"What," Gilbert asked. He actually hit his ear lightly with his palm, as if dislodging some obstruction.
"You heard me just fine," I sniffed, a little hurt. I knew he wouldn't go for it. Thankfully, the elevator pinged, and the doors glided open. I strode purposefully out of the elevator, only to be caught by the elbow and pulled back in by Gilbert. I looked him in the eyes defiantly, trying not to let the blush creeping up my cheeks signal my defeat. I could hear the elevator glide closed behind me, though it didn't budge up or down. Obviously no one had called for it since we got on.
"Are you for serious," Gilbert asked, more inquisitive than mocking.
"Deadly serious," I responded.
"I believe it," Gilbert said, letting go of my arm. "I honestly didn't think you had such deviousness in you, kid. You're lucky I like you. So, fine, I'll do it."
"Good. I'm glad," I replied, trying to sound cool and composed. "I need to focus on the conference, though. So Friday then? Our last day at the hotel?"
"It'll be a date," Gilbert said, spreading his arms grandly and bowing a bit. I hit the open elevator button and exited, pausing to nod goodbye to Gilbert.
I didn't know my hands were shaking until I tried to place the key into the door of my room. With some wonder I couldn't decide if my hands were shaking from nerves or excitement. After all, it's not every day I get Gilbert Beilschmidt to agree to let me fuck him.
"Hey," I fairly yelled, pushing the door of Gilbert's hotel room open forcefully as soon as it opened a crack. The door slammed open, hitting the buffer on the oppose wall with a meaty thud. Gilbert looked quite surprised; probably because I had nearly taken his nose off first thing in the morning. "'Heads I win, tails you lose?' You tricked me."
"Wha? Oh. That. Yeah, haven't you ever heard that trick before? I learned it from a nine year old."
"And you fell for it?" I bawled.
"Well, no," Gilbert said, surprised. "Of course I didn't. You'd have to be an—oh. Oh. Don't tell me you fell for it, Roddy," Gilbert dissolved into whooping guffaws. "I thought you were letting me pull one over on you cos you were too proud to ask for it!"
My face felt aflame. I was so angry at myself, at Gilbert, at everything. So very irrationally angry. I had half a mind to take a swing at him. Gilbert saw this reflected in my face and took a step backwards. "Hey, now. Calm down, Roddy. I dunno why you get upset over the little stuff."
"Upset? Sure, I think it's quite reasonable to get upset when someone is trying to make the fool out of you!" With all the dignity I could muster, I spun on my heels and—and Gilbert grabbed me again. What the hell is it with this guy and man-handling me? I protest.
"Hey," Gilbert said, sounding extremely pissed. He spun me around against my will so that we were facing each other. His hands were like vice grips on my shoulder, to the point where it almost hurt. "Listen here, princess, you've got one hell a chip on your shoulder that I can't figure out for the life of me. Everything is attitude with you. I tell you I like you and what happens? You fly off the handle and hurl accusations. I joke around with you a bit and you damn near take a swing at me."
"Shut up and let me go." I tried to pull myself away from his grasp but Gilbert only tightened his grip. Now his grip was noticeably uncomfortable and I won't lie—I was a bit frightened.
"What's it like to have no friends, uh? What's it like to feel like every fuckin' day someone's trying to undermine your manhood? Is it tiring? Because if it were me I don't know how I'd get myself out of bed in the morning." I was waiting for him to start shaking me like a rag doll. Gilbert's attention wandered a moment, peering behind me; I twisted around as much as I could to see what he was looking at. At least three rooms had opened their door to see what the ruckus was about. One man was standing in a bathrobe with only half of his face shaved while a little further down the hall an elderly lady was peering at us suspiciously from behind large, owlish glasses.
Oh, wow. We were that white trash couple having a fight at seven thirty in the morning in a hotel hallway. I've never been so embarrassed in my life, which is probably why I followed Gilbert into his hotel room when he let my shoulders go instead of fleeing back to my own room. There's no way I could take the Walk of Shame in front of all those nebby people, even if it was only to the other end of the hall.
Gilbert's door closed behind me and I felt uncomfortable at once. Gilbert was pacing the floor, not even looking at me. Finally, he stopped and turned towards me. There was a good seven feet between us but I still didn't feel safe. "'It's better to lose your pride with someone you love rather than to lose that someone you love with your useless pride,'" he said simply.
I was stunned. What? That sounds…. Actually intelligent. Reasonable, even. "Who said that?" I asked.
