[Fanfic] - Any Other City - February Pt. 1
Title: Any Other City - Chapter 9
Rating: R for sex
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America, Germany/Sweden
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Gilbert woos Lovi and gets a (very interesting) date, Ludwig and Natalia gather a crew at the bar, Antonio and Francis have birthday!sex, Roddy and Lili do Valentine’s.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, sexual situations, pretentious conversations, tooth-rotting fluff, headdesk-inducing idiocy courtesy of Gilbert.
WHOOPS I update this on Thursday normally and I just totally forgot this week. This chapter was too long for LJ to handre, so here’s the first half!
---
FEBRUARY
---
Lovinia picked up her phone and sighed. “What.”
“Hey so hot stuff. I was thinkin’. You make shit out of clay, right?” Gilbert drawled into the mouthpiece.
“They’re called pots,” Lovinia said, already nearing the end of her patience. She also made bowls, plates, vases - a lot of things - but such subtleties would be lost on this idiot. She didn’t even know why she had picked up the phone.
“Uh-huh. Howbout you teach me how to make some bitchin’ pots? Just you and me, we can get our hands dirty and -”
Click.
Huh. Gilbert looked at the phone and flipped it shut. He guessed she wasn’t into that couple-y activity shit either. Well hey, he was cool with that.
---
“So, I told him that I think Bella likes him, but he’s just so weird about girls,” Natalia frowned, sipping her drink. In what was becoming a weekly tradition, she’d come to Pint-Sized - a casual, intimate, aptly named bar on a side street in a hip part of town - with Ludwig after they were both done in the workshop at school. They’d talked shop and hobbies, and now had consumed a few drinks and were moving on to gossip.
Ludwig nodded. “You don’t have a boyfriend yet, do you?”
“No,” she laughed. “Yet? You make it sound imperative that I get one. I’m only 19, I don’t need to settle down.”
“I don’t think that ‘settling down’ and ‘having a boyfriend’ are the same,” Ludwig frowned.
“Yeah,” she waved, “I know. But I’d rather focus on art and school right now. I don’t really want to devote my time to a serious relationship - I guess I wouldn’t mind a few flings though - you know?”
“No,” Ludwig shook his head, “I do not.”
“Hm, guess not,” she frowned. “You could stand to lighten up a little, Ludwig.”
“Actually, I have a lot,” he chuckled. At her look of disbelief he added “If you would have met me as a child, or even as a teenager, it is unlikely that you would’ve foreseen that I would turn out like I have.”
“Aw, now I want to see home videos of you as a kid,” she smirked. “But, back to relationships - are you and Berwald serious?”
“Ah...I...suppose,” Ludwig said, unsure, and took a drink. “We’re going out for Valentine’s Day - though on the Saturday after Valentine’s Day,” he frowned.
“Don’t look so upset about it!” Natalia laughed, and smacked his arm for good measure. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
“Yes. It’s just...”
“It’s just what?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“I don’t want it to be very romantic. Is that bad?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, smiling. “Why don’t you?”
“It would just be strange...” Ludwig trailed off, thinking of how to put it. “To do something like that with someone that I really don’t know too well, yet.”
“Don’t worry so much. I mean, I guess I can’t really say that, since I don’t know him - oh, Ludwig!” she cried, tapping the table a few times in her excitement, “Call and see if he’ll come tonight - I’d like to meet him!”
“I - well -” he didn’t see any harm - “okay.” He got out his phone and sighed when he saw that Alfred had changed the name to “BEARwald ;)” again. He really needed to put a password on it.
Berwald picked up with a pleased-sounding “’lo?”
“Um, hello. You...said I should invite you out to drink,” Ludwig said, the last part all in one breath. “And,” he continued, “I’m at Pint-Sized with my friend Natalia, if would would like to come and join us.”
A few seconds of silence, and then “Mm, sure. Y’owe me a drink anyway.”
“I do?” Ludwig asked.
“Yep, but ’m with Arthur. S’okay if he comes along?”
“Ah, let me ask,” Ludwig pulled the phone away from his mouth and turned to Natalia. “Would it be okay if Arthur comes as well?”
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“Er. Arthur Kirkland?” Ludwig elaborated. She slowly shook her head, no. “He lives at and runs The Scam, with Eliza.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen that guy before. I don’t really know him. It’s your call,” she shrugged.
---
While they were waiting, Roderich and Francis walked by; Francis saw them through the window and came in, nearly dragging (a very confused) Roderich through the door.
“Hello, Ludwig - and,” Francis paused and gave a warm smile, “Oh! What a fine young lady you are - and your name?” he asked, sliding into the booth beside her in one graceful movement.
“This is Natalia,” Roderich murmured and greeted her with a nod, following Francis in. She gave a small wave in return.
“Lovely,” Francis said, grabbing her upraised hand and kissing it. She gave him a look that was just short of a glare and he laughed and let her go. “So, what are you two beauties doing this evening?”
“Drinking,” Ludwig replied with a small grin.
Roderich chuckled and Francis spluttered out “Oh - you!” He sighed and crossed his arms, leaning forward onto the table, and smirked at Ludwig. “Well, dear, Roderich and I were just debating about whether it was possible to separate religion from Transcendentalist philosophy. I would continue to torture you with it, just for your snark,” he laughed, “ but I’m sure Roderich is tired of listening to it at this point.”
Roderich nodded, and Francis ignored him. “So, something new!” Francis exclaimed, sitting back in the booth and glancing at Natalia before giving a sultry smile to Ludwig. “I hear our darling Ludwig is apparently involved with a certain bartender?”
“Oh, he’s a bartender?” Natalia smirked. “You didn’t say that.”
Ludwig nodded. “At Paul’s Bar.”
“Hm, I’ve been there before,” Natalia frowned, tapping her fingers to her mouth. “Which one is he?”
“He’s very tall,” Ludwig began, “with a beard and glasses.”
“Blond?” she asked.
“Ludwig is forgetting about his lean physique and - hm, how would you describe - rugged?” Francis pondered. “Well,” he turned to Natalia, “his voice is lovely. Both rough and gentle - a rumble.”
Natalia raised her eyebrows. “No way, I know which guy you’re talking about!” She turned to Ludwig. “I like that one - Bella and Eirik are terrified of him, though. Ooo, lucky you,” she smirked, and then made Ludwig blush even further by winking.
---
Roderich and Francis had gotten drinks and joined the table for the evening by the time Arthur and Berwald came in. The entire table looked up and then froze upon seeing Berwald. Or rather, Berwald’s face - the beard was gone. He was absolutely, positively, 100% clean-shaven. Not even sideburns remained.
Ludwig knew he’d been spending too much time with Alfred and Feliks when his first thought was sex on wheels. (A tiny, rational remnant of his mind pointed out that it may have been the alcohol, too - the part drooling over Berwald shut it up.) He wasn’t sure what the rest of the table was thinking, but he was glad they were just as stunned as he was - except for Natalia, who elbowed Ludwig in the side and winked.
Arthur broke the silence first with his laughter. “Ha, I did the same thing as you tossers - thought it was crazy too. Known ‘im for fuckin’ ages and I’ve never seen ‘im without that beard.” He turned to Berwald. “You sit down,” a teasing sneer flickered across his face for a moment, “I’ll go get the drinks.”
Berwald smiled at Ludwig. “Can I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside Ludwig. Ludwig’s stomach did a flip upon being on the receiving end of that smile, now unshielded and undiluted. He nodded, not really sure he could trust his voice.
Luckily, he didn’t have to speak immediately, because Francis quickly recovered to exclaim “Berwald - why did you ever let a beard cover that face?! That is - it’s - criminal, dear - it’s criminal for someone to cover a face like that.”
