandered down the hall to the ice machine, where he filled the bag with ice. He tied the top and took the steps back down to the lobby. Carefully, he pushed Gilbert's pant leg up and eased the bag of ice onto his injured ankle.
Gilbert winced and sighed shakily.
"Oh, Gil, stop being such a baby," Roderich said, although he wasn't quite sure why. Somehow he felt that it wasn't quite what he meant to say. "I told you it's not that bad."
"Want me to mess up your ankle?" Gilbert shot back. "Then we'll see how you like it."
"You're right, I'm sorry," Roderich said. Then, he paused for a moment before adding, "Gilbert you look cold." Indeed, his cheeks and the tip of his nose still looked pink, even though they'd been inside for about ten minutes now. He seemed to be shivering a little as well.
Gilbert waved off Roderich's comment. "No big deal, Roddy."
Roderich eyed the big containers filled with hot water and coffee sitting on a table a few feet away. A basket filled with packets of tea and hot chocolate mix sat in front of the containers. "I'll be back in a moment," he asserted as he stood and went over to the table. He dumped a packet of hot chocolate mix in each of two Styrofoam cups, filled them with hot water, and stirred until the mixture dissolved. He picked up both cups, carried them back to Gilbert, and sat next to the other boy on the couch. "Here," he said as he offered Gilbert the hot chocolate. It wouldn't be as good as homemade hot chocolate, or the kind one would find in a coffee shop, but it would do. "This will warm you up."
"Danke," Gilbert replied with a sheepish smile. He took the cup and sipped the warm liquid.
"Ah, bitte," Roderich replied. It was easy to forget that Gilbert spoke German, too. If the other boy didn't annoy him so much, they might have become good friends. It was nice to hear one's native language spoken miles away from home. It made his surroundings feel a little more familiar and comforting. For the first time since the beginning of the ski trip, Roderich paused to really study Gilbert for a moment. Gilbert's crimson eyes were half-lidded as he paused with his cup against his lips to let the steam warm the tip of his nose. Roderich thought that in that moment, the other boy looked cute, almost…endearing. The Austrian huffed audibly. That is, until he goes and says something idiotic, or decides to call me Specs or Priss. "You'll have to forgive me, Gilbert, but I've forgotten what you're majoring in."
"Economics," Gilbert replied. "You're…piano performance, right?"
Roderich was surprised Gilbert had remembered. At ski club meetings, Roderich had probably casually mentioned his major to Vash and his other friends, but he hadn't expected Gilbert to be listening, much less paying attention. "That's right," he said.
"Do you like it? Is it a fun major? I feel like it would be fun. You know, I used to sort of play the piano too."
"You…you did?" Roderich said in surprise, raising both eyebrows at the other boy. Gilbert nodded. Somehow, Gilbert didn't seem the type who'd play a musical instrument, especially not piano. Something loud and obnoxious, like trumpet or electric guitar, maybe – but it baffled the Austrian that Gilbert played an instrument as intricate and soulful as the piano. Roderich was impressed, though he'd never say so out loud. "Yes, I enjoy it, but there are times when it's simply too much," he continued. "There are times when I wish I could just quit and do something easier for a while."
Gilbert nodded again with a look on his face that said, I understand how you feel. Again, the albino boy caught Roderich off guard. His usual teasing, obnoxious demeanor had vanished without a trace. Perhaps it was just because he was injured, though, and therefore he didn't feel like his usual self. "Don't give up, Roderich," he said quietly. "I'm sure you're a great pianist. I wouldn't mind hearing you play sometime."
"What – really?"
This time, Gilbert seemed to remember that he was supposed to be pestering Roderich constantly. He outfitted himself in a confident smirk as he leaned his head back casually. "Ja, just so I can judge how much more awesome a pianist I am," he replied with a laugh.
As he rolled his eyes at Gilbert, Roderich replied, "Of course that's why. If you're so good, why didn't you major in music?"
"And waste my time on some shit like that?"
"The music major is not a waste of…"
"You're right. I'm sorry," Gilbert said, cutting Roderich off before he could finish his sentence. "You're being nice to me, so I shouldn't bug you."
Roderich felt the corners of his mouth curve upward, as if they had a mind of their own. "Well…thank you," he said.
