Das Gedächtnis
Title: Das Gedächtnis
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Gilbert, Antonio and Francis. Mentions of England and Roderich.
Warnings: Conquistador!Spain, France, Gilbert.
Summary: Gilbert had an interesting life. Sometimes, when he is alone in the crowd, he remembers.
Notes: thank you very much frostberryjam for being my beta. Your work was awesome (including the color code) and I wouldn't have posted anything if you hadn't taken a look at it first ^_^ All mistakes are my fault. Afonso is the first Portuguese name that came to my mind, so he is Portugal. I always struggle with titles but I think "memories" in german is better than "When Teutonic Knight!Prussia met Conquistador!Spain" lol
Inside the nightclub, the music is loud, people dance and laugh and drink. Gilbert goes whenever he cans, because there's no better place to party. Someone touches his butt and he turns, searching for the culprit. Nobody is looking at him and he knows it isn't Francis because Francis doesn't grope him. Never has and never will. Gilbert would cut Francis's hand before that happened, and he doesn't want to because Francis's hands feel too good. It's not a secret they have given a whole new level of significance to the “fuck buddies” term. Besides, Francis loves touching Antonio too much to be interested in him. Gilbert loves it when Lovino, Arthur and Afonso are there. Poor oblivious Antonio always ends up being beaten. Gilbert closes his eyes, his body never stopping to move with the thumpa-thumpa, and tries to think. How many times has he seen Antonio beaten?
Gilbert doesn't remember everything that has happened in his life. He has lived through a lot. He has seen a lot. He has suffered, cried, won, lost, loved, killed; too many times, too many reasons, too many people. But there has always been a select group of memories he can relive perfectly. He can still feel them, see them in his mind like a movie in which he is the only element that doesn’t change, that is always there.
****
He does not remember who he was before someone put a sword in his hand. The first thing he remembers is St Mary's Hospital in Jerusalem and the blood. He remembers people -adults- protecting him. He was confused at first. His sword was too big for his small hands, and he didn't feel strong enough to use it until the blood of one of his protectors splashed his face. He saw red. He learned how to fight that day. He learned why he was in the world: to conquer, to be the greatest among his peers, to make God proud.
Not long after that day, they introduced him to the noblemen of Jerusalem. Of course, the first one he had met was The Leper. He didn't understand about Kings, but The Leper was the first intelligent person he talked to in his life. He swore to him he was going to protect God's Kingdom. Later on, the others came and not a week after he knew who all the relevant people were. At first, he dismissed the blond teen because he looked too much like a girl. He had thought that someone so fair, so fragile, was totally out of place in the middle of the dusty fortress. He wasn't strong and he guessed that he was someone's son. ‘Francis’ was what his people (the ones in the white cloak with the red cross) called him. He hadn't understood what, who Francis was until one of his protectors had used an unusually deferential tone with that boy-girl dressed in blue. His men explained it to him in on their way to Acre. That boy-girl in blue was France, the great Kingdom of men far away in what all called ‘home‘. Europe. They told him that his own home was there. He didn't know if that was true and he couldn't believe why the other, France, was so powerful until one day Francis called for him. Until the day when he saw Francis smiling while two of his men were dueling to death to decide which one would use the beautiful slave they had found. He swore he was never going to forget his smile, his words, his amour and then he trained more. No one with stupid ideas about love should ever rule above him.
Gilbert's memories turn blurry and the next clear fact he remembers is the day Francis came to his rooms claiming he was bored to death with all that peace and that Gilbert should entertain him. For a boy-girl, he was incredibly skillful, enough to have Gilbert pinned against the bed in the blink of an eye. Maybe all was because of the incense, or the way the silk curtains filtered the light, but Gilbert couldn't move, couldn't fight the prettiest person he had ever met. He let Francis steal his first kiss, the first pleasant reaction of his body. He had returned the kisses, had touched soft milky skin with hands too rough, not made to touch in that way. Later, he had regretted doing it. They told him to never surrender and he did. Rage made his body tremble and he hated Francis.
“We are perfect, mon amour. Together we could rule the world. With you by my side, Roderich and Arthur will come to us, and we will be great and merciful with them. God wants us to reign Gilbert. We fight for Him. We deserve it. Paris will be our home, Europe our garden. Nobody could stop us ever. And I love you, love you, love you.” Francis had laughed loudly, his smile almost as bright and innocent as the sun. Gilbert had understood. For Francis, all was a game he played to win, and the reality was that he didn't need anyone. Not Gilbert, not God. Francis played for himself.
“You don't love me!” he had shouted “I don't love you! I'll never love a bastard son of a bitch like you! We never will be living together! You only want to annoy others and show how full of yourself you are! The only thing you love is yourself!”
