A Time to Love [5/?]
Wow it's been a really long time since I've updated this story! I'll be really surprised if anyone even still reads this lol I had it half typed up on my laptop for months with no intention to finish it or even an idea as to how to go about it. Then all of a sudden 'poof'
Probably because I do my best work when I'm completely miserable and I recently discovered that there's absolutely no hope of me going to college this year.
So look for more fic in the future, probably euo
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Alfred awoke the next morning to a cold, empty bed and an already voided indentation where Ivan had slept the night before. Usually this might be a cause for concern, but Alfred was more than happy that his bed-mate had left before he’d waken up. It saved an awkward morning-after conversation and the inevitable argument that would ensue. He was sure that the intense level of sheer discomfort would be so hilariously obvious that whoever was watching them would be able to see it right through the cameras.
As it were, Alfred had time and room to stretch out in the bed and roll himself in the blankets in an effort to cling to the warm drowsiness of the first few moments after waking up. He was like a cat in a bed of catnip, rolling and twisting around in the sheets in languid idleness. He felt warm and fuzzy under the cozy sunlight dancing through the slits in the curtains that lay across the bed in long bars. It was as if he was viewing the world through the warm haze of sleep-drunken stupor.
At long last, when he could stay in bed no longer, he disentangled himself from the sheets and slipped out reluctantly. Padding across the wooden floor, he rubbed tired blue eyes and made a beeline for the bathroom. He hadn’t had a chance to check the house out last night, but he at least knew where the can was. He instinctively reached to where his toothbrush would be if he were in his apartment, only for his hand to close on empty air. Growling quietly, he looked around the sink for any sort of dental hygiene products.
He found two toothbrushes; one red, one blue. The red one was still damp and a small amount of toothpaste stuck to the handle directly below the bristles. That was fine with Alfred. Red was a Commie color and Ivan could have it. Blue was his favorite, anyway. He had the fleeting urge to dunk the red brush in the toilet and then never ever tell Ivan, but that would be childish; even if it would be so sweet to know that every day he was brushing his teeth with a potty brush.
He pushed the thought away, grabbing the blue toothbrush and dabbed some toothpaste on it, sticking it in his mouth as he checked the cabinets for floss. Finding none, he brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth out with water. No floss and no mouthwash. This was unacceptable! He couldn’t live in a world where he was forced to forgo flossing. He would have to make a trip to the store as soon as possible and pick up the essentials. Nothing was more important than good dental hygiene.
The shower stood in a corner of the room, taking up most of the space but still seeming unobtrusive. It beckoned to him like a siren, the dirt of the day before and the icky feeling he got from touching Ivan eating at his skin like an acid. But as he looked out of the bathroom door and into the bedroom, he saw on the clock that it was already waning into the afternoon and they had a job to do today. It would be better to just freshen up and get on his way. So after washing his face, brushing his hair, applying roll on deodorant, searching for hair gel and finding none, accidentally hitting the wall, cursing and clutching his hand, stumbling out of the bathroom, changing his clothes, re-brushing his hair after it got messed up as he pulled on his shirt, and applying spray deodorant, he was finally ready to face the day.
He found Ivan in the kitchen munching on a piece of toast almost thoughtfully. Alfred has always taken the larger man for a real meat and potatoes kind of guy, someone who would want something more substantial for breakfast than toast. But after a quick survey of the room, he found that it was for good reason that his partner only had chosen toast for his morning meal. The refrigerator was almost completely empty save for a loaf of bread, a carton of orange juice, and a bag of apples. He sighed, grumbling under his breath about useless thugs who couldn’t even stock the fridge and grabbed an apple. As he bit into it, he made a mental list of all the things he would need to pick up while they were out (probably after they beat up that poor, innocent man.)
“This officially sucks.” Alfred growled, looking around for the coffee pot, hoping beyond all reason that it was there but knowing he shouldn’t hold his breath. He almost fell to his knees and praised the Lord when he found that not only did they have a coffee pot, they actually had coffee! Which was a better thing than anyone knew because if he didn’t have his morning coffee there was no way he would have been able to deal with his bullshit partner. Who, by the way, had been staring at him like something out of a freak show since he’d gotten into the kitchen.