"But I'll bug you again tomorrow," Gilbert added quickly. "Don't you worry."
Normally, Roderich would have shot Gilbert a reprimanding glance and responded with some sort of witty or scolding remark. But instead, he simply chuckled and smiled at the other boy, lost in the hypnotic sparkle of those crimson eyes. Gilbert casually set his hot chocolate down on the table in front of them, and then pressed his palm into the couch between their bodies. Then, he leaned forward toward Roderich. The Austrian froze in place as his heart knocked furiously against his chest. For a moment, he forgot to breathe. Yet he made no move to push Gilbert away; instead, he let the other boy move closer and closer. Gilbert hesitated when his face hovered only an inch or two away from Roderich's. He glanced into purple eyes in a way that was questioning, almost nervous. That glance spoke just as clearly as words could have. It said, Is this okay? Are you going to let me?
Roderich knew just how to answer that question. He leaned in and closed the remaining distance between the two of them until their lips met. The way Gilbert pressed back into the kiss was surprisingly gentle. Roderich had expected it to be rough and forceful, like everything the albino did, right down to his skiing. The Austrian clutched his cup of hot chocolate with one hand while the other hand wound around Gilbert's waist. Oh, so that was why Gilbert had set his cup down on the table. Roderich ran his tongue along the other boy's lips, and Gilbert's mouth opened slightly, allowing the Austrian's tongue to wander inside. Their tongues pressed against each other firmly, but still not roughly. Roderich found himself wanting more, needing more, craving more.
He pulled away reluctantly only when the need for oxygen became inescapable. He gazed breathlessly into a pair of wide, almost stunned ruby red eyes and felt as though he had to break the silence between them. "I, ah…" he started to say.
But his words were lost as Gilbert grabbed a handful of Roderich's shirt and kissed him again, much more forcefully this time. His tongue eagerly traced both Roderich's lips, which the Austrian parted willingly. This time, their tongues practically smashed into each other. Gilbert moaned lowly as Roderich trailed a hand across his hip and let it come to rest against something hot and hard. The albino used his hips to push back up against that palm. When they again pulled apart, they stared longingly into each other's eyes as their pulses leapt in their chests. Roderich bent for another firm kiss before he became dimly aware of the sounds of footsteps around him, muffled by the carpeted floor of the lobby. A few passersby gave the two boys long stares as they made their way to their hotel rooms. His cheeks pinked slightly when he recalled that they were in the middle of a hotel lobby, where guests were free to gawk at them. He leaned forward, placed his lips next to Gilbert's ear, and whispered, "Want to go back to the room?"
"Of course," Gilbert replied with a wild glimmer in his eyes.
They both stood and started to walk toward the stairs. Halfway there, they paused, exchanged strained expressions, and changed course toward the elevator. Roderich had realized instantly that it would be uncomfortable to climb four flights of stairs while they were both half-hard. Judging by the look that crossed Gilbert's face, he had thought exactly the same thing. Once they had reached their floor, their steps quickened to a fast walk, and then to a controlled half-jog. Gilbert's steps were halting and uneven as he struggled to keep up on his injured ankle. Roderich shoved the key in the lock with slightly trembling fingers, and then flung the door open.
They flopped down onto Roderich's bed next to each other and kissed roughly while groping each other's growing erections through their jeans. Roderich, who had never been one to waste time on romance in moments like these, pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. Gilbert followed suit. The Austrian lingered for a moment, frozen in motion, eyes fixed on Gilbert. God, his skin was as pale and unblemished as fresh snow, the kind that had dusted the mountain resort early this morning before it had been trampled by skis and snowboards. That moment of hesitation fueled Roderich's desire even more. He kissed Gilbert again as his hands wandered up and down that pale chest. The albino rolled his hips greedily against Roderich's, causing their erections to rub together. "Mmh," he mumbled against the Austrian's lips.
