Wooh, my first smutfic. Erm, well, I have some more written but I plan on rewriting some of it because... I want it to be good. Haha. Well, enjoy!

Ludwig shoved a burgundy-red leather book in Gilbert's hands. Despite his ego being the size of Mount Wank on the German-Austrian border, Gilbert yelped quite unawesomely, caught by surprise of the twenty-pound textbook.

"Entertain yourself," Ludwig told him patronizingly while walking out of the room and reached for his brown coat off the rack. "I'm out for a meeting with Ivan, so don't cause trouble."

Gilbert, reclining on the bed, looked at the huge book, then at Ludwig, then at the huge book, then at Ludwig. "But it's just some boring history drivel!" he cried incredulously.

"Don't worry," Ludwig said. "I'm sure you'll find some interesting information in there."

Somewhere to the south of the previous conversation, a part of Mozart's Sonata was reverberating around a certain aristocrat's halls. C Major, Third Movement. Whimsical bouncing of piano keys, fingers moving delicately yet at a skillful, speedy pace, a contrast of excited tinkling of the higher range and erratic rumbling of the lower basses.

Roderich didn't even need the music sheet—all he needed was the all-too-familiar smooth ridges of the white and black polished spruce to guide his slim fingers.

Then, somewhere back over there or something there was mad knocking and doorbell-ringing, somewhat chopping the musical bliss down to bits and pieces.

The Austrian got up from his leather seat and groaned, knowing exactly who the person, who did not bother to call in advance or even display common etiquette of knocking a door, at the entrance would be. He strolled through his spacious antechambers, not making a rush to welcome his unexpected company at all. It was sure to be an hour-visit of pain and annoyance.

As soon as Roderich reached the last hall towards the door, Gilbert simply knocked "shave and a haircut." Roderich took hold of the handle, turned the knob, and greeted Gilbert with a deadpan, "What do you want, Gilbert?"

The man in question crossed his arms. "You didn't knock the 'two bits' back! What sort of host are you?" Roderich felt the itching what sort of guest are you in the back of his head.

"I find it silly to knock on my own door," he replied calmly. "Come in," he said between gritted teeth. Gilbert stepped in and strode right by Roderich, outstretching his arms casually.

"Tea. Let's have some tea, Roddy," he suggested. His back was turned to Roderich, so he couldn't have seen the feral grin on his face.

Roderich eyed the other man funny. "Since when were you interested in tea, Gilbert?" He took a lemon and squeezed it into his cup.

"West gave me this huge-ass book about history and, err," Gilbert explained, hand in pocket, "it said a little somethin' about tea. I don't know, it said something like Austria had great tea or somethin'."

Roderich wasn't quite satisfied. "That's odd, people don't regard us for having good tea, but rather good coffee," he mused. Gilbert was well aware of that.

"Ehh, maybe because they have no taste. Anyway, before West went to his meeting with that freak Ivan, he wanted you to try this fancy sugar. I'm sure that you'd like it, being an aristocrat and all," Gilbert said, brandishing the small jar from his sleeve. Before he unpopped the cork from the top, Roderich jumped in surprise.

"Wait! You're not trying to kill me, are you?" Roderich spoke slowly. "Let me see the label." Gilbert gladly handed over the small jar.

On the label was 'Fine German Sweetener—Made of the Best Elite Sugar Cane' in a black Old English font. "Alright, I'll try some," Roderich said warily.

"Great! Tell me what it tastes like."

Small spoonfuls of the thoroughly grinded white powder were added to the Austrian tea. As Roderich brought the cup to his lips, Gilbert didn't try to suppress his expression. "Well?"

"It… tastes oddly bittersweet, and a bit like cherry," Roderich remarked. "How thoughtful of him. Tell him I said thank you," he finished.

Later that noon they finished their tea time, and Gilbert still wanted to stick around for one reason or another. "It's boring without West at home," he complained. "And I wanna see your ridiculously huge palace so, show me around."

"Fine," Roderich obliged, unbuttoning his coat and hanging it on a nearby rack. "If it will satisfy your curiousity." Gilbert smirked to himself.

The two went out to the gardens, a much brighter-lit expanse of grassy land than the indoor painted hallways, the flaming yellow glare overhanging above the citadel like a lamp, plots of kelly-green sod arranged faultlessly along a clean, white path of stone, patches of grass seeming to be never-ending across the distance.

"Nice lawn," Gilbert commented. Roderich ignored it.

"Let's get inside quickly," Roderich said. "I'm feeling quite warm and the sun really is scorching." The men went through the heavy black double doors again, in the softly-lit atmosphere that made everything seem to glow a golden yellow from silver-cupped peach wax candles lining against the walls.

The palace's hallway stretched for more than the eye can tell, with doors left and right leading to mysteriously various rooms. After about the twentieth door they passed by, Gilbert asked, "Why don't ya show me any of these side rooms?"

"They're just guest bedrooms, usually for the royal orchestras that come over for the annual Mozart competition in the winter," Roderich informed. "All of them are empty right now."

"Hmmph, what a waste of space," Gilbert muttered to no one in particular. "You coulda installed a trampoline or something."

As they drew nearer and nearer to the end of the hallway, it was becoming apparent that Roderich was uncomfortable. At first he started fanning himself with his hand and made remarks about the unusually warm weather. Then his normally flawless speech soon had plenty of "um"s and "err"s and a bit of stuttering. And following that Roderich's gait became stilted, his legs moving somewhat stiffly.

"I'm sorry, um, but I need to attend to my bedroom for a moment," Roderich said, voice slightly quavery. Was the world shaking or was he? "I apologize for being a rude host."

"Sure thing, Roddy," Gilbert said, a silent victory in his head taking place. Roderich rushed off ahead of him, while Gilbert pulled out a torn map from his pocket. History books are great, aren't they? he thought to himself. The master bedroom is over here so I just need to take this route. Roddy's probably taking this path so I won't have to worry about running into him.

Hundreds of paces and five minutes later (well, map-reading is a breeze to Gilbert—how else would he great at fighting?), the Prussian was met with an enormous set of oak doors. What's up with the double doors everywhere? Save half the wood for money to buy weapons, for God's sake.

Roderich raced off ahead of Gilbert, hoping that he wouldn't follow or protest. Thankfully, he didn't, and all would go well if he had stayed there. It wouldn't even hurt if he looked through the various bedrooms as long Roderich could somehow rid himself of this spontaneous uncomfort.

After a minute or so, knowing for sure Gilbert was far behind, he kneaded himself on his trousers while briskly making his way to his bedroom, the pleasure welling in his belly and desperately wanting to be satisfied. That sugar must have done something, I know it must have, and I doubt Ludwig would gift me such a wayward thing! Roderich's legs felt more and more unstable and it was becoming harder to stay upright without having to run, but—ha!, a nobleman running in his own palace, how silly is that? But Roderich felt his legs take longer strides and lift his body, shaking and nervous and just so wanting.

Finally, at last he reached his master bedroom, pried open one door and slammed it back, not even bothering to lock because God, God why am I so bothered and he unbuckled his troublesome belt and layers of pants and socks and undergarments hit the floor like a thud and soon he was fisting his growing erection with his right hand, the other wiping the sheen of sweat from his face, his eyes closed and his vision shrouded in darkness, his libido the only occupation in his mind. He slowly moved his hand up, almost afraid at the amount of pleasure radiating within him, exhaling a shaky sigh, legs slightly bent and quivering.

And then he heard the sound of a wooden door being swung open followed by footsteps and he opened his eyes and saw Gilbert.

"Damn, Roderich, I think you've having a little trouble there."