Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 6/?
anonymous
January 24 2012, 20:33:30 UTC
Briefly, he considered going to the kitchen to find Ludwig and Feliciano - but then he remembered how Ludwig behaved when he drank, and decided against it. For the first time in his life, he wished that he smoked, so he would have a reason for being sat outside alone when Elizabeta turned up.
Dismally, he supposed he would just have to go and get himself a drink.
He managed, through the process of keeping his head down, moving quicker than he had ever done before in his life (and getting quite out of breath), and refusing to make eye contact with anybody, to manoeuvre himself into the kitchen, grab a bottle of some intoxicating substance he didn’t bother to check the name of, and hurry back out into the hallway, and was just unscrewing the lid of his bottle and feeling rather pleased with himself, when -
“Oh, Roderich! Hola, hola hola!”
Roderich winced internally, and looked up into the dozy green eyes of one Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.
“Ah...hello, Antonio.” He glanced serruptitiously around the room, silently planning his escape. There was absolutely no way in hell he was ending up with that idiot’s tongue in his mouth tonight.
“Are you having fun?” said Antonio, cheerfully? “Huh? What time did you get here? Just now? Have you seen Gilbert yet? And Francis? Are Feli and Ludwig with you? Hey,” he added, leaning in close (Roderich shuffled his feet and coughed in discomfort) “guess what, I rescued a turtle from the animal shelter. You want to see him?”
“Er -”
“And what,” said a furious voice from somewhere behind Roderich, “are you doing talking to him?”
Antonio’s whole countenance lit up with seemingly uncontrollable delight. “Lovi!” he exclaimed, almost dropping his drink in sheer excitement as he rushed towards the smaller man, his arms flung outwards like a huge, ungainly albatross.
Lovino Vargas turned a rather unpleasant shade of purple and stumbled backwards as his self-proclaimed “not-boyfriend” engulfed him in a rapturous hug. “Get off me, bastard,” he snarled. “I saw you talking to this...this fuckhead!”
Roderich coughed, and wondered whether or not he was supposed to respond to that.
“Ah, but Lovi -”
Lovino’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and his lips twisted and turned downwards. “What’s the matter with me?” he wailed, causing Antonio’s mouth to fall open in dismay. “Why d-don’t you lo-love m-me?!”
“Oh, no!” cried Antonio. “Oh, no, no, Lovi, my Lovi, baby, please don’t -” He wrapped his arms around his sobbing partner and began rocking him from side to side.
Roderich took this sickening display as his cue to leave. As he turned away Lovino Vargas threw him a very nasty, very self-satisfied smirk over Antonio’s shoulder as he was patted on the back, and hugged, and comforted. He rolled his eyes, and headed back towards the living room with some resignation, wondering what all that was about. Lovino was being even more ridiculous than usual if he thought for half a second that Roderich was even slightly interested in Antonio.
Sighing, he took a quick sip of his drink, and looked down at his watch once again. Damn. Only ten minutes - less than ten, really, more like eight or nine - had passed since he’d last checked the time. He drank again, feeling impatient and anxious. What if Elizabeta didn’t show up, for whatever reason? What then? Would he be expected to hang around all night, watching and wincing as everyone around him talked louder and louder, and began to argue, and take their clothes off? Then again, slipping out probably wouldn’t be too much trouble. He doubted very much that anybody would notice he had gone.
All of a sudden, the doorway on his right burst open, and a red-faced, messy-haired, and clearly extremely intoxicated Gilbert Beilschmidt burst forth. He wasn’t, Roderich noted with discomfort, wearing a shirt.
“Shit!” Gilbert tripped on something that wasn’t there, and half-fell into Roderich. “Oh -”
“Ow! Gilbert -”
The door opened again, and a scantily-clad girl Roderich did not recognise, also with untidy hair, shot out, and vanished around the corner. She was followed shortly afterwards by a man who looked a bit younger than Gilbert, about Roderich’s own age. He looked rather red-in-the-face.
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 6/?
anonymous
January 24 2012, 20:35:57 UTC
Gilbert snorted into Roderich’s shoulder.