If Ivan was staring, though, it was only because he had expected the other man to do something drastic the morning after their little folie-a-deux from last night. For one night he’d completely lost his mind and done something he regretted immensely. He was not one of those men who could engage in one-night stands and leave in the morning unscathed. There had been no feeling in their exchange, no positive feeling anyway. And what kind of existence was that? He felt sick with himself and sick with Alfred.
Alfred, however, was perfectly okay with no strings attached sex. It was kind of his thing, actually. He hadn’t been able to hold down a stable relationship for more than a month since leaving high school, it just wasn’t in his nature. Arthur said he was allergic to commitment. So while his partner fretted over his bad decision, Alfred was cool as a cucumber. His only real concern was food and dental floss.
“About last night…” Ivan began, wondering how to broach the subject with the younger man. But a hand was held up and Alfred shook his head. He gestures subtly to the cameras and put a finger to his lips.
“Yeah, last night was great. Though I woke up this morning with an aching ass, you dickweed.” He teased, though the look in his eyes was less teasing and more accusing. “I can only hope the scratches I left on your back hurt enough for a bit of payback.”
Ivan felt the marks Alfred had left on his back like burning trails of shame. He would much rather forget that those were even there, but the little shit had absolutely had to bring them up. It was infuriating to not be able to tell the other that their display last night had been disgusting and shameful and they must never do it again.
“I don’t know about that. They don’t hurt so bad, you’ve done worse before.” He quipped, feeling disgusted with himself. But the place was bugged and their survival depended on him acting as if their encounter had been run-of-the-mill, something they did every night. He would have to swallow his distaste and keep up this charade for as long as possible.
Alfred liked people to believe that he couldn’t read the atmosphere, that he was completely clueless when it came to ambiance. But the truth was that he could read people like books, no matter how hard they tried to hide what they were thinking. And he could tell Ivan regretted what they had done last night.
An unwelcome pang of something unpleasant went through him at the thought and Alfred decided that it must be offense. He’d given Ivan access to the kickin’est body in Metropolis and given him what was probably the ride of his life and he regretted it? That fucking douche! But he had to push past his indignation, for the good of the mission and to save his own ass. Which was really kind of important to him, even if Ivan took it for granted.
He took sips of his coffee through pursed lips, discontent radiating off of him like waves of heat. Ivan could feel them from all the way across the room and he wondered if it was his fault Alfred was being pissy or if it was just because of the lack of supplies. He was willing to bank on it being a combination of the two with Alfred leaning more towards angry at him than angry at the world. But he could care less, Alfred could be as angry as he wanted. It would only mean that he would pursue him no further.
A now-empty cup of coffee was set down on the counter and the silent blonde left the kitchen without even looking in his house-mate’s direction. He had nothing to say to Ivan right now and didn’t see that changing any time soon. Peeking through the blinds, he saw that there was already a car in the driveway. Opening the door and jogging down the front steps, he looked through the windows to find it completely empty. Mei and Im Yong had probably brought it by while the pair of them were sleeping.
He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat of the black SUV, looking around to see if perhaps anything was amiss. For a fleeting second he wished he had a tracking device, something that could lead them back to wherever the car came from. But that would serve no purpose now other than to track Ivan and Alfred’s movements. A frown passed over his face for a fleeting moment before he busied himself with the GPS. Directions had already been punched in, presumably by their employers. They would probably lead them to their target.
He searched around, hands probing every nook and cranny of the dash for any sign of a set of keys. Then, as his hand dipped into the cup holder, he heard a jingle and his fingers brushed cold, ridged metal. He grinned victoriously and took up the keys, shaking them to hear the sweet jingle of victory and crawling back out of the car. Guess who got to drive and guess who had to sit in the passenger seat and shut his trap? That’s right, Al was the king.
A quick search of the vehicle came up clean with no evidence of bugs or listening devices of any sort. There was, in fact, a tracker attached to the car but that didn't bother Alfred very much. At least he knew there was one place he could be himself without having to watch every little thing he said. Maybe he could tear Ivan a verbal new one once they were en route.