Sensing Gilbert's eagerness, one of Roderich's hands slid to the front of the other boy's jeans and nimbly unbuttoned and unzipped them. Gilbert sat up halfway, kicked off his shoes, and wiggled out of his pants. Roderich shed his jeans and reached to pull Gilbert's boxers away from his body. The albino kissed him again, as though he could not be content unless their lips were touching. His boxers were around his knees when his lips started to work up and down Roderich's jawbone, down his neck, and onto his exposed chest. The Austrian struggled to force back a gasp when Gilbert's teeth closed gently around his left nipple. As he licked and kissed and sucked, his hands ran along Roderich's hips, fingers curling around the waistband of his boxers and pulling them slowly down his legs. He kicked off his own boxers as he gave Roderich's right nipple the same treatment. The advancement of Gilbert's kisses continued down Roderich's chest and onto his right hip before he eased the Austrian's thighs apart with his hands and kissed the tip of his erection.
Roderich was powerless to stop a low, soft moan from falling from his lips. Gilbert looked up at the Austrian with a teasing, satisfied smirk as his lips and mouth started to work up and down the length of the other boy's cock. "Wait," Gilbert said as he pulled away and stifled a little giggle.
"Gilbert, what are you doing?" Roderich said. Every inch of his body wanted Gilbert, needed Gilbert, craved Gilbert. He ached to again feel the other boy's hot mouth around his cock. "Don't stop, damn it!"
This time, Gilbert couldn't keep himself from laughing. "Wow, I don't even have to ask you to beg for it, huh, Roddy? I just noticed you might want to take these off," he said as he plucked Roderich's glasses from his face.
"Oh…" Roderich mumbled, wondering why he hadn't taken his glasses off earlier. Just get on with it, he thought. But he refused to speak those words out loud. He wouldn't give Gilbert that satisfaction.
Gilbert put Roderich's glasses on. "How do I look?" he said with a smirk.
"Stop fooling around!" Roderich shouted, feeling his sense of self-control shrink as his lust grew. "Put those down and just...oh, aaahh, Gilbert!" Whatever Roderich was going to say was wiped from his mind when Gilbert started to lick up and down the length of his shaft. Roderich shuddered, and by the victorious sparkle that alighted in those striking crimson eyes, Gilbert had felt it. He gave Roderich's member a few more slow licks before he took more of it in his mouth and down his throat. The Austrian's fingers curled helplessly into the sheets as he sighed in overwhelming pleasure. Gilbert shifted his weight slightly, sheets rustling as he did.
Then, all of a sudden, the albino yelped in pain as his right leg gave out under him with Roderich's cock still in his mouth. He gagged, choked, and pulled away, his eyes watering. "Fucking shit!" he spat.
"G-Gilbert, what's going on?" Roderich said, his voice quivering a little.
The albino picked himself up and flushed slightly as he lowered his eyes, avoiding Roderich's gaze. "I…just put weight on my bad ankle, that's all," he said. "I suppose we should just…get on with it now, huh?"
"Yes, I suppose…" Roderich started to reply. "Wait! Maybe I should be on top."
Gilbert's eyes flashed indignantly. "Why is that?" he scoffed.
Roderich shot Gilbert a withering look. "Just because of your ankle, silly! You don't want to hurt it even more if you manage to put weight on it again, do you?"
"No, I guess not…" Gilbert said with a conciliatory air. He sank down onto the bed next to Roderich, who picked himself up and positioned himself over the albino, placing a knee on either side of his hips. Refusing to waste any more time, he lifted Gilbert's hips up and away from the mattress as the albino's legs wrapped around his waist. Then, at last, he pushed slowly inside. Gilbert let a strangled gasp fall from his lips, but it was lost in Roderich's low groan at the sweet feeling of completion, at the feeling of Gilbert's wonderfully hot and tight body surrounding his cock. Impatient from pent-up desire, Roderich pulled out and thrust back in, a little more roughly than he'd intended. The other boy pushed back with his hips against the Austrian's cock, urging him in deeper and harder.
Roderich was all too eager to comply with the unspoken plea in the motions of Gilbert's body beneath him. He pulled out and thrust in again, this time harder, and reached down in between their bodies to take the other boy's erection in one hand, while the other gripped Gilbert's hip tightly. The movements of his hand kept pace with his thrusts. Slender fingers that were used to touching cool, smooth piano keys ran along Gilbert's hot, pulsing flesh from head to base and then back again, sliding, jerking, touching. "More!" the silver-haired boy cried. "More, Roderich, harder, faster, please!" His heels dug into the Austrian's back, so hard that it was almost uncomfortable. But Roderich ignored it as he started to lose himself in a building haze of pleasure.