***********
In the nightclub, Gilbert opens his eyes. He thinks that it isn't fair the precision with which he can still feel Francis’s fake laughter trying to hide the hurt in his eyes. He knows that that was the worst thing he ever did to him. Francis had been young too and now Gilbert realizes that Francis had believed his own fantasies. For a little while. He searches for him and he sees him dancing too close to Antonio. He can't see but he is sure that Francis' too playful hands are somewhere down the waist of Antonio's trousers, probably doing all in his power to give him a hard on. Nothing really complicated knowing those two, but incredibly funny in the middle of a public place. Gilbert smiles, says an “I'm sorry” to Francis that nobody hears and closes his eyes again.
*********
Afterwards, he had heard that Francis had returned home -bored already, he was sure. He had no time to feel guilty about Francis. They were losing Jerusalem, unable to stop Salah ah-Din. He had felt despair because next to the Muslim King’s side was a masked tall man and Gilbert knew he was like him and Francis but an adult and much stronger than both of them together. They left the city and waited. News had come about the Pope ordering a new Crusade. Not wanting to see Francis again, he had met Arthur. He was little more than a child but Gilbert had liked the shine in the green eyes since the first moment. Arthur was brave. His King braver. They fought endless battles. He heard that the Emperor, the one who supposedly was his King, had gone home with Francis but Gilbert didn't care. Arthur's King -The Lionheart- spoke bad about them and Gilbert found himself copying his “fuck Frenchmen, fuck Austrians” attitude every time a soldier was killed.
They lost. Arthur returned home. The Lionheart died before he touched English ground. Gilbert was the only one of them there then. When Francis sent orders to imprison his old Order (the most powerful, the most rich of all of the Knights) he had known that Europe wasn't interested in God's Kingdom anymore. They had taken all the gold, all the god things they could carry, and Jerusalem was nothing more than a dusty hellish place. They had found a new pilgrimage in Spain, safe from Muslims. Gilbert's people decided to go home too, dreams full with promises of an East waiting for them.
He met the Emperor. He met Roderich and little Holy Roman Empire. Roderich told him he was Holy Roman Empire's big brother. He hadn't land of his own, all was his brother's birth right, and he, and, Roderich, were the ones God elected to take care of it.
“I'm here to rule in His name, you are here to fight in mine. You are here to protect your brother's kingdom and made him Christian and Big and Powerful.”
Gilbert did it.
He won, conquered and Christianized. He didn't see Francis, he didn't see Arthur although he knew they were near, fighting. They always were fighting each other. He hadn't care because Gilbert had not been one of them. He had a mission, a goal, and Feliks and Toris were more than enough to be occupied with. At least until the day Roderich ordered him to stop, to return home and take care of his little brother because he was having problems and he wasn't The Boss anymore.
“Who is it, then? Francis?” he had asked.
Roderich hadn't looked good. He seemed tired, as tired as The Lionheart seemed at the end. And Gilbert had been conscious of the presence of this new Boss already there. He had known Roderich had talked with him early in the morning. Part of his mind hated to think that Francis was the only other person with enough power to rule them. He had sworn they would never be under his rule and Gilbert, older and wiser and prouder than the teen he had been, despised being corrected.
“God save us if Francis leads the world” Roderich had sighed “You don't know him.”
“I know everyone. I've fucking met them in Jerusalem.”
“He didn't go.”
Roderich had dismissed him with that and Gilbert had been furious. Someone who didn't fight for God would not rule him. He was Great. He would not allow a boy-girl -like Francis had been- to be in charge of his brother, ordering him around. That would lead to his work being destroyed by the ones who wanted a piece of them. He had been so centered in his plans that he hadn't seen the guy until he crashed with him.
“Out of the way” Gilbert had ordered before registering the other features. He was a little bit taller and dressed in a way he hadn't seen anywhere. Probably one of the new Boss underlings.
“What?”
“Out of my way. Who the hell do you think you are? Don't you know who I am?”
“In fact, I do not know who you are.”
Nobody, ever, had not known who Gilbert was. Everyone knew who he was even before he had known himself. Without thinking, he was pinning the older guy against the wall and his sword was in his hand. He was furious. So furious he decided he didn't care if the new Boss was angry with him for killing one of his men. They were going to war, anyways.
“I do not like when the people I'm going to kill don’t know my name,” he hissed “I'm Gilbert Weillschmidt, Leader of The Teutonic Knights, Duchy of Prussia. I've fought for God in Jerusalem, I killed hundreds of people. You should have known me.”
In a blink of an eye, Gilbert found himself tossed around and suddenly in the guy's position. He hadn't realized how dark and green were the other's eyes. He hadn't realized how strong his body was under those weird clothes nor how cruel his smirk was. He struggled to free himself in vain, doing nothing but hurting himself against the stone. His captor breathed deeply, his amusement barely hidden.