Roderich sat, quietly stunned - goodness, who knew Berwald was such an attractive man - while Natalia laughed at Francis’ tirade.
“No, I am serious,” Francis went on. He touched Natalia’s arm for a moment before nodding at Berwald and then flicked his gaze back to her. They looked at each other for a split second with matching grins, then both turned and positively leered at him while Francis continued with “Do you see that jawline? Exquisite. How could you hide that jawline away from the world?”
Berwald blushed and brought an arm up to the side of his face, looking down, while Natalia and Francis continued discussing his exposed features over Roderich’s heavy sigh.
Ludwig stared. He was seized by an irrational urge to - to - give Berwald a hug or something, he just looked so embarrassed. He settled for placing a hand on Berwald’s knee and squeezing a bit. Berwald looked at him, a little surprised - oh, Ludwig thought, there was his stomach flipping again - and Ludwig gave back a small smile. “It looks nice,” he said, quietly. Then it hit Ludwig that this change was for him and he quickly turned his head, looking at the table with a blush of his own.
“Thank ya,” Berwald quietly replied.
---
Gilbert was sitting at a table in his room, putting the finishing touches on his fucking amazing Valentine’s card - seriously, any chick that saw this card would probably orgasm immediately - and rocking out hard to “Ghost Rider” through his oversize headphones.
And then Feliks grabbed him from behind.
Gilbert yelped and fell backwards in his chair. The headphone cord snapped from his computer and Suicide blared through the room, though Feliks’ wild laughter was louder.
Feliks snatched the card from Gilbert’s desk with a happy noise and a “Oh, no way, you are totally making someone a Valentine!”
Gilbert yelled ‘HEY!” and tried to get up, but Feliks saw it coming and stepped on Gilbert’s chest, knocking him back down to the floor with a thud.
“Aww, how cute,” Feliks cooed, smirking down at Gilbert. “I wonder what it says?” he asked with pretend innocence over Gilbert’s protests.
Feliks flipped it open with a snap of his wrist. “I’d fuck you sober,” he read with a disbelieving tone, then slowly started to smile. Then chuckle. Finally, he tossed the card on the desk and fell onto Gilbert in a heap of laughter.
---
Nils was at work, reading the newest issue of the alternative weekly paper, when a specially-boxed event listing caught his eye.
Friday, February 14, 8PM - Dual installation by local artists Felicia Vargas and Eirik Arnarson inspired by the e.e. cummings poem i carry your heart with me. Refreshments will be served. No charge. Laïka Art Gallery, 2802 Adams, North Riverside/Campus. Yellow Line: Adams - 27th.
The accompanying article explained who the two were - the author gave good reviews of both Feli’s most recent gallery show and Eirik’s performance at The Scam in November - and also some information on what to expect this time around. Apparently the artists were going to have a more “subtle, intuitive, and thought-provoking” show than their previous works, and hoped it would “promote discourse about ‘the pain and beauty of love - how the two are akin a double-sided blade - and also the sacrifice involved’” - Nils snorted. He couldn’t imagine that quiet kid, Eirik, actually saying something like that. Anyway.
He read on - Eirik would be simultaneously building a heart-shaped cage and chaining himself within it. Eventually he would require audience participation to successfully complete it, corresponding to one of his favorite lines in the poem. While he would not talk during the construction - Nils rolled his eyes as the article went on about how that likely symbolized mutual trust and work required for love, or something - once it was complete, he would sing an altered version of the poem.
Well, that sounded like it was right up Kiku’s alley. Nils sighed. Guess he knew what he was doing for Valentine’s. Why the fuck did Kiku’s birthday and Valentine’s have to be in the the same week, anyway?
---
Lovinia had been called roughly twenty times - and had hung up on that idiot over half of those times. She’d received a stuffed Yoda with a little sign on it that said “Yoda one for me.” She burned the sign, but kept the doll. Just because she liked Star Wars, okay? Not because it was from that guy. And now, this. A mix CD in the mail with all kinds of punk and noise songs, complete with a note that said Gilbert was picking her up at 6:00 for their Valentine’s date.
She really wanted to smash it into a million pieces and send it back, but stuck it in her stereo instead. Just to see how much it sucked, of course.
...huh.
Actually...it was really good.
---
Antonio and Francis were down to their underwear, sitting in the middle of the bed, wrapped up in one another after a bottle of wine and some modeling of a very nice pair of jeans. Said pair of jeans were now on the floor. They’d begun slowly, making out in the living room, losing clothing on the way to Antonio’s bedroom, and were now looking at and touching one another with increasing hunger and urgency.
Francis pulled back from the kiss and ran the back of his hand down Antonio’s stomach. Silvery moonlight created a harsh line on Antonio’s face - it didn’t match his gentle smile - Francis paused.
This...something wasn’t right. Francis looked around the room: bright moonlight fell from the windowpanes and made everything it didn’t touch appear blue-black. It illuminated dirty, rumpled clothing on the floor and the old, record-filled wooden crates that Antonio used for nightstands.
“Do you happen to have any candles?” he asked, flicking his eyes up to Antonio’s. The glow of the moon was simply too cold for a night like tonight. “The lighting in this room isn’t right at all, dear. It’s distracting.” As were many other aspects of the room, but ah, well - there was nothing to be done about that.
Antonio got up, pecked Francis on the temple and came back with a few tea lights. He lit them while Francis closed the curtain over the window. “Ah, there,” Francis sighed, turning around to look at Antonio. The room was much darker, which was a shame, but the soft glow flickered and traced the subtle lines of muscle down Antonio’s arms and chest, caressed his cheekbone, added gold flecks and dancing fire to his eyes and hair.
Gold suited Antonio much more than silver did, Francis mused, settling back onto the bed.
They resumed touching, soft and unhurried, then tangled into each other’s laps on the bed with Francis on top, kissing indulgently. It became more heated as Antonio drove his tongue into Francis’ mouth; Francis tasted the wine from earlier and, finally, something that was purely Antonio - a little spicy and base.
Francis rubbed Antonio’s shoulders while they kissed, kneaded the muscle there, and Antonio gave a soft murmur of approval. Francis straddled him and both inhaled when their erections touched through thin fabric. Antonio brought a hand to Francis’ face, a caress - Francis ran both hands through Antonio’s hair, kneaded the skull beneath his fingers and elicited another soft sound, this time tinged with more desperation.
Sitting up a little on his knees, Francis guided Antonio down to the bed in a sensuous tangle of limbs, both shifting, adjusting so that their bodies were flush against one another, heating already. Francis sucked Antonio’s lip into his mouth, barely brushed teeth against it - moved down his chin, his jaw. His kisses bordered on the edge of forceful, they moved down the hovering line of Antonio’s throat, bared dark and bronze in the candlelight. Francis felt Antonio’s chest rise and fall with more speed against his; Antonio ran a hand through his hair. Those fingers skimmed across Francis’ jaw, feeling for lips as they met Antonio’s own skin.
Francis’ hands flitted and kneaded down Antonio’s chest, alternated between touches and strokes. He reached one hand down to Antonio’s sweaty thigh, thumb rubbing circles into the taut muscle.
He pulled Antonio’s underwear off, one smooth and fluid movement beneath them. Antonio tried to sit up, but Francis shushed him and pressed his weight against him, both falling to the bedspread where they pushed their bodies against one another, skin soft and slick. Francis rose again and slunk down Antonio’s body, kissing and skimming lips along panting chest and quaking stomach.
Pausing at Antonio’s hips, he kissed along the join of Antonio’s pelvis and thigh, mouthed his balls with a slight smile at Antonio’s quiet noise, and finally pressed half-kisses up his length. He mouthed the tip, playful and greedy, keeping teeth out of the way.