He made his way back into the house with a pep in his step and a whistle on his lips. One-upping Ivan had managed to turn his day around, even if the embers of indignation still smoldered in his gut. But he could set it aside for now to shove it in Ivan’s face that he’d found the keys first.
He found his companion in the kitchen, still staring off into space and sipping at his coffee. For a moment anger flared in Alfred’s chest once more. Was this motherfucker really so torn up about last night that he had to stare into space like a fucking dead man? Geeze! Alfred had known that Ivan hated him, but this was ridiculous. It takes two to tango. Two. To fucking. Tango!
“Yo, Robbie. They left us a car and directions to get where we’re goin’. We should probably head out.” He said, trying to seem nonchalant and as if everything was normal. Even if he was going to punch Ivan in the face as soon as they were out of sight of these damn cameras.
Ivan nodded, placing his cup of coffee by the wayside and holding out his hand. “Give me the keys, I’ll drive.” He replied. Alfred laughed, shaking his head. There was no way in hell he was giving the keys over to Ivan.
“Ah, ah, ah baby~ I went out to the car first, I found the keys, so I’m driving.” He sing-songed, jingling the keys by the loop in front of Ivan’s face before snatching them away just as the other man reached for them. “And there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it!” He laughed loudly, the sound grating to Ivan’s ears, and turned on his heel to exit the kitchen and the house once more.
Ivan followed after him, keeping his eyes trained on the back of the blonde’s head, trying to bore holes in it with his eyes. He resented the American. He hated him, everything he was, and everything he stood for. He hated what they had done, how Alfred had somehow managed to rub it in his face without mentioning it once, and that the young blonde didn't seem to regret it at all. But most of all, he hated himself for still wanting the stupid brat so much.
Last night was supposed to have been the one time he gave into temptation. He was supposed to take one bite out of the forbidden fruit and leave it hanging on the tree with no one the wiser. He hadn't expected it to taste so sweet. His young partner burned like acid in his veins, eating away at his resolve. Alfred had poisoned him with every bite and scratch he'd rained down on Ivan's flesh. Now his thoughts were consumed by him, there was nothing else in his mind.
But who could blame him? Alfred was beautiful by any standard. He enchanted Ivan with the mere sway of his hips or the way his lips curled up over his teeth when he snarled out an insult. His strength of body, spirit, and character amazed Ivan even if he would never admit it. It was a wild beauty, untamed and hard to hold onto; overtly masculine, hard as rock and tough as nails. But that was the way Ivan liked it. And he hated, hated himself for it.
Over-confidant steps carried Alfred to the diver's side of the car, the young man slipping like grease into the seat and busying himself buckling his seat belt while his companion folded himself in. Alfred snickered at the sight of his overly-large partner cramped into the SUV, though he wasn't surprised. Their cruiser had always been much too small for the freakishly tall Russian and the SUV was no different.
A heated glare put a stop to the laughter as Alfred put his hands up in surrender and started the car. The engine roared to life, grumbling and growling a steady bass line that quickly faded to a backdrop to the sounds of the world around them. Pulling out of the driveway and checking the GPS, Alfred tried to come up with small talk to fill the heavy silence pressing down on the two of them.
“So...did you sleep well?” He asked, feeling like an idiot immediately after the question left his mouth. He swore up and down inside his head, wondering how he could be so stupid.
“No talking.” Ivan growled, no more words needed to shut the younger man up.
The silence continued, hanging over them like an ever-present boulder threatening to crush them. Alfred hated it, he hated silence and everything about it. He would rather be shouting than have nothing said at all. He was so averse to silence there was a physical reaction and he started fidgeting and wriggling in his seat like a five-year-old who had to go to the bathroom.
After minutes of this, Ivan sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. Was the boy really so desperate for attention that he would pull childish stunts like this? Of course he was, it was Alfred. It should come as no surprise that he couldn't go five minutes without some form of attention.
“What is it?” He hissed, finally turning to the other. “What do you want from me? Because if you are wanting something to be started because of last night-” He was cut off there as Alfred gave an indignant cry.
“Start something? You think I want to start something with you? You fucking jackass! You think I don't know the difference between one night of hate sex and the start of a fucking relationship? What am I, some kind of chick? Fuck you, man, just fuck you.” Alfred snarled, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard the knuckles turned white.
