Week 9: Gilbert/Roderich

'It's got nothing to do with wanting to be close to you, I just can't sleep now that I'm up,' Roderich replied grumpily, arms folded. Truthfully, he wanted to keep an eye on Gilbert for the night; he was still worried, despite himself. The idea that it had anything to do with Gilbert's- assets- was preposterous, and he told himself as much over and over. 'And I may as well stay here and make sure you don't maim yourself further-'

He broke off, feeling Gilbert's fingers in his hair. He remained still- although he may have leaned ever so slightly into the touch- until the other man moved his hand away; Roderich leaned back against the couch, turning his head to look up at Gilbert. He gave him a puzzled look, free of the usual irritation or contempt he felt.

Gilbert noticed Roderich watching him, and he dropped his hand into his lap quickly. He blew out a puff of air, causing his cheeks to puff out for just a moment. The albino looked down at the other with annoyance in his eyes.

"Your hair is soft." He said it like it was an accusation. The expression on his face was that of a child who ate something sour unexpectedly. With a huff, he reached his hand out once again to palm the dark locks. He rolled his eyes as he did so.

"Stupid prissy man with soft hair." He grumbled.

Roderich raised an eyebrow at this admission, before simply blinking in surprise as Gilbert...well, almost petted him. He froze up a little at first, but when the half-expected tug on Mariazell didn't come, he relaxed back against the couch. It was definitely odd, but not unpleasant.

'Forgive me, next time I'll let it get tangled, shall I?' he said, with a slight smile. 'Although I'm afraid I can't do much about being prissy, you're stuck with that.'

"Hmph," he ran his fingers across the dark strands. "Maybe you should at that. Toughen you up a bit."

Despite his harsher tone, the touch of his hand was soft against Roderich's hair. He slipped his fingers down to smooth a lock behind the other man's ear, brushing his skin with his thumb in the process.

He pulled his hand away without looking at the brunet. "I think you can sleep now. Go get comfortable." He threw the cover over his shoulder and snuggled down into the cushions.


(We can skip if you like, or more can come up tonight. Either is fine with me.)

Roderich merely continued to look up, slightly dazed and thrown off-guard by Gilbert's behaviour; when the other man ordered him back to his couch and turned away, only then did he snap out of it. He smiled to himself, shaking his head. The alcohol and the pain must have gone to Gilbert's head, but Roderich wasn't complaining about a ceasefire. He pulled himself up off the floor, deciding he could probably sleep after all.

'Goodnight, Gilbert,' he said, voice almost a whisper, and he briefly rested his hand on the unruly white hair before sliding back under his blankets, covering himself up completely against the cold and falling into blackness without even realising.

(Skip away, that's fine with me ^^)

Though he had a bit of trouble actually falling asleep, Gilbert did finally manage it. After another couple of drinks of course. He had nightmares about being chased, and on more than one occasion, awoke in a sheen of sweat.

He grumbled as he felt the sunlight coming in and used a pillow to cover his eyes. Hiding from the morning, he allowed himself another brief dream. This one was about a dark-haired nurse with a mole.

Roderich breathed into his pillow, blankets drawn over his head. He was warm and content in his pre-waking state, but as the light filtered through the sheets, he stirred more and more, eventually opening bleary eyes to take in the sight of white cotton pillowcases. It took him a minute or two to remember where he was, why he was and what he was, but when he'd managed it, he dragged himself up off his stomach and on to his knees. He blinked around the room, settling on the body opposite him.

His drawing room was a mess; there were blankets spilling off the couches and bottles on the floor. He sighed at the thought of cleaning up later, but for now, he got up, padding off to the bathroom wrapped in a blanket, bare feet making little noise on the wooden floors. He'd let Gilbert rest for now.

He was stuck between sleep and awake as he dreamed of the dark-haired nurse. Her steps caused creeks in the floor as she came to check on him. She appeared above him with a soft smile on her rosy lips.

"Are you feeling better today?"

He nodded slowly to answer her question.

She came closer to him and turned down his covers, caressing his chest more than was necessary. "How is your ankle?"

He half smiled. "Well, it hurts like a bitch."

She smiled in return and sat beside him on the bed. Bed? "Well, maybe I could make you feel a little better anyway." She shifted so that she was bent and sucking on his neck. Gilbert groaned.

Returning to the drawing room with a yawn, Roderich looked around again; time to tidy up a bit. He removed the blankets from his vacated couch, folding them neatly, and stacking the pillows. Then he stepped over to Gilbert's couch, neatly sidestepping the bottle and glasses left on the floor and picking them up, depositing them on the coffee table nearby. As for Gilbert, there wasn't much he could do while he was still asleep, but Roderich picked up a fallen pillow and tucked in the stray edges of blanket in an effort to make the man look less like a heap of laundry. As he did so, he caught the odd groan and murmur, and wondered what Gilbert was dreaming about.

