Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 5/?
anonymous
October 28 2011, 22:43:53 UTC
“Unbelievable,” he said.
“I know,” said Roderich, darkly.
Another librarian, half-concealed behind the nearest tall bookshelf, shushed them irritably.
“What happened to ‘bros before hoes?’ Huh?”
Roderich narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Gilbert tossed his head impatiently. “You know! You didn’t say anything just now when she was getting all bitchy. You just sat there, and let me deal with it...”
“Why on earth would I stick up for you? She’s right; you can’t un-invite people to a party that isn’t even yours. And besides, she asked me to go, why would I tell her she can’t come?”
Gilbert scowled even more fiercely.
“Anyway, I thought I was...now, how did you put it? Oh, yes. A ‘stupid cunt.’ Why would I ever want to do anything nice for you?”
Gilbert sat forwards suddenly, his cheeks bright red, fists clenched. “What the fuck is your problem, specs?”
Normally, Roderich wasn’t one for swearing, or yelling, or even getting particularly angry at people. But he had an assignment to finish; and Gilbert’s freakishly bipolar behaviour had been driving him the wall lately; and sometimes, a guy just wanted to play his Goddamned piano and have done with it; so he snapped his laptop shut, shoved it beneath his arm, hissed: “Why don’t you just - piss off, Gilbert!” and stormed out of the library, leaving the other there, alone at his desk.
The effect was ruined somewhat when he remembered he’d left his books back there, and had to skulk back in to retrieve them. Gilbert watched him intensely as he did so; but his mouth, surprisingly, remained firmly closed.
*
Roderich’s mood failed to improve when he got home. He stomped up the stairs, threw open the kitchen door, and -
Francis Bonnefoy was, yet again, invading the semi-peace and harmony of the flat.
“You!” he growled. “What are you doing here again? Don’t you have a home to go to?”
Francis tossed him a lazy glance from his seat at the kitchen table. “Am I not permitted to visit my dear friends, mon amour?”
“No, you’re not,” said Roderich, fully aware of his own petulance. “Go away.”
The French boy sighed heavily, removing his stubbled chin from where it rested in his palm. “But I was simply assisting dear here Mattieu with his translations.” He gestured lethargically to his right. Matthew appeared from behind Francis’ shoulder, looking nervous and pink.
“Hello, Roderich,” he said. “Umm...bad day?”
“Indeed,” said Roderich, and then to Francis, “and it’s just become even worse.”
“Ah, now, now,” said Francis, and suddenly he grinned. That grin never boded well for anyone. “So, so, my darling...the lovely Mattieu informs me you have found yourself a sweetheart. How...interesting...”
“Shut up,” said Roderich, irritably. “Just shut up. Go back to your nouns or - or your verbs, or your bloody under-the-table groping, or whatever it is you two were doing.”
“Francis,” said Matthew, quietly, “let’s leave Roderich alone, hm? Why don’t - we can - we can just finish this in my - in my room, can’t we?” His face was so red Roderich almost felt sorry for him. And then he remembered that Matthew had told Francis about Elizabeta, and he just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.
Francis completely ignored him. “Roderich, please; come, sit, tell me more about her.”
“No.”
“Ah, but mon cher...”
“Francis, firstly, I have work to be getting on with. Secondly, aren’t you supposed to be helping Matthew? And thirdly - I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to spend even a millisecond longer than is absolutely necessary in your presence.”
“You wound me, darling,” Francis said, batting his thick brown eyelashes. “And you know, of course, your third point isn’t really true. Come - sit on papa’s lap; tell me all about it.” He sniggered, and spread his legs lewdly, patting one thigh in what he seemed to think was a seductive manner.
“I’m going now,” said Roderich, and turned away to retrieve a bottle of juice and a glass from one of the cupboards. “Have fun with Matthew’s translations.”
Francis stood up; sashayed towards him. “Pfft. Those are not important now, mon cher,” he said, and Roderich stood up quickly, because it would not do to be bent over with Francis Bonnefoy standing behind him.
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 5/?
anonymous
October 28 2011, 22:45:22 UTC
Matthew sighed heavily; suddenly; and stood up, picked up his books, and sloped out of the kitchen.
Francis paused a moment, and Roderich seized the opportunity to edge away. “Ah - what is the matter with dear Mattieu?”
Roderich was overcome with a sudden fit of treachery. “He’s in love,” he said, and turned away, and to begin pouring himself a drink. “He’s in love, and the person he loves doesn’t know, or care about his existence.”
There was a moment of silence. Francis did not advance towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, Roderich could see the other frowning in the direction of the closed door.
“He - he is - in love?”
“Mmm.” Roderich put the bottle away, and began to sip his drink. “I believe so.”
“Ah.” Francis recovered. “That is wonderful. Ah...l’amour.” He tilted his head to one side. “And - with whom is our dear Mattieu in love?”
“That’s not my place to say,” said Roderich, stiffly.
Francis looked disappointed. “Hmmm. Ah, well. Perhaps one day he will fall for somebody who does notice him, hm?”
