Archive of Our Own

Things had been looking bright for the past few weeks; they had sent the French into a full retreat at the start of the month.  But now, as silence surrounded Gilbert for what felt like an eternity, he was certain they had lost this time.  The ground was frigid, wet with mud, though the longer he laid there, the more comfortable he became.  His own skin had cooled significantly, with even the blood seeping and staining his uniform starting to cool as well.  Despite still exhaling soft puffs of white clouds into the air, his breaths had begun to slow.  

He never anticipated death this soon in his life.  Perhaps his unbridled confidence and youth blinded him to his own mortality. At least he could die with some dignity.  It was most noble to die fighting.

Just as a light sleep began to overtake him, he heard a voice above him.  He felt warmth on his cheeks, and though his lids were heavy, he managed to see the blurred shape of a figure—fair skin and golden-haired—staring down upon him.  A faint smile touched his lips.

“ ...ein Engel vom Himmel… ” he murmured, his voice hardly registering to his own ears, “ ...bring mich nach Hause… ”  He then closed his eyes and drifted off.

Gilbert saw no bright light, nor did he awake to the sight of clouds and golden gates.  Instead, he found himself waking up in some room.  There was a little sun coming in through a window, which gave light to the space.  The bed was rather warm and soft.  Cozy.  In his drowsy state, he felt a tightness across his chest.  His hand slowly crept up his torso.  His chest was bare, save for linen gauze wrapped around him, stretching over his shoulder and across his back.  He tried to examine the space further.  Didn’t seem like a typical church infirmary—he would have seen a cross or two if that were the case—but like a regular bedroom, albeit an unfamiliar one.  Where was he?

He noticed a chair on the far side of the room with his uniform draped over it.  From his position he wasn’t certain whether or not it had been cleaned and mended from the injuries he suffered.  It would be terrible to have his fantastic military regalia marred by stains and tears to the uniform itself.  Then again having a massive bloodstain on his uniform would show off how resilient he was; that he managed to cheat death.  He would have to discuss the matter with his general.

There were voices outside the door.  He couldn’t understand what they were saying, though he quickly deduced they were speaking in French.  Shit, had he been captured?

The doorknob rattled, and Gilbert closed his eyes, pretending to still be passed out.  Someone padded their way into the room.  He began to think maybe he could use the element of surprise to overpower the person and make his escape.  He heard something heavy being set down, followed by the sound of water—gentle splashing and tiny droplets.  A hand touched his shoulder, and he quickly took a tight grasp of whomever’s wrist it was.

He opened his eyes to see a young man, fair-faced and bespectacled, looking very taken aback at Gilbert’s sudden awakening.  The young man’s sleeves were rolled to his elbows and there was a water bowl and pitcher on a table beside him.  A damp sponge rested next to the bowl.  Seemed he was just an appointed caretaker and not a soldier; that would definitely make his escape even easier.

The plan in his head involved throwing the person onto the ground, knocking him out, redressing, then making a break for it.  All the while he would take out whatever Frenchman he came upon trying to stop him.

Unfortunately, he underestimated the severity and extent of his injuries.  The moment he tried to shove the young man to the ground, a sharp tightness shot across his chest reaching his left shoulder.  On top of that, attempting to swing his legs over the side of the bed caused a twisting tight pain in his right knee.  He cursed loudly, releasing the young man’s wrist in order to instinctively clutch at the pain in his chest.  The sudden pain all at once made him feel dazed, like he was going to pass out again.  So much for his escape plan.

  The young man gently pressed him back against the bed, lightly touching the bandaging to make sure it was still in the proper place.  He then took up the cover—Gilbert was undressed down to his drawers—and showed his right knee wrapped, with swelling and bruising noticeable around the bandaging.  After carefully adjusting Gilbert’s leg to a more comfortable place on the bed, the young man covered him back up and gently patted his arm.

“ Ne te lève pas ,” the young man said, his voice calm and sweet, “ Tu es toujours gravement blessé— ”

“ Was? Ich verstehe nicht… ” Gilbert was not all fluent in French.  Anything that wasn’t relevant to battle or general directions was lost on him.

“ Parles-tu Français? ” the youth asked.  Gilbert shook his head—he at the very least knew what that meant.  The youth then asked, “ Anglais? Do you know English?”

“ Ja —yes, I know Englisch… ”

“Good—I said do not get up,” he gently patted Gilbert’s arm, “You are still very hurt, and need time before you can be back on your feet.”

“I do not need anything—” Gilbert once again tried to push himself up from the bed with his arms, only for the pain to once again force him back down.  “ Schieße —!” he took a few breaths to calm his pain, “—I-I am fine —”

“Yes, you are fine now ,” the youth tucked the pillow more comfortably under Gilbert’s head, “But days before, you were not.”

Gilbert pushed the other’s hands away from him.  “I can take care of myself—” this time, he tried to sit up by leveraging himself with what seemed to be his good arm, “— Ich baruche keine Hilfe, schon gar nicht von einem Franzosen —” 

He shoved the youth away when he tried getting him to lie down again.  He didn’t need help, especially from the enemy.  All he needed was to fill his body with something strong to drink and he could function fair enough to make it back to wherever the army was currently allocated.  Just as he was about to shove him off again, Gilbert felt the youth’s hands take a hold of his arm.  A very tight hold, almost in anger.  He then noticed the other’s face had hardened significantly from the kinder one he had on before.  

“ Être plus reconnaissant ,” the youth said, coolly, “This is an act of mercy, Monsieur. If not for the help of myself and a doctor, you would not be alive to argue.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but laid back down.  He might as well—he honestly had no idea how far he’d get with a busted knee anyway.  Of anything, he’d end up back where he had originally fallen and would just succumb to the weather.  He laid still as the youth proceeded to wash his face and neck.  Once Gilbert’s face was dried, the youth had softened back to his previous, kinder demeanor.

“It is good you have gained color back in your face,” he said, touching Gilbert’s cheek with the back of his hand, “Your skin was ice when I found you.”

“Why were you on the field?”

“I was looking for my Papa—the fight was so close to our home, he left to help.  I stayed behind to guard.  When we won, I was quick to look for him.”

Gilbert frowned in confusion.  It made zero sense to give aid to the enemy.  Not only after winning, but especially so while on the search for one’s own parent.  Gilbert was about to ask him to give a better explanation as to why his life was seen as worth sparing.  Then they heard an older man’s voice begin calling out from down the hall.

“ Matthieu!  J’ai besoin d’aide! ”

“ Dans une minute! ” the young man—Matthieu—called back.  He patted Gilbert’s hand, and said, “ Excuse-moi, Monsieur— ” before rushing out.  Gilbert could hear them chattering back and forth, though he could mainly hear the older man going off about something.  The voice grew nearer as Matthieu returned to Gilbert’s room.

“— mon bel enfant insensé —” a man hobbled into the doorway behind Matthieu, leaning on a crutch, “— ce cœur tendre qui est le vôtre causera sans aucun doute votre perte —” The man finally took notice that Gilbert was awake and aware, and ceased his ranting.  

He had similar golden hair to Matthieu’s, though somewhat darker and longer, tied back and away from his face.  It would seem in his attempt to join the cause of his fellow countrymen, he had taken an injury to his leg.  Other than that, he appeared to be in far better health and well-being than Gilbert.  Much to Gilbert’s annoyance.

“And so he lives!” the man said, then added with a jeer, “It would seem clear which one of us came out on top—”

“ Papa ,” Matthieu said, flatly.  He turned to Gilbert,  “Excuse him.  He is my father, Monsieur Francis Bonnefoi—”

“ Count of Bonnefoi—” the man stressed, “—consider this a great honor—”

“ Papa .”

Gilbert huffed.  Oh great.  He was in the house of an aristocrat as well.  He looked over Matthieu’s head and stared rather hard at Sir Bonnefoi.  Were it not for his bedridden state, the Count would have worse to deal with than a busted leg.

He rolled his eyes and huffed under his breath, “ Aristokratisches Arschloch… ”

Matthieu patted Gilbert’s arm, clearly not wanting anything to start up between the men.  “I am Matthieu.  What may I call you?”

“...Beilschmidt.”

“Would you like a drink, Monsieur Beilschmidt?”

Gilbert nodded.

“He should have wine,” Sir Bonnefoi said, then cheekily asked Matthieu, “ Mon fils, quel genre de vin va bien avec l'échec—? ”

“ Ça suffit, Papa .” Matthieu quickly, yet gently, pushed the man out of the doorway, telling Gilbert he would bring him water.  The door closed behind them.

Gilbert laid his head heavily against the pillow.  At least it seemed he hadn’t been captured—that would have only salted his wounds further—and was simply being nursed at a home near the battlegrounds.  He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was alive because of someone from the enemy side.  Sure, he was no soldier, but Matthieu was the enemy; he was French, and under the rule of his Emperor.  An Emperor who was forcing his way through every land on the continent.  Land which included Prussia, Gilbert’s homeland.  Land he had spent years fighting to protect.  