Antonio’s breath hitched and his fingers skimmed the ends of Francis’ hair, which was falling down in his face and sticking slightly to his damp temple. Antonio never grabbed his head during fellatio, but he liked to feel Francis’ hair, his face, during the act. Francis swallowed down more and pulled up with a twist, paused to wet his lips, and continued, savoring the feel and taste. Looked up at Antonio through his eyelashes to see what each twist, each suck, lick, twirl of his tongue did. Gold and bronze danced across Antonio’s skin, even more luminescent now with its sheen of sweat - one deep swallow and Antonio arched his back a little, and it was a bit like sunset - every subtle line of rib was illuminated, last rays of light touching ocean waves or the tops of rolling hills.
Francis pulled back, sat up, and Antonio met him halfway with a hard kiss and hands at Francis’ hips. They twined their hands together and jointly pulled off Francis’ boxers, much more rough and rushed than with Antonio’s through the kisses, and Francis straddled Antonio’s waist once again. Francis broke the kiss momentarily to grab the lube and Antonio wrapped an arm around his back, mouthed his ear and nipped right below it.
Lube in hand, Francis leaned back a bit and sat up a little higher on his haunches. He slicked up his fingers while observing the upturned curve of Antonio’s mouth, the light flush on his cheeks, the heated, gold-flecked green in the dark meeting his gaze. Holding himself steady on Antonio’s shoulder, he sat up a bit more, then reached back and pressed a lubed finger into himself, smirking at the catch in Antonio’s breathing at that.
Antonio leaned forward and placed one hand on Francis’ hip, the other where his thigh and buttock met, and slid the hand behind Francis in toward the one that was already there, working itself in and out. Antonio abruptly pulled it back and with a small smile stuck his fingers in his mouth, chuckling a bit through his fingers when Francis’ gaze darkened - eyes still crinkled in a smile, he reached behind Francis once again and placed his hand over Francis’, twining them together. They looked at each other, and, communicating with their gazes, both moved a finger up and in.
A few more intimate minutes spent like that, both simply watching each other as Francis’ breathing became more and more ragged, hands tangled and up and in and close - Francis guided both of them out with an almost-inaudible moan, slicked up Antonio, and climbed onto his lap. Antonio shifted onto his knees a little more, between Francis’ thighs, gripped his hips; Francis brought his hands to the sides of Antonio’s face and they met for a rough, gasping kiss as Francis lowered himself and Antonio pushed up, barely.
They soon worked up a rhythm, not particularly fast but deep, powerful, each thrust meaning something - mouths were devouring each other, occasionally detouring to ravage necks, ears, shoulders - Francis’ hands traced sweaty patterns on Antonio’s skin in a jumping, dancing pattern -
Antonio’s hands tightened on Francis’ hips and he threw an arm around Francis’ back, hand on the back of his head, tangling in his sweaty hair - he pressed them together and let out a rough, shuddering breath, slamming them together once - twice - three times - before he stilled, breathing heavily into Francis’ jaw.
He kissed his way over between breaths to Francis’ mouth, which was waiting for him. One deep kiss and a few nips, and Antonio leaned back with a huge smile. “So,” he asked, still breathless, “what about you?”
---
For Valentine’s Day, Roderich was going to take Lili out to eat, to a restaurant Francis recommended: a cozy, whimsical, low-lit French-American wine bar. They could split a bottle of wine and spend hours talking and laughing over multiple courses, finally ending in dessert and coffee. He would pay and she would probably call him silly and giggle at him beneath her hand.
He was going to walk her to a tiny park afterwards, like the gentleman he was, and ask her to talk about camping again; on the way they could swing by a flower stand on the corner and he could let her pick out whatever she wanted. He didn’t know anything about flowers, but she could go on about them for hours, and it was hard to tell her to stop when she was obviously so passionate about them.
He was going to ask her out, properly, and they could be official.
None of that happened.
Lili didn’t want to miss Eirik’s performance that night. While Roderich assured her that they could go out to eat early, she wanted to cook at his place instead - she’d never seen it, after all, and she never got to cook in the dorms.
Roderich...wasn’t a good cook. He wasn’t terrible - he’d never set anything on fire, goodness - but he mostly lived off of things that didn’t require much preparation. Sandwiches in particular. Leftovers from when he went out to eat with Jens, or Ivan came over with some twist on a traditional Russian soup. The only thing he could really make well was dessert, so he prepared a torte the night before and put it in the refrigerator. Then he spent the rest of the evening walking from common area to bedroom and back again, making minute adjustments to furniture or wiping off the counter for the fifth time.
The day of, Francis let him leave early and they’d met at the indoor market at three, both looking a little overdressed walking through the stands. They picked out food to cook for their meal, a little shyly, with a lot of “oh, no, get whatever you want to eat” countered back and forth. He did get her flowers - she wanted tulips but sighed that they wouldn’t last long in a vase, and chose calla lilies instead.
Lili laughed at Roderich’s ruffled and affronted expression when the man at the register told them to “Have a good night!” and winked at Roderich.
They went to his apartment, arms full of canvas-bagged groceries. It was small, in a pretty old building with exposed radiators and drafty windows, a little plain - he had a few nice pieces of furniture he’d acquired at antique stores and estate sales with Berwald, some gifts from Francis over the years - the lighting wasn’t quite right and it was kind of dark.
“I really like it,” Lili grinned while looking around.
He thanked her, saw her holding her flowers, then frowned. “I don’t think I have a vase for the flowers, oh...”
She smiled at him. “That’s okay - I wouldn’t be able to see you anyway if we put them in the middle of the table. How silly would that be, spending Valentine’s with my boyfriend and looking at a bunch of callas instead?” she laughed, setting groceries out on the counter.
“Uh,” he choked. Apparently they already were official. “Yes. Well, ah. Would you like some help?”
“Hm? Oh, no,” she waved, “you paid for the food, let me cook it for you! You could set the table and open the wine I guess.”
He did trim the free-range chicken they’d purchased, and then let her take over the kitchen. While setting the table he paused, looking at the rather plain plate in his hand - he wished he had nicer dishes, and had thought to buy a candle or two.
They opened the bottle of wine before the food was done, and Roderich sipped at his glass, watching Lili cook. She flitted between the stove and the seat beside him at the table, mildly talking about class that day, glass of wine in one hand and spatula in the other. He felt guiltily chauvinistic at how much he enjoyed the sight of her in a dress and ballet flats at the stove.
Roderich was happy that at least the “good dinner and pleasant conversation” aspect of the evening went according to plan. He was almost done with his meal when he realized there was something he could do that would even be an improvement upon his original plan - music! With a happy burst of a laugh he got out of his seat and went to the record player on the opposite end of the room. Hmm. He flipped through his records. Erik Satie or Arthur Russell?
They ate dessert over Satie’s piano strains (to Roderich’s delight, she loved both the food and the music, and insisted that he had to teach her how to make a torte) and she finally looked over the clock and commented on the time.
“We were fast,” Roderich hummed. They didn’t have to leave for nearly an hour.
“I know,” she smiled and stood up, crossing to him. “You should teach me those dances you talked about. You know, at Halloween?”
“Oh,” he raised his eyebrows and stood. “Yes, that’s an excellent idea. Which would you like to learn?”
“Any of the jazz ones,” she replied. They pushed the furniture out of the way, put on some jazz, and didn’t get very far before they collapsed into laughter and kisses on the misplaced couch.
---
Gilbert grinned like a maniac and threw his arm around Lovinia’s shoulders as they walked down the street in the cold.
“Hey,” she tried to shrug his arm off, “what do you think you’re doing? Just because I’m going with you doesn’t mean anything,” she scowled.
He threw his head back and laughed, tightening his grip and making them stumble a bit. “Yeah, babe, you just tell yourself that,” he winked. “You think I’m fuckin’ awe~some.”