Gilbert shrugged. "Some old English dude. Don't remember the name. But I could almost swear he wrote it with you in mind."
"Yeah, right," I mumbled, crossing my arms. Gilbert and his English friend can take a long walk. Preferably right off of the shortest pier they can find.
"Have you listened to a word I've said, Roderich?" Gilbert was yelling again. "I like you and for whatever reasons your damned fool pride is tricking you into thinking otherwise."
"Quit yelling," I interrupted. I was starting to get a headache from the blood pounding sickly behind my temple. I'm quite sure that I probably have a vein or two bulging on my neck. It couldn't be good for my blood pressure.
"I don't know what else to do," Gilbert replied, throwing his hands in the air. "I've tried being sincere to you and you turn up your nose. I try pleasuring you and the next day you won't look me in the face. I agree to let you put your dick up my ass and still, somehow, in your convoluted thought processes, you manage to work out that I'm trying to have a laugh at you. I'm frustrated. I'm at the end of my fucking rope. You won't give me an inch. But when I kiss you, I feel the difference. When you let me touch you your muscles melt. What the fuck more invitation do you need, du, du verdammt trottel!"
I couldn't even reply. I was simply stunned. No one has talked to me like that—well, ever. It was like a slap to the face, or a bucket of cold water suddenly down the nape of my neck. I should have been offended. I should storm right out the door. Instead, I felt ashamed of myself. I absolutely cannot believe I'm saying this, but Gilbert is striking a chord with me. I felt as disoriented as if I had been hit.
"I—I'm sorry, Gilbert. I'm sorry. You're completely right. I just don't know any other way to act. I suppose I'm just set in my ways. After all, I haven't changed my ways in over two hundred years. Can," I said meekly, the words backed up in my mouth in such a way that I wasn't sure I could force them out. "Can you help me change?" I finished. And a funny thing happened. I asked for help and I didn't implode. I let my deepest insecurity out and nobody laughed, hellfire didn't rain down on my face.
I'm such a prideful asshole.
There. I said it.
Gilbert's face lit up. "I never thought you'd hear you say it, Roddy!"
"Yeah, well, I hope you were paying attention because you'll never hear those words come out of my mouth again," I replied with a dainty sniff. Gilbert only laughed. He took my shoulders again, but this time his grip was soft. His thumbs worked over my back in little nonsense circles while he beamed at me. He let go of my shoulders much sooner than I would have thought, and began tearing the shirt off of his back.
"What are you doing?"
"Let's seal the deal, Roddy. Strike while the iron is hot. Make hay while the sun shines," Gilbert said giddily. The hell is he on about?
"I have the conference today," I said, "I can't… not till Friday, I've told you."
"Pshaw. The Swiss are speaking today and no one gives a flying fuck what those peace lovin money grubbing, clock makers have to say."
"Gilbert," I said disapprovingly. He is so very rough on Vash. I don't understand what their rivalry is all about.
"….Fine," I caved after a moment's thought. I can always get notes from Ludwig. Besides, I know I will never focus on the meeting now. I can't believe I'm saying this but….. damn the Euro, damn the Swiss Franc, damn the Pound, and damn the bloody Yankee dollar!
If I had any shame left after such a tumultuous morning it would have come round in full force as I fairly jumped into Gilbert's arms. Our faces clacked together fiercely, teeth bruising lips, maybe chipping an Eye tooth. I couldn't be sure right now; I'd have to check later. The bruising of my lips didn't stop me though; nothing mattered now except being bad, being ever so naughty, for skipping the conference and clambering against Gilbert's naked chest like a wanton whore.
My blood was pounding through my temples again, this time in an adrenaline rush. Gilbert wrapped his arms around me and dragged me back to the bed. I sat down heavily while Gilbert stood in front of me, unbuckling his pants clumsily in his haste. I glanced down and saw the bloody bedspread had been left on, though the sheets were rumpled and slept in. This aggression will not stand. I ripped the disgusting article off and flung it carelessly into the corner. Gilbert paused, favoring me with an 'I don't always understand you, but I'll take your word for it,' glance.
He fairly bowled me over when he climbed on top of me. Kisses rained harshly, but not unpleasantly upon my throat as Gilbert worked to claw the buttons of my crisp, white dress shirt open. If he pops one off I swear on my life….