Roderich lifted a corner of the blanket, very gently, to take a quick look at the injured ankle, then replaced it, turning to study Gilbert's expression instead. He didn't look like he was in pain, at least.

He grumbled something of a response to her when she lifted his blanket. Wait? Why was she doing that?

Gilbert felt his eyes creep open just slightly as he watched the nurse bend over him again. Only, after a moment she turned into a male. No less hot, mind you, but he did look silly in the white dress and cap. There was something about the male nurse that was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Why wasn't he licking his neck anymore.

Gilbert reached up and snagged an oddly solid arm and pulled the sexy nurse back down to sit beside him. "Why'd you stop, beautiful? It felt awesome."

'Wha-' Roderich almost tripped over his own feet as he was suddenly grabbed and pulled downwards- he'd thought Gilbert was fast asleep, what on earth was he doing now? He had no choice but to half-sit, half-kneel on the couch, bracing himself on Gilbert's chest and finding himself face to face with the other man, staring in a rather terrified way into barely-open, pinkish eyes. This was about the height of social awkwardness.

'Gil- Gilbert?!' Roderich could only assume, from the deranged comment, that Gilbert was still dreaming; and whatever the object of his fantasies had been up to, he was most certainly not going to imitate it. Not while sober.

The face in front of him came in to focus more, but all he could tell was that it was a pretty face indeed. He grinned as well as he could and let his free hand run down the nurse's side. He felt around quickly until he was cupping his ass, digging his fingers in between the cheeks lovingly.

He tried to ask why he'd gotten shy suddenly, was it because he had turned into a male? Gilbert tried to explain that it was alright with him. In fact sometimes he preferred this. But his tongue was lazy and he was horny, so only a few choice words made it out. He hoped that helped him get over his fears.

'Gilbert, you idiot! It's me- ah!' Roderich jumped, clinging to the body beneath him to stop himself falling and letting out a high-pitched yelp as he was indecently assaulted. He could hardly focus on anything but the feel of a hand in a place it most definitely should not have been, and it took a great effort not to freak out. Ordinarily he might have kicked him, but he remembered the injured leg- could he do that to a man in Gilbert's state? ...Possibly, depending on where those hands went next.

Summoning all his wits, Roderich tried to explain to Gilbert that this was not, in fact, a sexy dream, but actually a mortifying real life experience; however, he was cut off by a string of sleepy nonsense, something about Gilbert liking to fuck men now and then. Well, that was so obvious it wasn't even blackmail material, the only good thing that could have come out of this.

He heard more than saw his sexy nurse nearly squeal out his name in protestation. Wha--? Why He removed his fingers from the cleft of the man's ass and rubbed the buttocks sweetly to make him feel better. To comfort.

But that happened at about the same time he opened his eyes fully and realized that the male in front of him was no nurse. Oh-no. The man on top of him was not a nurse at all, male or female. The man on top of him was in fact, Roderich. Which meant...

Gilbert looked down with wide eyes. That meant he had his hand on Roddy's ass.

He gulped and looked at the man's face, his hands frozen in place. "Ah...fuck."

Blushing furiously, Roderich tried (tried, not necessarily succeeded) to ignore the hand on his ass, focusing instead on the now-open eyes in front of him; he squirmed, Gilbert's touch making his stomach flip quite without his consent. Whether it was sheer embarrassment or something else he didn't care to know.

'Gi- Gilbert,' he began, agitation showing on his scarlet face, 'You- what- i-is this some kind of...of Freudian thing?!' He barely managed to get that out, rendered inarticulate by the utter wrongness of it all. He hoped that he'd just been unlucky enough to be the nearest body during Gilbert's amorous dream, and not the subject of it. That would introduce whole new levels of deargodwhy.

Gilbert blinked, then his hand shot off of Roddy's butt and into the air. He gulped. "God, sorry."

He looked away as much as he could with the other man practically on top of him. He adjusted his covers and blankets to give him something to do. He took the bottle from the floor and took a swig. He refused to meet Roderich's eyes. Because it had been Roddy all along. Oh, Gilbert hadn't recognized him, but the features were his. Same stupid hair with the stupid face with the stupid nose and stupid mouth and super stupid mole.

He'd been about to screw Roddy. Name or no, that's who it was, and what he had planned. Gross.

Roderich, still red and unable to look Gilbert in the eye, was rather lost for words; however, Gilbert looked quite traumatised enough without him yelling about it. He cleared his throat, the sound somewhat high-pitched, and, painfully slowly, slid off the other man, getting unsteadily to his feet.

