[APH] Falling in Love in New York City - (5/?)
Title: Falling in Love in New York City - 5 / ?
Genre: Romance, drama, AU.
Pairings: USxUK, slight FrUK.
Rating: NC-17 / M
Warnings: Language, strong sexual content, adult themes, alcohol and some drug use.
Summary: Arthur Kirkland had only intended to dance away his stress and haunting past; never would he have thought in a million years, that on that night, on that particular nightclub, he would meet the one person who would change his life forever.
With a satisfying click, the lighter came to life, burning the end to his fifth cigarette in the last hour. No, Arthur did not have a problem. Or at least, chain smoking wasn’t one of the many. His irritation was beyond exceptional at that very moment. Irritated, humiliated and with the biggest blasted migraine of the century. It escaped him, the level of incompetence his boyfriend tended to sport. He grimaced at the mere thought of the word. Be what he may, the blonde still had trouble coming to terms with it.
Across from him, laying face down on the ridiculously luxurious carpeted floor, utterly nude, was Francis. Groaning, but not in the pleasant kind of way. He thumbed at the bruise that now protruded from the middle of his head and flinched. Yup. That was going to hurt worse tomorrow. He sometimes mused exactly what possessed him to be the unstable Englishman’s significant other, and ninety percent of the times he could find no good reason. He was moody, depressing, rude, violent and a damned drunk with a smoking problem. Alright, so Arthur was good in bed, truth be told, but at times like these, he second guessed if it was even worth it. After all, relationships aren’t only for the sex.
But it sure was a big part of it.
“Mon cher, don’t you think you went a wee bit too far?” Arthur refused to answer the carefully toned question and instead took a long drag from his cigarette. “Now I’m getting the silent treatment.” Angling his head in the least painful way possible, he glared at the Englishman perched on his couch, cross legged, cigarette pinched between kiss swollen lips. A broken phone lay forgotten by his side. Second one that day; he was on a roll. “We’ve come so far as well.”
“You, maybe. But not me.” The accent was heavily marked as he snarled at the nuisance splayed on the floor, slamming down his hand with sheer exasperation, forgetting the fact that the cigarette was still in his hand. He was still entirely dressed, having just arrived to find a nude Frenchman at the door. Only his tie was askew, the first few buttons of his neatly pressed shirt undone, but otherwise untouched. Arthur was stressed, had only stopped by to pick up his paycheck since his boss had ditched work that day, and was jumped on like some kind of prey. Sadly for him, he let himself go along, until the phone rang and, to his eternal humiliation, the infuriating French douche bag picked up.
With his black mood, he was shocked himself that he hadn’t just picked up the phone and called social services on the arse. Indecent exposer to his own son; sexual harassment, pedophilia... he could name a few things to screw him with. But Arthur valued his job. It was the only way he could afford living in New York, in his comfortable apartment, and his unusual lifestyle. England held too many demons for him to return.
“I’m sure he didn’t even notice-”
“You lied to him. You refused him the need to stay the night, denied him the right of having a roof over his head, even if it was just joking.” Reaching his boiling point, the Englishman shot up and stormed into the kitchen, making sure to kick the body on the floor along the way. “He’s your bloody son for Christ’s sake. And put some fucking clothes on.” He snapped at his lover as he waltzed after him, unbothered by his own nude body and the healthy kick to his ribcage.
“He’s an adult, Arthur. You’re talking as if he were but a child. He can fend for himself.”
“Wanker. Cold hearted, filthy son of a bitch…” Arthur continued to rant to himself as the Frenchman left into his room with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a sigh. The Brit was truly too stuck up for his own good. All he had intended to do was woo him, ease those tense shoulders of his and give him a lovely time. Maybe ease those horrid eyebrows of his.
Turning on the tap, Arthur splashed water on his face, rubbing his eyes fiercely for a few moments as he mentally raged at the insufferable bastard he was sleeping with. Why did he put up with him? Why did he bother? Why did he have to be so fucking desperate? Bonnefoy had no heart; he knew no love. Just lust and an appreciation for all things beautiful, but that was all. He didn’t know how to love his own blood, how could he possibly love him? Why would he possibly even expect it? Dared to hope? The shuddering sigh made his chest quiver with rage and insolence. Arthur wanted to be loved, wanted to be needed. Not because he feared it was unrequited, it was because he knew it was. He wanted Francis to love him because he didn’t love the Frenchman in return. The only passion he had towards the frog was hatred. A hatred so cleverly, deceptively patient, that it wasn’t patient.
He was also starting to believe that he was going mad. The thoughts didn’t make sense, but he didn’t want to be alone. Better to be in bad company than by one’s self. He was an adult; adults functioned differently from teenagers, so he assumed that was all right for the time being. At least until… Until what? What was there to look forward to? Depression was finding its way into his being. Stronger then what it used to be.
Francis could have had it all. He had a wife, a son, the money, the connections… Yet he was so incomplete, but seemed to be happy about it. Content with what he had, including the unstable Englishman. It blew Arthur’s mind. How was that even possible? What was he doing wrong? The straight A student and council president back in the day. The lad who signed up for community service every other weekend when he wasn’t at the animal shelter. The football player, the one that never did drugs, never smoked and never drank even when he was dragged to university parties. He had been the perfect role model in his youth. Then why did life fuck him over?
“I do hope you don’t intend on using that.”
The short gasp nearly made Arthur choke as he looked down and gazed at the open drawer, the voice pulling him out of his reverie, making him gaze blankly at what he was about to do. He didn’t even notice himself open it. “No…” Slamming the door shut, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in absolute frustration. Acting without thinking. He was bound to do something stupid, eventually.
Leaning against the door frame, Francis frowned, noting that the situation was a lot graver than he expected it to be. The stubborn Brit was indeed teetering over the edge of sanity, and he feared that, even as a punching bag, he was the only one keeping him from going over. He was something solid that Arthur could focus his rage on, and most of the times he could get him to channel said energy into bed. Mind blowing, rough sex. But come morning, he was left with a warm body devoid of emotion and feeling.
Loosely wrapped around his body, the robe Francis wore exposed his chest; light curls of gold nearly invisible in the dim lighting. He smirked internally, knowing that Arthur was just a sucker for scantily dressed Frenchmen. “You seem stressed. Why not come along to bed and talk to me, non? Get you comfortable.” Yes, a distraction was in order. And if he played his cards well, heaven knew what he could get out of it.
“I’m never comfortable around you.”
“You hurt my feelings, Arthur.”
“Good to know we’re mutual.” Arthur turned towards him then, glaring daggers right into those blue eyes he learned to hate with sublime passion. He was unfazed by the state of near undressed. “I just stopped by for my check to then be on my way.”
“I’m not one to mix my personal life with my work.”
“Too fucking bad. You’re sleeping with your employee, deal with it.”