He bent down to kiss Gilbert, but he froze halfway, throwing the albino a taunting glance. Now it was he who had the upper hand. "Look who's begging now," he managed to gasp between ragged pants and low, needy grunts. Gilbert opened his mouth as if to reply, but Roderich silenced him with his lips, tongue invading the albino's mouth to lap, to taste, to explore its every ridge. He tugged and jerked faster at the cock in his hand, and then ran his fingers over its sensitive head. Gilbert tensed and jerked at that touch. His breath was hot on Roderich's bare chest. Sweat dripped down the back of the Austrian's neck, its scent mingling with the musk of sex as they pushed each other closer to the edge. The silver-haired boy started to moan, desperate, frenzied with desire and the aching need for completion. The delicious sounds that fell from those pale lips spiked Roderich's pleasure, encouraging him to pound mercilessly into Gilbert. Close, they were both so close…
There was a click in the distance, barely audible as it was buried under the sounds of panting, moans, sighs, and the wet slap of flesh against flesh. "Roderich? Gilbert? Are you two here? I'm-"
Roderich jerked his head up in time to catch Francis halt in his tracks in the doorway, blonde hair damp with snow and tangled from having been stuffed under a knit cap all day. His blue eyes widened. He dropped the ski poles in his hand, which clattered to the carpeted floor with a dull thunk. "Francis, what are you doing here?" Roderich barked, his motion in and out of Gilbert grinding to a halt as he narrowed his eyes dangerously at the French boy.
"I-I-well, this is my room, too," he stammered as his cheeks flushed bright pink. But then, the expression of shock imprinted onto his face twisted into a satisfied smirk. "Can I assume you two don't hate each other as much now?" His French accent thickened as he teased the two boys.
"Whatever!" Gilbert interrupted. "Roderich, will you just move already?"
"But Francis is…"
"He can watch, for all I care!" Gilbert's voice was high and desperate. He turned crimson eyes toward the French boy. "Do you want to watch?" he asked mischievously.
"I w-"
"No, he can't watch!" Roderich said. "Francis, would you just get the fuck out of here?" Francis nodded, held both hands up defensively, backed out of the room, and shut the door behind him. Once he was gone, Roderich turned his gaze back toward Gilbert and started thrusting in and out with every ounce of force he had left after a day of skiing. The pace of his thrusts was erratic, varied, and perhaps a bit sloppy as he chased his own release. He kissed Gilbert firmly and then bit his lower lip gently as his hand slid up and down the albino's cock. Gilbert shuddered beneath him, back arching away from the mattress. "Roderich, Roderich!" he yelled, his voice high and breathy and passionate, as he came into the Austrian's hand. Hearing the silver-haired boy call his name with such passionate abandonment was more than enough to drive Roderich into his own climax. He came hard inside of Gilbert and clung to the body beneath him as they rode out the last waves of orgasm together. When the blinding feeling of release had subsided, Roderich flopped down next to Gilbert and leaned in for a soft, exhausted kiss that was so different from the rough, lusty kisses they'd shared moments ago.
"Mein Gott," Gilbert murmured between heavy pants and gasps for air.
Beyond the point of forming coherent sentences, Roderich chuckled wearily and trailed his fingers along the inside of Gilbert's wrist. They lay there like that for several long moments, breathless, gazing into each other's eyes. Gilbert reached out and brushed a few sweat-soaked strands of hair away from Roderich's forehead. The Austrian couldn't help but smile.
But it slowly dawned upon him that he had just had sex with the boy he couldn't stand, the boy who irritated him for the entirety of the ski club's weekly meetings, the boy he'd convinced himself he'd never like. Feeling hot and sticky, Roderich stood without further warning. "I think I need a shower before dinner," he announced and headed toward the restroom.
Gilbert got up and started to follow Roderich. "I could use a shower, too," he said with a grin.
"Well, you'll get one after I get out," Roderich replied. "Gilbert, don't push your luck."