Collar bone now exposed, Gilbert sucked at the flesh greedily. I know there will be angry welts there tomorrow but I wouldn't dare tell him to stop. Not when it felt so good. And is that my breath whooshing as loud as a hurricane? Stale hotel room air has never tasted so good or exotic. My starched shirt rustled peevishly as it was peeled haphazardly away from my arms and body. My hands tangled in Gilbert's hair and I accidently pulled it a little too roughly. There was no protest but I lowered my head to kiss at the sore locks as Gilbert buried his face in my stomach.
Gilbert looked up to kiss me again full on the mouth. Our next kiss was done with parted lips and just a taste of tongue. Gilbert bit my bottom lip lightly, pulling it gently away from my teeth in a way that was so unnerving I couldn't stand it. When his lips met mine again, I forced my tongue into his mouth, a little too eager, and lapped at the roof of his mouth. Gilbert's tongue traced the bottom of mine and I could taste him full on, the organic, familiar but yet just different enough taste of his saliva was something I swore to never forget.
With a surge of uncharacteristic, aggressively masculine emotion, I reaffirmed the idea of topping the hell out of Gilbert Beilschmidt. I haven't sunk into someone else's flesh for an obscenely long time. Aw, hell, if you must know I haven't been laid since a week after I wed Elizaveta.
By this time Gilbert had his hand well down my underpants and was fishing around expertly. I dragged his hand away and he looked at me in surprise. "Roll over," I commanded, bracing myself against his shoulders. He rolled us over roughly and I barely managed to avoid biting my tongue, though I toppled against his chest with an "oof." I could feel Gilbert's deep chuckles reverberating in his chest. I clambered up with a huff, and straddled his chest, feeling like the king of the mountain.
I took it upon myself to mirror what Gilbert did and lowered my head to suck at his neck noisily. I was a bit too spitty, and nipped a little too hard. Gilbert grunted in response, the cords of his neck flexing under my mouth. My mouth left with a pop and I surveyed the angry, red welt with little regret. I could see the red indent of each of my front teeth. Groovy.
Next I lapped at Gilbert's earlobe in a way I'd only fantasized about. Well, in my fantasies it wasn't Gilbert I lapped and ministrated upon, rather, if I can admit a little guiltily, it was Vash. But that was all over now, I reflected, dragging my teeth lightly over his ear lobe. As I pulled mouth away, Gilbert clasped the back of my head and brought my mouth back to his ear lobe. I practically shoved half his ear in my mouth and sucked on it obscenely. Gilbert's breath caught raggedly in his throat and I rubbed our hips together, as always, too rough and unpracticed.
Gilbert didn't seem to mind if I got a little rough with him. He ran the backs of his feet over my legs and the friction of our leg hair made me squirm a little. "Underwear," Gilbert croaked rustily, squirming beneath me as our erections rubbed and bumped, wetting the front of my underwear significantly more than Gilbert's.
Well, tonight precum could certainly come in handy. I could hear the stitching in my waist band rip with a purr as I stretched it past its limit in my frantic attempt to get it off.
Fingers, fingers, I chanted mentally. I was at the breadth of my experience looking into a murky unknown. If I lose my nerve Gilbert won't hesitate to step up and I couldn't let that happen. Gilbert read my pause and grabbed my fingers. He practically crammed them down his throat. His tongue lapped at them, making noise that seemed to be deafeningly loud. Spittle lazed down Gilbert's chin and I should have been thoroughly disgusted. I wasn't.
I removed my fingers when they felt slick, wet, and slightly pruney, immediately moving to lap up the spit on Gilbert's face. It was warm and slightly frothy but I didn't mind a single iota. I may not be a wine drinker but I can appreciate a delicacy when I happen upon one.
Gilbert's leg slipped up until it made a triangle bend at the knee, hip, and bed. I slipped between his legs. His erection poked me in the stomach and Gilbert's hips flexed into the soft flesh of my middle with a low purr.
In my hesitance, I made no further move with my fingers. Gilbert flexed his hips achingly one, two more times before relaxing with a labored grunt. His hands guided mine and pretended to not notice the slight tremor. I tried to be smooth and failed miserably as Gilbert grunted again, this time in pain, as my finger entered him. "I'm sorry," I pleaded, kissing his chest, and freezing my finger, second knuckle deep in my abused lover. "Don't… stop. Relax your hand, for Pete's sake."
"Oh," I gasped, relaxing my tensed muscles and moving my finger, achingly slow, in and out, in an out. "Another," Gilbert whispered. And this time I eased in carefully, never stopping the motion. This was nerve wracking. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my face as I put in one last finger. It didn't work long before Gilbert felt much more comfortable around my digits and he didn't have such a pained look on his face.