“Then why did you do it!? You hate me and I hate you, so why initiate sex!?” Ivan cried, gesturing wildly as he yelled. “If it was just to keep up appearances you would not have done it, you would have made every excuse not to sleep with me, so why!?”
“Because I wanted to, alright!? You're a commie asshole and I hate you, but you're hot and my only option right now. That's all, that's fucking it.” Alfred growled, teeth bared and face twisted in rage.
Ivan's heart twisted in his chest, an unwelcome and pitiful feeling. He didn't want to feel a jolt of pain in his chest every time Alfred reminded him how much they hated each other, or when he stressed how little it had meant. The pain and confusion turned to rage and he reached out, grabbing the steering wheel in one and and closing the other around Alfred's neck.
“Stop talking, you worthless little shit, and listen to me. You will not touch me again. You will not tempt me with your whore body or touch me while we are in bed. If you do this, I will not kill you.” He said, his voice manic and barely above a whisper. It was a cold tone, one that lowered the temperature in the car a few degrees.
Alfred panicked, his hands scrambling at the large hand on his throat. His first thought was that they were going to crash and his second was Holy shit he's trying to kill me! Then, just as suddenly as he'd reached out and grabbed him, Ivan retracted his hand. He fixed him with that frigid glare, the one that Alfred knew meant trouble, and gestured towards his gun.
“Do you hear me, whore?” He asked, voice deceptively calm. Alfred wanted to tell him to fuck off, or to stop calling him a whore, but for the first time ever Alfred was truly afraid of Ivan. The man had always been mental, but this was just another fucking level. If he'd been asked before today if he thought Ivan was capable of murder he would have said no, but now....
“Yeah, asshole. I understand. And don't fucking call me a whore.” He shot off, consciously having to stop himself from tensing in fear as he said it. He was lucky and Ivan didn't hit him, but still he didn't say another word. He stared straight ahead, not even peeking out of the corners of his eyes at the man in the passenger seat, a man he thought he knew.
“I am sorry. Would you prefer “slut”, since you are not paid for your promiscuity?” Ivan drawled sarcastically and with no small amount of contempt. It stung Alfred and his first instinct was to lash out, but he kept silent. The last thing he wanted to do was provoke Ivan into choking him again.
Soon enough, Ivan fell into a silence of his own and stared off into space out the window. He mulled over the encounter in his own way. He had no clue what had come over him. All he could remember was a black rage hitting him like a brick wall and the next thing he knew he was releasing Alfred's neck. He wished he could say that he'd never done anything like that before, but he knew very well the blind rage lurking beneath his cold, sarcastic surface. Rage formed and compressed in a broken home and solidified in a school system that didn't look favorably upon foreigners, gay men, or the eccentric.
He had thought it had been all under control. He could go to work, maybe rough up a few drug dealers, fight with Alfred, and go home a happy man. His inner monster having been contented by that small period of lashing out. The more time he spent around Alfred, though, confused and disoriented him. A confused and disoriented Ivan was a dangerous Ivan.
The minutes crept by in silence, nothing but the shops lining the city streets taking their attention away from the tight, heavy quiet that pressed on them like a boulder. It gave Alfred creeping feelings and he could swear there were spiders crawling on his arms. It took all he had not to start slapping at them. He couldn't stand silence. He needed noise, sound, something to engage him.
He started humming, just to break the tense silence. Ivan glared over at him, murder in his eyes, but Alfred ignored him. There was no way he was going back to that awful silence, even if the humming was making things between them even more tense and awkward.
Just as Ivan as about to threaten Alfred with violence to make him shut up, they arrived at their destination. The only sign tat Alfred gave that he was angry as he exited the vehicle was the slam of the car door. His face and body language hid his real emotion, a grin on his face and a pep in his step. He didn't know why, but he just felt that Jamie would be one to be chipper when going to beat a poor man senseless for an organized crime family.
Ivan slipped easily back into his own character, knowing that the American accent he would have to fake would taste and feel like tar in his mouth. He hated this country more and more as he spent time around Alfred. He would still rather stay here than go back to Siberia, working as a traffic cop in a small, bitterly cold village out in the sticks.