“I do think that, for your sake, you should stay the night, Arthur. Time by your lonesome will only make you over think. And you know what happens when you do that.” Francis said with a sigh, his voice higher than usual, dropping his seductive tone into a more demanding one. It sounded so much more normal; natural, even. He also sounded concerned. Honey coated concern.
“I’m not a kid. I can take care of myself.” Pausing for a moment, he sighed. “Just give me my-”
“So you can go and spend it all on booze?”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not my father. You’re nothing to me and you have no saying as to what I do with my hard earned salary.” The level tone was more unsettling the usual unintelligible shouting. He looked calm, and it scared the flying fuck out of the Frenchman.
“Promise me you won’t get in trouble. I don’t want to stain the name.” The company. It was all about his bloody company and its reputation. Arthur leaned against the granite countertop, more like slumped, and waited for his boss to fetch his earnings at his home office. He wanted to sleep. A good long sleep, uninterrupted, without nightmares. But he didn’t want to return to his place. He knew Francis was right; he didn’t want to be alone to think. God knows what he’d do. “Here.” The older male dropped the envelope on the countertop, leaning across from his lover, imitating his pose, staring at him with steady blue eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t come in tomorrow. Just get some rest.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” And without another look, Arthur trashed the burnt out cigarette that was still pinched, forgotten, on his hand, and pulled out a new one, making his way to the door and slamming it hard as he walked out. Turns out, there were some advantages that came with dating your boss. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, the Englishman stormed out into the cold night, ignoring the bitter breeze that sliced into the warmed back of his neck.
Minutes after he set off walking towards his apartment, he stopped, remembering his earlier thought. Home alone for the evening wasn’t such a good idea, especially when he had ordered a new set of kitchen knives from QVC just a few weeks ago. He was still learning how to cook American food properly, but it still tasted like utter shit to him. Green eyes gazed blankly at the stop light, pondering if he should just cross and risk getting hit, or wait for it to signal him to pass. Or he could just walk the other way entirely. Shifting on the spot, he gazed behind him to see the still busy streets. There was really no place to go in that direction, at least, none that interested him, but what the hell.
Finally paying heed to the cold, he slipped on his coat, turning up the collar to better protect his neck and ears. It was still early, nighttime, but early. He ignored the several times his side was scuffed by a hurrying passerby, his mind wandering yet blank as he walked without heading.
He had walked until his feet hurt, until he found himself somewhere in Manhattan. He stopped for a hot dog, for lack of anything that might interest him in the culinary department, and that’s when he noticed. The only money he had on him was his check. Searching his wallet, he frowned. Irritated, he pulled out the envelope to see that, miraculously enough, Francis had paid him in cash. As if the Frenchman really wanted him to get in trouble… Or he probably was just trying to be a good bloke for once. He voted the former. Bonnefoy was many things, but not good.
It took him a moment to analyze just how much the vendor was asking for and found himself lost in translation. He might have been there for over a decade and some change, but the currency always got to him. Not bothering to count, he just popped out a fifty. He didn’t bother counting the change either. The stares he got made him feel self-conscious, but he stepped aside and enjoyed his warm snack. Not that he had much of an appetite, but who was he to deny something warm.
Moment and a soda later, he was off again.
With someone hot on his trail.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, but it was promptly ignored. He wasn’t in the mood. He was just cold, irritated and just… depressed. And now his feet hurt. Just splendid. But he continued his non-specific way until he came face to face with a familiar sight. Central Park. The yellow and green trees standing high and strong, reminding him vaguely of his own little version of it back home. Human traffic didn’t seem as bad, so he opted to take some time off his weary feet on one of those nice wooden benches. It was a bit too cold for that, but he could handle. Winters in London made sure of it. Making his way through the gates he walked and walked, his already black mood dropping into his sickened stomach.
So many damn couples…
Kissing, groping, and sharing popcorn and chocolates. He felt compelled to throw up what he has just finished eating.
Minutes ticked by until he found himself deep into the shrouded park, some trees bare, the other’s just barely. He slumped down into an available bench with a long and tired sigh, fighting the urge to just kick off his shoes. One hour. He had walked for one full hour and he still felt like shit. Now he was just a shit with aching feet. “Bleeding fuck.”
“Nice language, mister.”
Arthur looked to his side and saw a kid fill the available space, making his frown deepen tenfold. That was the last thing he needed. “Excuse me?”
“You aren’t form around here, are you?”
“Yes, yes I am.” He groaned in his head, when he heard something click loudly. “Shit. We haven’t even gotten past the introductions.” The Englishman bit bitterly at the kid, making him sneer.
“Cough it up, grandpa.”
Glaring at the teen, he shook his head. “I don’t have anything on me.”
“Stop bullshitting me, Mr. Fifty-bucks-for-a-hotdog.”
Of course it had been a bad idea, a stupid one, and of course he had been careless. Now he was about to get mugged. His life just got brighter by the hour, apparently. The kid was armed, so he leveled it. Thought hard for a moment. Maybe he shouldn’t give him the money, allow him to shoot and get it over with. It would have been a win/win situation for the bloke. But he was sweating. Sweating in the freezing night; he wasn’t going to shoot. He was probably out on some dare. Arthur sighed and fetched for his envelope. Nothing that French asshole gave him ever brought anything good. He gave him the money. But before the kid could make a run for it, a third party startled them both.
“If I were you, I’d give the nice man his stuff back, punk.” Arthur’s eyes shot towards the newcomer, his eyes pleading, trying to warn him that the kid was armed. The stranger either didn’t notice it, or just didn’t care. He stood before the bench, hips to the side, hands dipped into the pockets of his blue sweater, a smug smile on his face.
“Or what?” The kid got to his feet, walking up to the stranger, bumping him chest to chest. “What you gonna do about it, huh?”
Ever so casually, the other popped out his phone and flashed it at the kid. “All I gotta do is press the screen right… here. And you’re done for.”
“Is that a threat? The screen’s broken, idiot.”
“Hell yeah, it is. And it still works.” The kid leveled his eyes towards the taller man and forced a nod, throwing the envelope on the floor and breaking out into a run into the bushes, shouting back a curse. “Little fucker.” The man turned towards the Briton who had now gotten to his feet, probably to kiss him and call him his hero, but instead got himself a healthy shove. “Oh, hey! The hell was that for?”
“He was armed you dimwitted dolt!”
“Way to talk to the person who just saved your cash. And probably even your life.”
“I don’t… Well.” Arthur huffed, indignant, and pulled on his coat; adjusting it slightly. He angled his head to the side, cheeks turning slightly pink, and not because of the cold. “Thank you for that. Even if it was completely irresponsible of you.” He quickly added.
The newcomer, who now flashed a million dollar smile, cocked his head to the side with mirth. “Why you Brits always talk like you have a stick up your asses?”