Now Gilbert was laying in a rather comfortable bed and room under the tender hand of the enemy for no logical reason.  He would’ve preferred a noble death than whatever cruel joke this was.  Maybe when he was able to stand again, he could make a run for it.  Explain away his absence by saying he was under the care of a Monastery or something.  It shouldn’t take that long for him to heal, right?

For several days, Gilbert stayed bedridden, too sore to sit up for too long, let alone stand.  And even if he was able to stand, the damage done to his knee would’ve prevented him from venturing beyond the bed.  As he recuperated, he was tended to by Matthieu, with Sir Bonnefoi keeping away for the most part.  He discovered that aside from his knee, his more serious injury was a bullet taken in the upper part of his chest towards his left shoulder.  The bullet had gone rather deep; Matthieu even said their doctor had trouble recovering it.  Still, Gilbert was told he was lucky to still be alive from such a blow.

“See, when hit here—” Matthieu had his fingers lightly pressing above the entry wound, “—it would risk hitting in le poumon —the lung.  You would have not been able to breathe and pass very quick.  Had it hit here—” he moved his fingers slightly left, “—you would have bled out.”  He patted Gilbert’s shoulder before rewrapping his wound.  “God was looking after you, Monsieur Beilschmidt.”

Gilbert hummed, but admitted rather smugly, “I have good standing with God, yes.”

“The most harm done was to your muscle and your uniforme —” Matthieu gave a light-hearted laugh, “—but that is ready and fixed.  Your body will take a little more time to mend.”

Gilbert asked how the son of a Count knew so much about the human body, and Matthieu expressed his desire to be a doctor.  “I want very much to help people,” he explained, “I do not want to simply go to a house, do my work, and leave.  I want to be close to the patients.  Learn about them, and help them with comfort as well as care.  Care as if they are family.”

Quite admirable.  However, Gilbert shook his head and muttered to himself, “ Viel Glück damit… ”  He had no desire of being considered family to Matthieu.  Again, Matthieu was technically his enemy.  So for his own sake and safety, Gilbert tried his best to keep as much information about himself private.  

He tried to, that is.

“Do you have family?” Matthieu had asked sometime later.  Gilbert watched him stuff papers into the cracks of the window to ensure the cold and wind stayed outside where it belonged.

“Yes,” he said, simply.

“They must worry for you.”

Gilbert shrugged.  He doubted his brother had much concern over his well-being.  Was Ludwig informed of him being dead?  Or was Gilbert considered missing at this point?  For that matter, would Ludwig even care either way?  Likely not.

“I know Papa would be, ah… absolute dévasté if I were missing during a war…”

Gilbert rolled his eyes.  Well of course he would be; he needs a suitable heir for his estate.

“...I am all he has.”

This piqued Gilbert’s interest.  “All he has?”

Matthieu nodded.  He sat himself on the edge of Gilbert’s bed.  “Maman passed when I was eleven years.  Ever since, it has been Papa and myself.”

“Your Vater never married again?”

“No, no.  Papa—he is not one to settle down for any person.  He said Maman was… a one in a lifetime love.” 

Seemed the man wasn’t at all concerned with who his stuff goes to after he and Matthieu were gone.  In that case he was a terrible aristocrat.  And though he himself was not a romantic, Gilbert found it somewhat respectable the man held such loyalty to his lost partner.  Enough so, he didn’t wish to marry just anyone, even if that left him with few children to take on his wealth.  Gilbert then felt Matthieu patting the back of his hand.

“What of your family, Monsieur Beilschmidt?” he asked.

“ Brüder and I were brought up by Grandfather— das ist eine lange Geschichte —we come from a family of soldiers—seven years now we have trained and done battle when asked.”

“ Brüder is “brother,” yes?”

“Yes.”

“What is your brother’s name?”

“Ludwig.”

Matthieu nodded.  “Is he still out there?”

“Oh, I know he is.  It is in our blood to keep forward.”

Matthieu gave a soft smile.  “Gallant blood, Monsieur.  I admire that.”  

Gilbert shrugged.  Were he truly gallant, he wouldn’t be in this situation.  “I say proud, not gallant; I do not care to be, um… ritterlich .  Knight-like.  I am proud of my Kingdom.  My home.  I fight to keep what is mine and only mine.”

“ Je vois … still, that is many people you keep safe by fighting—”

“That is secondary—” he waved his hand dismissively, “—my aim is for me.”

Matthieu nodded.  He then leaned in a little.  “Between us,” the youth began, “I must say though Papa’s blood is noble, it is not too gallant.”

“ Ist das richtig? ” Gilbert gave a smirk.  “How so?”

“He will only fight when he knows who is winning—and if who is winning is his side.”

Gilbert laughed, and Matthieu requested he not to disclose what he just said about Sir Bonnefoi; a blow to his ego from his own son would be twice as damaging.  

Suddenly, Gilbert found himself revealing more about himself; more about his upbringing, his childhood, his home, whatever came to mind (especially things he could brag about).  It wasn’t his fault Matthieu was so easy to talk to.  It didn’t seem as if Matthieu would have any stake or reason to use what little information Gilbert gave—which likely wasn’t usable for the French Army anyway.  Why not allow himself to be more interpersonal with the young man? 

In no time at all, Gibert was able to stand.  Pain flared in his chest and shoulder whenever he had to bend or reach for something, but he was able to balance his weight onto both legs again, even for a little while before pain in his knee would force him to sit.  Early one afternoon, Matthieu gave him a spare shirt and breeches.  He wanted to show Gilbert other areas of the house.  Spend a little time outside the room so he wouldn’t become stir crazy.

Being outside the spare room made Gilbert realize how large the Bonnefoi residence actually was.  Matthieu kept his hand on the middle of Gilbert’s back, letting the man lean against him if need be, while he led the way.  In an open foyer, a few idle servants quickly moved out of the way of the two young men.  They curtsied, politely saying, “ Bonne journée, Monsieur Bonnefoi et Monsieur Beilschmidt ,” as the two passed through.

“ Das ist lustig ,” Gilbert said with a laugh, “I like the help you have here.”

“You are a guest,” Matthieu explained, “You should be treated as one.”

Gilbert leaned into the idea.  He wasn’t going to deny such noble treatment.  After all, he was more than deserving of it at this point.  

He was eventually led to a sunroom.  Lace curtains were drawn to hide the somber late-winter scenery, while allowing light into the space.  Matthieu had Gilbert sit in a chaise, allowing the man to comfortably sit with his feet up.

“A little more sun will do you well,” Matthieu said, “If the weather were nice, we would go out for air.”

“The air is well enough here,” Gilbert sighed as he sagged back against the cushions, “ Danke —thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Matthieu looked up and rushed towards the door again.  Gilbert attempted to crane his head to see where he had gone, but couldn’t see anything until Matthieu was making his way back.  Right next to the chaise rolled up a silver food trolly.

“ Nachspeisen! ” Gilbert exclaimed, seeing it had a tray full of small cakes and tartlets.  Matthieu laughed as the man eagerly began helping himself to them.

“I have a terrible love for sweet food,” he said rather coyly, “I thought you would enjoy also.  A nice treat after lying in bed for so long.”

“ Du verwöhnst mich —” Gilbert wiped sugar from his mouth with the back of his hand, “Thank you again, Matthieu.”

“Again, it is my pleasure, Monsieur Beilschmidt—”

“Gilbert.  Call me Gilbert.”  That Monsieur stuff can be left to the servants from now on.

Though caught somewhat off-guard by the request, Matthieu nodded and smiled.  “I will do that… Gilbert.”

There seemed to be a change in the dynamic between Matthieu and Gilbert after that.  It no longer felt like a caregiver and caretaker, but something more akin to friends.  They were more playful with one another, more comfortable.  It was the informality of their relationship now, this friendliness, that did not at all go unnoticed by Matthieu’s father.

Now that the Count had healed to where he could wander around his house with the minimal support of a cane, he ended up intruding upon the formerly pleasant moments between Gilbert and Matthieu.

While Matthieu helped Gilbert back into bed after lunch, the man looked on with a huff.  “ Je ne comprends pas pourquoi tu l'as laissé profiter de toi, ” Sir Bonnefoi said to his son. “ Comment savez-vous qu'il ne fait pas semblant—? ”

“I do not like you speaking as if I am not here,” Gilbert said in annoyance.

“That is easy to fix—learn Français .”

“Papa, do not be rude,” Matthieu said, “And Gilbert has been very good.”

Sir Bonnefoi huffed again and addressed Gilbert.  “I hope you are most grateful for my son’s help, Monsieur Beilschmidt.  When this is all over with, you should repay mon petit in some manner— de préférence monétairement —”

“ Papa —”

“No, I will,” Gilbert put a hand on Matthieu’s arm, jokingly adding, “It would be gallant of me, yes?”

“ Tu n'oses pas —” Matthieu shook his head, “—You owe not a thing.  Hospitalité does not need payment.”  