The place was nice, the paint and sign seemingly new or just very well kept. The black door was roped off with blood red velvet, a red carpet rolling out from the door to welcome in guests lucky enough to gain entry. The sign above said “Chick Magnet” with a yellow bird flapping its wings. Now, however, the signs were dark and the door closed. A lone plastic bag skittered across the pavement, driven by the wind.
The nightclub parking lot was deserted save for a lone silver sports car with a vanity plate that read “AWESOME” and sported a black and white flag Alfred couldn't identify on the antenna. It was the middle of the day and it wasn't really surprising that no one was here. Alfred certainly didn't want to be here. It was too early and he'd been dealing with too much shit this morning to fuck with some sleazy night club owner.
He marched right on over to the door and kicked it in, a grin on his face and a spark in his eye. He thought for an instant that if he hadn't become a cop, he probably could have been an actor. He was so bomb at this.
“Here's Jamie!” He laughed, looking around for his victim. Ivan followed behind him, worried that perhaps Alfred was having a little bit too much fun with this. Alfred was a natural show-off and that, Ivan feared, was what would blow their cover. The boy's naïve show-boating would get them in trouble sooner rather than later.
A lone figure stood in the corner, robed in shadow with only his eyes showing through the gloom. Alfred immediately balked, his superstitious heart almost stopping when he saw the two red pinpricks standing out like sparks in the night. Oh dear Lord, he didn't want to die like this!
Ivan, however, was unfazed and he crossed the room with long strides to stand before the red-eyed man still shrouded in darkness.
“You're Gilbert Beilschmidt, right?” He asked, the drawl of Americana burning his tongue like acid. He vowed to speak nothing but Russian for a week after this was all over.
“That depends who's asking.” The man answered casually, the shrug of his shoulders barely perceptible through the gloom. He made no move to exit the shadows, preferring his blanket of mystery. Alfred couldn't shake the idea that he was some form of demon or ancient spirit and that he and Ivan had stumbled onto something they shouldn't mess with. His eyes were red, for Pete's sake!
“Our names are not important. All you need to know is that Mei Li sent us.” He answered back just as non-chalantly, as if it was an innocent referral from a friend. The shadowed man stiffened visibly, a light growl issuing forth from his corner.
“If you think I'm going to pay them, you're crazy! I'm sick of their mother fucking bullshit. I don't need to pay some hoity-toity gang members to run my business. And if you think you can come in here and beat it out of me, you better know that I won't go down easy!” The man snarled, launching himself out of the shadows and right into Ivan's face. There was a look of pure hate in his eyes, daring Ivan to try anything.
Immediately Alfred's fears that they were dealing with the supernatural were assuaged and the fear left him in a whoosh filled only by burning curiosity. The man's skin was as pale as paper, his hair completely white. Well that certainly explained the red eyes, now didn't it? He'd never met an Albino before and he was just disappointed that his first encounter had to take place like this.
“Hey, Gil, we don't like this any more than you do.” Alfred sighed, his shoulders shrugging and a long-suffering look flitting across his features. “But we got a job to do, just like you do. It's just business.” He took a few steps closer, the curiosity taking hold of him now that the irrational fear was gone.
“Did I say you could call me Gil, arschloch?” The man sneered, German accent thick on his tongue, his pearly teeth almost as white as his hair and seeming almost pointed in the dim lighting of the deserted night club.
“Well so-rry, Gilbert.” Alfred drawled back, his own teeth baring in an idle but predatory smile. It was a look Ivan wasn't accustomed to seeing on his partner's face. Even when they fought there was never that easy threat in his eyes, like a lazy panther looking down on a stray cat. A feeling of green jealousy rushed over him. Why would Alfred reserve that look from him? What about this pale, angry man made him so special? A frown came over his face instantly and the psychotic need to possess Alfred's every thought and emotion welled up in him.
Red eyes flicked over to the man in the corner, an amused light coming to life in their depths. “Hey, schatzi, I think your boyfriend over there is getting jealous.” He sing-songed, an insufferable smirk that Ivan longed to wipe off sliding onto his smug face.