“Fuck you.”
“Nice, rude too.”
“Look, boy; I appreciate your effort at playing hero, but I should be going now. I don’t want any more run ins.”
“Next time, don’t pull out a fifty for a hotdog and then just walk into Central Park.”
Arthur stared at him, assessing the stranger before it clicked. Mussed blonde hair, crooked glasses framing blue eyes…. “Are you stalking me?”
The blonde blinked, taken aback by the sudden deduction. “Wha-No, man, I’m not. I just saw you and I thought-”
“I told your friend I’d pay for the phone. My most sincere apologies; I wasn’t aware it was yours.”
“Yeah, well, you see, I kind of- what?” The American paused for a moment. “How’d you know?”
“You were the one that arrived just as I left the café, am I right? Arthur Kirkland. I feel like I fall deeper in debt with you hour after hour.” Arthur extended his hand, his gentlemanly manners in place, a somewhat forced smiled plastered on his face. Alfred’s heart nearly stopped at that I fall deeper in part, but kept his mind as he pulled out his slick hand, and shook the stranger’s.
“Alfred Jones.”
“A pleasure.”
“Again with the stick. Come one, man. Loosen up.” Blue eyes watched in fascination as one of those huge eyebrows twitched. It was actually kind of cute.
“Have a good night, Mr. Jones.” Came the taught reply as he turned on his heels and headed back towards the entrance of the park. An hour and aching feet utterly wasted. He should have just gone home and shot himself. Maybe he would; it was never too late to do so. It was a shame he didn’t own any weapons of the sort. Maybe of those nicely sharp steak knives-
“-really one of the best in all of Time Square.” Arthur stopped walking, blinking several times as he twisted his head to stare at the young man walking by his side.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you even listening?”
“My apologies, I’m afraid I wasn’t. I’ve had a lot on my mind… Horrible day.”
“That sucks, man.” The softening of those cerulean eyes went unnoticed. Arthur may have been short, and kind of scrawny, with good manners but a terrible temper, but he was cute. Attractive, being the better word. Even those eyebrows balanced out his overly feminine features, making him look a bit manlier, even sophisticated. And that accent just sent chills down Alfred’s spine. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you know.”
“Yes, by being on your way and leaving me be.”
He seriously had to be PMSing. “And let you get mugged? No way, man. I’ll keep you company to wherever it is you need to go. Got nothing better to do anyway.”
“I don’t need company.”
“Actually… you look like you kind’a do.”
Green eyes glared daggers at the youth. “That’s none of your concern.”
“You said it first.” That shit-eating grin was starting to get on Arthur’s nerves. He resumed his path, ignoring the blonde that continued his stride by his side. “How long you been in New York? Mustn’t been long since you suck dealing with money. And really, Bert’s hotdog’s are the best, so next time you get hungry, just stop by Coney Island. And dude, don’t even get me started on those corndogs! And the corn. Corn on the cob, best place to find it. Ever need a ride, just hook me up-”
“Would you please just shut up?” The outburst made several people stare; he was starting to get used to it. “I don’t want anything, all right? I just want to get to my apartment and do something incredibly stupid. So please, shut that blithering mouth of yours.”
“Something stupid, huh?” Alfred beamed. “Like sleeping with a stranger?”
“That’s not halfway near as stupid.” He answered without missing a beat. Been there done that and never going back.
“Sounds to me like you’ve done it before. You don’t look like a swinger.”
“I’m not.”
“Going home to your wife then?” The young blonde pushed on, intrigued at so many aspects of the English stranger. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend, even?” Arthur remained silent for a moment, as he continued on towards his place. “Want me to call a cab? You got a pretty serious limp there.”
His sigh could have knocked over the German tourist in front of him. That boy was cutting that last thread of patience he had, especially when he was just reminded of his blasted feet. He dreaded the blisters he would find once he got back. “Do as you bloody please.” And there was that grin again.
On the first attempt, Alfred managed to tag a cab, but someone rudely enough shoved him aside to take it. Being Arthur, he would’ve dragged them out by that stupid-ass scarf, but Alfred simply smiled and banged the hood as if wishing them a nice trip. The second was a keeper, and he called Arthur over like a kid dragging its parents to show them what masterpiece they’d done. It was rather endearing, but Kirkland didn’t give a shit.
“It’s complicated.”
“Huh?” Alfred answered most intelligently as he shut the door behind him. “What is?”
“Boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Getting comfortable while Arthur told the cab driver his address, Alfred turned to look at him steadily. He looked tired in more ways than one, and it made him wonder. He wasn’t crushed by the new knowledge though, more like thrilled. So Arthur liked men; that was a good thing. Not that he was gay, or was interested. Just out of curiosity. “Not bad for a business man.”
“It could be much better.”
“No, I mean, you’re pretty fly.”
“Fly?”
“Yeah, like, nice looking. Good job, a boyfriend that’s maybe a total asshole, night owl; I mean, how old are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“So you’re not a spring chicken; but it gets better with age, right? I mean, you’re pretty damn hot.”
Arthur’s hand fell from where it was perched on the window, holding up his head as he looked out into the night and turned towards the bright American with wide eyes, unable to believe his ears. That smiled looked so honest, it hurt. He stood staring, stunned, for a few more breaths, and then couldn’t fight the corner of his lips struggling to turn up. How dare the stupid lad make him want to laugh. Alfred caught on, and burst out laughing, lightly punching the Brit’s shoulder who in turn cracked a smile. “You are impossible.”
“Oh, come on. Live a little. You know you wanna laugh.”
Arthur let out a mix between a snort and chuckle, but then settled to laugh lightly, almost shy. With a sigh, he turned his eyes back towards the window, tilting up his head to look at the top of the buildings. Electric stars, since it was too bright to see the real ones miles above. He settled for that.
Taking the opportunity of the distraction, Alfred ogled the Brit. Really took in the fact that there he was. In a cab, sitting beside him. Just at arm’s reach. All he had to do is lean over in order to run his cool fingertips through the flaxen hair, lightly caress those worn but attractive cheekbones. A breath away from kissing those thin lips… from opening the coat, and slipping his hands up his chest, beneath the suit and crisp shirt…
“You’re too young.” The sudden words made him notice that Arthur was staring back at him; not shy or embarrassed, just smug.
“Huh?”
“You’re too young. You’re handsome, yes.” Green eyes slid down the young man’s body, inspecting the tall and well built frame. “The power behind those thighs must be amazing.” Alfred, however, didn’t take the compliment as gracefully as the Englishman. He gawked; pink brushing from his cheeks to the tip of his ear. “Point proven.” With a chuckle, Arthur unbuckled himself and crawled over, pressing his chest to Alfred as he grinned, licking his lips inches away from the other’s face. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get off now.”