“Classy,” said Roderich, “really classy Gilbert.”
Gilbert just laughed, grabbing Roderich’s shoulders in an effort to stand upright.
“They looked to be in a hurry to leave,” said Roderich, and, in a sudden and unexpected fit of irritation, added, “Why’s that? Couldn’t get it up?”
Gilbert stopped laughing, and instead glared down at him with watery and unfocused red eyes. He made a puffing noise of disbelief. “Huh! What would you know about that, Miss Priss?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“They couldn’t keep up with m’ legendary prowess,” Gilbert slurred, leaning even more heavily onto Roderich. “Shame.” He began to leer. “’S more fun with three. You and your little girly friend ever get bored in the bedroom, you come ’n see me. I’ll sort you out, Roddy.” He winked, closed his eyes, and flopped his head onto Roderich’s shoulder. “Where is she anyway? Need t’ talk to her -”
Hot annoyance flared within Roderich’s chest and stomach - and he let go of Gilbert, who fell to the floor with a satisfying crash. Gilbert cried out in painful complaint, but fell silent when Roderich stepped in close to him, bending down a little.
“You’re pathetic, Gilbert. Look at you! Propositioning everyone who crosses your path and sleeping with anyone who’ll have you. I know what you’re doing. I’m not stupid. Well, you can’t have Elizabeta, she doesn’t want you, she wants me. So just...suck it up, and leave us alone, alright?” He glared down at Gilbert, who was paler than usual, and staring at him with a very odd look in his eyes that Roderich couldn’t quite define.
Still, he turned on his heel, and strode back into the living room, lifting his drink to his lips again. The party smelt of tobacco and weed and alcohol, and it swirled bravely in the centre of him, lifting him high and tugging his lips into a bright smile. Francis and his little fan club were conspicuous by their absence, and Matthew was looking very bored and miserable on the sofa the former had vacated, holding an almost empty bottle of wine in one hand and his head in the other. Antonio was sat beside him, looking blissfully content. Lovino was perched upon his knee, a cigarette scissored between his fingers. He appeared to be alternating between eating Antonio’s face and twisting at the waist in order to have a screaming match with Ludwig, who was obviously wasted, hanging off Feliciano and looking as though he might burst into tears at any second. Feliciano gazed cheerfully at his boyfriend, every so often reaching up to pat him on the head.
“Hello!”
Roderich almost jumped out of his skin.
Elizabeta giggled, tucking her long, wavy hair behind one ear.
“Oh...hello...sorry, have you been here long?”
“Just got here!” she said, cheerfully, and looked past him and around the room. “Kicking off, isn’t it?”
“Hmm,” said Roderich. Behind him, Antonio slipped a hand into Lovino’s jeans. He wrinkled his nose. “Er - why don’t we go and, erm...get some air?” he added. That’s it, he praised himself, Play it cool.
She smiled. “Alright. Just let me go and grab something to drink.”
He watched her go, his eyes affixing on the sway of her hips, the rippling ribbon of her thick, brown hair, the cheerful back-and-forth swoop of her slender arms. When she returned to him, holding a tall can of beer, she flashed him her bright, warm smile from all the way across the room, and his stomach flipped over and filled with a sudden, pleasant warmth.
In the front garden, Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones were sitting on the low wall, leaning against one another and talking in low voices. They started when Roderich and Elizabeta appeared - and stood up together, before disappearing round the back of the building.
It suddenly occurred to Roderich that he had absolutely no idea about what came next. He didn’t know what he should say, or do, or even think. For one crazy, fleeting moment, he envisioned himself stretching upwards, then laying an arm loosely around Elizabeta’s shoulders. He blinked the image away, shaking his head slightly. How very ridiculous.
“You alright?” Elizabeta said. She eyed him curiously, and tipped her can of beer to her lips.
“Er...yep.” He really didn’t know what else to say.