In about two hours, the ski club met in the dining hall on the first floor of the hotel for dinner. Roderich waked silently next to Gilbert as they headed to meet Francis and Antonio, who were already downstairs, chatting with Alfred and other club members. Both boys were exhausted, sore, and eager for a big meal. Gilbert ran a hand through silvery hair that was still damp from the shower. Though he would never say it out loud, Roderich thought that Gilbert looked almost annoyingly attractive in his chunky cream-colored cable knit sweater, faded jeans, and black Converse Chuck Taylors. The Austrian wondered what this meant for the two of them. They weren't together now, were they? They'd just had an afternoon of random sex, and that was it, right? Roderich realized that he had started to like the German boy just a little bit. He aimed purple eyes at Gilbert, studying the other boy's expression, trying to read it. Gilbert's face was intense and unmoving, the corners of his mouth turned slightly downward. But there was a glimmer of uncertainty in those crimson eyes. Roderich noticed that those eyes always seemed to betray the emotions Gilbert's face was able to hide. Did Gilbert like him back – and if he did, was that a good thing, or was it a disaster waiting to happen?
Eager to rid his mind of all those thoughts, Roderich found Francis and Antonio seated at a large round table next to Alfred. Both of Gilbert's friends smirked as he and Roderich settled into their seats. "Have a fun afternoon, you two?" Antonio asked suggestively. Shit! Francis must have told him what he'd seen the two of them doing. Of course he had. Those three seemed to tell each other everything.
"It was all right, I suppose," Roderich answered coolly. Gilbert opened his mouth as if to speak, but shook his head and remained silent instead. He looked a little hurt.
"How was the skiing, bros?" Alfred said cheerfully. He seemed oblivious to the awkward tension occurring between the other four. "How'd you like that fresh pow-pow?"
Roderich wrinkled his nose at the way Alfred had said "pow-pow" rather than "powder." He wondered if it was a snowboarding thing. "It was good," Roderich said.
"Yeah. It was great, real great," Gilbert responded petulantly.
Alfred's face fell. "Oh…" he said, as though he had finally sensed that something wasn't quite right.
But before he had the chance to say anything else, a soft voice called, "Hey, Alfred!" The blonde twisted halfway around in his seat and waved to Ivan Braginsky, who stood near the table clutching his plate of food. Though Ivan had joined the ski club a year ago, Roderich had barely spoken to him. The Russian always seemed so quiet and lost in his own thoughts.
"Hey, babe," Alfred said casually. He turned back to the four of them. "Sorry, guys, but I'm gonna go sit with my Russky, 'kay?"
Everyone bid him farewell. Roderich glanced at Gilbert, who was scowling with his arms folded over his chest. He'd barely touched his food. Wordlessly, Roderich reached under the table and placed a hand on the other boy's thigh. Gilbert's expression shifted instantly. He smiled at Roderich, uncrossed his arms, and dug into his dinner.
That night, Francis, Antonio, Gilbert, and Roderich all decided to go to bed early so they could be rested for a second day of skiing. When Roderich emerged from the restroom, dressed and ready for bed, Francis raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you two going to sleep in the same bed tonight? I mean, because you already had se-"
"Francis!" Roderich interrupted sharply. He turned to glance at Gilbert, who gave him a sheepish smile. The Austrian supposed it wouldn't be so awkward to sleep next to Gilbert now that he'd slept with him. "Why not?" he said with a shrug, and climbed wearily into bed. The silver-haired boy slid in behind Roderich and wrapped both arms around him. Roderich froze, his body rigid in Gilbert's arms, as he felt warm breath on the back of his neck. But he didn't push Gilbert away or resist. He wasn't used to lying in bed in someone's arms without sex or stipulations, but he had to admit, it kind of felt good. He relaxed into Gilbert's arms and heard the other boy sigh happily. With the curves of their bodies fitting together perfectly, Roderich started to drift off into sleep.
First of all, I'm sorry it took me so long to finish Part 2! School and writer's block and other stuff happened.
Second of all…DanieSora, if you're reading this, the little bit of RusAme I threw in there is for you!
Lastly, as always, thanks for reading and reviews are love :) Stay tuned for the conclusion of this threeshot!