In Which Gilbert Saves the Day
-and Arthur gets pinned to the wall-
Through one large timeskip, we find ourselves at the first game of the season, the London branch of the Academy against its Bath rivals. In all reality, the two didn't have that much of a rivalry but the hullabaloo created just so it was more dramatic and exciting made it sound like the next Cambridge/Oxford Boat Match.
Matthew, true to his word, had kept Gilbert on the team, however he was merely an extra as the entire team was already assembled. The Canadian had suggested him to be a substituted but it was the general opinion of his team that they would rather die of exhaustion than let the albino anywhere near the ice.
So there Gilbert sat on the bench, shivering slightly, clutching the hockey stick close to his chest as they drifted into the second period, still tied at 1-1 after an exceptional assist of Matthias' off a smooth pass from Berwald.
Watching, now actually a little interested in the game after a few afternoons spent with Matthew searching youtube for famous plays and moments in hockey history, Gilbert's eyes followed the puck before glancing up into the stands. A fair number of people littered the seats (considering it was local team hockey game in London, England Gilbert was surprised people had even shown up) but his eyes were drawn to the angry sandy-haired Brit in a dark military-esque coat and the tall Frenchman in a deep-navy trench coat beside him. He raised a hand with a heavy glove on it, Arthur sitting up slightly, waving back.
Somehow, the action of Gilbert's arm threw Ari's gaze off for one moment and he stumbled slightly over another player's skate, his ankle turning in a direction ankles shouldn't really turn and he fell to the ice, gripping it. The ref's whistle pierced the crowd's quiet, concerned murmurs as the rest of the team skated to the fallen player, Gilbert watching worriedly from the sidelines.
"It's my ankle…" Ari hissed out, clutching his heavy skate, eyes closed, "I'm sorry Matthew, I can't play on this." Every single head of the team turned to stare at Gilbert, who was hanging over the side of the arena, legs flailing slightly.
"We are screwed." Ivan supplied rather happily.
So Gilbert was placed on the defence line and told not to get in anyone's way. Until the end of the second period he did just that, staying close to Berwald's back and doing his best not to accidentally trip anyone. He held it together until the buzzer sounded and he skated over to the edge of the arena where Ludwig and Arthur were standing and waving him over, the Brit looking very cold and displeased while his brother was mild as ever in his sleek, black ski-jacket.
"How did I look out there?" he asked nervously.
Ludwig opened his mouth to answer but Arthur, disappointed as he was in the total dullness of the game, seized the front of Gilbert's jersey, looking at him straight in the eye. "I am ashamed to call you my friend, you call that hockey?! I call that bloody fucking curling!"
Gilbert stared. "Have you been drinking?" (while Ludwig quietly said, "Curling is a very respectable sport")
"No!" Arthur said, shifting so that the two bottles of Jägermeister he had snuck it in to share with Francis and Ludwig bumped against each other. "Okay, maybe a little."
"Arthur does have a point," Ludwig agreed while Gilbert attempted to swat at the guitarist, though his big gloves were making that tantamount to trying to catch a bouncy ball while on roller blades with a pair of ovenmitts, "you should be more into the game Gilbert, you are making a fool of the family by staying in the back."
Finally managing to force Arthur away, Gilbert shifted on the ice nervously. "I can't do anything else, I'll make Mattie angry and I don't want that to happen!" Arthur scoffed and Gilbert continued, talking over his disapproval, "I'm not letting down the family either Lud, no one fucking plays hockey, we're Prussians."
"Germans, you were born in-"
"Of Germanic descent!" Arthur chipped in, "Look, you're letting the band down, Matthias is playing at the top of his game and you're fucking around on the ice like some namby-pamby fuckin' goose with a hockey stick!"
"You are drunk." Gilbert shook his head.
Arthur scowled, but a grin quickly followed as he leaned forward, whispering into the albino's ear. "At least I've got balls."
There were many kinds of abuses that Gilbert could take. His hair, his eyes and even his lineage (just wait until the Prussian Empire takes over, then they'll know what the hell Prussia is). But there were three things that the Prussian wouldn't let anyone, not even Arthur, make fun of. One was his singing; two was his 1950, bright crimson Beetle and third was the size of his dick. Five meters.
Pulling his helmet back on, Gilbert skated back to his team just as the buzzer went, announcing the third, and final, period. Ludwig leaned over to Arthur. "You make good pep talks." He complimented.