He had no idea what to say, so instead he tried to gloss over it (as if that were possible). '...H-how is, um, your ankle this m-morning?' He cringed even as he said it, but what else could he do? He was beginning to miss Gilbert's abrasive attitude- at least he knew how to react to that.

"Yeah it's okay." Gilbert's eyes stared straight ahead as he sucked down his drink. "Oh, well I mean it sucks, but it's better than last night."

He blinked, then pulled the icepack from his wound. He slid it under the covers, then pulled it out and handing it to Roddy. "It's warm. Could you stick it in the fridge?" He looked slightly off to the side, avoiding eye contact.

Roderich took it, jumping as his hand touched Gilbert's, and nodded quickly. 'Yes, I'll go and get another one,' he said nervously, before scuttling out into the hallway. Once out of Gilbert's sight, he stopped, falling back against a wall and covering his eyes with his hand; why was it that every time he made any kind of progress towards getting along with Gilbert, something bizarre, rage-inducing or, as in this case, horribly embarrassing have to happen? He didn't seem to be able to just brush it off, either- he was still blushing scarlet, his mind delving into the possibilities of what could have happened. He didn't even want to know why. Worse, Gilbert wasn't brushing it off either; there was just an air of awkwardness everywhere now.

Sighing, but gathering himself somewhat, he poked his head back around the door. 'Are you hungry...?'

This so wasn't okay.

This so wasn't awesome.

Gilbert bit his lip as he set his glass to the side and managed to slowly slither off the couch and onto the floor on all fours. He had to piss. Which meant he had to crawl, Which was not dignified. And he had to piss, and now he had a boner the size of Sealand. He groaned as he made his way across the floor, looking for the most logical door a bathroom might hide behind. He heard Roddy call for him from the kitchen--the voice made him cringe at first.

Because he had to piss, but Roddy's stupid face had given him the worst morning wood in a long time. Ass.

"Yeah!" He called back. "Can you even cook properly?" He grumbled as he found the washroom in question and slammed it as well as he could behind his crawling form. He looked to the toilet, then to where he had paused on the floor. He'd have to use the sink and bathtub to climb up and sit on the toilet like a girl.

He sighed. "Damn it."



(Sorry, finals kidnapped me.)

Roderich heard a reply that trailed off into what he assumed was grouching about his cooking, or something, and rolled his eyes. He put the icepack back into the freezer, and hunted through his fridge; what did Gilbert even want, anyway? Sighing, Roderich went back into the drawing room to ask, but found it unoccupied. Figuring Gilbert was in the bathroom, and wondering how he'd managed that, he called to him.

'Gilbert, are you alright? I'd have helped you if you needed it...' He doubted his assistance was particularly welcome right now, but he didn't want the idiot making his injury worse.

Gilbert had managed to follow through with his urination plan pretty well. He was now safely seated on the toilet seat and ready--

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. His underwear were still on...God. Yeah awesome, he thought to himself as he inched the boxers down past his knees with moderate difficulty.

After a few minutes, Gilbert emerged from the bathroom with his hands washed damn it--even though he was now using them as one might feet. He rolled his eyes as he made his stupid way into the stupid kitchen.

He didn't smell food as he entered the new room which housed Roddy. "What the hell, man? Grub? Please?" He raised his eyebrows at the prissy male before him. "My sugar is gonna drop or something."

Roderich raised an eyebrow at the sight of Gilbert hauling himself into the kitchen; he considered- yet again- offering to help, but the man seemed rather defiant about getting around by himself. Instead, he simply nodded.

'Certainly,' he said, busying himself with rather bare cupboards. 'What will it be? I think there are some pastries somewhere, or you could have something with eggs...' He was pretty sure he had eggs. Probably. In the meantime, he started making coffee, mainly to counter his less-than-perfect night's sleep.

He shuffled around Roddy with a less than happy expression on his face. He managed to pull himself up onto the chair of the kitchen table with a large groan. He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then sighed heavily.

"Yeah, anything will do. Thanks." He turned to the other man as he made his way around the kitchen easily on two feet. On his two healthy feet with tow healthy ankles. The bastard.

Two fine feet connected to two fine ankles connected to two fine legs--

He stopped and went pale. No, no, no. Legs lead to ass. Ass.

'Mmhm...' Roderich replied vaguely, preparing an omelette with whatever he could find to put in it; he beat the eggs rather haphazardly, cooking it quickly and pouring coffee at the same time. Arranging some pastries, leftover from the day before, on a plate, he took it all over to Gilbert, setting it on the table in front of him. He sat opposite the other man, pouring himself a cup of coffee and regarding him pensively.

'How do you feel?' An open question, referring to his injury, the still-mysterious events of the previous night and...the incredibly awkward morning they were both ignoring.