“I’m just here because you wouldn’t go away,” she growled. She tried to pry his arm off of her shoulder; it wouldn’t budge. “Knock it off!”
“Nope,” he smirked. “You don’t have your goddamn nightstick or any pottery to injure me with today! And we’re on a date - so ha!”
They stopped in front of M-16. She knew this place - this was not a place for a date, thankyouverymuch. What an idiot that bastard was.
“This place rules,” Gilbert nodded. “And since you like punk I decided to take you here! Pretty sweet spot, right? There’s gonna be some bitchin’ bands later tonight.”
Before she could say anything, he opened the door for her and pushed her in by the small of her back, a little roughly, ignoring her indignant yelp.
“Here,” he yanked her closer by her waist and shoved a $20 in her hand, “you get me the #7 and a PBR, you get yourself whatever the fuck you want,” he said in a tone that implied that she should be enormously flattered. Then he pressed against her and grinned down, “...and I’ll find us the best seats in the place.” Then he was - just - gone - before she could blink. The hell?
That bastard, taking her here, to some dive bar (nevermind that it was her favorite dive bar) and making her order. She wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t been so annoying about it...and...all right. Maybe he was kind of attractive. Just a little though, because he had fuckin’ weird eyes! Yeah. Er, well, and, he was actually really good with a guitar. Not that she’d tell him that.
---
They’d eaten dinner without much incident - she had slammed her fork into his arm when he’d wanted “just a taste, Jesus” of her burger, but that wasn’t an incident, right? - and were now on their...third? Whatever, she was gonna call it third - round of beer.
“So, wait, you play guitar or somethin’?” Gilbert was asking.
On the opposite side of the small table, she leaned back against the wall, sprawled out, and tossed her head back with a roll of her eyes and a twisted smile. “You moron, I just said I did.” She kept her head tilted back against the wall, chin raised, and settled for rolling it to the side and looking at him through narrowed eyes. That half-smirk half-smile on her face wouldn’t seem to go away, though.
“Yeah, but,” he frowned and took a gulp of his beer, wiped an arm across his mouth and leaned forward into the table, elbow scattering the forgotten fork, “you said it was some weird shit.”
“I said,” she huffed, “that I used to play classical guitar.”
“That sounds like pansy shit.”
“It’s - what?! Shut the hell up, bastard! Besides, I don’t play anymore because I smashed mine - a moron like you probably thinks that’s pretty cool,” she huffed.
“Huh, yeah, that’s not too bad,” Gilbert replied. “Then I guess you got the drum set?”
“Hey, guess you’re smarter than you look,” she snorted.
About that time a random drunk guy stumbled by and gave her a low, appreciative whistle.
---
Gilbert had the guy in a headlock and was smashing him repeatedly into the table. It was hard to say whose cursing was more vicious or creative - his snarled insults to the guy, or Lovinia’s yelling that he was acting like an immature, testosterone-fueled pig, and spilling their beer to boot. The rest of the room cheered, jeered, and commented loudly.
“HEY, IT’S THAT GODDAMN ALBINO!” was yelled by a staff member. Gilbert whipped his head over, saw who it was, and dropped his victim immediately, grabbing their coats and Lovinia’s arm and shouting “Shit-shit-shit, let’s go!”
He took off into a run, dragging her behind, barreling through the crowded bar - damn he was fast, Lovinia thought. The only reason she was keeping up was because he was dragging her - they burst out of the door and into the street and he yanked her to the left. They heard the door bang open again and both set into a flat-out sprint, passing - ah!
Lovinia shouted “Hey!” and pulled him to the left, into an alleyway she was familiar with - a few more turns and - there - she pulled him into a tiny space between two old brick buildings and up an old fire escape, finally reaching the roof - she shoved him down and they flattened themselves against the horizontal rooftop, trying to quiet their breathing, him wheezing a little.
About three minutes passed and nothing happened.
“What the hell was that all about?!” Lovinia finally hissed, still quiet, raising her head from her crossed arms.
Gilbert looked over at her, his hands and the side of his face pressed into their coats, still trying to catch his breath. What you get for smoking so much, dumbass, Lovinia thought. “I may or may not,” he huffed, “have been permanently banned there, once.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, mouth dropping open in surprised fury. “Are you - ugh - you can’t be ‘permanently banned’ more than once! Bastard, that’s why it’s called permanent!” A voice in her head pointed out that at least that explained why she had never seen him there before. If he had gotten her banned she was gonna kick his ass. She liked that bar.
“I know that,” he rolled his eyes, “but I was kinda hoping they forgot.”
Lovinia spluttered. “Wha - you -are you - how the hell did you even get banned?!”
“Oh!” he perked up and pulled himself up on his elbows a little. “It was amazing! I got tanked and ruined the fuck out of this shitty old TV they had. Just - smashed it to pieces with a barstool. Everyone else there was cheering me on, of course, but the owner’s got a stick up his ass or somethin’.”
“You broke a TV with a barstool,” she repeated, voice flat, eyebrow raised.
“Okay, I didn’t just break the TV - it was way cooler than that. I fuckin’ annihilated that goddamn TV. Probably took ‘em a year to clean that shit up. Or at least I hope it did, fuckers,” he scowled.
“Do I...” she thought better of it and shook her head.
They both remained silent for a few more seconds, lying on the roof - it was pretty hard, kind of painful - before Gilbert raised himself up and peeked over the side of the building, into the alley, to make sure the coast was clear. “No one’s there, but I guess we can’t go back to the bar now.” He sat up against the low side of the building and lit a cigarette. She sat, cross-legged, and looked at him; he breathed out a cloud of smoke, smirked, and said “Dooo you wanna -”
“You’d better not be about to say ‘go to your place’,” she growled.
“Ahhnoooo that’s - heh - uh. Wanna go to that performance thing?” he quickly asked instead.
She crossed her arms and frowned. “What performance thing?”
---
They had climbed down one level on the fire escape when Gilbert grabbed her by the hips and pinned her against the rail. “Hey,” he smiled, the one like knives, cocky, his voice low, “I think I deserve a kiss for that awesomeness.”
“That awe- are -” she inhaled sharply as a wave of hot then cold washed over her, then reared back and punched him right in the teeth.
He stumbled back and brought his hands up to his bleeding mouth, looking shocked - then he looked up and made a little noise between laughter and fury, lowering his arms. He stared at her, and finally broke out into a wide, bloody, torn grin. “You’re fuckin’ feisty,” he cackled.
Lovinia stepped up to him, yanked him down by his hair, and smashed their mouths together, then threw him back just as quickly. “That’s all you get,” she glowered, and stomped down the stairs past him.
---
-
---
NOTES + SKETCHIES + MIXTAPE PART ONE
---
So. Yeah. Smut. There’s more on the agenda. I guess that’s good? Oh, and I always seem to write smut in present tense for some reason, so hopefully I didn’t miss a verb somewhere. Point it out if I did! Uh, also, crit? I like crit. Yaaay crit.
---
Berwald, you shaved &hearts
---
Ludwig and co. at Pint-Sized:
A Faulty Chromosome - Them Pleasures of the Flesh
Gilbert makes a Valentine:
Suicide - Ghost Rider
Francis and Antonio have birthday!sex:
Jesu - Conquerer
My Bloody Valentine - Loomer (why do I keep listening to MBV for these two?)
Roderich and Lili stay in:
Erik Satie - Gymnopedie I
Arthur Russell - A Little Lost
Gilbert and Lovi’s date:
Cap’n Jazz - Ooh Do I Love You
Times New Viking - Little Amps
Best Coast - When I’m With You
Mixtape Link: http://www.mediafire.com/?akm6gtbssxjc4
Rating: R for sex
Characters: Ensemble
Pairings: France/Spain, Austria/Liechtenstein, Germany/Japan, France/Norway, England/fem!Netherlands, Prussia/fem!Romano, Norway/Japan, Germany/America, Germany/Sweden
Summary: Derpy AU where the nations are hipsters.