Alfred cocked an eyebrow and looked over at his partner, snickering almost derisively. “Don't mind him, he doesn't like it when I talk to other guys. Do ya, baby?” He purred, throwing a wink in Ivan's direction. White-hot rage tore at Ivan and it took all of his self-control not to snap.
“Nah, sugar, that ain't it.” He answered with a laugh that he hoped sounded easier than it felt. “I just don't like it when we have to waist our time with pissy little vampire Nazis.” He shot at Gilbert with a dark, crazed look that had the albino man baulking.
Alfred didn't miss a second of it. What had gotten into Ivan? He'd never given a shit before how he talked to perps or the rest of the guys at the station. Had their tryst opened up a can of worms that should have stayed tightly sealed?
“Let's just get this over with so we can all go home with minimal damage to our internal organs, okay? We don't want to kill you and you don't want to die, so this should work out if you just cooperate.” Alfred cut in, bodily putting himself between Ivan and the German man. “Give us the money and I won't have to sick my partner on you. And let me just warn you, you don't even wanna know what he does when I let him off his leash. Got him out of a loony bin.” Alfred threatened easily, inspecting his nails.
Gilbert scoffed and reached behind him, backing up and cocking a shotgun in Alfred's face. “Or you can get the hell out of my club.” He snarled. Alfred, to his credit, looked almost bored. This wasn't the first time he'd had a gun pointed in his face and heavens-to-Betsy, it wouldn't be the last.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you. That thing's not even loaded.” He smirked. He'd taken a gamble, bluffing to the club owner's face. It payed off with a moment of hesitation on Gilbert's part and in a flash, Alfred had taken advantage of the chip in his defenses and taken the gun from him. Gilbert swallowed and raised his hand, the barrel of his own gun now pointed in his face.
“Rob, go get the money out of the cash register. If there's not enough there, check the office. There's sure to be a safe. I'm sure Gilbert won't have any problem helping us with the combination. Will ya, Gil?” He asked with an easy, teasing smile.
As Alfred held their unfortunate target at gunpoint, Ivan moved back behind the counter. The cash register, an older model from before everything had gone electronic, yielded it's fruits easily. As Alfred had surmised, however, there wasn't enough left from last night's sales to pay Gilbert's bill. Ivan motioned towards the back, Alfred following his lead with Gilbert in front of him. The barrel of the gun never wavered from it's position directly in line with the club owner's heart.
Something about the way Alfred cooly held an innocent man at gunpoint made Ivan want him even more and it was going to be a struggle, once this was all done, not to throw him up against a wall and fuck him senseless. Ivan was a cold, violent man who appreciated the cold and the violent. Alfred, usually bright and sunny even in his anger, had shown Ivan a side of himself that severely turned him on.
As Alfred held the gun steady at his back, Gilbert dialed in his combination and stepped aside as Ivan took what he owed and shoved it into a bank bag. “That should just about cover it. Thanks for doin' business with us.” He grinned, clapping Gilbert roughly on the back. The Albino man swallowed thickly and rubbed his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of Alfred.
Al grinned, his pearly whites gleaming under the florescent lighting of the office. “How 'bout you sit right on down there in that chair.” He told him, poking him over to the cushy chair in front of the desk. As soon as he seated, he gestured to Ivan without taking his eyes or the gun off of Gilbert. “Honeybunches, be a doll and tie him up for me would ya?” He cooed at Ivan, making kissy faces at him. Said 'honeybunches' clenched his fist in an effort not to clock Alfred upside the head and grabbed a string of lights from the corner and wound them around the pale man, tying them off so he wouldn't be able to wriggle free.
“Don't worry, it's a Friday. Someone'll come along and find you after too long.” Alfred quipped, propping the shotgun up against the far wall and giving a jaunty, two-fingered salute before turning smartly on his heel and bouncing out of the room. Ivan followed behind like a shadow, one last demented look shot in Gilbert's direction as he disappeared behind the corner and out of site.
Sitting there tied up under the bright lights of his office with the safe wide open and at least a thousand dollars missing, Gilbert was distinctly glad that that was all they had taken.
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I know I had a plan on what to do after this, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was. I shall have to think up a new plot. Or make it up as I go along, as usual.