“As you wish…”  Gilbert smiled in spite of himself, watching Matthieu make his way out.  Meanwhile, Sir Bonnefoi stayed behind, leaning himself against the doorframe.  Upon noticing how the man was staring at him, Gilbert frowned.

“What?” he demanded.

“Do you have a bien-aimée at home, Monsieur Beilschmidt?”

“A what?”

“Beloved, betrothed, lady-love—”

“ Nein —absolutely not.” He gave a laugh at the idea.  “I do not care for marriage in any way.”

Sir Bonnefoi hummed with interest.  “ Je vois —women do not interest you?”

“ Ich meine —I never found one, ah, worth my interest, if that is what you mean.”

“...have others interested you?”

“Others?”  Gilbert’s brow furrowed.  “I do not understand.”

Sir Bonnefoi straightened himself up best he could, refraining from leaning too much on his recovering leg.  He simply told Gilbert, “Matthieu’s heart is soft; I would hold it gently if I were you,” then left.

Gilbert thought on his statement, whatever it was supposed to mean, with a lot of it going over his head.  He knew Matthieu had a tender heart, and he did his best to come across as appreciative towards him.  But what did that have to do with whether or not he had a girlfriend back home?  Was the man asking Gilbert if he had any romantic persons of interest who would be concerned for his whereabouts and well-being?  Was he gauging Gilbert on the kind of lover he was based on how well he treated the person tending to him?   Who are the “others” he was referring to?  

The man needed to learn to explain things in German if he wanted to ask him such odd  questions.

Perhaps his peculiar line of questioning had something to do with what happened with Matthieu's late Mother.  The man seemed to be one who valued love in very high regard.  He was likely just asking whether Gilbert valued love, and if he was willing to better himself for a lover, physically and personally.

A short time later, Matthieu returned with freshly clean clothes in his hands.  With some assistance, Gilbert managed to redress himself fairly well.

“That is a good sign,” Matthieu said with a smile.  He then offered his hand.  “Would you like to walk with me?”

“Um, one minute,” Gilbert said.  “May I ask something?”

“Oh, of course.”

He then, fairly cautiously, asked Matthieu about his mother.  “How did your Mutter pass?”

Matthieu sighed sadly.  “Papa was expecting another child.  Her body was not strong enough to make it through birth.  I almost had a sister.”

“ Oh .”  It explains why Matthieu was the man’s only child. “ Es tut mir leid …”  He wasn’t one to offer comfort towards anyone.  The most he could do was pat Matthieu’s hand in a similar manner that Matthieu had done for him many times.

Matthieu gave a sad sort of smile.  “Papa said I am much like Maman.”

That also explained why Sir Bonnefoi was so fond of him.  Gilbert smiled.  “If that is true, she was a beautiful woman.”

“...Beautiful?”

Realizing what he just said, Gilbert’s face grew warm.  “Ah— warten —” he cleared his throat, “I-I mean to say nice—the—the words overlap in Deutsch .”

“Oh.  Thank you.  Yes, she was nice.  Merveilleusement gentil …”

As Gilbert laughed it off, it seemed to be less of a mistranslation and more of a subconscious slip-up.  It wasn’t a lie that Gilbert found Matthieu attractive.  Despite being male, there was something about his features that one might consider to be pretty.  Fair skin, with a rosy flush to his cheeks.  Eyes of a particular blue, like wild violets or cornflowers.  Rather angelic in a way.  He did mistake Matthieu for an angel the first time he saw him.  

Even that turned out to be not far from the truth, what with how hospitable and caring he had been.  It caused a strange heaviness in Gilbert’s chest whenever he thought it over.  Whenever Matthieu touched his hand or smiled, a warmth seemed to grow inside him.  Gilbert had never felt such warmth toward anyone before, but Matthieu radiated with so much unconditional goodness it was hard to not feel for him in such a manner.

It was easy to see why Sir  Bonnefoi would consider Matthieu to be a tender heart.  He was like a small bird, lovely yet fragile; a hand acting too heavy could cause harm to a bird, so it was necessary to handle it with a gentle touch.

Gilbert did not consider himself to be the gentle type, but he knew how to handle birds.  And he didn’t want to accidentally cause needless harm to someone like Matthieu.

Enough time had passed to where Gilbert’s knee had gotten well enough that he could walk without Matthieu’s assistance.  His chest on the other hand still made it difficult to dress himself.  Because of this, bathing had been out of the question aside from his face, neck, and hands.  So Matthieu offered to assist him in that matter as well.

“Papa and myself wash the Saturday of each week,” he explained, putting Gilbert’s clothes aside.  “To be clean for The Lord’s day.”

“Typical aristocrat,” Gilbert said, somewhat teasing as he rolled his eyes, “Unlike you, I can go without a wash a week more.  By then I will be back to myself, yes?”

“With how long your leg took, I say no.  If you strain too quick, you will only do more harm for yourself.” Matthieu stripped most of the covers from the bed.  He wanted to keep the sheets as dry as he could manage.  “And you are long due for a bath.”

Gilbert folded his arms in irritation.  “ Du bist jetzt eher eine Mutter als ein Arzt— ” He shivered as Matthieu’s hands touched his bare back.

“If you continue to heal, this will be one time,” Matthieu said, soaking and ringing out the sponge in the ceramic basin.  “Then you can bathe yourself— détends-toi… ”

It was no use trying to argue with the youth, so Gilbert attempted to relax while Matthieu began to carefully wash him.  It wasn’t all that unpleasant.  Far from it.  Though it felt oddly intimate in spite of the fact they were both men.  Matthieu had gotten familiar with Gilbert’s body prior, but more in a medical sense.  Being this bare in front of him, with his hands running over so much of his skin—plenty more still unseen—caused Gilbert to become rather flustered.

“Is… this a problem for you?” he asked over his shoulder to Matthieu.

“A problem?”

“ Du weißt —um, does it bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?”  Matthieu rung out the sponge over the back of Gilbert’s shoulders.  “It is not as if I am a woman.  I know what a nude man looks like.”

Gilbert had to concede to that reasoning.  Once Matthieu had finished washing over Gilbert’s back and shoulders, he had Gilbert lie back down.  Instinctively, Gilbert’s hands moved to cover his genitals.  Matthieu laughed in amusement.

“I did not expect you to be the modest type,” he said.

“It is not modesty,” Gilbert said, “It is courtesy.”

“Courtesy?”  Matthieu laughed again as he began to run the sponge carefully around the scarring on Gilbert’s chest, “To another man?”

Fair enough.  He dropped his hands away from himself.  Matthieu glanced a moment towards Gilbert’s genitals, seeming to briefly linger, before trailing back to Gilbert's chest as he washed him down.

“I notice you have taken other hits before,” Matthieu commented, his fingers touching a scar above Gilbert’s navel, “There were more on your back.”

Gilbert shrugged.  “I take hits well.  Up to now, at least.”

Matthieu gave a hum in amusement, though appeared distracted as his fingertips trailed idly along the ridges of Gilbert’s abdomen.  “... impressionnant .”

He sponged along Gilbert’s ribcage, down his sides, and along his pelvis.  Gilbert exhaled a shaky breath as the sponge made its way towards his thighs.  Beads of water ran along the juncture of Gilbert’s hips down towards his inner thighs, trailing dangerously along the base of his shaft and scrotum.

“...Matthieu… ich —um—” 

“Hm?” Matthieu paused. “Did you have a question?”

“ Ich—nein , um … ” Gilbert cleared his throat.  “It is nothing.”

Matthieu lifted one of Gilbert’s thighs, asking for him to part them so he could reach “certain areas” more effectively.  Gilbert flushed, feeling even more exposed now, but did as he was asked.  Again, it was an odd sort of intimacy that continued to fluster him.  He laid completely still as Matthieu began to run the sponge between his thighs.  Water was rung out over his lower abdomen, pooling along the region and trailing down the hollows of his thighs.  He then shivered as Matthieu washed him, tantalizingly slow and gentle over his more intimate places.

“Is this all right?” Matthieu asked.

“Y-Yes.”

“I do not want to be rough—not in this place.”

“Good… es ist gut …”  Gilbert swallowed thickly.  He fixed his gaze onto the ceiling, hoping to ignore the shivers that rippled under his skin with every brush of the sponge.  He wished Matthieu could’ve at least let him take care of this part by himself.  

“I have a wood bidet in my room,” Matthieu said, “If you would like, I may let you use it between your baths.”

“What?”  Gilbert looked back to Matthieu’s face in confusion, “What is that?”

“It is, ah, a chair, but it has a basin so you may clean your… um…” he seemed to trail off for a moment, “ …le parties viriles … ah, this place…” he gestured vaguely to the region he was currently washing.

Gilbert flushed. “Oh! Genitalien —you use a chair for that?”

“It is best for a more often cleaning.  You do not need to dress down for it.”