In This Chapter: Gilbert woos Lovi and gets a (very interesting) date, Ludwig and Natalia gather a crew at the bar, Antonio and Francis have birthday!sex, Roddy and Lili do Valentine’s.
Warnings: Language, drinking, drugs, sexual situations, pretentious conversations, tooth-rotting fluff, headdesk-inducing idiocy courtesy of Gilbert.
WHOOPS I update this on Thursday normally and I just totally forgot this week. This chapter was too long for LJ to handre, so here’s the first half!
---
FEBRUARY
---
Lovinia picked up her phone and sighed. “What.”
“Hey so hot stuff. I was thinkin’. You make shit out of clay, right?” Gilbert drawled into the mouthpiece.
“They’re called pots,” Lovinia said, already nearing the end of her patience. She also made bowls, plates, vases - a lot of things - but such subtleties would be lost on this idiot. She didn’t even know why she had picked up the phone.
“Uh-huh. Howbout you teach me how to make some bitchin’ pots? Just you and me, we can get our hands dirty and -”
Click.
Huh. Gilbert looked at the phone and flipped it shut. He guessed she wasn’t into that couple-y activity shit either. Well hey, he was cool with that.
---
“So, I told him that I think Bella likes him, but he’s just so weird about girls,” Natalia frowned, sipping her drink. In what was becoming a weekly tradition, she’d come to Pint-Sized - a casual, intimate, aptly named bar on a side street in a hip part of town - with Ludwig after they were both done in the workshop at school. They’d talked shop and hobbies, and now had consumed a few drinks and were moving on to gossip.
Ludwig nodded. “You don’t have a boyfriend yet, do you?”
“No,” she laughed. “Yet? You make it sound imperative that I get one. I’m only 19, I don’t need to settle down.”
“I don’t think that ‘settling down’ and ‘having a boyfriend’ are the same,” Ludwig frowned.
“Yeah,” she waved, “I know. But I’d rather focus on art and school right now. I don’t really want to devote my time to a serious relationship - I guess I wouldn’t mind a few flings though - you know?”
“No,” Ludwig shook his head, “I do not.”
“Hm, guess not,” she frowned. “You could stand to lighten up a little, Ludwig.”
“Actually, I have a lot,” he chuckled. At her look of disbelief he added “If you would have met me as a child, or even as a teenager, it is unlikely that you would’ve foreseen that I would turn out like I have.”
“Aw, now I want to see home videos of you as a kid,” she smirked. “But, back to relationships - are you and Berwald serious?”
“Ah...I...suppose,” Ludwig said, unsure, and took a drink. “We’re going out for Valentine’s Day - though on the Saturday after Valentine’s Day,” he frowned.
“Don’t look so upset about it!” Natalia laughed, and smacked his arm for good measure. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
“Yes. It’s just...”
“It’s just what?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“I don’t want it to be very romantic. Is that bad?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, smiling. “Why don’t you?”
“It would just be strange...” Ludwig trailed off, thinking of how to put it. “To do something like that with someone that I really don’t know too well, yet.”
“Don’t worry so much. I mean, I guess I can’t really say that, since I don’t know him - oh, Ludwig!” she cried, tapping the table a few times in her excitement, “Call and see if he’ll come tonight - I’d like to meet him!”
“I - well -” he didn’t see any harm - “okay.” He got out his phone and sighed when he saw that Alfred had changed the name to “BEARwald ;)” again. He really needed to put a password on it.
Berwald picked up with a pleased-sounding “’lo?”
“Um, hello. You...said I should invite you out to drink,” Ludwig said, the last part all in one breath. “And,” he continued, “I’m at Pint-Sized with my friend Natalia, if would would like to come and join us.”
A few seconds of silence, and then “Mm, sure. Y’owe me a drink anyway.”
“I do?” Ludwig asked.
“Yep, but ’m with Arthur. S’okay if he comes along?”
“Ah, let me ask,” Ludwig pulled the phone away from his mouth and turned to Natalia. “Would it be okay if Arthur comes as well?”
“Who’s that?” she asked.
“Er. Arthur Kirkland?” Ludwig elaborated. She slowly shook her head, no. “He lives at and runs The Scam, with Eliza.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen that guy before. I don’t really know him. It’s your call,” she shrugged.
---
While they were waiting, Roderich and Francis walked by; Francis saw them through the window and came in, nearly dragging (a very confused) Roderich through the door.
“Hello, Ludwig - and,” Francis paused and gave a warm smile, “Oh! What a fine young lady you are - and your name?” he asked, sliding into the booth beside her in one graceful movement.
“This is Natalia,” Roderich murmured and greeted her with a nod, following Francis in. She gave a small wave in return.
“Lovely,” Francis said, grabbing her upraised hand and kissing it. She gave him a look that was just short of a glare and he laughed and let her go. “So, what are you two beauties doing this evening?”
“Drinking,” Ludwig replied with a small grin.
Roderich chuckled and Francis spluttered out “Oh - you!” He sighed and crossed his arms, leaning forward onto the table, and smirked at Ludwig. “Well, dear, Roderich and I were just debating about whether it was possible to separate religion from Transcendentalist philosophy. I would continue to torture you with it, just for your snark,” he laughed, “ but I’m sure Roderich is tired of listening to it at this point.”
Roderich nodded, and Francis ignored him. “So, something new!” Francis exclaimed, sitting back in the booth and glancing at Natalia before giving a sultry smile to Ludwig. “I hear our darling Ludwig is apparently involved with a certain bartender?”
“Oh, he’s a bartender?” Natalia smirked. “You didn’t say that.”
Ludwig nodded. “At Paul’s Bar.”
“Hm, I’ve been there before,” Natalia frowned, tapping her fingers to her mouth. “Which one is he?”
“He’s very tall,” Ludwig began, “with a beard and glasses.”
“Blond?” she asked.
“Ludwig is forgetting about his lean physique and - hm, how would you describe - rugged?” Francis pondered. “Well,” he turned to Natalia, “his voice is lovely. Both rough and gentle - a rumble.”
Natalia raised her eyebrows. “No way, I know which guy you’re talking about!” She turned to Ludwig. “I like that one - Bella and Eirik are terrified of him, though. Ooo, lucky you,” she smirked, and then made Ludwig blush even further by winking.
---
Roderich and Francis had gotten drinks and joined the table for the evening by the time Arthur and Berwald came in. The entire table looked up and then froze upon seeing Berwald. Or rather, Berwald’s face - the beard was gone. He was absolutely, positively, 100% clean-shaven. Not even sideburns remained.
Ludwig knew he’d been spending too much time with Alfred and Feliks when his first thought was sex on wheels. (A tiny, rational remnant of his mind pointed out that it may have been the alcohol, too - the part drooling over Berwald shut it up.) He wasn’t sure what the rest of the table was thinking, but he was glad they were just as stunned as he was - except for Natalia, who elbowed Ludwig in the side and winked.
Arthur broke the silence first with his laughter. “Ha, I did the same thing as you tossers - thought it was crazy too. Known ‘im for fuckin’ ages and I’ve never seen ‘im without that beard.” He turned to Berwald. “You sit down,” a teasing sneer flickered across his face for a moment, “I’ll go get the drinks.”
Berwald smiled at Ludwig. “Can I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside Ludwig. Ludwig’s stomach did a flip upon being on the receiving end of that smile, now unshielded and undiluted. He nodded, not really sure he could trust his voice.
Luckily, he didn’t have to speak immediately, because Francis quickly recovered to exclaim “Berwald - why did you ever let a beard cover that face?! That is - it’s - criminal, dear - it’s criminal for someone to cover a face like that.”