"And you just want my liquor." Arthur said, reaching into his jacket, tossing the dark green bottle to Ludwig before rejoining Francis on the stands.
True to his word, Gilbert did start stepping out, if stepping out meant skating one pace in front of the other defenceman Li before skirting back nervously. The game still dragged on, the score tied and both teams not being able to even get close to the goals. Finally, with one minute left on the clock, Gilbert decided it was time to prove to that stupid Brit that he had balls.
Seeing his offence finally break away from the other team (besides Matthew who had been placed in the penalty box for cross-checking), Gilbert followed in quickly, abandoning his own position, speeding behind Matthias who had the puck. He reached forward, stick catching the Dane's skate, making him trip and sending him careening into one of the defencemen, the pair sliding away towards the net.
Berwald, glaring at Gilbert, tried to catch the puck but the Prussian's speediness caused him to fumbled the puck. His slapshot missed completely as he stumbled, falling over and taking Gilbert with him. They slid forward, the team's goalie currently fallen as well due to Matthias' stick catching him.
Looking up weakly, squirming under the large Swed on him, he spotted the puck a few inches from the goal. The whistle still hadn't blown and the goalie was getting to his feet, wobbling back to the set. The clock ticked down and Gilbert, a stroke of pure instinct, reached out with his stick, nudging the small rubber disk. It slipped across the line so lamely that even the light above the goal failed to light up.
And utterly shocked silence fell on the crowd until there was a single shout from the bleachers. "Oy!" Arthur yelled, on his feet, "WE WON!" and the rest of the arena exploded into cheers, people hugging each other and clapping loudly.
Gilbert couldn't stand up as he was caught in a giant hug starting by Matthew and finished by Ivan whose arms covered Matthias and Berwald, sandwiching them together. "Uh-" the Prussian squirmed, pressed to Matthew tightly, "Hi."
"Hi." Matthew said quietly, squeezing him tighter, grinning widely and Gilbert couldn't help but return it because it wasn't Alfred smile, it was Matthew's.
After initial celebrations, Arthur found himself in the lobby of the arena centre, keys in his hands as he waited for Matthew (he has promised to give him a ride back, not trusting Gilbert or any of the other team members.) Most of the other spectators had left and only a janitor occupied, slowly sweeping up. So when Arthur felt a tap on his shoulder, he jumped a foot into the air, cursing loudly.
He looked around; Francis was smiling at him, offering a bag of chips. "'ere." He said, moving to stand in front of him.
"Crisps?" Arthur took the bag, blinking at the Frenchman, still a little tipsy on his feet. He swallowed, now he had to ask about the kiss they had shared. He had to know if it all just a drunken mistake, "Francis, I wanted to ask you… about the night we had our first show. Y-You kissed me and I was wondering if you were just drunk or what-"
But he was cut off as the Frenchman kissed him, backing him against the wall. The Brit stared as Francis grinned against his mouth; teeth teasing the bottom lip one while his hips teased Arthur's for a brief moment. Turning his head to the side after initial shock, Arthur glared up at Francis. "What was that for!?" he demanded, cheeks pink, hands clutched around the bag. "And that's not an answer!"
Francis' hand was on the wall above his head, curled into a fist as he smiled down, posture curved down over Arthur. "For inviting me." He said simply, "It was better than 'aving to work and I do like spending time with you."
Before Arthur could bow his head and try to hide his burning face, Francis kissed him again. "Y-You're a bastard…" he muttered, eyes half-closing as Francis moved against him more insistently, "And you're drunk, I can taste-" the words were muffled by lips against his and the hand on his hip.
Just as Arthur parted his lips, the chef stepped away, fixing his collar and tightening the belt around his coat. "Adieu~" the Frenchman walked away, humming to himself. Watching him go, Arthur shook his head, rubbing his cheek, trying to rub the redness away.
In an attempt to distract himself from the situation that had just occurred, Arthur looked down at the bag and read the label carefully, his blush turning an admirable shade of puce. "I'm going to kill you, you frog bastard." He muttered, clutching them close to his chest, closing his eyes and slumping against the wall slightly.
The flavour was creamy dill.
In Which Gilbert Gets Lucky
-and things finally turn out-
It was the Monday after the big game. School had finished and the halls lay mostly empty as the students returned to dorms, delighted in extracurricular or went to town to avoid doing the homework Professor Annan had assigned. The music room, however, had one person occupying it.