Gilbert huffed and rolled his eyes again.  Silly aristocrats with their unnecessary cleaning practices.  He tried to imagine how that would even be done.  Maybe Matthieu would straddle the chair and just dip his bits into the basin to clean.  Or maybe he had a cloth specially used for the purpose of cleaning himself.  If it was right in his room, it would make for a very awkward scenario to walk into.  Matthieu straddling some weird chair with his drawers open while his hands were between his thighs, gently touching his—

Gilbert felt an unsettlingly familiar feeling stirring in his abdomen, and his cheeks went red in embarrassment.  His cock was starting to rouse.  He didn’t want to draw attention to the situation by apologizing for his biological response to such pleasant treatment.  But he couldn’t help but be horrified at the thought of Matthieu bearing witness to something so personal.  The youth had to have noticed it.  Was he feigning ignorance? Or did he simply not mind?  With how slow and careful he was with cleaning the area, maybe it was intentional.  Gilbert wasn't against the idea of Matthieu attending to him in a very different manner.

“You are not cold, are you?” Matthieu asked.

“Huh?” his skin had grown so flushed, there was no way he could be perceived as anything other than hot, “Ah, no… n-no I am not cold.”

“You appear to shiver.  Are you certain?”

“I am not cold.  Vertrau mir… ”

Gilbert shook his head.  It was wrong for him to imagine taking advantage of Matthieu’s care like that.  The youth had been nothing but generous to him, and Gilbert was perverting such help.  Once Matthieu had reached his feet, Gilbert’s erected shaft had become more obvious, though not completely aroused.  Again, it seemed Matthieu had yet to notice, but maybe he was feigning ignorance for Gilbert’s sake.  He had a faint flush on his face, though it could be a coincidence (or wishful thinking).

Matthieu placed the sponge in the basin, and unfolded a drying cloth.  He was far more brisk in this manner than he was when he was sponging Gilbert’s body, quickly patting the cloth in every nook of the man’s body to ensure he was completely dry. 

However, Matthieu hesitated as he took the dry cloth over Gilbert’s pelvis.  Gilbert swallowed thickly again, certain that Matthieu was completely aware of his predicament now.  He stiffened as Matthieu dried him far less hastily there.  He thought he heard Matthieu say something, but he was far too distracted by how pleasant Matthieu’s hands felt through the cloth.  For a moment, so brief he almost thought he imagined it, Matthieu’s hand fully and tenderly cupped his sack and shaft.  He was hardly able to swallow the moan he made.  

“Um—a-all done,” Matthieu said, covering Gilbert’s intimates with the drying cloth.  “Ah, I-I will be back with—um—w-with good clothes—”

Gilbert suddenly grabbed Matthieu’s wrist.  “ Nein —wait!”  he exclaimed, holding Matthieu in place, similar to when he first interacted with Matthieu.  Though his intent and reason was far different now.  “It is fine… please…”

Matthieu’s eyes were wide, concerned, as they stared down at Gilbert.  His lips parted, then closed, seeming to want to say or ask something, but nothing would come out.  The hand that still gripped onto Matthieu’s wrist reeled the youth in closer, while Gilbert guided him to rest his hand on his stomach.  Matthieu bit his lower lip.

“...Gilbert,” he whispered very quietly.

“Please,” Gilbert said again, his freehand reaching up so he could comb away the golden locks that were falling into Matthieu’s face.  He pressed his fingertips lightly against the underside of Matthieu’s jaw. “... herkommen …”  He carefully guided Matthieu’s face closer, feeling any resistance lessen as Matthieu leaned down of his own accord.

Matthieu’s lips were soft and warm.  Gilbert found Matthieu’s cheek was equally soft and warm under his palm.  His hand moved back so his fingers tangled in Matthieu’s hair, wanting to keep a hold on him.  He didn’t want him to back out, not now that he had finally gotten to this point.

He wasn’t that familiar with kissing, outside of the chaste pecks he had witnessed between couples in the past.  But as he kissed Matthieu, wetting his own lips in between out of fear they would become dry, he began to desire a taste of him.  Tentatively, he brushed his tongue against the seam of Matthieu’s lips in hopes of catching a taste.  Matthieu’s lips parted briefly at this action, gasping a moment, before pressing forward with his own tongue slipping between Gilbert’s lips in earnest.  Gilbert shivered feeling their tongues brush for a moment

“ Süß… ” he murmured.

“Ah, Gilbert…” Matthieu whispered against his mouth, “… dis-moi —tell me this is good—”

Gilbert smirked. “It is very good—”

“— non —” Matthieu pulled back a little, already breathless, “No, I-I mean to say—I do not want to take my advantage over you.”

“Why do you say that?”

Matthieu ducked his head.  “You have been in a position of care under myself—and—a-and I worry that if I… ah, indulge, it would not be fair to you.”

Gilbert shook his head.  Here, had been worried about taking advantage of Matthieu’s care, when Matthieu was worried about doing the same thing to him.  “ Du hast mich so erregt… ” he said, moving Matthieu’s hand down from his stomach to just below his navel, so Matthieu could decide for himself to touch Gilbert further.  “Do you see?” he continued, “Do you see how much my body wants you to touch it?”

Matthieu glanced down to where his hand was.  Both could see how the drying cloth tented from what lay beneath.  Like before, Matthieu’s hand tenderly cupped around the shape of Gilbert’s shaft through the cloth.  This time, however, he lightly rubbed over it.  Both gasped.  Because of the cloth, Matthieu’s hand moved fairly easily up and down the length, with it further stiffening in his palm.

“ Ta bitte est bel ,” Matthieu murmured, moving back in for another kiss, “ Il mérite l'attention …”

While he wanted to pause to ask what that meant, Gilbert assumed it had something to do with his cock—Matthieu cupped more firmly around him as he said it—and just moaned against his mouth.

“ Scheiße—ah, das—das fühlt sich gut an .”

“What did you say?”

“...That… that it feels good.” Gilbert took a hold of Matthieu’s shoulder, and pulled him down more to where he was almost laying with him in the bed.  “Everything you do to me… everything feels good…”

Matthieu kissed Gilbert far more fervently now.  He tossed aside the cloth so his hand may better touch the man’s shaft.  His fingertips traveled lightly up to the tip, slipping through the precum present, and using it to trail more smoothly down the length of the shaft.

Gilbert was shaking.  He had never been touched like this before, at least by a hand that wasn’t his own.  He had never wanted anyone to touch him like this before.  How it far exceeded anything he had ever felt by his own hand.  Such gentle, soft, and tender hands—hands which had taken such kind care of the rest of himself—taking hold of his arousal made it difficult to breathe.  He was certain he would come undone quickly at this rate.  

And he wasn’t wrong in this assumption.  In hardly any time at all, Gilbert clenched up and released across his stomach, continuing to gasp and moan into Matthieu’s mouth and against his lips.  He shivered pleasantly, not wanting Matthieu’s hand to leave his cock.  Though it seemed neither did Matthieu, as he continued to fondle and caress Gilbert’s shaft and sack in an almost loving manner before eventually drawing his hand away.  Gilbert’s lips brushed against Matthieu’s one last time in appreciation.

“ M…Merci , Matthieu,” he said, giving a weak smile at his attempt at French.

Matthieu returned the smile.  “ Mon plaisir .”  He then used the drying cloth to wipe down Gilbert’s stomach, and left to finally retrieve clean clothes for him.

Gilbert wasn’t sure what would happen to them following such an act.  So it was a relief when Gilbert found Matthieu had begun to kiss him whenever they found the opportunity.  A kiss first thing in the morning.  A kiss before Breakfast.  A kiss after Breakfast.  A kiss in the parlor.  A kiss in the bedroom.  A kiss before Supper.  A kiss after Supper.  A kiss before heading off to bed.

It was pleasant.  Chaste.  Comforting.

Aside from this mutual attraction the two now openly shared, they didn’t do anything else aside from kiss.  Gilbert wanted to keep as much of their attraction as discreet as possible, and he believed that surely Matthieu would want to do the same.

Two more weeks passed, and Gilbert was showing better signs of improvement.  On the surface level, his bullet wound had scarred over.  The muscle itself on the other hand was taking its time healing.  Still, Gilbert was able to undress and redress himself with very little problems, and so long as he didn’t try to move too much or lift anything, he would feel very little lingering pain.

“I am glad you have been healing so well,” Matthieu said as he lightly patted Gilbert’s shirt where his scarring was hidden.

“I agree—” Gilbert raised his arms over his head with relative ease, “—I feel more like myself now.”

“In no time, you will be at your home again.”

Gilbert looked up, watching as Matthieu thoughtfully touched his uniform, still lain in waiting for Gilbert to wear again.  “… Ich denke schon… ” he said.

He had thought so little about home in the past few weeks.  All that had been on his mind was how the day with Matthieu would fare.  The idea that Matthieu would no longer be helping him as much caused him to feel rather low.  He was glad he was now able to help himself again, but being bedridden had been the perfect means of spending time with Matthieu.  Whatever time he had left to heal would also determine how much time he had left to spend with him.

“So…” Gilbert patted down his clothes, “How do you believe the war is going?”