“Hell yeah.”
“…Well?” Arthur pressed when the younger didn’t move. He looked utterly lost. “I mean, off the cab.” A blink later, and the blue eyed youth was scrambling for his seatbelt. It was then that it clicked. Arthur wasn’t leaning over him in an attempt to be seductive… He was just trying to open the door.
“Ah... haha… My bad.” Once unbuckled and the door open, he stumbled out clumsily, holding the door while Arthur paid the taxi and stepped out. “I owe you the fare. Didn’t pop out another fifty, did ya?”
“Screw you.” He retorted haughtily. “Don’t worry. I owe you much more than that. It’s the least I can do.” Attempting to smile, he made for the entrance of the building. “You may quit following me now. I know my way.”
“I’ll escort you to your apartment.” Again, that giddy, childish voice rung in his ears, making him want to twitch.
“Suit yourself, Mr. Stalker.” He was rewarded with a laugh.
A greeting from his neighbor, and three flights of stairs later, the Briton stood before his door, his back to it as Alfred daringly leaned in, both hands by Arthur’s head. “You should take better care of yourself, stranger. I may be a hero, but I won’t always be there to lend a hand.”
Arthur tried to find this hot. Sexy even. But he just couldn’t. Sure the American was quite a sight; and he could just imagine the raw power and stamina trapped within that teenaged body. But he was just that; a child. He settled with a smile, and tilting his head coyly to the side. Rude, gentlemanly, but a flirt. And he played his cards pretty damn well. “I’ll make sure of it. Take better care of myself, I mean. Thank you again, for being kind enough to escort me, Mr. Jones.”
“Makes me sound old. Call me Alfred and we’re even. But don’t sweat it, babe.” A short silence fell then, making Alfred drum his fingers against the door while Arthur continued to steadily look at him. He looked so bloody familiar. Sure they had seen each other at the café, but something tugged at the back of his mind. “About what you said…”
“Concerning?”
“The too young thing…”
“I’m sure you’re not even legal for a one-night stand.”
“Wouldn’t be the first.”
“How old are you, really?”
Alfred drummed his fingers again. “I’ll be twenty one in July. Technically an adult.”
“You’re still technically a minor.”
“I technically look old enough.”
“And I can still technically go to jail for statutory rape.”
The staring went on, but it was a lighthearted one. Childish bickering that made those green eyes nearly glow, and it made Alfred breathless to watch them. Nearly an hour and he already knew that it wouldn’t be possible to stay away from the Brit for too long. He wondered what was on Arthur’s mind at that moment. “Okay, fine. Don’t do me then, even though it’s so obvious you want to.”
“My boyfriend wouldn’t approve.” That stopped Alfred dead in his tracks. He had forgotten about that very important detail. Drumming his fingertips, yet again, against the door, he straightened out, letting his arms fall back to his sides, slipping his hands in the sweater’s pocket. Arthur gave a little sigh; not annoyed, but… rather let down. He bumped his head against the door and smiled pitifully. “Get yourself someone your age, lad. Someone who could last and not be old enough to be your father.”
“No way, man. Dad’s way older than you are, so don’t sweat it.” A half-hearted glare made him straighten up so more, putting his hands in the air in the universal sign of defeat. “All right, all right. You’re boyfriend’s lucky I have such patience.” He flashed the Englishman a grin. “Cause I will get you.”
Arthur laughed at that, patting the other’s shoulder before fetching his keys from his pocket. “If I had a quid for every time I heard that, I’d be living in a bloody penthouse.” He opened to door and stepped halfway inside, turning to look at the gorgeous stranger still standing in the hall. “You are a very handsome young man, Alfred. Very kind. Find yourself someone worthwhile. Someone one worth living for, would you. Thank you for your company, yet again.” And he finally stepped inside, shutting the door softly, missing the muttered ‘I already have’ the American lad had just allowed to slip out.
Alfred’s smile immediately fell when the door clicked shut, going weak at the knees like some kind of school girl. Those drama classes had really paid off in situations such as does. The amount of bravado and suaveness he had just portrayed was but a properly executed front. He had been a nervous wreck acting on impulse; like most of the things he did. But he was glad. Proud. Heck, overjoyed. He had seen him again. Spoken face to face for what seemed like ages, even if it was just a measly hour. That made him crack a smile. So what if he was taken. He was Alfred Fucking Jones. All he had to do was work a proper kind of magic and the-
“Alfred?” Said blonde turned back towards the door to see Arthur sticking his head out most comically. “If there is…- Is there any way I could… possibly contact you?”
With a grin, Alfred pulled out a card and a pen from his pocket, placing it on the wall; he scribbled down a number and handed it over to the Englishman. “Call me anytime you want, Kirkland.”
Taking the wrinkled card, Arthur looked down on the messy handwriting. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you much lon-”
His words were cut off by the unfamiliar sensation, of having gentle lips pressed softly against his in what was perhaps the chastest kiss he’d ever had. Alfred lingered for a moment longer, lips hovering just above Arthur’s, before sighing against them and pulling away. Kissing a stranger seemed far out, even for him; but Arthur… there was something about Arthur that just blew him away. And he knew he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he hadn’t kissed those lips at least once in his life. God only knew when he would get such an opportunity again. “Good night, Arthur.” And with that, he walked away, leaving a stunned Briton in his wake.
Shutting the door, Arthur leaned against it for a brief moment before taking to the shower for a nice steaming bath to soak his feet and cool down that insistent tugging in his stomach. After that and some tea, he crawled into bed, tangling himself in the silk sheets that felt delicious against his cold skin.
Nearly midnight.
And he smiled.
A soft, nearly sleepy smile as he rolled onto his side, taking his pillow and pressing it to his face as he flushed at the thought. Kissed by a stranger. And never had a kiss been sweeter or gentler. He brushed his lips against the soft pillow subconsciously, and noted that it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. It had been a once in a lifetime thing, and it made him happy if only for one night.
That night, he was sure he’d dream. Dream of beautifully bright cerulean eyes and hair as bright as sunshine. Dream of strong arms holding him while he slept…- He blinked his eyes open with an incredulous snort. A hearty laugh followed soon after as he rolled onto his back; it finally hit him. He remembered where he had seen Alfred before, and that just made that evening nth times more spectacular than it had been. His little crush from months ago had returned without him even noticing, and had granted him the most adorable kiss he had ever experienced.
Shutting his eyes, he began to drift with a smile on his face. He had forgotten his suitcase back at Francis’ apartment, but he couldn’t give a fuck. His night, heck, his month had just been made. Maybe he would give life another chance, but just one more. And with a final sigh, he fell into a peaceful sleep.
His cigarettes untouched in his coat pocket.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
AN: Finally getting some USUK in here, and it's about damn time. ;D Reviews are always welcome. ~
Genre: Romance, drama, AU.