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 6/?
anonymous
January 24 2012, 20:38:17 UTC
A cool breeze picked up a few old sheets of newspaper and an empty plastic bottle on the road. They rattled and whispered along the tarmac, hopping over discarded cigarette butts and fat grey splodges of chewing gum before catching and tangling on the wheel of a red car parked beneath a streetlamp across the road. Elizabeta’s hair blew sideways briefly, lifting and brushing against Roderich’s shoulder and neck.
“Did...” he struggled. “Was - was work...okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Ah...g-good.”
He wondered if perhaps he should tell her that he really didn’t know what he was doing. Would that ease the tension between them? Or would it put her off? He liked her. He really liked her.
“Eliz-”
“Roder-”
They stopped abruptly, looked at one another, and laughed. The tension in Roderich’s gut didn’t ease, like he had imagined it would. Apparently all those soppy romantic movies were a complete load of rubbish, then. He looked down at his feet.
Elizabeta breathed in - her heard her - and then out. He heard the sound of her lips, too, and her tongue, shifting slowly, anxiously against her teeth and the inside of her cheeks.
“Listen - Roderich.”
He would have to look at her. He couldn’t go on staring silently, obsessively at the ground like some sort of strange socially-challenged idiot. Alright. This was going to be easy. All he had to do was raise his head, turn it to the left, and meet her eyes. He steeled himself.
“Roderich -”
And then they were looking at each other, and, oh damn, was he really blushing? Had he suddenly, inexplicably reverted to his twelve-year-old self? His brain was doing nothing but whimpering expletives, and his stomach was churning, and he found himself quite suddenly utterly devoid of breath. He wished desperately that he’d got all of this nonsense over and done with in high school or sixth form - then perhaps he could have treated her properly, been charming and funny and relaxed and confident, and if he’d been like that then maybe, maybe he would have stood some chance of...of...he didn’t know. He’d never really cared too much about relationships before. He simply hadn’t had time to. What with all the music practice, and his competitions, plus homework, plus...well, he’d never really felt like he wanted to be with anybody. Besides, all the girls at his old schools had thought he was a bit weird.
And now, here he was, in the frankly rather dirty front garden of two of the skeeviest men one could ever hope to avoid, his heart pounding, a perfectly lovely girl beside him - and he didn’t have a damn clue about how he was supposed to proceed. So he simply winced at his own ineptitude, cleared his throat, looked her straight in the eye, ignoring the stupid, childish red flush of his face, and said, “Yes?”
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 6/?
anonymous
January 24 2012, 20:39:13 UTC
Elizabeta’s lips moved, soundlessly - and then her eyes closed, just for a second or two - and then she said, “I - I like you. I really like you. I’ve been with guys before who I’ve just...randomly met on a night out, and...but...I’ve never really met someone like I met you...who I liked...like I like...you -” her hands flew up to cover her face. “Oh, shit, I sound just like my friend, all the ‘likes’, and...fuck.” She laughed into her palms.
Roderich wondered if she would still like him if he fainted on her.
“Oh, God,” she said, and curled her hands into fists. “Never mind. Just - forget I said anything.”
“But -” said Roderich, and then realised he had no idea what he wanted to say next. “But I...”
And here, she looked up again, and the clumsy words became lodged in his throat. His mind went frighteningly blank, and he had no idea what was going to happen, or what he should do, or what she would do. But all of a sudden, her arms were resting upon his shoulders, crossed somewhere behind his neck, and his hands were shaking at her waist...and their mouths were open, and they were very close, very close indeed...
He reminded himself that he should probably close his eyes - so he did - and he froze, and didn’t move...but thankfully, Elizabeta, wonderful, sweet Elizabeta took initiative and moved her face up to his, and pressed their lips together.
And everything was, to be perfectly honest, a bit of a blur. But Elizabeta felt warm in his arms, and she was smiling against him, and he felt suddenly validated and comfortable, and he honestly could not think of anywhere he would have rather been than in the unpleasant garden beneath a small, albeit dubious block of flats, on that cool London night.
When at last they broke apart, awkward and grinning, bright pink with disbelief and victory, he didn’t quite let go of her - and she did not let go of him. Their hands slid down, away from each others’ sides and shoulders, and joined together, warmly, firmly, and it felt - nice. Yes, Roderich thought, it was nice. It was nice to hold someone’s hand. How simple, and how strange.