“Hm?” Matthieu looked up, confused, then said, “Oh, yes, the war.”  He laid Gilbert’s uniform back down over the chair.  “To be honest, I have not thought much about it.”

“ Wirklich?   How?”

Matthieu shrugged.  “I have no interest.”

Gilbert couldn’t help but huff.  “That is easy to say when it is the actions of your Emperor.”

“I do not care for the man.  I have not cared for him in a while now.”  He folded his arms.  “He is more trouble now.”

At first, Gilbert was amused, and even delighted to hear that Matthieu disliked his Emperor.  Then Matthieu said, “I hate war.  I hate fighting.  It does nothing but create pain and chaos.  I cannot understand why it has to happen so much.”

This caused Gilbert to frown a bit.  “So if someone went after your home, you would not fight to keep what is yours?” he asked. “Protect what is yours?  You do not believe to keep your home safe?  It is bold of you to say that in front of a man like me…”

Matthieu’s eyes widened. “ Oh, désolé— ” He walked over and rested his hands on Gilbert’s shoulders. “I am sorry, Gilbert, I do not mean it that way.  What you do is noble, and you should be proud of that.”  He moved his hands to rest in the middle of Gilbert’s chest.  “All you have gone through… I do not mean to talk poorly of you.  I will fight to keep myself and my Papa safe.  My home safe.  I will fight to protect others.  What I mean to say, I hate the fighting that only leads to harm of innocent ones.  The fighting that takes, and takes, and leaves nothing left.”  He sighed and turned his head aside.  “Oh, I am sorry… I hope that all makes sense…”

“It does,” Gilbert assured, “And it is noble that you wish to fight to protect other people and not only yourself.”  More noble than Gilbert’s desire to fight for himself and his national pride over all else.  All others.

Matthieu looked back at Gilbert.  “Honest?”

“ Absolut —you are a good man, Matthieu.”

The youth looked aside again, this time out of coyness instead of shame.  “I would like to believe that is true.”

“I say it is true.”  Unable to help himself, Gilbert leaned in to capture Matthieu’s lips.  He didn’t want a chaste kiss this time.  He cupped Matthieu’s cheeks to hold him in place as he deepened their kiss.  Not wanting him to move until he was satiated.  He tasted Matthieu’s sweetness again after what felt like an eternity since the first kiss.

“ Du bist so süß ," Gilbert whispered, “ Du bist so gütig.   Du bist lieblich.”

He felt and heard Matthieu hum in amusement.  “I hope what you say is praise,” Matthieu said.

Gilbert chuckled as he pulled away, but made sure neither himself nor Matthieu ventured too far from each other.  Had he not been so transfixed on the lovely face in front of himself, he would have laughed again.  He never expected to want to be so close to a person to where he couldn’t bring himself to stay further than a breath away.  It was humorous to him.  Of all the people he had met before, he managed to find seemingly the only person able to make him feel such strong affection.  How serendipitous it was that they met.  That Matthieu just happened to find him among his fallen comrades and give him another chance at life irregardless of the uniform he wore.  

“I forgot to thank you,” Gilbert said.

“For what?”

“For saving my life.”  He grazed his thumbs across the swell of Matthieu’s flushed cheeks.  For a moment, he struggled to get the words out as he wasn’t used to saying it, before he admitted, “I… am sorry.  You did more for me than what I deserve, and I am sorry if I was not grateful or kind to you.  Your Vater is right—I should repay you.”

“It is fine,” Matthieu assured, gently, “I forgive you.  I need nothing else.”  One of his hands moved over to where the scarred skin lay beneath the fabric.  It then gently stroked down Gilbert’s chest to join the other one resting against his sternum, over the man’s heart.

Gilbert sighed.  He wanted to repay Matthieu.  An apology wasn’t nearly enough to make up for something as incredible as saving one’s life.  Not nearly enough to make up for everything Matthieu had already given him.  He needed to give back something as equal in weight as what he received.  His heart rate picked up as an idea came to him.

Gilbert gently backed Matthieu against a far wall.  He leaned in to capture his lips, and felt Matthieu’s hands on his cheeks now.  One of his knees pressed between Matthieu’s legs, effectively trapping him against the wall.  

“What are you doing?” Matthieu asked.  

Gilbert braced the wall with one arm. “I wish to return the kindness you gave me,” he explained before continuing their kissing.  His other hand then began to make its way to a particular place on Matthieu’s body.

“ Mph! ” Matthieu froze for a moment feeling Gilbert’s hand between his thighs.  This caused Gilbert to pause in concern, until Matthieu relaxed and even leaned more into the touch.  As Gilbert rubbed his palm over the front of the trousers, Matthieu hummed pleasantly against his mouth.  His fingers tangled themselves in Gilbert’s short hair to keep his head close.

“ Ça c-c’est— ” he whispered, “— ah, c’est si bon— ”

“Is that good?” Gilbert asked, and Matthieu nodded.  He smirked, and quietly teased, “ Ich kann fühlen, wie du aufgeregt bist …”  In spite of his teasing, he found himself shaking with nervous excitement as Matthieu’s shaft grew more prominent under the layers of clothes.  A part of himself couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.

“ S-Sors-le ,” Matthieu whined, pulling himself out of the kiss, “Ah… take it…”

“Take it?”

“Out… my, ah—” Matthieu took heed in unfastening his trousers, but once Gilbert caught on, he pushed Matthieu’s hands away.  He needed to do this himself.  The trousers were shrugged down low enough so Gilbert was able to slide hand into the fabric folds of Matthieu’s drawers.  He couldn’t help but gasp at the same time as Matthieu upon taking hold of his shaft and freeing it from the confines of the linens.

“ Mein Gott… ” He breathed in awe at the sight of Matthieu’s cock in his palm, “… sch-schön… so rot und nass… ”  His hand took a light hold, circling his thumb around the head.  He was amazed by how wet it was.  “ ...du tropfen so viel… ”

“Gilbert, s’il te plaît— ” Matthieu whimpered as he clung tightly to Gilbert’s shoulders.  “P…Please…”

Gilbert tilted his head back up to kiss Matthieu while continuing to spread the precum around the head and down the shaft, wanting to make it easier to stroke.  “ Lieblich ,” he murmured, “ So eine lieblich schwanz… ”

Matthieu’s legs had begun to shake, and Gilbert wondered how fast he could make Matthieu climax.

He stroked Matthieu’s cock rather quickly.  Before any moans could escape the other’s mouth, Gilbert captured them with his own.  He made sure to capture every single moan and gasp, not wanting a single soul in the home to potentially overhear what was occuring.  This was all for Matthieu, and only Matthieu.  For all the good he had done for weeks.  For how truly perfect and beautiful he was.

“ Das ist für dich ,” whispered Gilbert, “ Um meine Dankbarkeit zu zeigen .”

Matthieu pulled away and buried his face into Gilbert’s shoulder.  His whole body trembled to where he was holding onto the man seemingly for dear life.  “ N—! N-Ne vous arrêtez pas!    Proche—je suis proche—! ”

Matthieu’s poor cock had become quite slick.  It seemed like he was ready to explode any moment.  Gilbert quickened his hand, biting his lip to hide his own heavy aroused breaths so he could better hear Matthieu’s sweet yet muffled cries.  Finally, Matthieu’s body shuddered all the way up his spine as he released into Gilbert’s hand.  He continued to whimper as Gilbert refused to stop touching him until he was certain he had finished.

“ Ah… oh, mon Dieu… ” Matthieu lifted his head and languidly kissed Gilbert’s jaw and cheek.  “Gilbert… how… how would you say “thank you”?  In your language?”

“ Danke .”

Matthieu kissed below Gilbert’s ear.  “ Danke , Gilbert… danke, danke, danke… ”  While Matthieu continued to shower light kisses along his jaw and neck, Gilbert assessed his hand.  Matthieu had made quite the mess of it, but unlike before, there wasn’t anything he could use to properly clean it off.  Once Matthieu himself noticed what he did to Gilbert’s hand, he quickly shook off the remainder of his post-orgasmic haze to retrieve a handkerchief from his pocket.

“I am sorry,” he said, wiping down Gilbert’s palm, “I-I should—I was—”

“ Es ist gut —”

They both jumped hearing a light rapping on the bedroom door.  Matthieu had to fix himself back up as properly as he could manage before allowing whoever it was to come inside.  Luckily it was only a servant asking for Matthieu to attend to something regarding his father.  Seeing how the incident left Gilbert rather flustered in several ways, it was good to allow himself time to “calm down,” so to speak.

The weather was so pleasant that afternoon, that once Matthieu was free, he and Gilbert sat on the balcony overlooking the Bonnefois’ garden.  While mostly dead, some color was starting to return.  Namely green.  In a few more weeks, Gilbert was certain the whole thing would be a flourish of color and life.

“You must see how it looks in Summer,” Matthieu said, “Papa loves roses; he had all different kinds planted along the gate and through the space.  His favorite are red.  But Maman loved white roses, so they grow right in front.”