Gilbert was sitting on the floor, a guitar in his lap and a pencil behind his ear as he peered broodingly at a pad of paper. At the top of the paper read the title Google Gay and below it was a mess of scribbles. His tongue was stuck out in concentration. "Are you feeling lucky…" he hummed under his breath, frowning hard at the paper that was covered with scrawled words and cross outs. "Shit, what comes next…"
There was a knock from the door and he looked up. Matthew peered inside, nervously tucking his hair behind his ear. "Oh, Arthur s-said you were in here." He slowly slipped into the bandroom, shutting the door behind him. "I just wanted to thank you again… we couldn't have won without you."
"Oh, it's no problem." Gilbert said, waving a hand, glad now that he could look Matthew in the eye without feeling like a complete idiot. "I hope Ari's foot is better…"
Rubbing his arm nervously, Matthew nodded. "He's going to be fine. He'll be walking by next week. You know we're going to Kent for another game.
The Prussian smiled. "That's good to hear." He glanced up at the blond, swallowing and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I hope… you don't mind, but I think I'm going to quit the team."
To his surprise, Matthew's face fell. "O-Oh, why eh?" he asked, Gilbert holding back the squeal at the sound of the 'eh', "You're getting really good Gilbert." His hands where playing inside the large school sweater.
"Nah," Gilbert shook his head, leaning back on his hands, trying to look everywhere but at Matthew (he knew if he even glanced at those doe eyes he'd be playing hockey for a very long time), "it's not really my game, but I had fun and I'll totally come to all your games Mattie, hockey's really awesome!"
Smiling slightly, Matthew pushed his glasses up his nose. "You called me Mattie…" he remarked, and waited for Gilbert to response, but the Prussian had nothing. He had probably offended the Canadian to all-hell and was about to receive a slap to the face- "What are you writing?"
Picking up the pad of paper, Gilbert coughed slightly, pushing it aside so that the Canadian couldn't see it. "Oh, just a song, Arthur wants us to start some original music so I'm working on-" he paused as Matthew, with unexpected speed, hopped over Gilbert and snatched up the pad, reading it while the albino attempted to figure out what the hell had just happened.
"Mattie!" Gilbert got to his feet, trying to take the pad back, "Give it here you little monster, it's not finished yet!"
The Canadian kept it just out of reached, chuckling as the pale arms flailed on their side of him. "I'll give it back if you sing it to m-me."
Gilbert sighed, snatching the pad and sitting down. "Fine, but only 'cause you're cute." He was so focused on the pad and tuning his guitar, Gilbert didn't notice the way Matthew flushed before sitting down in front of him, legs cross and hands in his lap, leaning towards the Prussian.
Clearing his throat Gilbert took a deep breath. Normally he wasn't this nervous but performing in what had been a possibility for a future significant other had butterflies in his stomach. He strummed the guitar, starting a quiet and slight "Are you feeling lucky?
Are you still searching?
Or did you really mean, that you're just lost?
Don't worry 'cause I'll search every video
I'll check every mail and news station
Just as long as you stay right here
And be lucky with me."
He strummed a last chord, looking up at Matthew and smiling awkwardly. "So yeah, it's not finished for anything but-" Gilbert barely had time to blink before Matthew had pressed his lips to his briefly, the sweater rubbing against the strings of the guitar. "What the…"
"Sorry!" Matthew said quickly, standing up, covering his face. "I-I don't know what came over me, I-I just had to…"
Standing up, Gilbert swung the guitar around his back, seizing the front of the Canadian's sweater and kissing him back. "Okay, here's the deal," he said, pulling back, grinning a Matthew's blushing face, "I think you're cute and we should date, and I only joined the hockey team so I could spend time with you."
Matthew had enough wit left in him to say. "How teen-cliché of you."
"I know I know." Gilbert said, "But it worked out!" he kissed Matthew again, fully expecting to taste maple syrup, snow and polar bears but instead was disappointed by chapstick. Pulling back, he kept his lips to the Canadian's, enjoying the blush on his keeps far too much.
"Matthew?" he asked.
"How do you like the sound of Matthew Beilchmidt?"
"Not as much as I like the sound of Gilbert Williams."
Memoirs of a German Dungeon Master · Memoirs of a Canadian Filmmaker · Memoirs of a Latvian Running Back
ARG, it's over~ Next one is probably going to be a Ludwig-centric one.