“We could,” he said, surprised at his own sudden boldness, “we could, maybe, you know, go out again sometime.”
Elizabeta’s eyes were wide and delighted. “We should go out,” she said, confidently.
“Yeah,” he said, and she leant against him, swinging their hands backwards and forwards between their bodies.
And then, just because he could, he turned to face her again, and he kissed her.
Aha, of course you would update when I'm busy procrastinating on a uni essay. Anyway, GOD. It's like you're writing this just for me. I mean, in a way, you sort of are, but... I mean on a personal level. I empathise with Roderich a lot and I think you capture that gritty real-life university atmosphere amazingly.
And this sounds mean but I can't wait for them to break up because oh ho ho Gilbert.
Dismally, he supposed he would just have to go and get himself a drink.
He managed, through the process of keeping his head down, moving quicker than he had ever done before in his life (and getting quite out of breath), and refusing to make eye contact with anybody, to manoeuvre himself into the kitchen, grab a bottle of some intoxicating substance he didn’t bother to check the name of, and hurry back out into the hallway, and was just unscrewing the lid of his bottle and feeling rather pleased with himself, when -
“Oh, Roderich! Hola, hola hola!”
Roderich winced internally, and looked up into the dozy green eyes of one Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.
“Ah...hello, Antonio.” He glanced serruptitiously around the room, silently planning his escape. There was absolutely no way in hell he was ending up with that idiot’s tongue in his mouth tonight.
“Are you having fun?” said Antonio, cheerfully? “Huh? What time did you get here? Just now? Have you seen Gilbert yet? And Francis? Are Feli and Ludwig with you? Hey,” he added, leaning in close (Roderich shuffled his feet and coughed in discomfort) “guess what, I rescued a turtle from the animal shelter. You want to see him?”
“Er -”
“And what,” said a furious voice from somewhere behind Roderich, “are you doing talking to him?”
Antonio’s whole countenance lit up with seemingly uncontrollable delight. “Lovi!” he exclaimed, almost dropping his drink in sheer excitement as he rushed towards the smaller man, his arms flung outwards like a huge, ungainly albatross.
Lovino Vargas turned a rather unpleasant shade of purple and stumbled backwards as his self-proclaimed “not-boyfriend” engulfed him in a rapturous hug. “Get off me, bastard,” he snarled. “I saw you talking to this...this fuckhead!”
Roderich coughed, and wondered whether or not he was supposed to respond to that.
“Ah, but Lovi -”
Lovino’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and his lips twisted and turned downwards. “What’s the matter with me?” he wailed, causing Antonio’s mouth to fall open in dismay. “Why d-don’t you lo-love m-me?!”
“Oh, no!” cried Antonio. “Oh, no, no, Lovi, my Lovi, baby, please don’t -” He wrapped his arms around his sobbing partner and began rocking him from side to side.
Roderich took this sickening display as his cue to leave. As he turned away Lovino Vargas threw him a very nasty, very self-satisfied smirk over Antonio’s shoulder as he was patted on the back, and hugged, and comforted. He rolled his eyes, and headed back towards the living room with some resignation, wondering what all that was about. Lovino was being even more ridiculous than usual if he thought for half a second that Roderich was even slightly interested in Antonio.
Sighing, he took a quick sip of his drink, and looked down at his watch once again. Damn. Only ten minutes - less than ten, really, more like eight or nine - had passed since he’d last checked the time. He drank again, feeling impatient and anxious. What if Elizabeta didn’t show up, for whatever reason? What then? Would he be expected to hang around all night, watching and wincing as everyone around him talked louder and louder, and began to argue, and take their clothes off? Then again, slipping out probably wouldn’t be too much trouble. He doubted very much that anybody would notice he had gone.
All of a sudden, the doorway on his right burst open, and a red-faced, messy-haired, and clearly extremely intoxicated Gilbert Beilschmidt burst forth. He wasn’t, Roderich noted with discomfort, wearing a shirt.