Gilbert nodded, though wasn’t really listening.  He didn’t have that much interest in flowers.  They were pretty boring outside their general prettiness.  What did interest him was how Matthieu’s face lit up as he talked rather passionately about the subject.  He could talk this passionately about anything boring, and Gilbert’s attention would be held by how lovely he looked when he spoke.

Matthieu trailed off, eyes scanning the horizon line for a moment before he asked, “Where do you come from?”

Gilbert gave a laugh.  “ Preußen , of course.”

“No, I mean, where is your home?  Is it far?”

Looking around them across the full landscape, Gilbert tried to orient himself to what was familiar to him, and hence, what direction home even was.  “Out there,” he pointed at the land stretching in the distance from the north eastern corner of the house, “About, sieben —ah, seven-hundred kilometers—is home.”

“That is a long walk… how far you traveled…” Matthieu mused.  “Is it beautiful?”

“ Absolut.  Perfekt .”

He felt Matthieu take a hold of his hand and looked up to see the youth staring softly at him.  “If I were to visit Prusse ,” Matthieu began, “Would you let me stay at your home?”

Gilbert squeezed Matthieu’s hand.  He honestly would want more than just a visit from Matthieu.  A much longer stay would be preferable.  “Yes.  I would like that very much.”

Matthieu kissed Gilbert in a way that lingered long after they parted, and he rested his head on the man’s shoulder.  “Good…” he said, quietly.

A warmth bubbled in Gilbert’s chest in a manner that grew tight and painful as he remembered their conversation that morning.  Soon enough, Gilbert would have to leave for home.  He couldn’t stay.  There was no reason to stay longer than necessary once he was healed in full.  He needed to return home.  Inform his brother and his military unit that he was alive and well.  He couldn’t abandon his duty.  Could he?

Gilbert looked down at the top of Matthieu’s head.  While wonderful and clearly enjoyable for Matthieu, Gilbert didn’t think the single climax he caused was enough to repay him.  Matthieu deserved more than just a single, intimate touch.  Much more.  He should give his whole self to Matthieu, not just his hand.  After all, it was his life that the youth had spared.  The debt needed to be repaid in the fullest manner possible.

Gilbert’s body grew heated as he realized what that would entail: Intercourse .

The thought made him rather nervous.  He knew little to nothing about sex.  He had grown up pious and devout.  Never had the thought even occurred to him, regardless of whether or not God’s disdain over premarital sex came to his mind.  How was one supposed to even suggest such a thing?  What was the typical courtship involved with it?  How was it even going to work with them?  If he was going to do something so personal and intimate, he wanted to ensure he did it properly.

Outside his lack of experience, it was also far more dangerous to engage in full on intercourse compared to a hand’s touch.  The kind of consequences that would come from being caught in that sort of act would surely mean terrible things for both of them by both God and Sir Bonnefoi.  The man would not take the idea of a man—especially a Prussian man with a fairly ordinary family background—courting his beloved son lightly whatsoever.  He might even have Gilbert arrested and Matthieu forced to seclude himself in the home to save face.

Gilbert touched his formerly bad knee.  Then the hidden scarring on his chest.  He really had no idea how much time he had left.  If he could take Matthieu with him, he would.  But Matthieu loved his father, and it would be painful for him to leave the man alone without any family at all.

Whatever it was that he wished to do with Matthieu, he needed to do it soon.  And if it were to occur only once, he’d rather once than never at all.

“Gilbert?  Is everything well?”

“Hm?” he noticed Matthieu looking him over now with concern.  “Y-Yes.  Why?”

“You had gone quiet.  And you feel warm.”  He reached up to touch Gilbert’s flushed cheek with the back of his hand.

“Sorry.  Ah, I just… you make me feel warm.”

Matthieu gave a coy smile and tucked his hair behind his ear.  “That is good.  You… make me feel warm also.”

They shared one more kiss before deciding to venture back inside.  Still, the tightness remained throughout the afternoon inside Gilbert’s chest.  The thoughts of what he wanted to do and what he needed to do.  And whenever thoughts of want and need would swim around in Gilbert’s head, they wouldn’t cease until he acted on them in some way.  

It took a few more nights of thought before he made his decision.  He wanted to make love with Matthieu.

That particular night was dark.  No moon, but a clear sky to show the stars in full.  Not long after he had said his goodnight to Matthieu, Gilbert waited in his room.  He wanted to be sure that the rest of the house was well into their slumber before lighting the lamp at his bedside.  He then quietly made his way to Matthieu’s room.

The door wasn’t locked.  As the lamp lit up the bedroom, Matthieu stirred in bed.  Gilbert placed his lamp on the bedside table, making it bright enough to illuminate as much as he could without potentially burning out the whole wick.  It took a moment for the light to break though Matthieu’s sleep, and the youth opened his eyes.

“Gilbert?” he asked, “Why are you here?”

“I can not sleep.”  

“Do you need something?”

He gave a slight chuckle.  “In a way, yes.  Yes, I do.”  He reached down and gave him a chaste kiss on the other’s lips.  It took a moment before Matthieu was able to catch onto Gilbert’s intentions.

“Oh…” his eyes widened.  “Do you mean…?”

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

Matthieu didn’t answer.  He simply threw his sheets off and pulled Gilbert into the bed.

They were very shy to start.  Initially, they laid side by side, just barely touching.  Then Gilbert was rolled onto his back with Matthieu straddling his waist with his knees.  They kissed, though it was light and soft.  Timid.  They shivered from nervousness and hesitated to properly touch one another.  It wasn’t until Gilbert was the first bold enough to open his nightshirt, sitting back against the headboard with Matthieu in his lap, when they allowed themselves to venture further.

“ Tu es comme une sculpture ,” Matthieu murmured, his fingers lovingly tracing the lines and ridges of Gilbert’s chest and abdomen, “Your form is if God himself carved you in marble…”

“ Danke ,” Gilbert said with a smirk, though it softened to a smile as he combed Matthieu’s gold locks away from his face.  He then gently reeled him back in for another kiss.  From Matthieu’s cheek, the hand lightly drifted down, venturing to the neck of his nightshirt where a few buttons were pried apart, exposing his collarbones.  Gilbert felt Matthieu shiver as he lightly stroked his neck and jaw, and smiled into their kiss.

“Your hands are gentle with me,” Matthieu mused, bringing Gilbert’s palm back to cup his cheek, “I did not expect that.”

“Why not?” 

“You said so yourself—you come from a family of soldiers,” Matthieu kissed his palm, brushing his lips along the calluses, almost in admiration of them, “You are a fighter, not a lover…”

Gilbert shrugged.  “ Das ist ein berechtigter Punkt …” his free hand traced the pintucks of Matthieu’s nightshirt, “...But I can try to be both.”

He then pried more buttons open, allowing Matthieu’s nightshirt to begin to slip down one of his shoulders.  Gilbert removed his hand from Matthieu’s light grasp.  With both hands, he easily slid the shirt down further until Matthieu was exposed from throat to sternum.

“ Deine Haut ist lieblich …” he said, exhaling in awe at how soft and delicate Matthieu’s skin was under his hands, “... weich und makellos… you are angelic…”

Matthieu shied his head coyly, and Gilbert took the opportunity to kiss against his bare neck.  It looked as pure and delicate as glass or porcelain.  He feared the kind of damage he could cause to it if he wasn’t careful.

“ Es ist wie Porzellan… ” he whispered as his lips brushed against the skin, “ ...Ich habe Angst, dich zu brechen, wenn ich nicht aufpasse .”

“Ah—I-I love when you speak in your language,” Matthieu admitted.  “I know very little, but—it is how you stress words—it— ah —i-it makes me shiver.”

Gilbert chuckled against Matthieu’s neck.  “I like that.”  He began venturing his hands up the hem of Matthieu’s nightshirt.  Needing to feel more.  He stroked over Matthieu’s thighs, practically silken under his rough palms.  They followed the curve of Matthieu’s hips up to his waist, exploring contentedly without abandon now.  His fingertips trailed up the length of Matthieu’s spine, then traced the edges of his scapula bones.

“... Deine Flügel gehören hierher… ” He murmured, imagining wings growing from there.  He removed himself from Matthieu for a moment, pushing the hem of the nightshirt further up.  Matthieu assisted him and got the garment off completely and onto the floor.

Gilbert was at a loss for words to describe how it felt finally seeing Matthieu’s nude body on full display before him.  He never would consider anyone’s form so perfect and flawless (aside from his own, that is), but it was the only word he could think to describe Matthieu: perfect .

“Why did you stop touching?” Matthieu asked, somewhat concerned that Gilbert had just been staring at him for the last minute.

“Oh, sorry,” he touched Matthieu’s forearms, “I wished to admire you a minute.”

Gilbert continued to admire him, with his hands memorizing Matthieu’s torso and stomach.  He had more tone to his form than Gilbert initially thought; a soft midsection and pectorals, but muscles could be felt moving under his hands with every slight movement Matthieu made.  He lightly palmed over Matthieu’s chest, noting how he bit his lip when Gilbert brushed across one of his nipples, then down his abdomen.  His lovely cock was very tempting to touch, but as his hands strayed lower, Matthieu stopped him.