Pairings: USxUK, slight FrUK.
Rating: NC-17 / M
Warnings: Language, strong sexual content, adult themes, alcohol and some drug use.
Summary: Arthur Kirkland had only intended to dance away his stress and haunting past; never would he have thought in a million years, that on that night, on that particular nightclub, he would meet the one person who would change his life forever.
With a satisfying click, the lighter came to life, burning the end to his fifth cigarette in the last hour. No, Arthur did not have a problem. Or at least, chain smoking wasn’t one of the many. His irritation was beyond exceptional at that very moment. Irritated, humiliated and with the biggest blasted migraine of the century. It escaped him, the level of incompetence his boyfriend tended to sport. He grimaced at the mere thought of the word. Be what he may, the blonde still had trouble coming to terms with it.
Across from him, laying face down on the ridiculously luxurious carpeted floor, utterly nude, was Francis. Groaning, but not in the pleasant kind of way. He thumbed at the bruise that now protruded from the middle of his head and flinched. Yup. That was going to hurt worse tomorrow. He sometimes mused exactly what possessed him to be the unstable Englishman’s significant other, and ninety percent of the times he could find no good reason. He was moody, depressing, rude, violent and a damned drunk with a smoking problem. Alright, so Arthur was good in bed, truth be told, but at times like these, he second guessed if it was even worth it. After all, relationships aren’t only for the sex.
But it sure was a big part of it.
“Mon cher, don’t you think you went a wee bit too far?” Arthur refused to answer the carefully toned question and instead took a long drag from his cigarette. “Now I’m getting the silent treatment.” Angling his head in the least painful way possible, he glared at the Englishman perched on his couch, cross legged, cigarette pinched between kiss swollen lips. A broken phone lay forgotten by his side. Second one that day; he was on a roll. “We’ve come so far as well.”
“You, maybe. But not me.” The accent was heavily marked as he snarled at the nuisance splayed on the floor, slamming down his hand with sheer exasperation, forgetting the fact that the cigarette was still in his hand. He was still entirely dressed, having just arrived to find a nude Frenchman at the door. Only his tie was askew, the first few buttons of his neatly pressed shirt undone, but otherwise untouched. Arthur was stressed, had only stopped by to pick up his paycheck since his boss had ditched work that day, and was jumped on like some kind of prey. Sadly for him, he let himself go along, until the phone rang and, to his eternal humiliation, the infuriating French douche bag picked up.
With his black mood, he was shocked himself that he hadn’t just picked up the phone and called social services on the arse. Indecent exposer to his own son; sexual harassment, pedophilia... he could name a few things to screw him with. But Arthur valued his job. It was the only way he could afford living in New York, in his comfortable apartment, and his unusual lifestyle. England held too many demons for him to return.
“I’m sure he didn’t even notice-”
“You lied to him. You refused him the need to stay the night, denied him the right of having a roof over his head, even if it was just joking.” Reaching his boiling point, the Englishman shot up and stormed into the kitchen, making sure to kick the body on the floor along the way. “He’s your bloody son for Christ’s sake. And put some fucking clothes on.” He snapped at his lover as he waltzed after him, unbothered by his own nude body and the healthy kick to his ribcage.
“He’s an adult, Arthur. You’re talking as if he were but a child. He can fend for himself.”
“Wanker. Cold hearted, filthy son of a bitch…” Arthur continued to rant to himself as the Frenchman left into his room with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a sigh. The Brit was truly too stuck up for his own good. All he had intended to do was woo him, ease those tense shoulders of his and give him a lovely time. Maybe ease those horrid eyebrows of his.
Turning on the tap, Arthur splashed water on his face, rubbing his eyes fiercely for a few moments as he mentally raged at the insufferable bastard he was sleeping with. Why did he put up with him? Why did he bother? Why did he have to be so fucking desperate? Bonnefoy had no heart; he knew no love. Just lust and an appreciation for all things beautiful, but that was all. He didn’t know how to love his own blood, how could he possibly love him? Why would he possibly even expect it? Dared to hope? The shuddering sigh made his chest quiver with rage and insolence. Arthur wanted to be loved, wanted to be needed. Not because he feared it was unrequited, it was because he knew it was. He wanted Francis to love him because he didn’t love the Frenchman in return. The only passion he had towards the frog was hatred. A hatred so cleverly, deceptively patient, that it wasn’t patient.
He was also starting to believe that he was going mad. The thoughts didn’t make sense, but he didn’t want to be alone. Better to be in bad company than by one’s self. He was an adult; adults functioned differently from teenagers, so he assumed that was all right for the time being. At least until… Until what? What was there to look forward to? Depression was finding its way into his being. Stronger then what it used to be.
Francis could have had it all. He had a wife, a son, the money, the connections… Yet he was so incomplete, but seemed to be happy about it. Content with what he had, including the unstable Englishman. It blew Arthur’s mind. How was that even possible? What was he doing wrong? The straight A student and council president back in the day. The lad who signed up for community service every other weekend when he wasn’t at the animal shelter. The football player, the one that never did drugs, never smoked and never drank even when he was dragged to university parties. He had been the perfect role model in his youth. Then why did life fuck him over?
“I do hope you don’t intend on using that.”
The short gasp nearly made Arthur choke as he looked down and gazed at the open drawer, the voice pulling him out of his reverie, making him gaze blankly at what he was about to do. He didn’t even notice himself open it. “No…” Slamming the door shut, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in absolute frustration. Acting without thinking. He was bound to do something stupid, eventually.
Leaning against the door frame, Francis frowned, noting that the situation was a lot graver than he expected it to be. The stubborn Brit was indeed teetering over the edge of sanity, and he feared that, even as a punching bag, he was the only one keeping him from going over. He was something solid that Arthur could focus his rage on, and most of the times he could get him to channel said energy into bed. Mind blowing, rough sex. But come morning, he was left with a warm body devoid of emotion and feeling.
Loosely wrapped around his body, the robe Francis wore exposed his chest; light curls of gold nearly invisible in the dim lighting. He smirked internally, knowing that Arthur was just a sucker for scantily dressed Frenchmen. “You seem stressed. Why not come along to bed and talk to me, non? Get you comfortable.” Yes, a distraction was in order. And if he played his cards well, heaven knew what he could get out of it.
“I’m never comfortable around you.”
“You hurt my feelings, Arthur.”
“Good to know we’re mutual.” Arthur turned towards him then, glaring daggers right into those blue eyes he learned to hate with sublime passion. He was unfazed by the state of near undressed. “I just stopped by for my check to then be on my way.”
“I’m not one to mix my personal life with my work.”
“Too fucking bad. You’re sleeping with your employee, deal with it.”