******
In the present, Gilbert opens his eyes and guffaws. A girl gives him a look and Gilbert doesn't pay her any attention. He turns around looking for them and nearly misses Antonio getting through the mass to give him a glass. His friend smiles and kisses him on the mouth without any sign of shame, keeping the rhythm of the song with his hips which are too close to not feel that he's half hard under his jeans. The girl that glared at Gilbert seconds ago is now clearly interested in them, be it because she's an odd girl like Elizaveta or because Antonio keeps dancing too well to be compared with any guy the girl knows.
Not a minute after, France is with them throwing an arm around both and glaring at the girl with that heated look that says clearly 'They're mine. Back. Off'. When Antonio smiles innocently at her, Gilbert laughs again. It's almost impossible to think about Antonio not being this oblivious, this happy, this dumb. Luckily for him, his memory is good and at the same time as the alcohol burns his throat he is again in Roderich's old house, pushed so violently against the wall that the stones are digging marks into his back.
*******
“Pleased to meet you, Gilbert Weillschmidt, Leader of The Teutonic Knights, Duchy of Prussia. I like people who fight for God.” Livid, Gilbert had spit at his face. He had loved the surprised look, the rage that made the other body tremble. The grip in his neck tightened. “I fight for God too. I had been fighting for Him for eight hundred years. I was too busy killing them in my home to go and play with you European rich boys in Jerusalem”
Gilbert was starting to feel dizzy because the grip was so tight that he was running low on oxygen. The guy seemed to take note of it and let him go a little. Now, he knew who he was. Knights had always talked about Spain, the Kingdom of the Sun. They talked about how difficult the fight was there, how noble for all Christendom to reconquer it. 'Everyone fights there' the few that had come back told around Europe. Gilbert knew they had won. The Pope had ordered a celebration. He also knew that Spain was out in that New World of his.
“Bien. I see that besides arrogant, you're intelligent, Gilbert Weillschmidt.”
“Of course I am! So... you're the new Boss?”
Spain smirked again and released him completely. He stood still in Gilbert's personal space but, as much as Elizaveta wanted to believe, he wasn't a masochist so he didn't comment about it. He needed to understand more about what the rage he had felt in Spain would make him do and how could Gilbert use it in his favor, because if he had mastered one thing, it was to use people for achieve his goals.
“I'm the new boss”
“Should I call you Boss, Spain or do you have a name?”
Spain's clear laugh melted some of Gilbert's arrogance. He let his guard down a moment. He was not another Francis. He wasn't a child like Arthur and Holy Roman Empire. He wasn't an indoors elegant gentleman like Roderich. Spain was a fighter like him. And a fighter never allowed another to spit on him without some kind of retribution. Understanding the look Spain was giving him, Gilbert knew what was going to be demanded.
Maybe he had decided that the other wasn't another Francis too early.
“Come with me” Spain ordered “And call me Boss. That's what all of them do”
Gilbert followed him to his rooms. However pissed off he could be, he was not going to complain because only wimps complained. Only he was going to clarify that he was not the type to come docilely to any kind of situation in which he wasn't in control. ‘Always go down with a fight‘, that was his motto. He crossed his arms and looked defiantly at Spain, who was ignoring him and undressing already.
“You're not my Boss” Gilbert stated “So tell me your fucking name”
“Undress. And don't fight me.”
“Why shouldn't I? I always loved a good fight. I always win.”
Spain laughed louder but Gilbert saw how his amusement didn't reach his eyes. They were cold, hard, ruthless. The shine of gold caught his interest and carefully observed the rings and bracelets he hadn't noticed before. He remembered Roderich' complaints about how rich Spain was now.
“Do you like the gold?” Spain asked when he caught his eyes.
“Don't we all?”
His new Boss continued to undress without saying anything more but his eyes, too green and big to hide anything from Gilbert's red ones, noticed the disdain. The Knights, back in Jerusalem, had loved to brag about their treasures, considering how much a person was worth based on the gold they possessed. For someone so rich, it was odd that Spain hadn't done the same. He looked over to him again, carefully trying to analyze the man. Gilbert had fought enough battles in his life to know that strategy was vital to win. Keeping fights short and giving the first strike as hard as could be done, was what he liked more and Spain, if what they said about him was true, was a soldier able to capture his interest. Feeling excited, he let his eyes wander all over him. Secretly, he found the view delightful until he noted the scars. Ugly small scars all over the toned body. Not seeing one in his back told Gilbert more about the new Boss than a thousand words could. Apparently, Spain was proud and brave, and there was no one easier to mock of than that type of guys.
“Undress. Ahora” ordered Spain the moment he was nude and looking at him again. When he understood that Gilbert wasn't going to do it, he smirked. “I think courtesy requires that before you decide to keep that attitude I tell you what happened to the last person who tried it.”
“Let me guess: he died.” Gilbert rolled his eyes.
“Indeed. He died, all his people died, and now I have a lot of gold and slaves to trade. Are you going to undress or shall I start killing your people?”