“Wait—I wish to admire you also,” Matthieu said.  

His hands, in spite of their shaking, removed Gilbert’s nightshirt completely.  While he had seen him in full, and had seen him fairly aroused, Matthieu’s awed expression was as if he was seeing it all for the first time.  Something about seeing each other fully aroused made the whole thing feel more real, yet more like a dream at the same time.  It was too ideal to be true.  Matthieu leaned down and pressed a kiss to Gilbert’s bad shoulder, then his lips followed the line of Gilbert’s collar bone towards his throat.  All while his hands admired every crest and valley of the man’s torso and back.

“ Si forte… ” he whispered, lightly kissing Gilbert’s throat.

“ Ich liebe —I love your hands,” Gilbert replied, “...mouth…”  His fingers and lips felt like downy feathers, drifting along his skin.  It was his turn to shiver as Matthieu began to touch along his pelvis and thighs.  He hoped that they would reach his arousal, having been waiting very patiently for a touch.  The hands stopped. 

“ Was ist es? ” he asked, hoping Matthieu wasn’t changing his mind already.  Matthieu moved back, but not off of Gilbert’s lap entirely.  He reached over towards one of the bedside table drawers and took out a corked vial filled with what seemed to be oil.  With one hand, Matthieu uncorked the vial and allowed a small amount to pool in his palm before he set the vial on the table, still open.

“Offer your hand—” he then clasped his and Gilbert’s hands so both their palms had a sheen of oil across them.  It only took a minute for Gilbert to realize what the oil was for, and each took a hold of the others’ cock.

This was leagues better than before.  He pulled Matthieu higher on his lap so they could kiss while still being able to have a good grasp on one another.  It felt so wonderful getting to pleasure Matthieu—his whimpers and gasps were lyrical to his ears—and be pleasured in return.  How it was mutual.  Still, this wasn’t what he came here to do.

“Matt— i-ich möchte —” Gilbert paused to take a breath, “Ah—I want— scheiß, uh, Geschlechtsverkehr? —” Gilbert didn’t know how to translate “intercourse” into English.  And he struggled to think of a way to say it without it sounding silly rather than romantic.  “I want—”

“What is it?” Matthieu asked. “Do you—ah, do you want to—t-to do more to me—with me?”

Gilbert nodded.

“Do you—do you want to bed me?”

That sounded close enough to describing “intercourse,” so he immediately said, “ Yes .”

Matthieu stopped touching Gilbert.  He took the vial again, and poured oil down along the fingertips of his right hand.  Gilbert watched, curious, as Matthieu twisted his arm behind himself.

“Ah—th-this—” Matthieu paused to take a breath, “— this is where you will go— je dois —ah, I-I need to ready myself—”

Gilbert was going to ask for an elaboration, but instead exhaled a heated breath as Matthieu’s eyes closed and he made a soft gasp.  There was only one place for those fingers to go, and Gilbert realized what Matthieu was saying by making himself “ready”.

“ Gottverdammt… ” He wished he could better see what Matthieu was doing.  Get a much clearer view of how those fingers were readying himself so he may use that knowledge next time—if he was ever lucky enough to have a next time with Matthieu.  But he also wanted to see his sweet face reacting in pleasure to his own touch.

“ Ahh—Gil— ” Matthieu bit his lip.  He glanced up at Gilbert, who watched in anticipation as he worked himself up.  His eyes squeezed tight for a moment, and he made a whimper sound, only to soften again with a sigh.

“ Du bist so wunderschön… ” Gilbert murmured, his hand moving to touch his cock, “ Verdammt —so beautiful.”

Matthieu whimpered again, though this time it seemed to be from the sight of Gilbert touching himself.  “ J-J’ai pensé à cela— ” he murmured, “ —ah, depuis si longtemps—j’ai tell—tellement envie de toi— ”

He eventually removed his fingers, and crawled back onto Gilbert’s lap.  He grazed his fingers over the man’s cock, making sure he was oiled up enough for his comfort.  He then put his hands on Gilbert’s shoulders to aid his balance.

“Ready…” Matthieu asked.  Gilbert simply nodded and took a hold of his cock and Matthieu’s hip.  Both gasped as the head brushed against the rim, failing thrice to properly penetrate.  But once Matthieu had relaxed enough, Gilbert was able to finally breach him.

“ Mon Dieu—! ” Matthieu cried.  Loudly .

“ Shh! ” Gilbert’s grip tightened a moment in panic, “ Du wirst —what if your—your Vater —”

“ Il ne—il ne š’en souciera pas— ” The youth gave another loud cry, “— merde, Gil—! ”

Despite his concerns, Gilbert allowed himself a moan as Matthieu met his lap.  Fully sheathed inside his love.  “ Gottverdammt, du fühlst dich fantastisch… ” he muttered.

“ Je —I-I need a—a minute—”

Gilbert nodded.  His cheek rested a moment against Matthieu’s sternum, before turning his head slightly to kiss him there instead.  Then on top of his pectoral.  Then, upon remembering how Matthieu reacted before, kissed one of his nipples.

Matthieu gasped airly.  Gilbert smirked a moment before doing it again.  He briefly felt Matthieu react via his muscles tightening rather nicely around his shaft.  Seemed they were a sensitive zone.  He gave a wetter kiss the third time, before Matthieu lightly batted his shoulders to tell him to stop.  There was more that needed tended to, after all.

“ Allez-y —ah, go on and…” Matthieu bit his lip for a moment, already starting to lift himself up, “C-Careful like…”

“Oh, right… of course—”

It was difficult for Gilbert to even breathe, let alone get his hips to start moving.  Air became stuck in his throat as he felt himself sliding out—such a pleasant heat had firmly taken hold of his shaft—and he had to change his hold of Matthieu to keep him from rising too far off his cock.  He regained proper breathing as he very slowly aided in Matthieu’s rise and fall upon himself.  

“Matthieu—” he breathed hotly against the other’s shoulder, “— mein Herz schmerzt—ah—du bist—du bist so himmilsch— ”  It was ironic to consider the moment “heavenly,” as God could strike him down right now for this.  Yet Gilbert would not care in the slightest.  This was not profane lust, this was love, pure and honest.  It was all so nearly perfect.

Unfortunately, just as they were starting to get into an actual rhythm, Gilbert tensed up.  He felt his peak already rising, and despite his best efforts to hold back, it was all too much for him too quick.  He opened his mouth to voice a warning, but after only a few more thrusts, he came inside Matthieu, choking on his moans with how suddenly his climax came over him.  Matthieu gasped and shivered upon feeling the warm ejaculate against his inner walls.  He relaxed his hold of Gilbert’s shoulders, which slumped in shame.

“ Verdammt …” Gilbert groaned, “ Es tut —I am sorry…”

“Do not worry,” Matthieu combed his fingers through the hair on the back of Gilbert’s head rather comfortingly.  “It is fine.”

It was not fine.  Not for Gilbert.  He wanted to last a little longer than that.  He wanted to last long enough for Matthieu to have a chance to be near completion.  He slid himself out, grunting at the loss of heat around his softening shaft.  He could still feel Matthieu’s arousal against his stomach, and was disappointed he had failed to make him climax.

“ Merde… ” Matthieu murmured, reaching behind himself to assess things, “I did not think it would be so messy… ”

“Hm?” Gilbert blindly navigated his hand to where Matthieu’s fingers were prodding his backside, wanting to feel for himself.  Matthieu shivered as Gilbert’s fingers swiped around the mess and against the still very sensitive nerves of his rim.

“Messy,” Gilbert mused, almost like he was fascinated by the thought of his seed inside Matthieu.  He then began to press his own fingers past the rim, smiling rather mischievously as he heard Matthieu moan at the feeling. “ Was für einen Dreck habe ich gemacht ,” Gilbert continued, “ Ich fühle so viel in dir… ”

Matthieu wrapped his arms around Gilbert’s neck, desperately.  From this hold, Gilbert was able to see over Matthieu’s shoulder, down his back where he saw his own fingers penetrating him.  How crude it must feel for Matthieu; Gilbert using his own seed to assist in pleasuring him.

“Gil, s’il te plaît — ç-çest tellement —” He moaned louder as Gilbert thrusted three of his fingers inside him.  “ Oh! — oh, ça fait—ça fait tellement de bien—! ”

“ Fühlt sich das gut an? ” Gilbert asked, his voice low and breathy in Matthieu’s ear, “Do you like this?”

“ Yes! ”

Gilbert no longer worried about the possibility of Sir Bonnefoi hearing such obscene sounds, wherever he was in the home.  Matthieu’s moans and gasps were practically lyrical.  He didn’t want to muffle such sounds as he continued prodding.  Of anything, the man should be grateful that his son was being given such wonderful treatment by a lover.  Gilbert found he was enjoying this himself, so much so that to his surprise (and delight), he found that he had become hard again.  Perhaps fate thought it fair to give him another try at intercourse.