“Shit!” Gilbert tripped on something that wasn’t there, and half-fell into Roderich. “Oh -”
“Ow! Gilbert -”
The door opened again, and a scantily-clad girl Roderich did not recognise, also with untidy hair, shot out, and vanished around the corner. She was followed shortly afterwards by a man who looked a bit younger than Gilbert, about Roderich’s own age. He looked rather red-in-the-face.
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“Classy,” said Roderich, “really classy Gilbert.”
Gilbert just laughed, grabbing Roderich’s shoulders in an effort to stand upright.
“They looked to be in a hurry to leave,” said Roderich, and, in a sudden and unexpected fit of irritation, added, “Why’s that? Couldn’t get it up?”
Gilbert stopped laughing, and instead glared down at him with watery and unfocused red eyes. He made a puffing noise of disbelief. “Huh! What would you know about that, Miss Priss?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“They couldn’t keep up with m’ legendary prowess,” Gilbert slurred, leaning even more heavily onto Roderich. “Shame.” He began to leer. “’S more fun with three. You and your little girly friend ever get bored in the bedroom, you come ’n see me. I’ll sort you out, Roddy.” He winked, closed his eyes, and flopped his head onto Roderich’s shoulder. “Where is she anyway? Need t’ talk to her -”
Hot annoyance flared within Roderich’s chest and stomach - and he let go of Gilbert, who fell to the floor with a satisfying crash. Gilbert cried out in painful complaint, but fell silent when Roderich stepped in close to him, bending down a little.
“You’re pathetic, Gilbert. Look at you! Propositioning everyone who crosses your path and sleeping with anyone who’ll have you. I know what you’re doing. I’m not stupid. Well, you can’t have Elizabeta, she doesn’t want you, she wants me. So just...suck it up, and leave us alone, alright?” He glared down at Gilbert, who was paler than usual, and staring at him with a very odd look in his eyes that Roderich couldn’t quite define.
Still, he turned on his heel, and strode back into the living room, lifting his drink to his lips again. The party smelt of tobacco and weed and alcohol, and it swirled bravely in the centre of him, lifting him high and tugging his lips into a bright smile. Francis and his little fan club were conspicuous by their absence, and Matthew was looking very bored and miserable on the sofa the former had vacated, holding an almost empty bottle of wine in one hand and his head in the other. Antonio was sat beside him, looking blissfully content. Lovino was perched upon his knee, a cigarette scissored between his fingers. He appeared to be alternating between eating Antonio’s face and twisting at the waist in order to have a screaming match with Ludwig, who was obviously wasted, hanging off Feliciano and looking as though he might burst into tears at any second. Feliciano gazed cheerfully at his boyfriend, every so often reaching up to pat him on the head.
“Hello!”
Roderich almost jumped out of his skin.
Elizabeta giggled, tucking her long, wavy hair behind one ear.
“Oh...hello...sorry, have you been here long?”
“Just got here!” she said, cheerfully, and looked past him and around the room. “Kicking off, isn’t it?”
“Hmm,” said Roderich. Behind him, Antonio slipped a hand into Lovino’s jeans. He wrinkled his nose. “Er - why don’t we go and, erm...get some air?” he added. That’s it, he praised himself, Play it cool.
She smiled. “Alright. Just let me go and grab something to drink.”
He watched her go, his eyes affixing on the sway of her hips, the rippling ribbon of her thick, brown hair, the cheerful back-and-forth swoop of her slender arms. When she returned to him, holding a tall can of beer, she flashed him her bright, warm smile from all the way across the room, and his stomach flipped over and filled with a sudden, pleasant warmth.
In the front garden, Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones were sitting on the low wall, leaning against one another and talking in low voices. They started when Roderich and Elizabeta appeared - and stood up together, before disappearing round the back of the building.
It suddenly occurred to Roderich that he had absolutely no idea about what came next. He didn’t know what he should say, or do, or even think. For one crazy, fleeting moment, he envisioned himself stretching upwards, then laying an arm loosely around Elizabeta’s shoulders. He blinked the image away, shaking his head slightly. How very ridiculous.