Roderich sat, quietly stunned - goodness, who knew Berwald was such an attractive man - while Natalia laughed at Francis’ tirade.
“No, I am serious,” Francis went on. He touched Natalia’s arm for a moment before nodding at Berwald and then flicked his gaze back to her. They looked at each other for a split second with matching grins, then both turned and positively leered at him while Francis continued with “Do you see that jawline? Exquisite. How could you hide that jawline away from the world?”
Berwald blushed and brought an arm up to the side of his face, looking down, while Natalia and Francis continued discussing his exposed features over Roderich’s heavy sigh.
Ludwig stared. He was seized by an irrational urge to - to - give Berwald a hug or something, he just looked so embarrassed. He settled for placing a hand on Berwald’s knee and squeezing a bit. Berwald looked at him, a little surprised - oh, Ludwig thought, there was his stomach flipping again - and Ludwig gave back a small smile. “It looks nice,” he said, quietly. Then it hit Ludwig that this change was for him and he quickly turned his head, looking at the table with a blush of his own.
“Thank ya,” Berwald quietly replied.
---
Gilbert was sitting at a table in his room, putting the finishing touches on his fucking amazing Valentine’s card - seriously, any chick that saw this card would probably orgasm immediately - and rocking out hard to “Ghost Rider” through his oversize headphones.
And then Feliks grabbed him from behind.
Gilbert yelped and fell backwards in his chair. The headphone cord snapped from his computer and Suicide blared through the room, though Feliks’ wild laughter was louder.
Feliks snatched the card from Gilbert’s desk with a happy noise and a “Oh, no way, you are totally making someone a Valentine!”
Gilbert yelled ‘HEY!” and tried to get up, but Feliks saw it coming and stepped on Gilbert’s chest, knocking him back down to the floor with a thud.
“Aww, how cute,” Feliks cooed, smirking down at Gilbert. “I wonder what it says?” he asked with pretend innocence over Gilbert’s protests.
Feliks flipped it open with a snap of his wrist. “I’d fuck you sober,” he read with a disbelieving tone, then slowly started to smile. Then chuckle. Finally, he tossed the card on the desk and fell onto Gilbert in a heap of laughter.
---
Nils was at work, reading the newest issue of the alternative weekly paper, when a specially-boxed event listing caught his eye.
Friday, February 14, 8PM - Dual installation by local artists Felicia Vargas and Eirik Arnarson inspired by the e.e. cummings poem i carry your heart with me. Refreshments will be served. No charge. Laïka Art Gallery, 2802 Adams, North Riverside/Campus. Yellow Line: Adams - 27th.
The accompanying article explained who the two were - the author gave good reviews of both Feli’s most recent gallery show and Eirik’s performance at The Scam in November - and also some information on what to expect this time around. Apparently the artists were going to have a more “subtle, intuitive, and thought-provoking” show than their previous works, and hoped it would “promote discourse about ‘the pain and beauty of love - how the two are akin a double-sided blade - and also the sacrifice involved’” - Nils snorted. He couldn’t imagine that quiet kid, Eirik, actually saying something like that. Anyway.
He read on - Eirik would be simultaneously building a heart-shaped cage and chaining himself within it. Eventually he would require audience participation to successfully complete it, corresponding to one of his favorite lines in the poem. While he would not talk during the construction - Nils rolled his eyes as the article went on about how that likely symbolized mutual trust and work required for love, or something - once it was complete, he would sing an altered version of the poem.
Well, that sounded like it was right up Kiku’s alley. Nils sighed. Guess he knew what he was doing for Valentine’s. Why the fuck did Kiku’s birthday and Valentine’s have to be in the the same week, anyway?
---
Lovinia had been called roughly twenty times - and had hung up on that idiot over half of those times. She’d received a stuffed Yoda with a little sign on it that said “Yoda one for me.” She burned the sign, but kept the doll. Just because she liked Star Wars, okay? Not because it was from that guy. And now, this. A mix CD in the mail with all kinds of punk and noise songs, complete with a note that said Gilbert was picking her up at 6:00 for their Valentine’s date.
She really wanted to smash it into a million pieces and send it back, but stuck it in her stereo instead. Just to see how much it sucked, of course.
...huh.
Actually...it was really good.
---
Antonio and Francis were down to their underwear, sitting in the middle of the bed, wrapped up in one another after a bottle of wine and some modeling of a very nice pair of jeans. Said pair of jeans were now on the floor. They’d begun slowly, making out in the living room, losing clothing on the way to Antonio’s bedroom, and were now looking at and touching one another with increasing hunger and urgency.
Francis pulled back from the kiss and ran the back of his hand down Antonio’s stomach. Silvery moonlight created a harsh line on Antonio’s face - it didn’t match his gentle smile - Francis paused.
This...something wasn’t right. Francis looked around the room: bright moonlight fell from the windowpanes and made everything it didn’t touch appear blue-black. It illuminated dirty, rumpled clothing on the floor and the old, record-filled wooden crates that Antonio used for nightstands.
“Do you happen to have any candles?” he asked, flicking his eyes up to Antonio’s. The glow of the moon was simply too cold for a night like tonight. “The lighting in this room isn’t right at all, dear. It’s distracting.” As were many other aspects of the room, but ah, well - there was nothing to be done about that.
Antonio got up, pecked Francis on the temple and came back with a few tea lights. He lit them while Francis closed the curtain over the window. “Ah, there,” Francis sighed, turning around to look at Antonio. The room was much darker, which was a shame, but the soft glow flickered and traced the subtle lines of muscle down Antonio’s arms and chest, caressed his cheekbone, added gold flecks and dancing fire to his eyes and hair.
Gold suited Antonio much more than silver did, Francis mused, settling back onto the bed.
They resumed touching, soft and unhurried, then tangled into each other’s laps on the bed with Francis on top, kissing indulgently. It became more heated as Antonio drove his tongue into Francis’ mouth; Francis tasted the wine from earlier and, finally, something that was purely Antonio - a little spicy and base.
Francis rubbed Antonio’s shoulders while they kissed, kneaded the muscle there, and Antonio gave a soft murmur of approval. Francis straddled him and both inhaled when their erections touched through thin fabric. Antonio brought a hand to Francis’ face, a caress - Francis ran both hands through Antonio’s hair, kneaded the skull beneath his fingers and elicited another soft sound, this time tinged with more desperation.
Sitting up a little on his knees, Francis guided Antonio down to the bed in a sensuous tangle of limbs, both shifting, adjusting so that their bodies were flush against one another, heating already. Francis sucked Antonio’s lip into his mouth, barely brushed teeth against it - moved down his chin, his jaw. His kisses bordered on the edge of forceful, they moved down the hovering line of Antonio’s throat, bared dark and bronze in the candlelight. Francis felt Antonio’s chest rise and fall with more speed against his; Antonio ran a hand through his hair. Those fingers skimmed across Francis’ jaw, feeling for lips as they met Antonio’s own skin.
Francis’ hands flitted and kneaded down Antonio’s chest, alternated between touches and strokes. He reached one hand down to Antonio’s sweaty thigh, thumb rubbing circles into the taut muscle.
He pulled Antonio’s underwear off, one smooth and fluid movement beneath them. Antonio tried to sit up, but Francis shushed him and pressed his weight against him, both falling to the bedspread where they pushed their bodies against one another, skin soft and slick. Francis rose again and slunk down Antonio’s body, kissing and skimming lips along panting chest and quaking stomach.
Pausing at Antonio’s hips, he kissed along the join of Antonio’s pelvis and thigh, mouthed his balls with a slight smile at Antonio’s quiet noise, and finally pressed half-kisses up his length. He mouthed the tip, playful and greedy, keeping teeth out of the way.