“ Scheiß —” he removed his fingers and took a hold of Matthieu’s cheeks, pressing his newly hardened cock between them, “— fühl das? —feel that?”

“ Oh… oh, mon Dieu …” Matthieu swallowed, “ T-Tu es… ”

“ Du bist so gut —you aroused me again—” Gilbert grunted as he slid himself back inside, “Th-this time—I will not finish— ah —before you—”

With his newfound arousal and energy, Gilbert held onto Matthieu’s hips as he bucked his own up into them.  Matthieu’s head craned back, beginning to lose his hold as his body trembled with ecstasy.  Feeling as if Matthieu would fall back any moment, Gilbert chose to just push him to lie back against the bed.  He leaned heavily over him in this new position, bending Matthieu’s knees high in order to get as deep as possible.

“ Ç’est—oh Dieu—ç’est comme ciel— ” Matthieu cried, “ Ah — Gilbert, s’il tu — n-ne t'arrête pas! — s’il tu plaît —!

Gilbert felt sweat beading heavily down the back of his neck and temples.  When he combed his hair out of his face, most of the damp strands stayed back until his heavy thrusts caused them to fall back onto his forehead.  He felt an ache along his chest and left shoulder from overexertion, but ignored it best he could.  A little pain couldn’t compete with the pleasure he felt, and more importantly, the pleasure he was giving to Matthieu.

“Matt— sag mir —” Gilbert licked his lips, “—are you close?”

“C-Close—” Matthieu whimpered as he reached his hand down to touch himself, “—Ah merde—please—”

Gilbert leaned back, wanting to see Matthieu’s body in full, from where they connected to his sweet face.  “Go on—ah, Höhepunkt für mich —for me—”  He felt himself getting close again.  He thought of how much of a mess he made the first time.  Surely another load would be even messier.  So much of his seed being given to Matthieu, so deep inside his body.  He took hold of Matthieu’s cock himself, making Matthieu’s voice raise higher from the touch.

“ Höhepunkt nur für mich —” Gilbert said, “—just for me— mein geliebter —”

“ Gil—! ”

The sight was breathtaking.  Matthieu’s head lulled back to expose his elegant neck, his back arching along with it, as he came across his torso, which rose and fell heavily with his cries.  He gave a few smaller whimpers and moans as Gilbert kept thrusting into him.  The continued stimulation made him writhe against the sheets, and Gilbert had to keep his arms around the other’s thighs so he wouldn’t wriggle away before getting a chance to finish himself.

When he finally did reach his second peak, he moaned Matthieu’s name loudly, and released again.  This time, he didn’t want to remove himself right away; he continued to shallowly thrust, wanting to ensure he had given Matthieu all of it.  All of himself.

“ Ç-Ça suffit, ” Matthieu whined, pushing at Gilbert’s hips, “Enough… stop…”

“Oh, sorry.” Gilbert finally pulled out, letting Matthieu’s legs return to the bed.  He noticed Matthieu dragging his shaking fingers through the mess on his stomach.  

“ Je…Je devrais nettoyer… ” he then tried to move, though his arms were trembling too much to be able to even prop himself upright.

“Do not get up,” Gilbert gently put his good arm around Matthieu’s back and shoulders, intending on lifting him up himself.

“Ah, towel…” Matthieu gestured to a pitcher and washing basin on a table across the room, “...if you can… please…”

Gilbert nodded.  He helped Matthieu move so he was laying back against his pillows, before crossing the other side of the room on his own wobbly legs to get the pitcher and a linen cloth.  He poured a little of the lukewarm water down Matthieu’s torso, making sure none ran off onto his sheets, using his hand to clean off the streaks.  As he dried Matthieu off, the latter gave a small laugh.

“You are a good care taker,” he said.

“I learn from the best.” Gilbert smiled.  He put the pitcher and towel back, and for a moment thought about putting his nightshirt back on and returning to his room.  Not wanting to be present in Matthieu’s room come morning.  However, he looked at Matthieu, the covers and his arms open for him.  The lamp was snuffed out, and he fell into the bed.  

He sighed heavily, content feeling the length of Matthieu’s nude form against his own.  Golden hair tucked away into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and a soft pair of lips brushed the underside of his jaw.  His one hand traced Matthieu’s shoulder blades, while the other rubbed the dip of his waist.  Their heavy heartbeats seemed rhythmically in sync.  

Matthieu shifted himself to rest even more comfortably against him.  “ Je t’aime ,” he whispered into Gilbert’s neck.  “ Je t’aime, Gilbert Beilschmidt… ”

Gilbert didn’t need to ask for a translation.  He had a strong guess as to what was said.

“ Ich liebe dich auch, Matthieu Bonnefoi ,” he answered.  He heard and felt Matthieu’s breath even out against his neck before falling asleep.  He felt so content in that moment in a way he hadn’t for a while.  Since the start of the war and since he had been wounded for over a month.  He felt… at home.

“ Ich möchte bei dir bleiben …” whispered Gilbert as sleep began to overcome him as well.  “ Ich möchte dich behalten …”

There were a few expectations Gilbert had for the days that would proceed from his beautiful evening with Matthieu.  He waited with anticipation for it to be mentioned by Sir Bonnefoi.  For a while, it seemed the man was just as none the wiser as he had been in regards to the two.  Then, one morning following breakfast, he approached Gilbert.

“I ask that you join me on a walk,” the Count said.

“A walk where to?” Gilbert asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“No where far.  Only through the garden; much of the flowers have come to bloom this morning.”

Though he agreed to it, he kept his guard up as he followed Sir Bonnefoi outside.  There had been a very light shower early that morning, with new leaves and flowers glistening in the sunlight.  Gilbert kept beside the man, not venturing too far back nor too far ahead.  In his peripheral vision, he saw no particular emotion on the other’s face that would indicate ill-intent.  He merely held a sort of mellow calmness as he looked upon the reviving garden.

“Spring is my favorite time of the year,” Sir Bonnefoi said, “The beauty of life returns to what had been cold and dead for so long.”

“Hmm…” Gilbert kept his gaze on the man rather than the garden before them.

“It is, ah, fortunate that you have recovered so well,” Sir Bonnefoi continued, “That you may enjoy these exquise grounds of mine…” he turned his head slightly towards Gilbert, “...I expect you are grateful of my dear Matthieu’s aid in your, ah, recovery?”

“Very grateful.  I owe him a great deal.”

“I see.”  The man’s pacing slowed.  “Would you say that you… owe him your life?”

“Absolutely.  I would be dead were it not for him.”  

He hummed in understanding.  “And how do you plan on returning the favor?”

“I already have.”

Gilbert then stopped in his tracks, and Sir Bonnefoi turned to him in confusion.  

“I know what this is about,” Gilbert began, coolly, “You heard us together.  A few nights back, yes?”

The Count gave a slight, knowing smile.  “Yes.  I did.”

 “He gave himself to me and I gave myself to him.  I gave my whole self; far more than I ever gave to another person.  More than I ever will give to another person.”

The only thing Sir Bonnefoi did was raise his brows curiously, while remaining silent.  This encouraged Gilbert to continue.

“You said he has a tender heart.  If you do not care for my pain, think of his.  Think of the hurt it would cause him to force us apart.”

“I know it would hurt him very much,” the Count said, “Which is why I want you to stay.”

Gilbert blinked owlishly.  “ Ich vers —you want me to stay?”

“Yes.  When I heard you both, it touched my heart so deep—such beautiful sounds—” he gave a deep and wistful sigh, “— tu as apporté tant de beau plaisir à mon Matthieu —I did not expect it from a man such as yourself, but you have put me at ease.”

It was taking a while for it to register to Gilbert that he and Matthieu were not going to be forced away from one another.  “You… you are not bothered?”

“ Bien sûr que non!   Why limit love to so few when there are many beautiful women and men—” he put a hand on Gilbert’s arm, “—although you are far from my type.”

Gilbert would’ve been offended if he wasn’t still registering everything the man was telling him.

“I was more than aware of your love for Matthieu,” Sir Bonnefoi continued, “For weeks now.  And his love for you was just as clear.  While I believe he could do much, much better, you make mon doux happy.  And that is all that matters to me.  Will you stay?”

Filled with absolute relief, Gilbert began to laugh. “ Gott sei Dank —” he took a hold of the man’s hand in a sort of handshake. “—Yes, on my life I swear that I will make sure that Matthieu is happy.”

“Good.  I do ask for one thing in return: You must learn Français .”

Gilbert frowned a little.  “I have to?”

“Yes.  I do not care how long it takes, it is necessary to know for your sake and mine.”

Gilbert sighed heavily.  He supposed that was fair enough.  It wasn’t asking for much—Sir Bonnefoi could’ve asked for worse of him.  

Gilbert reasoned with himself that it would help a lot knowing what Matthieu was saying when they were intimate.  He could even teach Matthieu German while he was at it.  They'd be able to know love in each other's languages.