“We are not barbaric like them! We know how to fight!”
“They knew too.” he touched a scar in his shoulder “One of them did it not a year ago. El muy bastardo used venom and I spent all my way home ill, which, let me tell you, isn't pleasant in a travel by sea. Besides, I have the Pope's permission to judge the people of the world. La Inquisición is what we call it. Now, are you going to undress?”
Gilbert did it. Too angry to care about his own body, he discarded his clothes, opened his arms in mock offering and glared at the bastard. Spain sighed and his smile changed to a real one that made his cold eyes shine with warmth. In seconds, he was there, his body almost touching Gilbert's, radiating the type of warmth that made him remember Jerusalem and that night long ago when Francis was still the most pretty of all the boy-girls ever. Like on that occasion, he wanted to surrender just for a moment to feel it better but his pride, bigger than in his youth, didn't let him. France, that first time so long ago, had taught him well enough to never ever let that kind of thoughts get past his defenses.
“My name is Antonio, Gilbert” Spain murmured, his hot breath caressing him.
And that had made it.
Calloused fingers touched lightly his face, attempting in vain to clear off his hair, before gentle lips descended onto his own, too rough in comparison. Antonio's skin was warm and Gilbert's mind kept going back to Francis, to his first time. Surely, Spain would have loved to be with the France of that time whom Gilbert remembered soft as a girl and bright as the sun itself. An angel in Holy Land.
“Give me head, Gilbert.” murmured huskily Antonio.
Or maybe not.
Smirking, he got on his knees in front of Spain. If he were the one to have chosen, he wouldn't have forced anyone to get on his knees in hard cold stone. And he was kind of a sadist, so, maybe, Spain was too and that made things much more interesting, above all when Antonio's manhood was in his hands. Literally in his hands.
“No please, Boss?” he stroked up and down slowly, pleased with the face of repressed pleasure he was provoking. “No threats?”
“Don't get confused. I can threat you. But you don't want it, I assure you that”
Prussia had been tempted to say that yes, he liked threats and dangerous people, but that, of course, revealed too much. Instead, he smirked again, letting Antonio know that he could reply to that but chose not to. For now. Of course, he wasn't used to being the one who was the bitch. Usually, he had a list of others fitted to being his bitches. Boys and girls alike. Gilbert, after all always a soldier, wasn't picky. He wasted a few seconds gathering the courage to lick tentatively the head of Antonio's cock. It was tasty and sort of salty. Neither disgusting nor delightful. He could live without it if Antonio hadn't hissed in pleasure. He teased him a bit more, licking and then stopping, never having it in his mouth properly.
“Am I that good? I expected that someone with your fame would have been more composed”
“¡Por Dios!” Those words that he couldn't understand were all the warning he had before Spain' arms pulled him up and threw him on the bed “I can play the bastard better. Don't forget that you asked for it.”
With that, Antonio had started doing himself everything. Suddenly, the hands pinning him down were stronger than his own trying to break free which turned him on. When his bed partner realized, his smirk gave him the looks of a hunter with a prey in mind. Lust spread through him with the thought of being someone's prey, chased and ordered to stay still. He moaned and arched a bit, wanting more roughness and more skin and Antonio's lips sucking harder his nipple. Gentle soon changed into passionately as Gilbert had wanted because he didn't know how to do gentle. That was for Roderich or Toris and Feliks. It wasn't pretty or sweet. Spain got to Gilbert's ass fast and wasted minimal time preparing him for what would come. He kept repeating 'You asked for it' and blabbed things in his own language about which Gilbert couldn't care less even if he tried. The important thing was that the sex was fast, and hard and passionate and oh god how hard Antonio was inside him! He found himself losing control as much as he had that time with Francis. He visualized Francis looking at them, the pervert surely would do it. Considering that, he closed his eyes and could heard Francis' singsong voice in his head telling him ‘Didn't I tell you how great love is?’ in perfect sync with Spain's trusts. Had Francis been there, Gilbert would have been pounding into him as fast and hard as Antonio moved inside him. Francis would cry loudly enough to cover Antonio's incompressible words. Remembering Francis' face when he came was all it took for Gilbert to release himself all over Antonio who still thrust a few times more before letting himself go.
“That was fun” Antonio said when he could speak properly again. He walked over to his clothes and started putting them on again. “I have to go now. I'm departing for the New World in a month and I'm already late because I hadn't expected you would be as... interesting as you are. I will leave Roderich in charge, he knows the job and besides, we're familia. Look after them, sí? I'm giving you that task. Protect Holy Roman Empire no matter what. God be with you, Gilbert.”
*******
That had been it. Gilbert had never seen Antonio's cruel smirk after that day. While clubbing in Ibiza and seeing Francis taking advantage of the easygoing, thick head Antonio was now, he almost missed it.