Antonio’s breath hitched and his fingers skimmed the ends of Francis’ hair, which was falling down in his face and sticking slightly to his damp temple. Antonio never grabbed his head during fellatio, but he liked to feel Francis’ hair, his face, during the act. Francis swallowed down more and pulled up with a twist, paused to wet his lips, and continued, savoring the feel and taste. Looked up at Antonio through his eyelashes to see what each twist, each suck, lick, twirl of his tongue did. Gold and bronze danced across Antonio’s skin, even more luminescent now with its sheen of sweat - one deep swallow and Antonio arched his back a little, and it was a bit like sunset - every subtle line of rib was illuminated, last rays of light touching ocean waves or the tops of rolling hills.
Francis pulled back, sat up, and Antonio met him halfway with a hard kiss and hands at Francis’ hips. They twined their hands together and jointly pulled off Francis’ boxers, much more rough and rushed than with Antonio’s through the kisses, and Francis straddled Antonio’s waist once again. Francis broke the kiss momentarily to grab the lube and Antonio wrapped an arm around his back, mouthed his ear and nipped right below it.
Lube in hand, Francis leaned back a bit and sat up a little higher on his haunches. He slicked up his fingers while observing the upturned curve of Antonio’s mouth, the light flush on his cheeks, the heated, gold-flecked green in the dark meeting his gaze. Holding himself steady on Antonio’s shoulder, he sat up a bit more, then reached back and pressed a lubed finger into himself, smirking at the catch in Antonio’s breathing at that.
Antonio leaned forward and placed one hand on Francis’ hip, the other where his thigh and buttock met, and slid the hand behind Francis in toward the one that was already there, working itself in and out. Antonio abruptly pulled it back and with a small smile stuck his fingers in his mouth, chuckling a bit through his fingers when Francis’ gaze darkened - eyes still crinkled in a smile, he reached behind Francis once again and placed his hand over Francis’, twining them together. They looked at each other, and, communicating with their gazes, both moved a finger up and in.
A few more intimate minutes spent like that, both simply watching each other as Francis’ breathing became more and more ragged, hands tangled and up and in and close - Francis guided both of them out with an almost-inaudible moan, slicked up Antonio, and climbed onto his lap. Antonio shifted onto his knees a little more, between Francis’ thighs, gripped his hips; Francis brought his hands to the sides of Antonio’s face and they met for a rough, gasping kiss as Francis lowered himself and Antonio pushed up, barely.
They soon worked up a rhythm, not particularly fast but deep, powerful, each thrust meaning something - mouths were devouring each other, occasionally detouring to ravage necks, ears, shoulders - Francis’ hands traced sweaty patterns on Antonio’s skin in a jumping, dancing pattern -
Antonio’s hands tightened on Francis’ hips and he threw an arm around Francis’ back, hand on the back of his head, tangling in his sweaty hair - he pressed them together and let out a rough, shuddering breath, slamming them together once - twice - three times - before he stilled, breathing heavily into Francis’ jaw.
He kissed his way over between breaths to Francis’ mouth, which was waiting for him. One deep kiss and a few nips, and Antonio leaned back with a huge smile. “So,” he asked, still breathless, “what about you?”
---
For Valentine’s Day, Roderich was going to take Lili out to eat, to a restaurant Francis recommended: a cozy, whimsical, low-lit French-American wine bar. They could split a bottle of wine and spend hours talking and laughing over multiple courses, finally ending in dessert and coffee. He would pay and she would probably call him silly and giggle at him beneath her hand.
He was going to walk her to a tiny park afterwards, like the gentleman he was, and ask her to talk about camping again; on the way they could swing by a flower stand on the corner and he could let her pick out whatever she wanted. He didn’t know anything about flowers, but she could go on about them for hours, and it was hard to tell her to stop when she was obviously so passionate about them.
He was going to ask her out, properly, and they could be official.
None of that happened.
Lili didn’t want to miss Eirik’s performance that night. While Roderich assured her that they could go out to eat early, she wanted to cook at his place instead - she’d never seen it, after all, and she never got to cook in the dorms.
Roderich...wasn’t a good cook. He wasn’t terrible - he’d never set anything on fire, goodness - but he mostly lived off of things that didn’t require much preparation. Sandwiches in particular. Leftovers from when he went out to eat with Jens, or Ivan came over with some twist on a traditional Russian soup. The only thing he could really make well was dessert, so he prepared a torte the night before and put it in the refrigerator. Then he spent the rest of the evening walking from common area to bedroom and back again, making minute adjustments to furniture or wiping off the counter for the fifth time.
The day of, Francis let him leave early and they’d met at the indoor market at three, both looking a little overdressed walking through the stands. They picked out food to cook for their meal, a little shyly, with a lot of “oh, no, get whatever you want to eat” countered back and forth. He did get her flowers - she wanted tulips but sighed that they wouldn’t last long in a vase, and chose calla lilies instead.
Lili laughed at Roderich’s ruffled and affronted expression when the man at the register told them to “Have a good night!” and winked at Roderich.
They went to his apartment, arms full of canvas-bagged groceries. It was small, in a pretty old building with exposed radiators and drafty windows, a little plain - he had a few nice pieces of furniture he’d acquired at antique stores and estate sales with Berwald, some gifts from Francis over the years - the lighting wasn’t quite right and it was kind of dark.
“I really like it,” Lili grinned while looking around.
He thanked her, saw her holding her flowers, then frowned. “I don’t think I have a vase for the flowers, oh...”
She smiled at him. “That’s okay - I wouldn’t be able to see you anyway if we put them in the middle of the table. How silly would that be, spending Valentine’s with my boyfriend and looking at a bunch of callas instead?” she laughed, setting groceries out on the counter.
“Uh,” he choked. Apparently they already were official. “Yes. Well, ah. Would you like some help?”
“Hm? Oh, no,” she waved, “you paid for the food, let me cook it for you! You could set the table and open the wine I guess.”
He did trim the free-range chicken they’d purchased, and then let her take over the kitchen. While setting the table he paused, looking at the rather plain plate in his hand - he wished he had nicer dishes, and had thought to buy a candle or two.
They opened the bottle of wine before the food was done, and Roderich sipped at his glass, watching Lili cook. She flitted between the stove and the seat beside him at the table, mildly talking about class that day, glass of wine in one hand and spatula in the other. He felt guiltily chauvinistic at how much he enjoyed the sight of her in a dress and ballet flats at the stove.
Roderich was happy that at least the “good dinner and pleasant conversation” aspect of the evening went according to plan. He was almost done with his meal when he realized there was something he could do that would even be an improvement upon his original plan - music! With a happy burst of a laugh he got out of his seat and went to the record player on the opposite end of the room. Hmm. He flipped through his records. Erik Satie or Arthur Russell?
They ate dessert over Satie’s piano strains (to Roderich’s delight, she loved both the food and the music, and insisted that he had to teach her how to make a torte) and she finally looked over the clock and commented on the time.
“We were fast,” Roderich hummed. They didn’t have to leave for nearly an hour.
“I know,” she smiled and stood up, crossing to him. “You should teach me those dances you talked about. You know, at Halloween?”
“Oh,” he raised his eyebrows and stood. “Yes, that’s an excellent idea. Which would you like to learn?”
“Any of the jazz ones,” she replied. They pushed the furniture out of the way, put on some jazz, and didn’t get very far before they collapsed into laughter and kisses on the misplaced couch.
---
Gilbert grinned like a maniac and threw his arm around Lovinia’s shoulders as they walked down the street in the cold.
“Hey,” she tried to shrug his arm off, “what do you think you’re doing? Just because I’m going with you doesn’t mean anything,” she scowled.