“I do think that, for your sake, you should stay the night, Arthur. Time by your lonesome will only make you over think. And you know what happens when you do that.” Francis said with a sigh, his voice higher than usual, dropping his seductive tone into a more demanding one. It sounded so much more normal; natural, even. He also sounded concerned. Honey coated concern.
“I’m not a kid. I can take care of myself.” Pausing for a moment, he sighed. “Just give me my-”
“So you can go and spend it all on booze?”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not my father. You’re nothing to me and you have no saying as to what I do with my hard earned salary.” The level tone was more unsettling the usual unintelligible shouting. He looked calm, and it scared the flying fuck out of the Frenchman.
“Promise me you won’t get in trouble. I don’t want to stain the name.” The company. It was all about his bloody company and its reputation. Arthur leaned against the granite countertop, more like slumped, and waited for his boss to fetch his earnings at his home office. He wanted to sleep. A good long sleep, uninterrupted, without nightmares. But he didn’t want to return to his place. He knew Francis was right; he didn’t want to be alone to think. God knows what he’d do. “Here.” The older male dropped the envelope on the countertop, leaning across from his lover, imitating his pose, staring at him with steady blue eyes.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t come in tomorrow. Just get some rest.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” And without another look, Arthur trashed the burnt out cigarette that was still pinched, forgotten, on his hand, and pulled out a new one, making his way to the door and slamming it hard as he walked out. Turns out, there were some advantages that came with dating your boss. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, the Englishman stormed out into the cold night, ignoring the bitter breeze that sliced into the warmed back of his neck.
Minutes after he set off walking towards his apartment, he stopped, remembering his earlier thought. Home alone for the evening wasn’t such a good idea, especially when he had ordered a new set of kitchen knives from QVC just a few weeks ago. He was still learning how to cook American food properly, but it still tasted like utter shit to him. Green eyes gazed blankly at the stop light, pondering if he should just cross and risk getting hit, or wait for it to signal him to pass. Or he could just walk the other way entirely. Shifting on the spot, he gazed behind him to see the still busy streets. There was really no place to go in that direction, at least, none that interested him, but what the hell.
Finally paying heed to the cold, he slipped on his coat, turning up the collar to better protect his neck and ears. It was still early, nighttime, but early. He ignored the several times his side was scuffed by a hurrying passerby, his mind wandering yet blank as he walked without heading.
He had walked until his feet hurt, until he found himself somewhere in Manhattan. He stopped for a hot dog, for lack of anything that might interest him in the culinary department, and that’s when he noticed. The only money he had on him was his check. Searching his wallet, he frowned. Irritated, he pulled out the envelope to see that, miraculously enough, Francis had paid him in cash. As if the Frenchman really wanted him to get in trouble… Or he probably was just trying to be a good bloke for once. He voted the former. Bonnefoy was many things, but not good.
It took him a moment to analyze just how much the vendor was asking for and found himself lost in translation. He might have been there for over a decade and some change, but the currency always got to him. Not bothering to count, he just popped out a fifty. He didn’t bother counting the change either. The stares he got made him feel self-conscious, but he stepped aside and enjoyed his warm snack. Not that he had much of an appetite, but who was he to deny something warm.
Moment and a soda later, he was off again.
With someone hot on his trail.
The phone in his pocket vibrated, but it was promptly ignored. He wasn’t in the mood. He was just cold, irritated and just… depressed. And now his feet hurt. Just splendid. But he continued his non-specific way until he came face to face with a familiar sight. Central Park. The yellow and green trees standing high and strong, reminding him vaguely of his own little version of it back home. Human traffic didn’t seem as bad, so he opted to take some time off his weary feet on one of those nice wooden benches. It was a bit too cold for that, but he could handle. Winters in London made sure of it. Making his way through the gates he walked and walked, his already black mood dropping into his sickened stomach.
So many damn couples…
Kissing, groping, and sharing popcorn and chocolates. He felt compelled to throw up what he has just finished eating.
Minutes ticked by until he found himself deep into the shrouded park, some trees bare, the other’s just barely. He slumped down into an available bench with a long and tired sigh, fighting the urge to just kick off his shoes. One hour. He had walked for one full hour and he still felt like shit. Now he was just a shit with aching feet. “Bleeding fuck.”
“Nice language, mister.”
Arthur looked to his side and saw a kid fill the available space, making his frown deepen tenfold. That was the last thing he needed. “Excuse me?”
“You aren’t form around here, are you?”
“Yes, yes I am.” He groaned in his head, when he heard something click loudly. “Shit. We haven’t even gotten past the introductions.” The Englishman bit bitterly at the kid, making him sneer.
“Cough it up, grandpa.”
Glaring at the teen, he shook his head. “I don’t have anything on me.”
“Stop bullshitting me, Mr. Fifty-bucks-for-a-hotdog.”
Of course it had been a bad idea, a stupid one, and of course he had been careless. Now he was about to get mugged. His life just got brighter by the hour, apparently. The kid was armed, so he leveled it. Thought hard for a moment. Maybe he shouldn’t give him the money, allow him to shoot and get it over with. It would have been a win/win situation for the bloke. But he was sweating. Sweating in the freezing night; he wasn’t going to shoot. He was probably out on some dare. Arthur sighed and fetched for his envelope. Nothing that French asshole gave him ever brought anything good. He gave him the money. But before the kid could make a run for it, a third party startled them both.
“If I were you, I’d give the nice man his stuff back, punk.” Arthur’s eyes shot towards the newcomer, his eyes pleading, trying to warn him that the kid was armed. The stranger either didn’t notice it, or just didn’t care. He stood before the bench, hips to the side, hands dipped into the pockets of his blue sweater, a smug smile on his face.
“Or what?” The kid got to his feet, walking up to the stranger, bumping him chest to chest. “What you gonna do about it, huh?”
Ever so casually, the other popped out his phone and flashed it at the kid. “All I gotta do is press the screen right… here. And you’re done for.”
“Is that a threat? The screen’s broken, idiot.”
“Hell yeah, it is. And it still works.” The kid leveled his eyes towards the taller man and forced a nod, throwing the envelope on the floor and breaking out into a run into the bushes, shouting back a curse. “Little fucker.” The man turned towards the Briton who had now gotten to his feet, probably to kiss him and call him his hero, but instead got himself a healthy shove. “Oh, hey! The hell was that for?”
“He was armed you dimwitted dolt!”
“Way to talk to the person who just saved your cash. And probably even your life.”
“I don’t… Well.” Arthur huffed, indignant, and pulled on his coat; adjusting it slightly. He angled his head to the side, cheeks turning slightly pink, and not because of the cold. “Thank you for that. Even if it was completely irresponsible of you.” He quickly added.
The newcomer, who now flashed a million dollar smile, cocked his head to the side with mirth. “Why you Brits always talk like you have a stick up your asses?”
“Fuck you.”