Thank you for reading ^_^
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Gilbert, Antonio and Francis. Mentions of England and Roderich.
Warnings: Conquistador!Spain, France, Gilbert.
Summary: Gilbert had an interesting life. Sometimes, when he is alone in the crowd, he remembers.
Notes: thank you very much frostberryjam for being my beta. Your work was awesome (including the color code) and I wouldn't have posted anything if you hadn't taken a look at it first ^_^ All mistakes are my fault. Afonso is the first Portuguese name that came to my mind, so he is Portugal. I always struggle with titles but I think "memories" in german is better than "When Teutonic Knight!Prussia met Conquistador!Spain" lol
Inside the nightclub, the music is loud, people dance and laugh and drink. Gilbert goes whenever he cans, because there's no better place to party. Someone touches his butt and he turns, searching for the culprit. Nobody is looking at him and he knows it isn't Francis because Francis doesn't grope him. Never has and never will. Gilbert would cut Francis's hand before that happened, and he doesn't want to because Francis's hands feel too good. It's not a secret they have given a whole new level of significance to the “fuck buddies” term. Besides, Francis loves touching Antonio too much to be interested in him. Gilbert loves it when Lovino, Arthur and Afonso are there. Poor oblivious Antonio always ends up being beaten. Gilbert closes his eyes, his body never stopping to move with the thumpa-thumpa, and tries to think. How many times has he seen Antonio beaten?
Gilbert doesn't remember everything that has happened in his life. He has lived through a lot. He has seen a lot. He has suffered, cried, won, lost, loved, killed; too many times, too many reasons, too many people. But there has always been a select group of memories he can relive perfectly. He can still feel them, see them in his mind like a movie in which he is the only element that doesn’t change, that is always there.
****
He does not remember who he was before someone put a sword in his hand. The first thing he remembers is St Mary's Hospital in Jerusalem and the blood. He remembers people -adults- protecting him. He was confused at first. His sword was too big for his small hands, and he didn't feel strong enough to use it until the blood of one of his protectors splashed his face. He saw red. He learned how to fight that day. He learned why he was in the world: to conquer, to be the greatest among his peers, to make God proud.
Not long after that day, they introduced him to the noblemen of Jerusalem. Of course, the first one he had met was The Leper. He didn't understand about Kings, but The Leper was the first intelligent person he talked to in his life. He swore to him he was going to protect God's Kingdom. Later on, the others came and not a week after he knew who all the relevant people were. At first, he dismissed the blond teen because he looked too much like a girl. He had thought that someone so fair, so fragile, was totally out of place in the middle of the dusty fortress. He wasn't strong and he guessed that he was someone's son. ‘Francis’ was what his people (the ones in the white cloak with the red cross) called him. He hadn't understood what, who Francis was until one of his protectors had used an unusually deferential tone with that boy-girl dressed in blue. His men explained it to him in on their way to Acre. That boy-girl in blue was France, the great Kingdom of men far away in what all called ‘home‘. Europe. They told him that his own home was there. He didn't know if that was true and he couldn't believe why the other, France, was so powerful until one day Francis called for him. Until the day when he saw Francis smiling while two of his men were dueling to death to decide which one would use the beautiful slave they had found. He swore he was never going to forget his smile, his words, his amour and then he trained more. No one with stupid ideas about love should ever rule above him.
Gilbert's memories turn blurry and the next clear fact he remembers is the day Francis came to his rooms claiming he was bored to death with all that peace and that Gilbert should entertain him. For a boy-girl, he was incredibly skillful, enough to have Gilbert pinned against the bed in the blink of an eye. Maybe all was because of the incense, or the way the silk curtains filtered the light, but Gilbert couldn't move, couldn't fight the prettiest person he had ever met. He let Francis steal his first kiss, the first pleasant reaction of his body. He had returned the kisses, had touched soft milky skin with hands too rough, not made to touch in that way. Later, he had regretted doing it. They told him to never surrender and he did. Rage made his body tremble and he hated Francis.
“We are perfect, mon amour. Together we could rule the world. With you by my side, Roderich and Arthur will come to us, and we will be great and merciful with them. God wants us to reign Gilbert. We fight for Him. We deserve it. Paris will be our home, Europe our garden. Nobody could stop us ever. And I love you, love you, love you.” Francis had laughed loudly, his smile almost as bright and innocent as the sun. Gilbert had understood. For Francis, all was a game he played to win, and the reality was that he didn't need anyone. Not Gilbert, not God. Francis played for himself.
“You don't love me!” he had shouted “I don't love you! I'll never love a bastard son of a bitch like you! We never will be living together! You only want to annoy others and show how full of yourself you are! The only thing you love is yourself!”