He threw his head back and laughed, tightening his grip and making them stumble a bit. “Yeah, babe, you just tell yourself that,” he winked. “You think I’m fuckin’ awe~some.”
“I’m just here because you wouldn’t go away,” she growled. She tried to pry his arm off of her shoulder; it wouldn’t budge. “Knock it off!”
“Nope,” he smirked. “You don’t have your goddamn nightstick or any pottery to injure me with today! And we’re on a date - so ha!”
They stopped in front of M-16. She knew this place - this was not a place for a date, thankyouverymuch. What an idiot that bastard was.
“This place rules,” Gilbert nodded. “And since you like punk I decided to take you here! Pretty sweet spot, right? There’s gonna be some bitchin’ bands later tonight.”
Before she could say anything, he opened the door for her and pushed her in by the small of her back, a little roughly, ignoring her indignant yelp.
“Here,” he yanked her closer by her waist and shoved a $20 in her hand, “you get me the #7 and a PBR, you get yourself whatever the fuck you want,” he said in a tone that implied that she should be enormously flattered. Then he pressed against her and grinned down, “...and I’ll find us the best seats in the place.” Then he was - just - gone - before she could blink. The hell?
That bastard, taking her here, to some dive bar (nevermind that it was her favorite dive bar) and making her order. She wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t been so annoying about it...and...all right. Maybe he was kind of attractive. Just a little though, because he had fuckin’ weird eyes! Yeah. Er, well, and, he was actually really good with a guitar. Not that she’d tell him that.
---
They’d eaten dinner without much incident - she had slammed her fork into his arm when he’d wanted “just a taste, Jesus” of her burger, but that wasn’t an incident, right? - and were now on their...third? Whatever, she was gonna call it third - round of beer.
“So, wait, you play guitar or somethin’?” Gilbert was asking.
On the opposite side of the small table, she leaned back against the wall, sprawled out, and tossed her head back with a roll of her eyes and a twisted smile. “You moron, I just said I did.” She kept her head tilted back against the wall, chin raised, and settled for rolling it to the side and looking at him through narrowed eyes. That half-smirk half-smile on her face wouldn’t seem to go away, though.
“Yeah, but,” he frowned and took a gulp of his beer, wiped an arm across his mouth and leaned forward into the table, elbow scattering the forgotten fork, “you said it was some weird shit.”
“I said,” she huffed, “that I used to play classical guitar.”
“That sounds like pansy shit.”
“It’s - what?! Shut the hell up, bastard! Besides, I don’t play anymore because I smashed mine - a moron like you probably thinks that’s pretty cool,” she huffed.
“Huh, yeah, that’s not too bad,” Gilbert replied. “Then I guess you got the drum set?”
“Hey, guess you’re smarter than you look,” she snorted.
About that time a random drunk guy stumbled by and gave her a low, appreciative whistle.
---
Gilbert had the guy in a headlock and was smashing him repeatedly into the table. It was hard to say whose cursing was more vicious or creative - his snarled insults to the guy, or Lovinia’s yelling that he was acting like an immature, testosterone-fueled pig, and spilling their beer to boot. The rest of the room cheered, jeered, and commented loudly.
“HEY, IT’S THAT GODDAMN ALBINO!” was yelled by a staff member. Gilbert whipped his head over, saw who it was, and dropped his victim immediately, grabbing their coats and Lovinia’s arm and shouting “Shit-shit-shit, let’s go!”
He took off into a run, dragging her behind, barreling through the crowded bar - damn he was fast, Lovinia thought. The only reason she was keeping up was because he was dragging her - they burst out of the door and into the street and he yanked her to the left. They heard the door bang open again and both set into a flat-out sprint, passing - ah!
Lovinia shouted “Hey!” and pulled him to the left, into an alleyway she was familiar with - a few more turns and - there - she pulled him into a tiny space between two old brick buildings and up an old fire escape, finally reaching the roof - she shoved him down and they flattened themselves against the horizontal rooftop, trying to quiet their breathing, him wheezing a little.
About three minutes passed and nothing happened.
“What the hell was that all about?!” Lovinia finally hissed, still quiet, raising her head from her crossed arms.
Gilbert looked over at her, his hands and the side of his face pressed into their coats, still trying to catch his breath. What you get for smoking so much, dumbass, Lovinia thought. “I may or may not,” he huffed, “have been permanently banned there, once.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, mouth dropping open in surprised fury. “Are you - ugh - you can’t be ‘permanently banned’ more than once! Bastard, that’s why it’s called permanent!” A voice in her head pointed out that at least that explained why she had never seen him there before. If he had gotten her banned she was gonna kick his ass. She liked that bar.
“I know that,” he rolled his eyes, “but I was kinda hoping they forgot.”
Lovinia spluttered. “Wha - you -are you - how the hell did you even get banned?!”
“Oh!” he perked up and pulled himself up on his elbows a little. “It was amazing! I got tanked and ruined the fuck out of this shitty old TV they had. Just - smashed it to pieces with a barstool. Everyone else there was cheering me on, of course, but the owner’s got a stick up his ass or somethin’.”
“You broke a TV with a barstool,” she repeated, voice flat, eyebrow raised.
“Okay, I didn’t just break the TV - it was way cooler than that. I fuckin’ annihilated that goddamn TV. Probably took ‘em a year to clean that shit up. Or at least I hope it did, fuckers,” he scowled.
“Do I...” she thought better of it and shook her head.
They both remained silent for a few more seconds, lying on the roof - it was pretty hard, kind of painful - before Gilbert raised himself up and peeked over the side of the building, into the alley, to make sure the coast was clear. “No one’s there, but I guess we can’t go back to the bar now.” He sat up against the low side of the building and lit a cigarette. She sat, cross-legged, and looked at him; he breathed out a cloud of smoke, smirked, and said “Dooo you wanna -”
“You’d better not be about to say ‘go to your place’,” she growled.
“Ahhnoooo that’s - heh - uh. Wanna go to that performance thing?” he quickly asked instead.
She crossed her arms and frowned. “What performance thing?”
---
They had climbed down one level on the fire escape when Gilbert grabbed her by the hips and pinned her against the rail. “Hey,” he smiled, the one like knives, cocky, his voice low, “I think I deserve a kiss for that awesomeness.”
“That awe- are -” she inhaled sharply as a wave of hot then cold washed over her, then reared back and punched him right in the teeth.
He stumbled back and brought his hands up to his bleeding mouth, looking shocked - then he looked up and made a little noise between laughter and fury, lowering his arms. He stared at her, and finally broke out into a wide, bloody, torn grin. “You’re fuckin’ feisty,” he cackled.
Lovinia stepped up to him, yanked him down by his hair, and smashed their mouths together, then threw him back just as quickly. “That’s all you get,” she glowered, and stomped down the stairs past him.
---
-
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NOTES + SKETCHIES + MIXTAPE PART ONE
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So. Yeah. Smut. There’s more on the agenda. I guess that’s good? Oh, and I always seem to write smut in present tense for some reason, so hopefully I didn’t miss a verb somewhere. Point it out if I did! Uh, also, crit? I like crit. Yaaay crit.
---
Berwald, you shaved &hearts
---
Ludwig and co. at Pint-Sized:
A Faulty Chromosome - Them Pleasures of the Flesh
Gilbert makes a Valentine:
Suicide - Ghost Rider
Francis and Antonio have birthday!sex:
Jesu - Conquerer
My Bloody Valentine - Loomer (why do I keep listening to MBV for these two?)
Roderich and Lili stay in:
Erik Satie - Gymnopedie I
Arthur Russell - A Little Lost
Gilbert and Lovi’s date:
Cap’n Jazz - Ooh Do I Love You
Times New Viking - Little Amps
Best Coast - When I’m With You
Mixtape Link: http://www.mediafire.com/?akm6gtbssxjc4