“Nice, rude too.”
“Look, boy; I appreciate your effort at playing hero, but I should be going now. I don’t want any more run ins.”
“Next time, don’t pull out a fifty for a hotdog and then just walk into Central Park.”
Arthur stared at him, assessing the stranger before it clicked. Mussed blonde hair, crooked glasses framing blue eyes…. “Are you stalking me?”
The blonde blinked, taken aback by the sudden deduction. “Wha-No, man, I’m not. I just saw you and I thought-”
“I told your friend I’d pay for the phone. My most sincere apologies; I wasn’t aware it was yours.”
“Yeah, well, you see, I kind of- what?” The American paused for a moment. “How’d you know?”
“You were the one that arrived just as I left the café, am I right? Arthur Kirkland. I feel like I fall deeper in debt with you hour after hour.” Arthur extended his hand, his gentlemanly manners in place, a somewhat forced smiled plastered on his face. Alfred’s heart nearly stopped at that I fall deeper in part, but kept his mind as he pulled out his slick hand, and shook the stranger’s.
“Alfred Jones.”
“A pleasure.”
“Again with the stick. Come one, man. Loosen up.” Blue eyes watched in fascination as one of those huge eyebrows twitched. It was actually kind of cute.
“Have a good night, Mr. Jones.” Came the taught reply as he turned on his heels and headed back towards the entrance of the park. An hour and aching feet utterly wasted. He should have just gone home and shot himself. Maybe he would; it was never too late to do so. It was a shame he didn’t own any weapons of the sort. Maybe of those nicely sharp steak knives-
“-really one of the best in all of Time Square.” Arthur stopped walking, blinking several times as he twisted his head to stare at the young man walking by his side.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you even listening?”
“My apologies, I’m afraid I wasn’t. I’ve had a lot on my mind… Horrible day.”
“That sucks, man.” The softening of those cerulean eyes went unnoticed. Arthur may have been short, and kind of scrawny, with good manners but a terrible temper, but he was cute. Attractive, being the better word. Even those eyebrows balanced out his overly feminine features, making him look a bit manlier, even sophisticated. And that accent just sent chills down Alfred’s spine. “If there’s anything I can do to help, you know.”
“Yes, by being on your way and leaving me be.”
He seriously had to be PMSing. “And let you get mugged? No way, man. I’ll keep you company to wherever it is you need to go. Got nothing better to do anyway.”
“I don’t need company.”
“Actually… you look like you kind’a do.”
Green eyes glared daggers at the youth. “That’s none of your concern.”
“You said it first.” That shit-eating grin was starting to get on Arthur’s nerves. He resumed his path, ignoring the blonde that continued his stride by his side. “How long you been in New York? Mustn’t been long since you suck dealing with money. And really, Bert’s hotdog’s are the best, so next time you get hungry, just stop by Coney Island. And dude, don’t even get me started on those corndogs! And the corn. Corn on the cob, best place to find it. Ever need a ride, just hook me up-”
“Would you please just shut up?” The outburst made several people stare; he was starting to get used to it. “I don’t want anything, all right? I just want to get to my apartment and do something incredibly stupid. So please, shut that blithering mouth of yours.”
“Something stupid, huh?” Alfred beamed. “Like sleeping with a stranger?”
“That’s not halfway near as stupid.” He answered without missing a beat. Been there done that and never going back.
“Sounds to me like you’ve done it before. You don’t look like a swinger.”
“I’m not.”
“Going home to your wife then?” The young blonde pushed on, intrigued at so many aspects of the English stranger. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend, even?” Arthur remained silent for a moment, as he continued on towards his place. “Want me to call a cab? You got a pretty serious limp there.”
His sigh could have knocked over the German tourist in front of him. That boy was cutting that last thread of patience he had, especially when he was just reminded of his blasted feet. He dreaded the blisters he would find once he got back. “Do as you bloody please.” And there was that grin again.
On the first attempt, Alfred managed to tag a cab, but someone rudely enough shoved him aside to take it. Being Arthur, he would’ve dragged them out by that stupid-ass scarf, but Alfred simply smiled and banged the hood as if wishing them a nice trip. The second was a keeper, and he called Arthur over like a kid dragging its parents to show them what masterpiece they’d done. It was rather endearing, but Kirkland didn’t give a shit.
“It’s complicated.”
“Huh?” Alfred answered most intelligently as he shut the door behind him. “What is?”
“Boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Getting comfortable while Arthur told the cab driver his address, Alfred turned to look at him steadily. He looked tired in more ways than one, and it made him wonder. He wasn’t crushed by the new knowledge though, more like thrilled. So Arthur liked men; that was a good thing. Not that he was gay, or was interested. Just out of curiosity. “Not bad for a business man.”
“It could be much better.”
“No, I mean, you’re pretty fly.”
“Fly?”
“Yeah, like, nice looking. Good job, a boyfriend that’s maybe a total asshole, night owl; I mean, how old are you?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“So you’re not a spring chicken; but it gets better with age, right? I mean, you’re pretty damn hot.”
Arthur’s hand fell from where it was perched on the window, holding up his head as he looked out into the night and turned towards the bright American with wide eyes, unable to believe his ears. That smiled looked so honest, it hurt. He stood staring, stunned, for a few more breaths, and then couldn’t fight the corner of his lips struggling to turn up. How dare the stupid lad make him want to laugh. Alfred caught on, and burst out laughing, lightly punching the Brit’s shoulder who in turn cracked a smile. “You are impossible.”
“Oh, come on. Live a little. You know you wanna laugh.”
Arthur let out a mix between a snort and chuckle, but then settled to laugh lightly, almost shy. With a sigh, he turned his eyes back towards the window, tilting up his head to look at the top of the buildings. Electric stars, since it was too bright to see the real ones miles above. He settled for that.
Taking the opportunity of the distraction, Alfred ogled the Brit. Really took in the fact that there he was. In a cab, sitting beside him. Just at arm’s reach. All he had to do is lean over in order to run his cool fingertips through the flaxen hair, lightly caress those worn but attractive cheekbones. A breath away from kissing those thin lips… from opening the coat, and slipping his hands up his chest, beneath the suit and crisp shirt…
“You’re too young.” The sudden words made him notice that Arthur was staring back at him; not shy or embarrassed, just smug.
“Huh?”
“You’re too young. You’re handsome, yes.” Green eyes slid down the young man’s body, inspecting the tall and well built frame. “The power behind those thighs must be amazing.” Alfred, however, didn’t take the compliment as gracefully as the Englishman. He gawked; pink brushing from his cheeks to the tip of his ear. “Point proven.” With a chuckle, Arthur unbuckled himself and crawled over, pressing his chest to Alfred as he grinned, licking his lips inches away from the other’s face. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get off now.”
“Hell yeah.”