“You alright?” Elizabeta said. She eyed him curiously, and tipped her can of beer to her lips.
“Er...yep.” He really didn’t know what else to say.
She smiled, nodding, and drank again.
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“Did...” he struggled. “Was - was work...okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Ah...g-good.”
He wondered if perhaps he should tell her that he really didn’t know what he was doing. Would that ease the tension between them? Or would it put her off? He liked her. He really liked her.
“Eliz-”
“Roder-”
They stopped abruptly, looked at one another, and laughed. The tension in Roderich’s gut didn’t ease, like he had imagined it would. Apparently all those soppy romantic movies were a complete load of rubbish, then. He looked down at his feet.
Elizabeta breathed in - her heard her - and then out. He heard the sound of her lips, too, and her tongue, shifting slowly, anxiously against her teeth and the inside of her cheeks.
“Listen - Roderich.”
He would have to look at her. He couldn’t go on staring silently, obsessively at the ground like some sort of strange socially-challenged idiot. Alright. This was going to be easy. All he had to do was raise his head, turn it to the left, and meet her eyes. He steeled himself.
“Roderich -”
And then they were looking at each other, and, oh damn, was he really blushing? Had he suddenly, inexplicably reverted to his twelve-year-old self? His brain was doing nothing but whimpering expletives, and his stomach was churning, and he found himself quite suddenly utterly devoid of breath. He wished desperately that he’d got all of this nonsense over and done with in high school or sixth form - then perhaps he could have treated her properly, been charming and funny and relaxed and confident, and if he’d been like that then maybe, maybe he would have stood some chance of...of...he didn’t know. He’d never really cared too much about relationships before. He simply hadn’t had time to. What with all the music practice, and his competitions, plus homework, plus...well, he’d never really felt like he wanted to be with anybody. Besides, all the girls at his old schools had thought he was a bit weird.
And now, here he was, in the frankly rather dirty front garden of two of the skeeviest men one could ever hope to avoid, his heart pounding, a perfectly lovely girl beside him - and he didn’t have a damn clue about how he was supposed to proceed. So he simply winced at his own ineptitude, cleared his throat, looked her straight in the eye, ignoring the stupid, childish red flush of his face, and said, “Yes?”
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Roderich wondered if she would still like him if he fainted on her.
“Oh, God,” she said, and curled her hands into fists. “Never mind. Just - forget I said anything.”
“But -” said Roderich, and then realised he had no idea what he wanted to say next. “But I...”
And here, she looked up again, and the clumsy words became lodged in his throat. His mind went frighteningly blank, and he had no idea what was going to happen, or what he should do, or what she would do. But all of a sudden, her arms were resting upon his shoulders, crossed somewhere behind his neck, and his hands were shaking at her waist...and their mouths were open, and they were very close, very close indeed...
He reminded himself that he should probably close his eyes - so he did - and he froze, and didn’t move...but thankfully, Elizabeta, wonderful, sweet Elizabeta took initiative and moved her face up to his, and pressed their lips together.
And everything was, to be perfectly honest, a bit of a blur. But Elizabeta felt warm in his arms, and she was smiling against him, and he felt suddenly validated and comfortable, and he honestly could not think of anywhere he would have rather been than in the unpleasant garden beneath a small, albeit dubious block of flats, on that cool London night.
When at last they broke apart, awkward and grinning, bright pink with disbelief and victory, he didn’t quite let go of her - and she did not let go of him. Their hands slid down, away from each others’ sides and shoulders, and joined together, warmly, firmly, and it felt - nice. Yes, Roderich thought, it was nice. It was nice to hold someone’s hand. How simple, and how strange.
“We could,” he said, surprised at his own sudden boldness, “we could, maybe, you know, go out again sometime.”
Elizabeta’s eyes were wide and delighted. “We should go out,” she said, confidently.
“Yeah,” he said, and she leant against him, swinging their hands backwards and forwards between their bodies.
And then, just because he could, he turned to face her again, and he kissed her.
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And this sounds mean but I can't wait for them to break up because oh ho ho Gilbert.
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I LOVE
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