“Perhaps.”
Francis stepped away; leaned back against the refrigerator. “Love...she is such a beautiful mystery, non?” He cast a sly glance over Roderich. “I would like to imagine that, were some beautiful boy or girl to fall in love with me, I would realise at once. I usually do,” he added, with an air of authority. “No sooner does the sublime beauty cast lustful eyes upon me -”
“Alright, Francis,” Roderich said, quickly. This was how all Francis’ descriptions of his vile sexual exploits began. He’d heard enough of them to write a porn novelette, to be blunt; he had no need to hear of any more.
The older boy smiled again, narrowing his blue eyes. “And what of yourself, Roderich?” he said, and leaned forwards, balancing himself with one hand against the counter. “Who’s eyes have you noticed catching, holding onto your own a little too long to be called simple friendship?”
“Nobody, thank the Lord,” said Roderich, with difficulty, and attempted to edge away, because Francis certainly wasn’t beyond attempting a sober grope. “Now I’m really very busy; I must go -”
“They do care about you,” Francis said, quite suddenly. “A lot, my dear. You need not fret. Tell them how you feel...I think everything will work itself out beautifully. In fact, I know it will.” And he smiled, and stood up straight, and went to collect his bag from the kitchen table. “I suppose I should say goodbye to dear Mattieu, now. Oh...and I hope to see you on Thursday night, darling. Antonio and I are, uh, having a little get-together at our place. Everyone will be attending, of course. Au revoir, Roderich!” And with a wink, he pushed open the kitchen door, and disappeared out into the hallway.
Roderich stood stock still, his back still pressed hard against the cupboards. Was this true? How could - how could Francis know? His mind whirled rapidly - party, friendship, get-together, Elizabeta...Elizabeta...
He lingered a little longer on this last thought; and smiled, remembering the way her gaze would snag on his; and her smile; and her pinked cheeks in the library.
And he thought again of the whiff of alcohol, the flash of rainbow lights, the spin and whirl and flip of long brown hair, and the biting cold outside, and how red her lips had looked; and how clearly her eyes had shone...
Perhaps this time - perhaps this time he would be brave enough to take her hand - to hold her close - to inhale the sweet scent of her perfume - to press his mouth against hers, her cheeks, her neck...
And perhaps, he thought, slowly, perhaps this party wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Great update! I looove your Gilbert. I can't really put my finger on it, but really, I just love your characterisation of him. I like it when he's got a bit of bite to him, a little bit edgier than the awesome-loser!Prussia you always see, or something. Anyway, I love everything about this. I can't wait for more!
Re: Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 5/?
anonymous
November 7 2011, 21:23:21 UTC
Oh I feel so bad for Gilbert 0~0 Why does he have to be so bad at expressing his emotions?! I am very excited for the party and I cannot wait for more ^.^ I really love this story~
“I know,” said Roderich, darkly.
Another librarian, half-concealed behind the nearest tall bookshelf, shushed them irritably.
“What happened to ‘bros before hoes?’ Huh?”
Roderich narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Gilbert tossed his head impatiently. “You know! You didn’t say anything just now when she was getting all bitchy. You just sat there, and let me deal with it...”
“Why on earth would I stick up for you? She’s right; you can’t un-invite people to a party that isn’t even yours. And besides, she asked me to go, why would I tell her she can’t come?”
Gilbert scowled even more fiercely.
“Anyway, I thought I was...now, how did you put it? Oh, yes. A ‘stupid cunt.’ Why would I ever want to do anything nice for you?”
Gilbert sat forwards suddenly, his cheeks bright red, fists clenched. “What the fuck is your problem, specs?”
Normally, Roderich wasn’t one for swearing, or yelling, or even getting particularly angry at people. But he had an assignment to finish; and Gilbert’s freakishly bipolar behaviour had been driving him the wall lately; and sometimes, a guy just wanted to play his Goddamned piano and have done with it; so he snapped his laptop shut, shoved it beneath his arm, hissed: “Why don’t you just - piss off, Gilbert!” and stormed out of the library, leaving the other there, alone at his desk.
The effect was ruined somewhat when he remembered he’d left his books back there, and had to skulk back in to retrieve them. Gilbert watched him intensely as he did so; but his mouth, surprisingly, remained firmly closed.
*
Roderich’s mood failed to improve when he got home. He stomped up the stairs, threw open the kitchen door, and -
Francis Bonnefoy was, yet again, invading the semi-peace and harmony of the flat.
“You!” he growled. “What are you doing here again? Don’t you have a home to go to?”
Francis tossed him a lazy glance from his seat at the kitchen table. “Am I not permitted to visit my dear friends, mon amour?”
“No, you’re not,” said Roderich, fully aware of his own petulance. “Go away.”
The French boy sighed heavily, removing his stubbled chin from where it rested in his palm. “But I was simply assisting dear here Mattieu with his translations.” He gestured lethargically to his right. Matthew appeared from behind Francis’ shoulder, looking nervous and pink.