“…Well?” Arthur pressed when the younger didn’t move. He looked utterly lost. “I mean, off the cab.” A blink later, and the blue eyed youth was scrambling for his seatbelt. It was then that it clicked. Arthur wasn’t leaning over him in an attempt to be seductive… He was just trying to open the door.
“Ah... haha… My bad.” Once unbuckled and the door open, he stumbled out clumsily, holding the door while Arthur paid the taxi and stepped out. “I owe you the fare. Didn’t pop out another fifty, did ya?”
“Screw you.” He retorted haughtily. “Don’t worry. I owe you much more than that. It’s the least I can do.” Attempting to smile, he made for the entrance of the building. “You may quit following me now. I know my way.”
“I’ll escort you to your apartment.” Again, that giddy, childish voice rung in his ears, making him want to twitch.
“Suit yourself, Mr. Stalker.” He was rewarded with a laugh.
A greeting from his neighbor, and three flights of stairs later, the Briton stood before his door, his back to it as Alfred daringly leaned in, both hands by Arthur’s head. “You should take better care of yourself, stranger. I may be a hero, but I won’t always be there to lend a hand.”
Arthur tried to find this hot. Sexy even. But he just couldn’t. Sure the American was quite a sight; and he could just imagine the raw power and stamina trapped within that teenaged body. But he was just that; a child. He settled with a smile, and tilting his head coyly to the side. Rude, gentlemanly, but a flirt. And he played his cards pretty damn well. “I’ll make sure of it. Take better care of myself, I mean. Thank you again, for being kind enough to escort me, Mr. Jones.”
“Makes me sound old. Call me Alfred and we’re even. But don’t sweat it, babe.” A short silence fell then, making Alfred drum his fingers against the door while Arthur continued to steadily look at him. He looked so bloody familiar. Sure they had seen each other at the café, but something tugged at the back of his mind. “About what you said…”
“Concerning?”
“The too young thing…”
“I’m sure you’re not even legal for a one-night stand.”
“Wouldn’t be the first.”
“How old are you, really?”
Alfred drummed his fingers again. “I’ll be twenty one in July. Technically an adult.”
“You’re still technically a minor.”
“I technically look old enough.”
“And I can still technically go to jail for statutory rape.”
The staring went on, but it was a lighthearted one. Childish bickering that made those green eyes nearly glow, and it made Alfred breathless to watch them. Nearly an hour and he already knew that it wouldn’t be possible to stay away from the Brit for too long. He wondered what was on Arthur’s mind at that moment. “Okay, fine. Don’t do me then, even though it’s so obvious you want to.”
“My boyfriend wouldn’t approve.” That stopped Alfred dead in his tracks. He had forgotten about that very important detail. Drumming his fingertips, yet again, against the door, he straightened out, letting his arms fall back to his sides, slipping his hands in the sweater’s pocket. Arthur gave a little sigh; not annoyed, but… rather let down. He bumped his head against the door and smiled pitifully. “Get yourself someone your age, lad. Someone who could last and not be old enough to be your father.”
“No way, man. Dad’s way older than you are, so don’t sweat it.” A half-hearted glare made him straighten up so more, putting his hands in the air in the universal sign of defeat. “All right, all right. You’re boyfriend’s lucky I have such patience.” He flashed the Englishman a grin. “Cause I will get you.”
Arthur laughed at that, patting the other’s shoulder before fetching his keys from his pocket. “If I had a quid for every time I heard that, I’d be living in a bloody penthouse.” He opened to door and stepped halfway inside, turning to look at the gorgeous stranger still standing in the hall. “You are a very handsome young man, Alfred. Very kind. Find yourself someone worthwhile. Someone one worth living for, would you. Thank you for your company, yet again.” And he finally stepped inside, shutting the door softly, missing the muttered ‘I already have’ the American lad had just allowed to slip out.
Alfred’s smile immediately fell when the door clicked shut, going weak at the knees like some kind of school girl. Those drama classes had really paid off in situations such as does. The amount of bravado and suaveness he had just portrayed was but a properly executed front. He had been a nervous wreck acting on impulse; like most of the things he did. But he was glad. Proud. Heck, overjoyed. He had seen him again. Spoken face to face for what seemed like ages, even if it was just a measly hour. That made him crack a smile. So what if he was taken. He was Alfred Fucking Jones. All he had to do was work a proper kind of magic and the-
“Alfred?” Said blonde turned back towards the door to see Arthur sticking his head out most comically. “If there is…- Is there any way I could… possibly contact you?”
With a grin, Alfred pulled out a card and a pen from his pocket, placing it on the wall; he scribbled down a number and handed it over to the Englishman. “Call me anytime you want, Kirkland.”
Taking the wrinkled card, Arthur looked down on the messy handwriting. “Of course. Don’t let me keep you much lon-”
His words were cut off by the unfamiliar sensation, of having gentle lips pressed softly against his in what was perhaps the chastest kiss he’d ever had. Alfred lingered for a moment longer, lips hovering just above Arthur’s, before sighing against them and pulling away. Kissing a stranger seemed far out, even for him; but Arthur… there was something about Arthur that just blew him away. And he knew he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he hadn’t kissed those lips at least once in his life. God only knew when he would get such an opportunity again. “Good night, Arthur.” And with that, he walked away, leaving a stunned Briton in his wake.
Shutting the door, Arthur leaned against it for a brief moment before taking to the shower for a nice steaming bath to soak his feet and cool down that insistent tugging in his stomach. After that and some tea, he crawled into bed, tangling himself in the silk sheets that felt delicious against his cold skin.
Nearly midnight.
And he smiled.
A soft, nearly sleepy smile as he rolled onto his side, taking his pillow and pressing it to his face as he flushed at the thought. Kissed by a stranger. And never had a kiss been sweeter or gentler. He brushed his lips against the soft pillow subconsciously, and noted that it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. It had been a once in a lifetime thing, and it made him happy if only for one night.
That night, he was sure he’d dream. Dream of beautifully bright cerulean eyes and hair as bright as sunshine. Dream of strong arms holding him while he slept…- He blinked his eyes open with an incredulous snort. A hearty laugh followed soon after as he rolled onto his back; it finally hit him. He remembered where he had seen Alfred before, and that just made that evening nth times more spectacular than it had been. His little crush from months ago had returned without him even noticing, and had granted him the most adorable kiss he had ever experienced.
Shutting his eyes, he began to drift with a smile on his face. He had forgotten his suitcase back at Francis’ apartment, but he couldn’t give a fuck. His night, heck, his month had just been made. Maybe he would give life another chance, but just one more. And with a final sigh, he fell into a peaceful sleep.
His cigarettes untouched in his coat pocket.
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AN: Finally getting some USUK in here, and it's about damn time. ;D Reviews are always welcome. ~