"Ok, Roddy, I can't stand another minute of anticipation." I removed my fingers carefully. My nerves felt on fire and my chest felt full of butterflies. It was time.
Gilbert did the next part, smearing my precum over my aching erection in a way that made what happened in that shitty hotel on the road seem no more satisfying than a handshake. This is what it feels like when you let go. I like it, I thought.
"Well?" Gilbert gasped, drawing me out of my contemplation. I ached for him, I yearned for him. My flesh actually pulsated in anticipation. "Be smooth when you do it," Gilbert croaked. "You can do it. You're a smooth fucking criminal right now."
Just like driving a stick shift, I advised. Smooth letting the brake out, smooth pushing the gas pedal in.
But I can't drive a stick shift, my mind rebelled. I felt the sheen of sweat on my back beading, preparing to roll down my flesh. Gilbert doesn't know that, I thought madly, frantically. Smooth fucking criminal.
I slipped in beautifully, Gilbert arching his back to fit me as I filled him. My arms felt weak as I propped myself up on the rough sheets. Oh, he was so tight. Tighter, forgive me for being vulgar, than Elizaveta was the few times we made love.
Gilbert wrapped his legs around my lower back, pulling me in more than I dared to go myself. We started a rocking motion, mine fumbling for almost a half a minute while Gilbert adjusted his thrusts patiently.
I was having the time of my life while we synched and sped up. My stomach ached and tingled in pleasant waves of endorphins. My voice went from increasingly ragged, switching to low moans.
"Not… cutting it," Gilbert panted.
"Wha?" I asked, glasses skewed up my face.
"Ho kay," Gilbert said with one final grunt, rolling us over. His muscles, not missing an ounce of definition from his Templar days, made the switch bearable, though still unpleasant.
Now that Gilbert was on top of me, straddling me and bracing himself on my chest, he smiled down at me in that Gilbert-esque grin, and moved with more grace than I thought possible. The muscles on his stomach were defined nicely, not overly muscular yet toned to perfection and I found myself hypnotized by them. Gilbert's chest heaved as he arched upon me, finally letting loose with a satisfied groan. My spine tingled at the sound. I could get used to this. All of this. Gilbert was working his own erection frantically, and I felt guilty at neglecting my job. When he came, he tightened around me and I felt my erection being squeezed beyond bliss and I came soon. I didn't feel graceful as I flopped underneath of him like a gasping fish but damn, I felt good.
"Arg," Gilbert grunted as he detangled our bodies before I went soft inside of him. I blushed at the wet noise we made, so utterly uncalled for. He rolled off of me, not quite clearing my body. He covered my side, warm, sweaty, and gasping. It was glorious in a way that I would have been ashamed of it I weren't so tired.
We laid there until the sweat cooled on our bodies. I was getting uncomfortably chilled and my flesh goose pimped. Gilbert drew the sheet and light blanket over us and resumed his soft, lethargic kisses upon my neck.
We were awakened quite suddenly by the telephone's shrill ring. I stared blearily at the clock but I couldn't read a thing without my glasses. Gilbert answered it groggily and I could hear angry shouting over the other line. Gilbert let his head fall upon the pillow and closed his eyes, seemingly oblivious to the noisy phone by his face. I heard my name being yelled in question and I started a little. "No," Gilbert said, opening his eyes and winking conspiratorially at me. "I haven't seen Roderich since last night." A pause, "Yes, yes, he got to his hotel room fine. If he was laying at the bottom of the stairwell with a broken neck the staff would have found him by now." Another pause, "no, I'm sick. If you come up here I won't even open the door. No, I'll get room service if I get hungry. GOODBYE, West."
Gilbert muttered something suspiciously like 'fuck the police' before snuggling up to me again. I exhaled and got comfortable. The last thing Gilbert said before we ordered room service was;
"Next time I top. I ain't nobody's bitch."
"We'll see about that," I said smugly.
"Ha ha. I like you, Roddy. We're going to bicker about everything and love every second of it."
"Mm hmm," I agreed, sleepily.
"And you know what else?" I was too tired to respond but I heard him clearly before I drifted off, "I think the Yen is full of shit too. We should stage a protest against damn dirty communism tomorrow."
[A/N du, du verdammt trotte—you, you damned idiot!
I don't think I've ever written anything from Roddy's POV that I've actually published so this was interesting. Very, very interesting. Austrian power HOO HA!
Alas, my readers, this is the last chapter. Good luck, Roddy and Gil, you'll probably need it when Ludwig comes banging down your door.]