***********
In the nightclub, Gilbert opens his eyes. He thinks that it isn't fair the precision with which he can still feel Francis’s fake laughter trying to hide the hurt in his eyes. He knows that that was the worst thing he ever did to him. Francis had been young too and now Gilbert realizes that Francis had believed his own fantasies. For a little while. He searches for him and he sees him dancing too close to Antonio. He can't see but he is sure that Francis' too playful hands are somewhere down the waist of Antonio's trousers, probably doing all in his power to give him a hard on. Nothing really complicated knowing those two, but incredibly funny in the middle of a public place. Gilbert smiles, says an “I'm sorry” to Francis that nobody hears and closes his eyes again.
*********
Afterwards, he had heard that Francis had returned home -bored already, he was sure. He had no time to feel guilty about Francis. They were losing Jerusalem, unable to stop Salah ah-Din. He had felt despair because next to the Muslim King’s side was a masked tall man and Gilbert knew he was like him and Francis but an adult and much stronger than both of them together. They left the city and waited. News had come about the Pope ordering a new Crusade. Not wanting to see Francis again, he had met Arthur. He was little more than a child but Gilbert had liked the shine in the green eyes since the first moment. Arthur was brave. His King braver. They fought endless battles. He heard that the Emperor, the one who supposedly was his King, had gone home with Francis but Gilbert didn't care. Arthur's King -The Lionheart- spoke bad about them and Gilbert found himself copying his “fuck Frenchmen, fuck Austrians” attitude every time a soldier was killed.
They lost. Arthur returned home. The Lionheart died before he touched English ground. Gilbert was the only one of them there then. When Francis sent orders to imprison his old Order (the most powerful, the most rich of all of the Knights) he had known that Europe wasn't interested in God's Kingdom anymore. They had taken all the gold, all the god things they could carry, and Jerusalem was nothing more than a dusty hellish place. They had found a new pilgrimage in Spain, safe from Muslims. Gilbert's people decided to go home too, dreams full with promises of an East waiting for them.
He met the Emperor. He met Roderich and little Holy Roman Empire. Roderich told him he was Holy Roman Empire's big brother. He hadn't land of his own, all was his brother's birth right, and he, and, Roderich, were the ones God elected to take care of it.
“I'm here to rule in His name, you are here to fight in mine. You are here to protect your brother's kingdom and made him Christian and Big and Powerful.”
Gilbert did it.
He won, conquered and Christianized. He didn't see Francis, he didn't see Arthur although he knew they were near, fighting. They always were fighting each other. He hadn't care because Gilbert had not been one of them. He had a mission, a goal, and Feliks and Toris were more than enough to be occupied with. At least until the day Roderich ordered him to stop, to return home and take care of his little brother because he was having problems and he wasn't The Boss anymore.
“Who is it, then? Francis?” he had asked.
Roderich hadn't looked good. He seemed tired, as tired as The Lionheart seemed at the end. And Gilbert had been conscious of the presence of this new Boss already there. He had known Roderich had talked with him early in the morning. Part of his mind hated to think that Francis was the only other person with enough power to rule them. He had sworn they would never be under his rule and Gilbert, older and wiser and prouder than the teen he had been, despised being corrected.
“God save us if Francis leads the world” Roderich had sighed “You don't know him.”
“I know everyone. I've fucking met them in Jerusalem.”
“He didn't go.”
Roderich had dismissed him with that and Gilbert had been furious. Someone who didn't fight for God would not rule him. He was Great. He would not allow a boy-girl -like Francis had been- to be in charge of his brother, ordering him around. That would lead to his work being destroyed by the ones who wanted a piece of them. He had been so centered in his plans that he hadn't seen the guy until he crashed with him.
“Out of the way” Gilbert had ordered before registering the other features. He was a little bit taller and dressed in a way he hadn't seen anywhere. Probably one of the new Boss underlings.
“What?”
“Out of my way. Who the hell do you think you are? Don't you know who I am?”
“In fact, I do not know who you are.”
Nobody, ever, had not known who Gilbert was. Everyone knew who he was even before he had known himself. Without thinking, he was pinning the older guy against the wall and his sword was in his hand. He was furious. So furious he decided he didn't care if the new Boss was angry with him for killing one of his men. They were going to war, anyways.
“I do not like when the people I'm going to kill don’t know my name,” he hissed “I'm Gilbert Weillschmidt, Leader of The Teutonic Knights, Duchy of Prussia. I've fought for God in Jerusalem, I killed hundreds of people. You should have known me.”
In a blink of an eye, Gilbert found himself tossed around and suddenly in the guy's position. He hadn't realized how dark and green were the other's eyes. He hadn't realized how strong his body was under those weird clothes nor how cruel his smirk was. He struggled to free himself in vain, doing nothing but hurting himself against the stone. His captor breathed deeply, his amusement barely hidden.