“Hello, Roderich,” he said. “Umm...bad day?”
“Indeed,” said Roderich, and then to Francis, “and it’s just become even worse.”
“Ah, now, now,” said Francis, and suddenly he grinned. That grin never boded well for anyone. “So, so, my darling...the lovely Mattieu informs me you have found yourself a sweetheart. How...interesting...”
“Shut up,” said Roderich, irritably. “Just shut up. Go back to your nouns or - or your verbs, or your bloody under-the-table groping, or whatever it is you two were doing.”
“Francis,” said Matthew, quietly, “let’s leave Roderich alone, hm? Why don’t - we can - we can just finish this in my - in my room, can’t we?” His face was so red Roderich almost felt sorry for him. And then he remembered that Matthew had told Francis about Elizabeta, and he just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.
Francis completely ignored him. “Roderich, please; come, sit, tell me more about her.”
“No.”
“Ah, but mon cher...”
“Francis, firstly, I have work to be getting on with. Secondly, aren’t you supposed to be helping Matthew? And thirdly - I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to spend even a millisecond longer than is absolutely necessary in your presence.”
“You wound me, darling,” Francis said, batting his thick brown eyelashes. “And you know, of course, your third point isn’t really true. Come - sit on papa’s lap; tell me all about it.” He sniggered, and spread his legs lewdly, patting one thigh in what he seemed to think was a seductive manner.
“I’m going now,” said Roderich, and turned away to retrieve a bottle of juice and a glass from one of the cupboards. “Have fun with Matthew’s translations.”
Francis stood up; sashayed towards him. “Pfft. Those are not important now, mon cher,” he said, and Roderich stood up quickly, because it would not do to be bent over with Francis Bonnefoy standing behind him.
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Francis paused a moment, and Roderich seized the opportunity to edge away. “Ah - what is the matter with dear Mattieu?”
Roderich was overcome with a sudden fit of treachery. “He’s in love,” he said, and turned away, and to begin pouring himself a drink. “He’s in love, and the person he loves doesn’t know, or care about his existence.”
There was a moment of silence. Francis did not advance towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, Roderich could see the other frowning in the direction of the closed door.
“He - he is - in love?”
“Mmm.” Roderich put the bottle away, and began to sip his drink. “I believe so.”
“Ah.” Francis recovered. “That is wonderful. Ah...l’amour.” He tilted his head to one side. “And - with whom is our dear Mattieu in love?”
“That’s not my place to say,” said Roderich, stiffly.
Francis looked disappointed. “Hmmm. Ah, well. Perhaps one day he will fall for somebody who does notice him, hm?”
“Perhaps.”
Francis stepped away; leaned back against the refrigerator. “Love...she is such a beautiful mystery, non?” He cast a sly glance over Roderich. “I would like to imagine that, were some beautiful boy or girl to fall in love with me, I would realise at once. I usually do,” he added, with an air of authority. “No sooner does the sublime beauty cast lustful eyes upon me -”
“Alright, Francis,” Roderich said, quickly. This was how all Francis’ descriptions of his vile sexual exploits began. He’d heard enough of them to write a porn novelette, to be blunt; he had no need to hear of any more.
The older boy smiled again, narrowing his blue eyes. “And what of yourself, Roderich?” he said, and leaned forwards, balancing himself with one hand against the counter. “Who’s eyes have you noticed catching, holding onto your own a little too long to be called simple friendship?”
“Nobody, thank the Lord,” said Roderich, with difficulty, and attempted to edge away, because Francis certainly wasn’t beyond attempting a sober grope. “Now I’m really very busy; I must go -”
“They do care about you,” Francis said, quite suddenly. “A lot, my dear. You need not fret. Tell them how you feel...I think everything will work itself out beautifully. In fact, I know it will.” And he smiled, and stood up straight, and went to collect his bag from the kitchen table. “I suppose I should say goodbye to dear Mattieu, now. Oh...and I hope to see you on Thursday night, darling. Antonio and I are, uh, having a little get-together at our place. Everyone will be attending, of course. Au revoir, Roderich!” And with a wink, he pushed open the kitchen door, and disappeared out into the hallway.
Roderich stood stock still, his back still pressed hard against the cupboards. Was this true? How could - how could Francis know? His mind whirled rapidly - party, friendship, get-together, Elizabeta...Elizabeta...
He lingered a little longer on this last thought; and smiled, remembering the way her gaze would snag on his; and her smile; and her pinked cheeks in the library.
And he thought again of the whiff of alcohol, the flash of rainbow lights, the spin and whirl and flip of long brown hair, and the biting cold outside, and how red her lips had looked; and how clearly her eyes had shone...
Perhaps this time - perhaps this time he would be brave enough to take her hand - to hold her close - to inhale the sweet scent of her perfume - to press his mouth against hers, her cheeks, her neck...
And perhaps, he thought, slowly, perhaps this party wouldn’t be so bad after all.
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And come on France, get a clue. Silly goose. /:
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