Ludwig knew he shouldn't be here.
The colourful lights spread across the room, nothing like the cute little dance halls and sweet jazz music he was used to seeing when approaching places for dancing. And surely, this place was just for dancing.
But as a man went up to a lady, shook her hand and conspicuously shoved something in her pocket, Ludwig watched as the two went up the staircase together and realised that this probably wasn't a dance hall at all.
He placed his face in his hands in disgruntlement. It was the Vargas boy who made him come here, he was sure of that. The boy liked women a lot, but he was so dense he probably didn't realise that nature of this place anyways. At that moment, he was up flirting shamelessly with some harlot who was shamelessly touching him back. Her wandering hands went unnoticed by the Italian though.
"Sir, you have to buy a drink now," a voice behind Ludwig spoke, sweet like honey syrup. Ludwig turned around to look at the woman behind him.
"Yes. You've been standing here for well over thirty minutes, and you have not bought anything."
Ludwig looked back at Feliciano for a minute before regarding the woman again. She looked older than him, but no more than twenty six. Her hair was a darkish blonde colour and curled at the tips and her bangs. Her dress was low cut, blue and short and if Ludwig didn't swear that with a little less distance he would be able to see everything over that dress.
He shook his head and redirected his attention to the stupid little Italian, to make sure he wasn't in trouble. He was out of sight. "Sheibe," he grumbled, placing a finger on his forehead in muse. The girl looked at him still, raising an eyebrow.
"He wasn't one of ours, you know," she said, a matter of fact expression donning her face and making her seem like she knew everyone and everything around her when it changed every week, "If you wanted him that badly, you would have noticed that he seemed pretty straight, unlike you, obviously."
She motioned at her chest, which Ludwig noticed there was more showing now; she must have pulled it down further. He scowled, blushing as he looked away. He hated when people saw through him.
Now Ludwig wasn't gay. He liked girls, as was obvious by his unwilling reaction to this harlot's attire. It just so happened that he liked the boy who liked girl's the most on top of that. Nothing wrong with that, he thought. It wasn't love or anything.
He then began to notice the woman's hands, trailing down his arms. He wanted to smack them, but didn't. Whore or not, she was still a woman. "You really must buy a drink now," she cooed, running her hands down his stiffened arms, "My name is Frances. You should really remember that."
Not that Ludwig would ever insult the Fuheir, but suddenly annexing this strange 'country of love' seemed like a bad idea, Treaty of Versailles or not. He really regretted agreeing to be stationed here, even more so when Frances' hands started trailing down his hips.
He fidgeted, dying to get away, to leave this place; was it what American's called a cat house? He didn't know, but he knew that it was never on his agenda to be dragged into one.
Her hands stopped, inches away from his crotch and she looked up at him, expecting him to fish out his wallet. He stood stock still.
"I think that is enough, madam," he said coolly, obviously not showing how mortified he was on the inside. Her hands felt dirty; it was like they were dirtying his military pants more than the mud and rain had back when he was a mere soldier.
"Is it now?" she asked, but it was not a question. It was a sarcastic comment that Ludwig didn't like the sound of. If this was a man, he would have been kicked to the kerb the minute a filthy hand was laid on his uniform jacket. But he still refused to hit a lady, however unladylike she acted.
"I believe it is."
Her hands trailed don his legs, and he knees bent until, eventually, she was on her knees in front of him. Ludwig gulped. Her hands found his calves and she ran them back up his body until she was standing once again and they were resting on his shoulders. He let out a sigh of relief.
"Do you want me to come back up next time?"
The question sank through Ludwig's skin, seeping into his cranium and his face flushed brighter than one of Feliciano's brother's tomatoes. He stammered and stuttered while she looked up at him with the kind of teasing expression that only a two bit whore should wear.
"I'd r-rather you refrained in going d-down in the first place, madam!" he protested and the woman frowned a little before her seemingly normal expression of cheekiness that a true woman should not possess made a comeback.
"Oh, a gentleman you are," she giggled, placing her hand on his arm, trailing it down; it sent shivers down Ludwig's spine, "You'd rather we both have some fun? You are better than most men out there."
Ludwig's face paled before flaming up again. "I-I do not think you understand the nature of my request now, madam," he stammered haplessly as she took a step forward.
"Hmm, do I not?" she asked, her voice becoming steadily more sultry. Ludwig's heart thumped uncomfortably. His mouth went dry.
"No. You do not." He tried to keep his voice steady. If his voice went, then surely his self control would be out the window and that would be such a failure to his men. He looked around helplessly for a sign of Feliciano, but there was none. Either the boy had ran out of the place crying again or he was in the process of being well and thoroughly molested by another one of these whores.
"Oh well," Frances sighed, and Ludwig let out a breath of relief, expecting his personal space to be achieved once more. But she didn't move away.
"I guess I'll have to try harder," she smiled, as her hands wandered once again.
Ludwig then surrendered, like he didn't know the German army would later to the French and the rest of the allies, but that, all in all, was not on his mind right then. God knows what was though.