******
In the present, Gilbert opens his eyes and guffaws. A girl gives him a look and Gilbert doesn't pay her any attention. He turns around looking for them and nearly misses Antonio getting through the mass to give him a glass. His friend smiles and kisses him on the mouth without any sign of shame, keeping the rhythm of the song with his hips which are too close to not feel that he's half hard under his jeans. The girl that glared at Gilbert seconds ago is now clearly interested in them, be it because she's an odd girl like Elizaveta or because Antonio keeps dancing too well to be compared with any guy the girl knows.
Not a minute after, France is with them throwing an arm around both and glaring at the girl with that heated look that says clearly 'They're mine. Back. Off'. When Antonio smiles innocently at her, Gilbert laughs again. It's almost impossible to think about Antonio not being this oblivious, this happy, this dumb. Luckily for him, his memory is good and at the same time as the alcohol burns his throat he is again in Roderich's old house, pushed so violently against the wall that the stones are digging marks into his back.
*******
“Pleased to meet you, Gilbert Weillschmidt, Leader of The Teutonic Knights, Duchy of Prussia. I like people who fight for God.” Livid, Gilbert had spit at his face. He had loved the surprised look, the rage that made the other body tremble. The grip in his neck tightened. “I fight for God too. I had been fighting for Him for eight hundred years. I was too busy killing them in my home to go and play with you European rich boys in Jerusalem”
Gilbert was starting to feel dizzy because the grip was so tight that he was running low on oxygen. The guy seemed to take note of it and let him go a little. Now, he knew who he was. Knights had always talked about Spain, the Kingdom of the Sun. They talked about how difficult the fight was there, how noble for all Christendom to reconquer it. 'Everyone fights there' the few that had come back told around Europe. Gilbert knew they had won. The Pope had ordered a celebration. He also knew that Spain was out in that New World of his.
“Bien. I see that besides arrogant, you're intelligent, Gilbert Weillschmidt.”
“Of course I am! So... you're the new Boss?”
Spain smirked again and released him completely. He stood still in Gilbert's personal space but, as much as Elizaveta wanted to believe, he wasn't a masochist so he didn't comment about it. He needed to understand more about what the rage he had felt in Spain would make him do and how could Gilbert use it in his favor, because if he had mastered one thing, it was to use people for achieve his goals.
“I'm the new boss”
“Should I call you Boss, Spain or do you have a name?”
Spain's clear laugh melted some of Gilbert's arrogance. He let his guard down a moment. He was not another Francis. He wasn't a child like Arthur and Holy Roman Empire. He wasn't an indoors elegant gentleman like Roderich. Spain was a fighter like him. And a fighter never allowed another to spit on him without some kind of retribution. Understanding the look Spain was giving him, Gilbert knew what was going to be demanded.
Maybe he had decided that the other wasn't another Francis too early.
“Come with me” Spain ordered “And call me Boss. That's what all of them do”
Gilbert followed him to his rooms. However pissed off he could be, he was not going to complain because only wimps complained. Only he was going to clarify that he was not the type to come docilely to any kind of situation in which he wasn't in control. ‘Always go down with a fight‘, that was his motto. He crossed his arms and looked defiantly at Spain, who was ignoring him and undressing already.
“You're not my Boss” Gilbert stated “So tell me your fucking name”
“Undress. And don't fight me.”
“Why shouldn't I? I always loved a good fight. I always win.”
Spain laughed louder but Gilbert saw how his amusement didn't reach his eyes. They were cold, hard, ruthless. The shine of gold caught his interest and carefully observed the rings and bracelets he hadn't noticed before. He remembered Roderich' complaints about how rich Spain was now.
“Do you like the gold?” Spain asked when he caught his eyes.
“Don't we all?”
His new Boss continued to undress without saying anything more but his eyes, too green and big to hide anything from Gilbert's red ones, noticed the disdain. The Knights, back in Jerusalem, had loved to brag about their treasures, considering how much a person was worth based on the gold they possessed. For someone so rich, it was odd that Spain hadn't done the same. He looked over to him again, carefully trying to analyze the man. Gilbert had fought enough battles in his life to know that strategy was vital to win. Keeping fights short and giving the first strike as hard as could be done, was what he liked more and Spain, if what they said about him was true, was a soldier able to capture his interest. Feeling excited, he let his eyes wander all over him. Secretly, he found the view delightful until he noted the scars. Ugly small scars all over the toned body. Not seeing one in his back told Gilbert more about the new Boss than a thousand words could. Apparently, Spain was proud and brave, and there was no one easier to mock of than that type of guys.
“Undress. Ahora” ordered Spain the moment he was nude and looking at him again. When he understood that Gilbert wasn't going to do it, he smirked. “I think courtesy requires that before you decide to keep that attitude I tell you what happened to the last person who tried it.”
“Let me guess: he died.” Gilbert rolled his eyes.
“Indeed. He died, all his people died, and now I have a lot of gold and slaves to trade. Are you going to undress or shall I start killing your people?”
“We are not barbaric like them! We know how to fight!”
“They knew too.” he touched a scar in his shoulder “One of them did it not a year ago. El muy bastardo used venom and I spent all my way home ill, which, let me tell you, isn't pleasant in a travel by sea. Besides, I have the Pope's permission to judge the people of the world. La Inquisición is what we call it. Now, are you going to undress?”
Gilbert did it. Too angry to care about his own body, he discarded his clothes, opened his arms in mock offering and glared at the bastard. Spain sighed and his smile changed to a real one that made his cold eyes shine with warmth. In seconds, he was there, his body almost touching Gilbert's, radiating the type of warmth that made him remember Jerusalem and that night long ago when Francis was still the most pretty of all the boy-girls ever. Like on that occasion, he wanted to surrender just for a moment to feel it better but his pride, bigger than in his youth, didn't let him. France, that first time so long ago, had taught him well enough to never ever let that kind of thoughts get past his defenses.
“My name is Antonio, Gilbert” Spain murmured, his hot breath caressing him.
And that had made it.
Calloused fingers touched lightly his face, attempting in vain to clear off his hair, before gentle lips descended onto his own, too rough in comparison. Antonio's skin was warm and Gilbert's mind kept going back to Francis, to his first time. Surely, Spain would have loved to be with the France of that time whom Gilbert remembered soft as a girl and bright as the sun itself. An angel in Holy Land.
“Give me head, Gilbert.” murmured huskily Antonio.
Or maybe not.
Smirking, he got on his knees in front of Spain. If he were the one to have chosen, he wouldn't have forced anyone to get on his knees in hard cold stone. And he was kind of a sadist, so, maybe, Spain was too and that made things much more interesting, above all when Antonio's manhood was in his hands. Literally in his hands.
“No please, Boss?” he stroked up and down slowly, pleased with the face of repressed pleasure he was provoking. “No threats?”
“Don't get confused. I can threat you. But you don't want it, I assure you that”
Prussia had been tempted to say that yes, he liked threats and dangerous people, but that, of course, revealed too much. Instead, he smirked again, letting Antonio know that he could reply to that but chose not to. For now. Of course, he wasn't used to being the one who was the bitch. Usually, he had a list of others fitted to being his bitches. Boys and girls alike. Gilbert, after all always a soldier, wasn't picky. He wasted a few seconds gathering the courage to lick tentatively the head of Antonio's cock. It was tasty and sort of salty. Neither disgusting nor delightful. He could live without it if Antonio hadn't hissed in pleasure. He teased him a bit more, licking and then stopping, never having it in his mouth properly.
“Am I that good? I expected that someone with your fame would have been more composed”
“¡Por Dios!” Those words that he couldn't understand were all the warning he had before Spain' arms pulled him up and threw him on the bed “I can play the bastard better. Don't forget that you asked for it.”
With that, Antonio had started doing himself everything. Suddenly, the hands pinning him down were stronger than his own trying to break free which turned him on. When his bed partner realized, his smirk gave him the looks of a hunter with a prey in mind. Lust spread through him with the thought of being someone's prey, chased and ordered to stay still. He moaned and arched a bit, wanting more roughness and more skin and Antonio's lips sucking harder his nipple. Gentle soon changed into passionately as Gilbert had wanted because he didn't know how to do gentle. That was for Roderich or Toris and Feliks. It wasn't pretty or sweet. Spain got to Gilbert's ass fast and wasted minimal time preparing him for what would come. He kept repeating 'You asked for it' and blabbed things in his own language about which Gilbert couldn't care less even if he tried. The important thing was that the sex was fast, and hard and passionate and oh god how hard Antonio was inside him! He found himself losing control as much as he had that time with Francis. He visualized Francis looking at them, the pervert surely would do it. Considering that, he closed his eyes and could heard Francis' singsong voice in his head telling him ‘Didn't I tell you how great love is?’ in perfect sync with Spain's trusts. Had Francis been there, Gilbert would have been pounding into him as fast and hard as Antonio moved inside him. Francis would cry loudly enough to cover Antonio's incompressible words. Remembering Francis' face when he came was all it took for Gilbert to release himself all over Antonio who still thrust a few times more before letting himself go.
“That was fun” Antonio said when he could speak properly again. He walked over to his clothes and started putting them on again. “I have to go now. I'm departing for the New World in a month and I'm already late because I hadn't expected you would be as... interesting as you are. I will leave Roderich in charge, he knows the job and besides, we're familia. Look after them, sí? I'm giving you that task. Protect Holy Roman Empire no matter what. God be with you, Gilbert.”
*******
That had been it. Gilbert had never seen Antonio's cruel smirk after that day. While clubbing in Ibiza and seeing Francis taking advantage of the easygoing, thick head Antonio was now, he almost missed it.
Thank you for reading ^_^